Laura Lore

Gearing up for pain...

2010-03-07T15:16:37Z

This week, starting in about 15 minutes, I am going to start integrating strength training to my workout routine. I have a mild dose of OCD, and I find diversifying difficult with certain activities. So far this year, I have done nothing but run. I had an outpatient procedure in December, so January was mostly getting over the fear that I would injure myself and getting the legs to run more than two miles at once. By the end of January, I had the distance thing down again, and in February, well…

Nick thought it would be a grand thing to create a Nike-Plus challenge between him, me, and our friend Jeff. Nick was a challenger for the first week of the month, and then decided to sit it out. Jeff and I got a little competitive, however. No time for strength-training during the shortest month of the year, no way, no how! Especially when I wanted to beat Jeff in a mileage challenge spanning those 28 days:

I told Nick that he's not allowed to schedule another one of these, at least not right away. I don't like feeling competitive. I get a little manic and a lot moody. Anyway, I went running outside yesterday. As my quads burned running hard up one of my last hills, I accepted that I have not had a well-rounded exercise routine as of late. Last year at this time, I challenged myself to work out every day until a scheduled surgery in March '09 after inspiration courtesy of Oprah. During those 60ish days, I remember thinking that I should really be incorporating cardio in my exercise routine. See!? Extremest!

I miss those days when I could spend a leisurely two hours in the gym every morning, splitting my time evenly between strength and sweat! Didn't realize how lucky I was to have all that flexibility with my time! For now, I am about to blow the dust off all my Jari Love DVDs and those nasty, unsafe, killer 80's workouts from The FIRM (workouts seem to be much more effective when they disregard concern for injury).

I imagine that tomorrow evening I will have a case of DOMS so severe that I will be in tears. I'm just so gosh darn excited…

Feeling a Little Naked

2010-02-27T22:43:36Z

We went in to look at wedding rings today. Nick wants to do a little recon before he makes a final decision, you know, to see what the married men are wearing these days, but we have mine selected and purchased now anyhow. I suppose it has to be difficult for a man to wrap his head around wearing a ring for the rest of his life. It occurred to me while he was looking at styles that he probably has no idea as to what his ring size might be.

But then, apparently I am a little off as well. I've never made a secret that my left ring finger ring size was last measured at five-and-a-half. In fact, I think I have made every effort to make that bit of information known, in the event that my significant other wants to get all sneaky and pick out an engagement ring without my input. That worked out pretty good for me, huh? Especially when your significant other has excellent taste.

For the last month or so, however, I have been deathly afraid that I was going to accidentally flush my ring down the toilet, or that it would fall off without my notice while I was walking about. I am so scared that I will lose it that I have come to keep that one finger pad touching my palm (when I don't need the finger for anything productive, of course). You see, in 2010, a five-and-a-half is too loose. That's right, my already unattractive bony fingers have grown bonier as I have aged.

So, we ordered an extremely beautiful matching wedding band in a five, which is still loose but comfortably so, and I gave the jeweler my ring to be sized smaller. Every now and then, I catch myself reliving my worst nightmare: oh no! Check the toilet! Pull apart the pipes! I've flushed my engagement ring!

I'll have it back in a week, but between now and then, Nick better hide the wrenches.

Learning Empathy

2010-02-22T01:04:47Z

My cousin Michelle and I saw the movie Pearl Harbor in the theatre when it first came out. Michelle was a World War II buff, and we both thought at the time that Josh Hartnett was dreamy. I don't remember having any reaction to the movie except being bummed out that Josh Hartnett's character died—sorry for the spoiler, but it really is your own fault if you still haven't seen the movie since it was released nine years ago. But anyway, yeah, no other reaction to this movie which depicts one of the most tragic days in our history.

You see, at the time, my life had never gone through ups and downs. Every facet of life may not have been peachy keen, but it was all I knew…and it's all relative, right? To me, movies and other forms of art reflected the stories of other people only. I was a spectator who didn't really comprehend the emotions on the screen, the page, or the canvas.

Around five years ago, I began one of the most tumultuous periods of my life. For once, everything wasn't going as planned. I had high highs and low lows, and I was exposed to all sorts of feelings that I had never experienced before. When I first began to have an emotional reaction to media, I self-diagnosed myself as depressed. I had enough to be sad about at the time, and all of the websites specified that letting those sappy Hallmark commercials get to you was a sure sign that you had a chemical imbalance. I don't know why this country feels the need to put a diagnosis the ability to feel.

Pearl Harbor was on television today, and I tuned in just in time for the attack. At one point, two lone American planes fly over the harbor where dead bodies were floating and live bodies were dodging bullets. Those in the water cheered at the sight of the planes, not that those two pilots could save the day or undo all of the tragedy. My eyes welled with emotion. I know all too well that hope doesn't have to make sense.

The evolution of a human being from birth to death is a strange journey. I found the parallel interesting as I watched the movie this afternoon. I didn't live through WWII, and I do not know anyone who fought overseas. However, I understand love and loss, and their story isn't so different from mine. Variation on a theme, if you will. I no longer think that letting my heartstrings be pulled is a sign of mental illness. I think I am just learning to live in a world where everybody experiences the same aches and joys of life, and I am appreciating that their struggles are not so different from my own.

Announcement

2010-02-09T11:33:34Z

Unknowingly under a ruse on a sunny January day, I accompanied Nick to Olbrich Gardens. He and I have never gone to Olbrich together, but he knew that the place held special memories for me.

Eventually finding a bench, he coaxed me to settle next to him. He asked how I felt, coming back to this mystical little garden in the heart of winter the first time without Mom. I told him that I was a little sad and a little happy because I felt her presence so strongly.

He seemed happy with that reply as he pulled a velvety box out of his coat pocket, telling me that he picked this place so that she could be there for this special moment. Flipping open the box, the ring glittered in the sunlight. At first I was speechless because it was all so unexpected, and I couldn't comprehend what was happening (but eventually I said yes!).

I feel very fortunate to have such a loving person in my life. I am thrilled to plan my future with Nick by my side, this person who seems to understand and anticipate my needs. I feel cherished!

Heavy Things

2010-02-05T19:03:40Z

So, I set the DVR to record Oprah's discussion on diabetes the other day. Diabetes runs in both my father's and my mother's families, and my mother was diagnosed with high blood sugar while undergoing Cancer treatments. I spent the first 20 years of my life clueless about exercise and nutrition. While I have been living "clean" for almost 10 years now, I worry that my unhealthy childhood has taken years off my life. I know that I am at risk for this disease…but then, we are all at risk. According to the show, six million Americans are walking around with diabetes and they don't even know it.

The show interviewed a woman who was diagnosed with Diabetes in her 30's, and had now required dialysis treatments three times a week (three hours each) for the last decade. She has lost the lower half of one leg, and the front half of her other foot. Dr. Oz asked her why the disease is so prevalent, and she said something to the effect of, "People think, 'it's just a little sugar.'" Her story was chilling.

I could not help but think of one of my grandmothers, the one that chooses to ignore her disease rather than learn to live with it. She figures that they can just give her more insulin, and it will all be okay―she doesn't have to change a thing. On the show, they described diabetes as a disease that scrapes your insides with shards of glass. I would rather work on those shards of glass than rely on insulin.

This disease is running rampant. I must make a distinction between Diabetes Type I and Type II. Type I is not yet totally understood enough to know how to prevent the disease (or if it can even be prevented at all). That being said, Type I Diabetes makes up only 10% of all diagnosed cases, meaning that 90% of the diagnosed cases could have been prevented and can be cured through lifestyle changes. Isn't that amazing?

So, one of the top 10 killers can be wiped out, if the patient is willing.

I think that's food for thought. Truly, we are killing ourselves.

My weight loss changed my life. Socially, it has alienated me from the people who thought I broke an unwritten code by becoming aware of my lifestyle. Physically, it has given me energy, and the strength that I need to deal with chronic pain and illness. Most of all, I hope that it has put me in a position to prevent disease (which makes the alienation worthwhile). I watched my mother cling to life as long as she could against a disease that she could not control. I feel like I am honoring her love of life by protecting mine.

I only wish that more people would fight for their health. Fanatics talk about the end of the world like it is going to be some terrible natural disaster or biological weapon...but at this rate, we are going to be our own end.

My Saddest Day

2010-01-26T23:49:05Z

Four Years…

Some things you never really get over. I think my life can be summed up into two phases: my life before January 26, 2006, and my life after January 26, 2006. I suppose it is an obvious fact of life that your parents will one day leave this world before you, but I was not prepared to lose her. I knew her time was limited, but I was not ready to let go.

I remember that after her first surgery, the doctors gave her 15 years. While not happy with the hard dose of mortality, I reasoned with myself that 15 years was a long time. I would be able to pretend like nothing was wrong for quite awhile before having to deal with Cancer. Less than two and a half years later, I was saying goodbye.

I am not using this as a lesson not to put things off. I was never going to be ready to say goodbye.

I just got off the phone with Dad who said that Mom wouldn't want us all mourning still. I told him that I do not cry for her constantly, but this is just my day…my day to miss her. It's my day to be depressed and feel alone. It's my day to remember the bleakness of that day four years ago when I wanted to be relieved of this world too. This living out your life bit—not for the faint of heart, I tell you.

So, I will spend the rest of the night remembering lighter times and blowing my nose in an unladylike fashion. Then I will go to bed and sleep well, knowing that tomorrow will not be this day.

As Wisconsinites Say...

2010-01-25T12:17:01Z

…Brett Favre wins you games, and Brett Favre loses you games. Anyone else think that last night's championship game looked eerily similar to the Packers-Giants game from a couple of years ago? You go ahead and keep him, Minnesota. If he decides not to retire—but even if he does decide to retire, don't take his word for it.

"Couples who 'chiro' together...

2010-01-16T13:24:42Z

…stay together."

At least, that's according to Nick as we walked out of my chiropractor's office yesterday afternoon. After I found relief last August from regular visits, he broke down and asked me to schedule him an appointment a few days ago after his back went out. Grudgingly, when he was asked to schedule a follow up a few days later, I decided that it was about time that I got into the swing of going again, too.

Now, Nick and I are definitely comfortable around each other, but I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as we looked at each other's X-Rays. I had "Dr. Dave" adjust me first, and he always marvels at how much my back cracks when I just roll into the right position (before he even tries to adjust me). In contrast, Nick thinks he maybe pulled a muscle after his first adjustment.

Dr. Dave was talking to us (Nick, mostly, since my dad has been going to a chiropractor as long as I can remember, and I know how all this stuff works) about how the biggest hurdles for new patients is getting them to relax so they don't tense up and fight the adjustment. Then he looked at me and said, "I've always gotten a lot of movement with you, though…from day one." Hey, we all gotta be good at something. It turns out, I'm good at making my joints adjust without any manipulation.

After my run last night, just before hitting the shower, I leaned down with straight legs and placed my palms on the floor to help stretch out. Nick yelled from the couch, "How do you do that!? Why can't I do that!?" I wanted to smack both him and Dr. Dave yesterday, seriously. My "hyper-mobility", as I have been diagnosed, is the crux of most of my problems with chronic pain. Seriously, you don't wanna be like me.

1,000 in 2010

2010-01-10T12:41:57Z

I am not the type that sets goals as the new year begins. I remember when I started letting people know that I was first trying to lose weight, countless people wished me luck and named themselves faithful Monday dieters. I just think it's silly to put off your ambitions until a set date.

I signed up with a program through my HMO wherein I can get credit for working out at least 30 minutes a day. I did not realize that this program existed—I knew of programs where you get credit every time you sign in at your gym, but I was not aware of the options for people with home gyms. The program starts on the first day of the month after you sign up. Upon January first's arrival, I was poking around the Nike Plus site, looking for challenges to enter. I want to get my running feet back again.

I did what I consider a fantastic job with running in September and October last year. I will never be a fast runner, but I got to a point where any run less than six miles felt like I was slacking off. One Saturday at the beginning of October, I hopped on the treadmill and up and ran 10 miles. 10 miles, after just one month of training! With medical procedures in November and December, recovery time has stolen whatever stamina and strength I had built in those two months. I just keep telling myself that this is the love part of the love/hate relationship I have with my legs. In relatively little time, my strength will return.

I came across a challenge to run 1,000 miles in 2010. Now, I've always hated (as in, "with a passion") long-term assignments. However, the Nike Plus Challenges are a weird, binding contract with me. If I sign up, I have to perform. I knew that this would be a way for me to continue running throughout the year (instead of a random 5K here and there), as I will have to average just over 19 miles a week to meet my goal.

2009 was a year of fairly constant procedures. I was pretty open to whatever the doctors wanted to try, but this year I need to step back and just let my body fully heal. I don't know that many people can understand how liberating this decision feels. Last year, knowing all of the recovery that would be ahead of me, I could not have set such a lofty goal as to run 1,000 over the next 12 months.

Now, running inside for long distances is a drag—I should know, I ran 10 miles in a dingy basement! Plus, being that I was less than a month out from my last procedure and had been inactive for about six weeks, I told myself that the 19ish miles a week goal was an average. During September and October, I had weeks closer to 30 miles, so when the weather was nicer I could make up for these early weeks in a Wisconsin winter. Unfortunately, I am a bit driven when I have a number to fixate upon.

So much so, that I did something on Friday and Saturday that I thought I would never do, considering those who did insane enough to be locked up. I ran outside in 14°F weather, a day after it snowed. The sidewalks were a mess, and it was really a mix of running outside and running on a treadmill because every step I took would slip back as I tried to propel forward. Oh, and it was frickin' cold…but running outdoors again felt so good. During the first week of 2010, I made it 19.38 miles. Yay! Only 51 more to go.

So, I thought I would post my goal here for extra accountability. I can only imagine how thrilled I will feel this time next year when I accomplish this feat. 1,000 in 2010, baby!

2010

2010-01-01T15:08:09Z

We were on the road, coming home from a friend's house where we spent the night, when the sun rose this morning. The still morning was suddenly washed in amber streams, and I couldn't help but feel that 2010 was starting on a beautiful note.

My parents always made December 31st feel special. The traditions were simple when I think about them today, but me and my brother looked forward to that day every year. A bottle of sparkling grape juice, beef tenderloin, and poor man's lobster were always on the menu. We rented movies to play until midnight, and spread blankets on the floor in front of the television so that we could be on a picnic while enjoying our movie snacks.

I remember the close of 1999 so clearly with all the hype about the Y2K bug and imminent armageddon. I was a senior in high school, and I remember finding all of the talk absurd. I was not then, and really am not now, a Prince fan (or, the artist formerly known as Prince, as he was known in 1999), so you can imagine how irritating the constant reply of that one song was for me. What a ride the last ten years have been.

As 2002 approached, I made the decision to change my lifestyle. A serious chest pain scared my then 20-year-old self into reevaluating the eating and exercise habits that had learned throughout childhood. My mother had begun successfully losing weight the year before, and I suppose she gave me the "this is possible" drive to succeed.

At the end of 2004, I was visiting my parents from North Carolina. My brother had other plans that year, but for nostalgia's sake, Mom, Dad, and I dined on sparkling grape juice, beef tenderloin, and poor man's lobster. We watched sappy romance movies all night. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last New Year's Eve that I would spend with my mother.

The next year brought a lot of crappy surprises, and I move that it just be stricken from the record. I was getting a cold and my mother had a compromised immune system at the end of December, 2005. My aunts were celebrating the night elsewhere. Mom did not feel like going out, and Dad was at a neighbor's party. She and I spoke over the phone, each in our own empty homes. We were both ready to close the awful year, but it was such a lonely night. She said to me, and I'll never forget, "2006 will be much better for both of us."

In a way she was right. In January, she stopped suffering from that awful disease, and Heaven is her reward. I met Nick and started going about the business of living again, even though me and my aunts were plagued with weird illnesses all that year (and the time since). I guess it was a better year than the last, but Debbie still announced that she planned on drinking an entire bottle of Asti on New Year's Eve to send 2006 packing with a resounding "Goodbye and good riddance!"

The past few years have been busy with school and doctors, and 2009 slipped through my fingers. I couldn't help but make the comparison between last night and that night ten years ago. Sipping champagne with Nick and friends, confident in my power to take control of my life…the 18 year old had her parents and her traditions, but she really hadn't figured out herself yet. (It's just too bad that you can't have it all.)

I think 2010 holds a lot of promises. With the end of school less than a year away, I feel such excitement that at this time next year, I might have free time! I am grateful to still have a job and a roof over my head (which is no small feat in today's world), and I am thankful for the relationships I have with my family. I don't know if I have ever told them, but I couldn't have made it this far without my aunts in my corner. I had to work to build a better relationship with my father at first, but I now cherish our closeness.

And there's Nick. Our first date was New Year's Day, 2006. Four years later, I still wonder how I was able to find (and keep!) such a kind and loving person. He possesses a rare decency, and I am lucky to have him.

2010 can't help but go right.

Aware of our Triggers

2009-12-24T01:40:00Z

He puts the can of Pringles on the counter, telling me to help myself if I want. I don't particularly want, but I am curious to see him bring home Pringles from work. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks.

"I've just never seen you eat Pringles before." It's been about four years, you'd think it would have come up by now.

"No," he replies. "That's because I love Pringles." He is quick to remind me that he's never seen me consume a Cheeto, even though the crunchy ones were a childhood favorite. If you can't have just one, then I guess you really shouldn't have any.

Female Issues

2009-12-16T13:51:08Z

Boys, beware.

The last three-plus years have been enlightening in many ways health-wise. In 2006, me and my health care provider decided that Depo-Provera would be an excellent choice for birth control considering that I had always had painful menstrual cycles (which you no longer experience once on the drug). Well, we know now that I have a couple of disfigured uteruses. Nonetheless, the Depo served its purpose and I had nearly four years without the all too familiar symptoms.

My last injection expired in October, which I did not renew due to the surgery I was scheduled to have in November. I was not told that there would be withdrawal symptoms, but I honestly don't know my body anymore. I called the clinic after coming down with the first migraine headache that I had had in almost four years and was told that some patients due report "menopause-like symptoms" after coming off of Depo-Provera. WHAT!? I walked over to my aunt's desk at work to see if she had some migraine medication at her desk (I've talked about Brenda's desk before) and admitted my stupidity that, "In all the years that I have been headache free, I never connected that they stopped once I stopped having periods." I guess I just assumed that it was a gift from the heavens for all the lousy things that had happened. You may be divorced and motherless, but hey! Your headaches are gone! Woo!

It's a nice thought, anyway.

My thermostat is wonky, one minute I'm so cold my teeth chatter, and then the next minute I could swear that my blood had come to a boil in my veins. My hair is growing in faster and thicker, and with a mind of its own (which should be a good symptom, but I've grown accustomed to stretching my hair appointments to every three months!). My toenails suddenly grow out so fast and thick that I could use them blades to kick an intruder a week after trimming.

My complexion…well, it's been swell. I've been relatively clear-faced throughout my 20s, but my significant other was kind enough to point out an uncommon outbreak along my hairline last week. My order for Proactiv should arrive any day now. My expired stuff cleared everything up in a few days. I imagine the un-expired stuff would work even better.

Then there are the aches. I hesitate to use the word "cramp" due to the reaction it causes in Nick who had a not so good experience with a date at a movie theatre before he knew me.

I am in a general state of soreness all the time, so I did not expect a little bit more once a month to be any big deal. Okay, well these extra "aches" have not gone away over the past two months, and they just put you in a downright confrontational state of mind. No joke. Did you seriously just put a cup down without a coaster? CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I AM IN PAIN? GET A COASTER!

I also find myself arguing more with Sophie. I don't know if this is a withdrawal symptom or simply further evidence of my reduced mental state, but I generally feel better after a hearty philosophical debate with the cat. She just really seems to get it in ways that humans do not.

I know it could be a year before the effects of the birth control wear off, and I hope this awfulness abates by then, or my doctor has mentioned the "H" word as the next step. A friend at work doesn't know why they didn't do the "H" in the first place, leaving one less target for the potential disease. Indeed, I would be fine with them removing any and every unnecessary organ, I just get a little nervous with them deciding the kidney according to the flip of a coin.

And just like that, the snow globe flips back over and everything is ethereal and perfect again! I start singing carols loudly and jovially, and Sophie runs and hides before the high crashes and I crave an ontological discussion on existence. Please don't shake me. Just let the glitter settle. Thanks.

Forever Devoted

2009-12-09T13:04:21Z

As a kid, I remember the stack of plastic shapes that looked like bloated cassettes. Dad called them "8-tracks". They all had a picture of the same four boys with funny hair cuts. The favorite movie rentals from the local video store were their documentaries. Dad remembered seeing that famous Ed Sullivan show the day after his ninth birthday. I don't know if I have a strong memory from the ninth year of my life, but I am sure that I had had the chance to experience the Beatles that year, I would have remembered it too. I suppose that my interest was sparked merely because it was music that my father loved, and I loved my father—idolized him. I wanted to be just like Dad.

Regardless of how it began, my interest in the band of all bands has only grown throughout the years. Back before there was a computer with an internet connection in every home, I connected with other Beatles fans my age through email, and we would write line after line of Beatlemania-ish dribble about their humor, their temperament, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Yoko Ono, and the end. Unlike many other Beatles fans the world over, I've never wasted time hoping for a reunion. There were never four of them alive during my lifetime.

Yesterday marked the 29th anniversary of the day that John Lennon was murdered. Listening to the lyrics of his songs, one cannot help but wonder what other truths he would have uncovered through his music. I was living the dorms when George Harrison lost his battle with cancer back in 2001. The news hit me a lot harder than I expected. I am not the type to lose control of my emotions when famous people die. True, I've never been an MJ fan (my 1980s music experience was more "London Bridges" and the "ABC" song than they were modern pop). I have spent my life under the influence of the Beatles...losing George was like losing a friend. I think I listened to "My Sweet Lord", "Something", "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", and "Here Comes the Sun" about 50 times combined that weekend.

I go in streaks with the level of my obsession. An eighth grade music appreciation course covered the Beatles in a unit that lasted an entire quarter. An extra credit question at the end of the test gave a point for every three Beatles songs we could name. I remember asking for a second sheet of paper to keep writing. I had at that time, spent my life studying for that test! It was around that time that I ensnared my cousin, Michelle, into the strange retro-world of the Beatles. I suppose I jabbered on so much about them that she was forced to read up on them just to figure out what the heck I was saying.

We would argue endlessly which half of their career was better (She preferred the former, I preferred the latter). Neither of her parents cared for the Beatles the way that my father did, so she had never been decently exposed to possibly the best music ever. It really didn't take much before she was scouring stores for posters to hang on her bedroom walls. She proclaimed one day that George was her favorite. At the time, I remember teasing her because the other three had much more obvious personality (Sorry George). As I have gotten older, I realize that while it isn't as flashy, there is something spectacular about the quiet, gentle type.

Her name is Michelle, and while she knew that her name was based on a combination of her parents' names (Michael and Ellen), she got it in her head that she was really named after the Beatles' song "Michelle". I told her that maybe her personality was chosen after the song "Fool on the Hill".

It was great having someone so close to my age interested in the Beatles. Dad and I watched and recorded on VHS The Beatles Anthology when it aired on television in 1995. I was excited to share the series with her, and she helped feed my natural obsession.

I won the anthology book, and was gifted the DVD series later. When "Free as a Bird" came on the radio a few weeks ago, I sighed with a happy smile, "I remember when this was released!" Nick looked at me, confused. "YOU WEREN'T ALIVE WHEN THE BEATLES MADE MUSIC." Oh, but I was. Apparently everyone does not know that "Free as a Bird" was a demo recorded by Lennon in the 70's that Paul, George, and Ringo added their voices to and released in 1995.

Nick likes to irritate me. He tolerates the Beatles, but is not a fan. I know, that should be a deal-breaker right there, but I still have hopes that I can break him. It's harder when you don't get them young enough to mold. On road trips, I have my iPod playing. I probably have a couple hundred Beatles songs loaded (plus the hundreds of McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison solo songs that he groups into the same category), so they pop up often in the rotation which makes him fussy. He likes to say asinine things such as, "Who is John Lennon?" at which point I tell him that he is dead to me and find a song where John sings the lead to blast through the speakers.

When we were in the Keys a few years ago, there was a really great guitarist at Mallory Square. His voice was really folksy like Harry Chapin, and beside doing an awesome version of "Cat's in the Cradle", he played "Norwegian Wood". I typically don't like Beatles covers, but that guy did it justice. I looked over at Nick who said it sounded like Scandinavian pornography. Again, should be a deal-breaker. He up and dissed both the Beatles and Norwegians.

I feel the need to remind him of my merciless viking ancestry.

Naturally, the availability of remastered albums has caused my frenzy to return. I know it's silly to want to buy them since I have just all about all of the CDs, but I love this band. It's like having new music again.

I was out walking at lunch time the other day at work, and my friend Sue asked what I listened to while I walk. I told her that lately I've been listening to the fab four. Sue is…well, she's older than my father, we'll put it that way. She said she never really liked the Beatles, but heard they are getting back together again. I told her that it really didn't seem likely since half of them are dead, but she made a point to search online for reunion information. She didn't find much because SHE SPELLED BEATLES WITH TWO E'S! I told her that I wouldn't be able to look at her for the rest of the day.

I guess I've been watching Beatles documentaries and anthologies for almost three decades, and have memorized the voice of John Lennon telling reporters, "I had a vision that a man came unto us on a flaming pie, and he said, 'You are Beatles with an A.' And so we were." That John, funny guy. Spell the band with an "A", please, or you will offend me.

As for my father, he likes the early stuff, just like Michelle. They're all short, catchy, and have to do with love and happiness. I like the drawn out, moodier, introspective ones. I wonder if our tastes in music represent our personalities? Let's not think of that, shall we? I talk to him now and then about the Beatles, and I don't think that he has a clue how much his childhood favorite influenced my own music tastes. He worked a 4:00 AM to 12:00 PM shift when we were young, so me and my brother would only have to spend mornings with a babysitter, and I don't think he realizes that my love of music from the 60's and 70's is directly tied to those days in the cab of his pickup truck, listening to the Oldies while running errands and just hanging out with my Dad.

Enough

2009-12-07T03:00:47Z

I tried the silky texture of a peppermint flavored creamer and thought, "I need to get more of this."

I pulled on my first pair ever of chenille socks, and simple pleasure of wearing them had me thinking, "I need to get more of these."

The thing is, it's always "more" that I want. I did not stop after that first sip of peppermint-laced coffee and enjoy the taste, and I was not content to just wiggle my toes in those luxurious socks. We pulled the Christmas decorations out today, and I had a moment of realization as I placed the ornaments on the tree.

I ran my hands over the tin soldiers and rocking horses that Aunt Brenda painted, the Norwegian rosemaling from my Grandma wishing me "God Jul", and did not want more. They were always my most favorite ornaments growing up, and when I was old enough to have my own tree, my mother passed them along to me. As I hung Nick's collection of ornaments on the tree, he'd try to guess, "My grandma made that for me in...1982?" There is one from what must be every year of his childhood and then some.

I am sure I could search online for hand-painted ornaments, Norwegian Christmas rosemaling, or those with hand-stitching, but we have all we need: we have a lifetime of love hanging on the tree. That's enough. In a world of want, this time of year strikes me as rife with fulfillment.

Sophie's Expanding Waistline

2009-11-27T15:03:35Z

We adopted Sophie when she was six month old, long enough for her to have been trained as a feral cat. It was several months before she trusted us as humans, but she has never shaken the "I have to eat as much as I can because I don't know when I'll get my next meal" instinct. She has had her share of medical issues since we got her, and she will be on prescription cat food for the rest of her life (read: $$$) which has a higher fat content than most. After gaining three pounds at her 2009 exam, the vet hinted that maybe she needs a little help on the diet front.

The vet suggested that we hide little piles of food throughout the house to simulate her natural urge to hunt. Okay, first of all, who has the time? Secondly, besides the fact that she's still a scavenger, Sophie is totally down with the domesticated lifestyle. Seriously, have I mentioned that she rare expends the energy to eat sitting up?

We ignored the issue for awhile, but then I saw a news story about a cat that was taken away from its home because it had grown to 30 pounds and this was seen as a sign of neglect. (More like over-loving, if you ask me.) Sophie is no where near 30 pounds…yet. Instead of hiding food around the house, I started rationing how much dry food she got in the morning, and then I give her a second round of dry food after work, with a partial can of wet food. She is less than happy with me, and usually has her food dish cleaned out within 15 minutes.

She breaks into the squirrels' peanuts when she can get the cover loose, and will even get the top off of her food canister when she finds that it isn't sealed securely. While we eat, her eyes follow the path of the fork from our plates to our mouths. Sophie has not learned moderation in all the months that she's been dieting. Even though she's still very active, she always looks hungry, and I didn't rescue a cat just so she could feel deprived.

Yet, she ISN'T. This cat does not want for anything other than gluttony. Nick was awarded a gift certificate at work, and he has decided to use the money to buy an electric cat feeder. You fill five compartments with food and then set the timer to reveal a new compartment at specific interval. Man, and I thought that dieting for myself was difficult! I didn't have to deal with a pair of limpid eyes speaking ala Oliver Twist, "More, please?"

The night of and morning after my surgery, all I could hear was a cat puking. If you've ever owned a cat, you know the sound. Being in the post anesthesia gloom that always consumes me, I kept thinking, "Great. Now I'm sterile and my cat is dying." Typically, Sophie never has tummy issues, so we are thinking that she found something to eat that she shouldn't have. Was it the orchid that she literally deflowered, or the cinnamon-scented pine cones on the table? Was it a piece of rubber from a shoe or something she dragged out of a garage basket? Hard to say with this cat, eating will be her demise.