The Glass is Half-Full

"Winter Weather Advisory". "Winter Storm Warning". It's winter. It's Michigan. Snow is going to fly. Wind is going to blow. Temps are going to dive. Yet, the weather-forecasters want to keep us hyper-vigilant to the fact that the snow is flying, the wind is blowing and the temps are diving.  We along the shores of the Great Lakes are especially aware of winter's weather, "lake effect snow" just means winter weather on steroids. We have the Ziggy cloud (for those of you unfamiliar with this reference, the cartoon character Ziggy was often depicted with him being followed by a dark cloud - I tried a Google search but came up empty, so my explanation I hope draws picture enough!) from December to March. My mom will sometimes call from sunny Phoenix referring to the cloud over Saugatuck. One winter we had 20 snow days in a row following Christmas break (that might be a slight exaggeration, but it felt like 20!). It's winter. It's

When in college, I discovered Kenny Loggins' song "Celebrate Me Home". The lyrics spoke to me and that time in my life. I've added the link here so you can read them and here the song: Kenny Loggins - Celebrate Me Home Lyrics | MetroLyrics Now, I'm discovering anew this song and the meaning it has as a mom of three adult children. As I was preparing their rooms, making some of their favorite Christmas treats (only batch of chocolate peanut butter balls), and creating a grocery list (it's a skill with one vegan and one vegetarian) - this song was playing in my head. As I was decorating the Christmas tree, with each ornament that has a story, I began to sing this aloud - loudly and off-key with only the dog to hear. He didn't howl, as this part Bloodhound is known to do, so it couldn't have been too off-key. Wally watched my preparations and I knew that he knew what it meant, his buddies were coming home, so maybe he was simply being extra-tole

I'm especially good at finding lost or missing objects - a skill I attributed to my "ULD" (uterine locating device). This includes my previously lost pounds always inevitably finding their way back to me. Damn them! In an attempt to keep those pounds permanently lost, this time, I had approached my Weight Watchers experience as a lifestyle change instead of a diet. So this time instead of working hard to lose the weight, reaching goal, doing a happy dance, buying new clothes and celebrating the weight loss success by promptly going back to living and eating as I had before the diet and then wondering why the new clothes were getting tighter ( blaming the damn dryer, or cheap fabrics, or temporary water weight gain) - I decided instead to look at Weight Watchers as my own 12-step program. While I'm not a food addict, I don't always make good choices about food- I prefer asiago cheese bread and bagels to Tumaro wraps, and I prefer cheese on just about anythin

A friend sent this article to me today: Are you Old? Infirm? I can relate. Though  I'm not old - despite what the three-year-olds in my Sunday school class say. And I am not infirm - and I'll wack over the head with my cane anyone, repeat anyone , that would call me that. I resemble Nancy in the article. She calls herself crippled. And Mr. Bruni wrote, " I confessed that I cringed whenever she called herself “crippled,” which she does, because she values directness and has a streak of mischief in her." I prefer the term 'gimp' and have also had others cringe when I say that. I like the term they arrived at "limited" but it's not perfect - maybe just a little more politically correct. I have felt that diminishment when in my wheelchair. But being a tad feisty and Irish, I fight that with every ounce of my being. My personality has always been a little on the large side and not very quiet or shy, so I make it a challenge to 'be see

Have you ever binge-watched a show? I have and I blame Netflix. And quite possibly I need to find a 12-step program. And now when I there is a series on television that I get hooked on the seven days until the next episode are excruciating. And I'm grateful for the recaps because I almost forget what I watched.  This is the first summer that I've been forced to watch one of the binge-worthy series without one of the not-so-little Piggins. They're all adulting while clearly, I'm not! Last summer, Matthew and I watched Game of Thrones. (I abhor the violence and nudity but the story line is intriguing. Of course, I needed Matthew to remind me who was who and which kingdom was which.) We would hear John come home from work and we would quickly turn off the TV because we didn't want him to witness our pathetic bingeing (especially since he'd been adulting all day).  I have gotten John to join me, however, when we watched Homeland. It was a sad commentary that

My life has been a lot like this roller coaster. Not just ups and downs, but several twists and turns. Sometimes I am whooping for joy, hands in the air ready for the what lies ahead while at other times I can see a loop or drop coming and the dread is palatable, the nausea is real. And also like a roller coaster is my weight. I've never been svelte but I have been within the BMI range. I have also been overweight and more recently the scale put me in the obese category. And that should have scared me into action but instead I just made excuses or rationalizations like "It's because I use a wheelchair to get around," or "I'm sure once X happens I'll lose that weight," or (my favorite) "It's just water weight/constipation". (Like all I needed was one really good poop and I'd be at my target weight! No plunger in the world could have worked! Like comedian Ron White says 'Just one really good dump from a new pant si

Add insult to injury. My hair is gray. AND thinning!!! And to pile on to my grievances, I am losing weight but most of it appears to be coming from my face and breasts. Yikes. I'm having a difficult time feeling like the hot-mama I used to be or to trick myself into believing I still am. Hell, the wheelchair definitely doesn't help. On a recent bar-hopping excursion (when we crashed our friend's anniversary celebration), we went to several establishments I frequented in my younger and wilder hot-mama days. It was a night of dichotomys. The me that I was would have never looked twice at the me that I am. But I so wanted to jump out of my skin and chair and celebrate like I used to. Okay, maybe not exactly like I used to (I am after all 50 something and the mother of three adult children), but just for a moment and without any recriminating video proof!! But now I'm getting over myself as I realize nearly every woman over 50 probably feels something akin to wh

Rain, rain, go away. Don't come back another day. My hair is frizzy. Barometric pressure makes me dizzy. If I go out, wet I'll be. No umbrella hand free to protect me. I'm no Longfellow! And I don't think I'd win a poetry slam, but you get the idea. Rainy days, even when they're not Mondays, get me down. Because when you're navigating the world while four-wheeling, rain presents additional challenges. Last week, for example, the wind was blowing hard enough to blow my wheelchair seat cushion off my car where I'd placed it while removing my chair. It landed in a puddle, upside down, and rested there long enough that the absorbent material in the comfy cushion absorbed quite a bit of water. I may have let an expletive fly, because a store clerk who was standing up against the window under the protective eave, smoking a cigarette and looking at her phone, actually looked up. She didn't come to my aid, but she looked up. Thankful

If you've read my blog in the past or know me from the 'real world', you know about my pup Wally. Well, this 105 pound lap dog is now on a diet. Yep, one too many loaves of Asiago cheese bread stolen from off the counter. Or two too many peanut butter and treat stuffed Kongs. Or could it be that he's been too good at his job of Pre-Wash leaving no crumb (but plenty of green vegetables) un-licked. It certainly could be that his sweet, adorable face has garnered him a few (hundred?) extra treats. Or that a certain someone has soft-spot and can't ignore Wally's laser-focus stare while eating her breakfast/lunch/dinner compelling her to share a small morsel. I have to blame you and your charm (well, not completely because I am a push-over). Whatever the reason, my companion and I are now on Weight Watchers together. Instead of two cups of kibble twice a day, Wally will now get one and a half. No table food from a certain someone that is me no matter how guilty

I've been in my wheelchair now for over a year - sometimes it seems like 20 and others times seems like days. Depends on a lot of things including my mood for the day (whether my 'get-up-and-go' got up and went), the weather (let's face it even the heartiest of Michiganders don't always want to venture out in blustery, snowy or icy days) and what's on the agenda (if I have a date with my hubby or going to see the not-so-little Piggins). Another variable, about my attitude towards the wheelchair, however is what I believe I will receive from some people when they see me in the wheelchair. What I mean is, some people see ME in a wheelchair and others see me in a WHEELCHAIR. Many times someone will see me coming and give me a look of sorrow or pity - it's a look that gets under my skin and makes me want to scream "You don't see me -I'm not pitiful I'm in a wheelchair!" (actually, what I want to scream sometimes includes a few four-letter

The title of this post must be read with the tune of "I Feel Pretty" from West Side Story. And feeling wonky is in no way similar to feeling pretty. As a matter of fact, I'm fairly certain they are as dissimilar as vanilla and chocolate or logic and 45. Actually, it's difficult to feel wonky and pretty at the same time. My children used to accuse me of making up words and I'm pretty sure wonky is one of those words. According to Merriam-Webster wonky is an adjective of British origin (as a matter of fact, when I'm feeling particularly wonky as I do now, I am imagining John Oliver speaking the word, wonky) that means "shaky, unsteady, awry". And that is exactly how I feel. It's a great descriptive term. I even used it with the doc at urgent care on Saturday, and I hope he knew what I meant and didn't think that I was just cracked (another great British slang term meaning loopy). It's a UTI and after a couple days on an antibiotic, I&

The March on Washington was one of the most powerful and positive experiences in my life - all 56 years of this life. And this post, I have to warn you, will be as disjointed as the March! I got to go with Matthew!! And we weren't sure if Delaney was going to be able to join us, but were thrilled that she could. She got to our hotel about 6:30 am having driven all night with two of her friends. After less than an hour, we all piled into the Subaru and began our trek through the complicated and congested DC highways and byways. After our drive Friday along the tollway through Ohio and Pennsylvania, where we encountered many many many others also going to DC and the March - I wasn't surprised by the traffic or the packed-to-the-gills Metro on Saturday morning. What did surprise me, however, was that once we got to within a mile of the March, there were more people than I had ever seen in one place. Okay so the last picture wasn't taken at the March - but it se

It seems appropriate, in a strange-only in my head-sort of way, and keeping with my theme recently of rolling, that the song playing in my head lately is  "Roll out the barrel . . ." As I've been rolling lately instead of walking, I seem to have added to my girth and it has landed, like a big ole roll around my mid-section. It's happened gradually over the last year and I attempted to: 1)   Deny and/or; 2)   Cover and/or; 3)   Exercise and/or; 4)   Change my diet. Well, the "And/Or Plan" wasn't working because my waist kept expanding and with that expansion my motivation (which is minimal on a good day!) was dwindling. So, with a roll around my midsection and "Roll out the barrel" playing in my head, I rolled into Weight Watchers three weeks ago. I had weighed myself at home and the number on that scale was sad - but I guess I should have had my glasses on when looking because the scale at WW showed me a number th

In April of 2010, I witnessed firsthand the pain and sorrow that comes with losing your voice. John had been in treatment for throat cancer for about a month and the radiation treatment burned his mouth and throat gradually making it more and more painful to talk. As we'd been married for 22 years, we could could communicate most things by gestures and looks (all you long-married couples know what I'm talking about!). But on Easter Sunday, when the congregation stood and began to sing     , John was silent. I sang the first verse along with the congregation, but the knowledge of why John was not singing, that he was silenced, hit me like a tsunami and I began to struggle to hold back the tears on what was supposed to be a joyful Christian celebration. Cancer had rendered by husband's voice mute. Since November, I too have been struggling to find my voice. My written voice. The sometimes funny, sometimes insightful, almost-always positive voice that I've used in thi