The Glass is Half-Full

 I loved Ireland - being there felt strangely familiar. Ive heard it described as the place fit my skins or something like it but more poetic or lyrical. We’ve been home for paver a month, but I feel it calling and know I’ll be back and to what village or townIwil be staying. What I didn’t love, about my Motherland, however, was how difficult it was to get around. And ‘m not talking the driving on the left side of the road. I’m talking about the traversing the sidewalks and buildings while in a wheelchair. I didn’t expect alterations to the old buildings;I didn’t expect an elevator in Blarney Castle just so I could kiss a stone to gain the gift of gab (Lord knows I’ve got that already) or even an accessible entrance to the inn in Kilkenny built in 1264 (though strangely enough they had an entrance with a portable aluminum ramp). What was unexpected, however, was the lack of accessibility at some more modern buildings. And it was that oversight that’s has me appreciative of our own AD

I sat down to reluctantly address Christmas cards. While our list has slowly dwindled through the years it's still a sizeable number, especially when it's viewed as a task approached reluctantly . Know what I mean? Some Christmas 'tasks' are a lot less taskier - like decorating or shopping or eating or opening presents. I mean, there's a whole different level of enthusiasm associated with 'tasks' that aren't viewed as tasks - I can't ever remember a time when I sat down to reluctantly open a present or eat a Christmas cookie! Anyway, I approached the Christmas card addressing with a less-than-positive, more bah-humbugish attitude. I poured a cup of coffee, grabbed the markers (I had to have a green, a red and a black one), the list and of course the envelopes (which John had already stuffed with the card). I turned on some Christmas music, but not too loud or it would distract me (and it really doesn't take much to distract me. Squirrel!),

Have you ever wondered where certain phrases come from? Like, "Cold hands warm heart" ? Often when shaking someone's hand, I hear how cold my hands are. And they are (so are my feet). I don't know why my hands are cold. But I usually responds with the 'cold hands warm heart' phrase. I want people to know that my cold hands should in no way reflect on my overall disposition. I might give you a cold stare if you say something wildly inappropriate, but that's a rarity. Those are the only things cold about me. I have a big heart and a warm personality. Or "It's the least I can do" ? This is a favorite pet peeve of my friend Laurie. It's usually said after someone says thank you for a kind gesture. And the giver then says, 'it's the least I can do'. Really? You're basically responding with "I could have done a lot more but instead chose the option that required the least amount of effort/time/resources because that&#

NewsFlash NewsFlash NewsFlash!! Updates to this original story   read below. Monumental turn of events! 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."  I have lost 25-plus pounds so many times and but those pounds gather friends and come back to find me. I know I'm a friendly sort, but I didn't want them to com

I don't have a huge following with this blog. So when three different people in three different situations on two different days say something like, "Have you written anything recently/miss reading your blog" - I take note. And I do the math, because we all know how much I adore math and just how good I am at math! So if three readers over two days say they miss reading my blog, and I have 17 followers and average readership of 223 per post with 71 posts, and a + b= c then ... heck, I don't know if there's an equation for it, but I do know there is a reason. At my very core, I am a positive person able to see the good in everything and everyone. But I have been struggling. I have been watching as kindness and civility have been eroding. Racism, misogyny, bigotry, fear and judgement have been taking hold and gaining strength. And I have tried to find my voice, tried to rekindle my spirit whilst fighting against the tsunami of greed crashing on and des

I am a kid magnet. Especially little ones in strollers, my fellow four-wheelers. They will look at me, then my 'stroller', then back at me. And I waste no time in striking up a discussion with these fellow captives of the four-wheel system that has us at the mercy of whomever may be pushing us around. For those that are verbal, I like to compare our 'strollers'. One such young man, at the March in D.C. pointed out that I had two really big wheels and two really small ones, but his transport's wheels were all the same size and then he counted (it was adorable watching him squirm around in the stroller to look at the wheels behind him!) eight wheels. "Pus," he lisped what I assume was 'plus', "I have a hood." He proudly grabbed the stroller canopy and pulled it forward and backward. Yep, he had a much superior ride and I told him so. Then he said, with not a hint of awkwardness, "You're big for a stroller." His mother was ab

I recently blogged about my own #MeToo experiences and then went silent. (At least on the blog). Those posts have been read by over 1000 people, and that's a lot for this tiny little blog about living a life with MS and God and with a sense of humor. Suddenly, I felt like I was living in a world where people that read my blog had x-ray vision and could see my nakedness - but I didn't know who they were. It wasn't a good feeling. And then I heard someone discuss Brene Brown, in particular what she describes as a 'vulnerability hangover'. It's essentially the feeling of regret, like after a night of binge drinking, when you think "What did I do/say?" and then "I think I'll just hide out from the world." If you've never had that experience, kudos to you. It's shame, pure and simple, ugly and raw. So, now I'm on a Brene Brown binge, including all of her TED talks. Including this one on shame:  Brene, listening to shame

Last fall, I was asked if I wanted my portrait painted as part of an exhibit entitled "Moving Through the Unimaginable". The requester was a young woman I have long admired, but for the moment I began to doubt my admiration for her because she described the exhibit's subjects as having 'endured adversity or trauma or disease with grace'. I didn't initially see how I fit into that description, but after some discussion with my hubby and reflection, Whitney's (the requester) esteem in my eyes was restored and I agreed. I was looking at myself through my own eyes. Know what I mean?? I don't see myself as exuding any grace as I've 'endured' my experience with M.S. In actuality, I get quite ticked on days like today when the sun is shining and everyone seems to be out enjoying the sunshine and balmy 42 degrees (I live in Michigan and 42 in March is a heat wave!) walking their dog, or biking or just walking. I know my pure-bred mutt Wall

Blogging is a little surreal. I sit here at home (mostly) and write about what's going on in my life or what's on my mind. I don't always publish what I write, but do about half the time.  And sometimes, the posts are humorous glimpses into my mind or life. And others, like my most recent post #Me Too, Too Many Times, the revelations are jaw-dropping and anything but humorous. And then I go out in the world and encounter people who have taken time to read what I write (thank you!). This is where it feels surreal. Because I haven't changed, just what you now know about me has changed. In the Me Too post, what I revealed happened many years ago and has been woven into the tapestry that is me. It was horrendous and horrible, but God has given me a resilience to move through those traumas wholly intact. I am also bolstered daily by my husband of nearly 30 years who holds me and listens to me and loves me. I thank God for John. When you see me, remember that the pe

I've had many discussions in recent weeks with people that have had a huge spectrum of feelings and viewpoints about the revelations that women have been harassed, assaulted and raped. And many of these were revealed for the first time by the women, some of incidents that happened more than 20 years ago. For the first time in their lives, the women have said that they chose now to reveal because they felt 'safe' or 'supported'. In one recent conversation (just after the Harvey Weinstein/Charlie Rose revelations), I was part of, a man asked "Where's the evidence?",  to which a woman said, "It's just not fair. I mean these women can say whatever they want and ruin these men's lives." I held my tongue. Another woman said, "I think they're just looking for their 15 minutes of fame." The conversation continued around me, but I couldn't hear what they were saying because my heart was racing and blood coursin

"This is my kind of town Chicago is my kind of town Chicago is my kind of people too People who smile at you and Each time I roam Chicago is calling me home... Chicago is one town that won't let you down It's my kind of town"   Fr ank Sinatra - My Kind Of Town Lyrics | MetroLyrics     I have always felt this way about Chicago - the city of my birth and the city I love most.  Until my trip last week, I would have said it was an easy city to get around in - and it still is if you're two-footing. But if you're four-wheeling and the sidewalks are snow-covered and the temps are below zero (below zero before the wind chill!!), it's a little more challenging. And I had help schlepping around the city with Delaney pushing my chair and loading it in-and-out of trunks (with the help of some interesting Lyft/taxi drivers). While queing up to enter the CIBC theatre to see Hamilton (incredible, worthy of the hype!!!) in those sub-ze

Are there still telephone operators? I remember dialing (even actually dialing on a rotary phone!) 0 - to call collect or reverse the charges. Mostly to my parents because I didn't have the dime (yes a dime!!) to call home to ask for a ride or to ask if I could go to a friend's house after school. Like rotary phones, I wonder if operators are a thing of the past . . . I just did a quick Google search and there were job listings for telephone operators. Interesting!! Particularly because I think Google has largely replaced another relic of the past - calling information to get a phone number for a person or business. I'm not sure if these calls were answered by operators between calls from adolescent girls calling their parents collect or if there were people in a room with a lot of phone books looking up numbers for callers. Which makes me think of another past relic, phone books. These often unwieldy tomes were delivered once a year and depending on the city or t