Marysvale: Up Close and Natural

Rustic, Rural, and Real...

That's Marysvale!

Welcome to Marysvale.  See that green roof just beyond the yellow flowers in the distance?  It is our privilege to call that house our home.  Marysvale is a sleepy little town nestled at the mouth of Bullion Canyon.  I love the dark night sky here that doesn't compete with neon or city lights.  I love the pastoral scenes, and the good people.  I love the sagebrush, flowers, trees, and even the weeds.  I love the deer, the turkeys, the rabbits, the fox, and the owl that visit our home.

This old building is my ONE MILE turnaround spot.

Today, I just want to share some of the pictures I have captured trying to "live in the moment" here.  You may laugh at my weeds and "my" shack, but it's all good.  This place feels like home to me, even the wild, unkempt parts.  Every season captivates me.  I love the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the fog, the sunsets, and the sunrises.  Everything feels so fresh and clean here.  It is a good life.  A good life indeed.

(The pictures are in no particular order, and
some of the captions were written when the
pictures were taken.)

Several metal crafters live nearby.
Margaret, this one's for you!

Even the weeds capture my curiosity.

How can you not fall in love with this place?

"Grandma" lives on my friend Pam's porch.  She seemed quite perturbed
when I interrupted her nap to take her picture.

Wish I could identify all of the flora and fauna.  Queen
Anne's Lace?

Hiking to Bullion Falls is a favorite activity.

My goal is to capture the beauty of the Rocky
Mountain Bluebird.  This picture fails at that miserably.

When the fog settles over our mountain like a soft, white, winter shawl, I'm glad to be indoors, enjoying the view where it's warm.

It's not the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, but it has a beauty of its own.

The remnants of yesterday's raindrops are dripping off the eaves The sun slips in and out of the clouds as the thick fog that had settled over the valley floor and wrapped around the base of the mountains slowly rises toward the light blue sky. The trees have the open pasture surrounded in a halo of golden leaves. If only autumn could linger in the canyon a little longer.

Quaking aspens...the gold mines may lie empty and dormant, but Bullion Canyon is still full of gold in the fall.

Happy Fall, y'all! Everything I love is here...the golden aspens, the reddening Rocky Mountain maples, the cool mornings, the perfect days. I look forward to wearing sweaters with my jeans, sitting on the deck in the predawn hour, listening to the aspens flutter in the breeze, and taking pictures of all that makes me happy. Of all the seasons, I fall in love the hardest for fall.

When our owl came back, it felt like a blessing from nature that all was right with the world.

Tracking Progress...You Got an App for That?

Can technology give us too much of a good thing? When it comes to apps for fitness and nutrition, I think we can become obsessive about all of the data, and lose sight of some of the more important things, especially our quality of life. 

A few years ago, I was tracking my eating with the Lose It! app, and my walking/hiking with Runkeeper. My experience may not reflect that of others, but I think it's worth mentioning. I really believe sometimes we let technology control us, instead of controlling the technology to suit us. 

July 2013

For the last year, I have played around with the Lose It! app on my smartphone. With it, I can record all of my eating and my exercise, and yes, my weight.  I tend to obsess when I'm in LOSING mode, and this feeds my obsession. There is a calming effect for me that comes from keeping track of everything. It lets me feel as if I'm in control of something, when perhaps everything else in my life seems to be spiraling out of control. It is pretty effective, and just like almost any diet plan out there, it works when I do.  ;-) The caloric expenditure is determined by my weight and duration of exercise. The geek in me wanted something MORE. Enter: the Runkeeper app.

My favorite things about Runkeeper are that it records my routes, the elevation climbed, minutes per mile, and the option of hearing the "trainer's" voice tell me how fast I have walked/hiked the previous five minutes of the workout. The voice lets me celebrate little victories, or pushes me to work a little harder. It even sends friendly reminders to work out if I haven't done so for a day or two, "You thought today would be a good day to work out." The Lose It app helps me track my food intake, and the Runkeeper app allows me to stay motivated with my workouts.

Lately, I haven't used either one. I found that I was losing sight of the BIG PICTURE by getting bogged down in the details. The proverbial problem of not being able to see the forest for the trees was becoming an issue for me. 

Rather than living my life, enjoying my eating, and immersing myself in this beautiful world during my walks, I was focusing on the numbers:  the calories, the minutes, the miles, the pounds. I am practically glued to my phone anyway with Facebook and Pinterest. Adding my eating and workout apps to my social networking and hobbies was consuming me, electronically speaking.

I realized that when I was walking my little Boston Terrier, I would fret if his pit stops were taking too long. "Hurry UP, Marley!" I would hiss. I was trying to shave my time down to a fifteen minute mile, and we didn't have time for him to water every single piece of foliage in the canyon.

When I was with a walking partner, if I realized I wasn't going to make my goal of hiking less than a 20 minute mile, I would start walking faster and then double-back to where they were, and then take off down the road again, to make up for "lost time." 

When I realized I was allowing my apps to control me, and that I was actually not as much in control as I liked to believe, I decided to give them a rest. Who wants to hike with some psycho more concerned about an electronic monitor than the people and pets who are out for some fun and yes, a little exercise, in the fresh air?

Currently, I am taking a Zen approach to my life. Mindfulness will be a lifelong goal for me, I believe. I am trying to pay attention to how I'm feeling and weighing my options before eating. I'm reading labels more these days, and trying to stay away from heavily processed foods. There is so much produce available this time of year, and I'm trying to take advantage of the fresh fruits and veggies. More salads, more fruit, more juice.  Less Fritos, less ice cream, less soda.

Today, I don't feel frantic about my weight and the numbers that have defined me all of my life.  Do you want to know how comfortable I am about where I've been and where I am? I am going to post my weight and size right here for all to see. "It is what it is." The numbers don't change who I am.  I am slowly coming to terms with that.

Here are the numbers, if you're into that sort of thing, and heaven knows, I have been most of my life. I WAS 224 pounds and a size 18 back in 2000.  By 2003, I was down to 147 and a size 4. People were asking if I were okay. They seemed to question my health when I got down to that size. My face was slightly gaunt and my hip bones were noticeably there.  Have no fear; my body wouldn't allow me to stay there longer than a week, and I slowly regained about 15 healthy pounds and held my own in size 6 -8 clothes for several years. After getting remarried, my weight careened to a scary 195. I lived in fear of living in that cumbersome body with the aches and pains again.  

It took some time, but this summer, I'm down to 171, and a size 8. Can you believe I told you that?  Yeah, I can own it and admit it. When those size 8s start feeling good, I will be thrilled. I'm still working on my muffin top and some excess baggage, physically and emotionally. It's going to take some more walking and hiking, and some better food choices for that to happen. By paying attention to what my body NEEDS, and taking care of myself, emotionally and physically, I know I will be able to get to a healthy place.  Mindfulness is the goal for me to embrace.

My writing is going to be my "app of choice" for now. I need to be in touch with my feelings and my thoughts. I refuse to obsess about crunching the numbers for now. Life is always in a state of flux, and for now, I'm going to go with the flow.  

If this approach sounds all New Age-y, maybe it is.  I need to take care of me, and I am realizing I am so much more than a number on the scale or a size on the tag of a pair of jeans. I am the sum of my experiences, wrapped in the love and support of friends and family who seem to love me in spite of my perceived imperfections. I will be forever grateful to have people in my life who see past the exterior of my skin, and value the soul who resides within this shell. Love and acceptance of self is something that has to come from within me; there's just simply not an app for that. And I'm okay with that.

Shhhh...Teachers Are Still on Vacation! A Public Service Announcement for My Teacher Friends

Do your child's teacher a favor this summer. DO NOT BRING UP THE "S" WORD ANY TIME SOON. There's THE "S" word. And there are, of course, other words that start with "S." I'm not talking about the word that could get a kid's mouth washed out with soap. (I've known a few teachers who use that word themselves, under extreme conditions.) I'm talking about the "S" word that nearly every parent mentions when meeting a teacher in public during the summer. You might be thrilled by the prospect of shopping for back to school bargains, and finding out when your little darlings will head back to class, but for now, trust me, don't talk about SCHOOL just yet.

If you must use an "S" word, let it be summer. Or seashore. Or shaved ice. Strike up a conversation about anything besides her employment. Ask her how her vacation is going. Thank her for going the extra mile. Ask her about her summer reading or if she has any upcoming trips. Just don't ask her about school.

This is the first year I haven't felt like running away when I see parents at the grocery store. Now that I'm retired, I can laugh and joke with the best of you, but up until this last year, summers were sacred. They were for unwinding, relaxing, and recharging my batteries for the inevitable challenges that were in store for the upcoming school year.

My kids always knew they'd see me grit my teeth, and try to make polite conversation with anyone who dared mention school to me before August. Seriously? Teachers have the summers off, people! You may laugh as you insert the figurative knife, and ask, "So...are you ready for school to start?" Then you might want to twist said knife and follow up with, "By the way, when IS the first day of school?" Teachers may respond, and actually give you an answer, but we really savor our days of summer. Let us wallow in the precious weeks, days, and hours remaining. If we're in the school building, joke away! If you see us buying our classroom supplies in town, we're fair game. But, if we're soaking up rays at the pool, and have to peer over our dark glasses to respond to your questions, be kind and ask us questions that won't drag our minds kicking and screaming back to school before we're ready to face the music.

Summer is sweet.  Summer is short.  Summer is the proverbial carrot dangling in front of our noses all school year long. Let us enjoy every minute of our time away from work. When school starts, we'll be ready; you can count on that. Just hold off on using the "s" word for as long as you can. Teachers everywhere will thank you!

August 2012...the first day of school during my last year of teaching.

*Food Is a Drug...Just Ask Hippocrates!

Whew. I am exhausted.  I was up at 3:30 to take the Candace and Kayla back to the airport.  It has been a whirlwind week of baking, entertaining, driving, and playing tourist.  I've been staying up later, but still getting up early.  Today I've had steel-cut oats with peanut butter, homemade hummus with veggies and whole grain chips, and I am ready for lunch.  

What to have?  What to have?  What I WANT is a Carl's Junior Fish Taco. What I need is some more salad and fresh salsa.  What's in our house would shock you.  Our pantry and fridge definitely need some de-junking.  There are truffles made of Oreos and Nutter Butter Cookies.  There's a little ice cream left over from Candace's birthday treat.  I froze the rest of the brownies.  We have homemade whole wheat rolls.  Lucky Charms Cereal is sitting on a shelf.  

I heard this quote from Hippocrates just recently on the video Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead:  "Our food should be our medicine and our medicine should be our food."  

Spiral slicer...makes spaghetti out of squash/zucchini.

Clover shaped rolls.

Food has been my drug of choice for all of my life.  I've never been a drinker; I've never abused drugs; I rarely use prescriptions for pain after surgery.  But I have been known to drown my sorrows in a carton of ice cream, and mindlessly eat my way through a batch of homemade brownies or cookies. Back in the day, I shopped at Lane Bryant and the plus-size sections of department stores.  I love to eat, and I especially love to eat desserts.                                                                                                                                                                      

Right now, I am dealing with some physical ailments, namely Sjogren's Syndrome which has resulted in arthritic conditions. These days I'm not looking at Hippocrates' quote as a joking way to look at food, I'm thinking of the truth that is there, and that I may be able to reverse some damage and prevent other diseases by taking a critical look at what I'm putting in to my body.  For 52 years, I've pretty much indulged myself in whatever pleased me.  I need to be more moderate, and find a balance of healthful eating and yummy foods. I need to remember to use food as a drug to heal my physical self; not as a numbing agent for my emotional self.  It's hard to keep that straight, but I will keep trying!

The Early Bird Catches the Fox

Memories of the Summer of 2013

This is the only photo taken by me in this piece. Photo credits go to Kayla for the rest of the pictures.

Our ten-year-old granddaughter Kayla was visiting from Mississippi. She's a delightful, sun-kissed child full of curiosity and manners.  

"Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. Yes, please. No, thank you."  Her soft words fall from her lips like honey. We share a love of mornings and reading. Spending time with her reminded me of pleasant schooldays as a teacher visiting with fifth graders who congregated in my classroom before the bell rang each morning.

Kayla told me about swim meets, best friends, mean girls, group texts, her little brother and sisters, and Gulfport. At night before bed, I read Ruby Holler to her. During our early morning walks, we talked about the book and the characters. 

On one of our walks, we saw a fox out in the pasture by the canal. Later that morning, her Grandpa reported they had seen a family of foxes when driving out of our subdivision in Clearfield. One of the very best parts of our location is that while all things city are within two miles of home, our neighborhood bordered a marshland of cattails and Russian olive trees where foxes, ducks, and raccoons make their home in the sanctuary set aside by the city.

Kayla and I wanted to see the mama fox and her babies. "Let's go out at 1:30 in the morning, so we don't miss them!" she squealed.  I reminded her it would be pretty dark at that hour. "I can see really well.  I won't mind," she assured me. Finally, reasoning with her worked, and we decided we would leave at six and hope for the best. Her Grandpa thought we were crazy.

"Why are you getting up so early?  What makes you think they'll even be there?" he asked us.  Kayla and I just smiled at each other. Morning people don't mind getting up early, especially if there is something fun to anticipate!

I barely nudged her the next morning, and she bolted out of bed. "Foxes," I whispered.  I didn't have to say anything else. After attaching my telephoto lens, I gave her my new camera to wear around her neck. We were out the door in a matter of moments. We whispered excitedly as we walked to the edge of the animal sanctuary behind our house in northern Utah. The ground is thick with trees and cattails. I knew from experience there are raccoons and foxes, but who knows what else has made this little haven its home?

In my adult life, I have spent more hours than I care to count looking for wild animals. My first husband and sons are outdoorsmen. They trap; they fish; they hunt; they call coyotes. My children are so much better at spotting animals than I.  I have learned that to be successful, you have to look for what's different. Look for the stillness in the movement. Look for the movement in the stillness. Look for the brown against the green...or the furry texture against the smooth.  After awhile, it becomes a habit.

Kayla and I were rewarded for our patience. A mother fox and her pups peeked out of the woods. They even took tentative steps to the outer edge of the trees to take a look at us. Kayla snapped many pictures; I just hoped a few would be clear enough to send some home with her. While we were watching the foxes, I detected movement in my peripheral vision.

I couldn't believe it! DEER!  Two mule deer bucks, their horns covered in velvet, were crossing the parking lot of the condominiums behind us, making their way to the empty field.  I had no idea deer lived behind our home.  The bucks generously paused for pictures before they stepped into the camouflage of the trees.  Our morning was off to a great start!

Kayla captured some great shots.  After awhile we headed to the canal in search of the duck family we had seen on earlier walks.

A mother duck with seven ducklings entertained us for awhile and then some older ducks came swimming past. The older ones took turns bobbing underwater looking for some morsels in the mud of the ditch bank.  We had fed bread to the ducklings the day before. The mother duck was very protective of her little ones, charging at any of the older ducks who dared come too close.

The deer were such a surprise.  The  ducks were fun to watch, but I'm sure that the memory that will stay with us the longest is the pure delight we felt in spending time at the edge of the woods with the foxes.  It had been two years since I'd seen them.  Until the day we spotted the lone fox in the field, I'd all but given up on seeing them again.  The city is growing, and I'm sure the little family feels that its home is getting smaller.  It's so nice that Clearfield provides an animal sanctuary as a natural habitat for the creatures who choose to make their home here.  And it is such a blessing to be able to watch them at a distance.

Sharing the Love of Reading

My parents are storytellers.  Not the lying kind, the good kind.  Dad can tell a joke like nobody's business.  He can keep his grandkids mesmerized with tales of his wild high school days, and  entertain his own kids with stories about them from the big guy's point of view.  He can make you laugh, and he can make you think.  Mom had a repertoire of fairy tales up her sleeve that she would share with us inside the tent during the inevitable rainstorms when we went camping in Virginia, or on hot, humid afternoons when no one had any energy to do anything else. One of my favorites was Little Black Sambo.  I remember he didn't just have red shoes; they were SCARLET.  The big, bad wolf didn't just have big teeth, they were ENORMOUS.  Mom never let me order books from the Scholastic book order that my elementary teachers sent home from school. Always a penny-pincher, she would convince me that the library was SO much better.  There were so many books there I would never be able to read them all; and they were FREE.  Mom read to my brothers and me on summer days and school nights. My parents knew how to use good hooks, accents, small details, and good word choices in the tales they told.

As a school teacher, the favorite part of any day was when I read my favorite books to my class.  Even my fifth graders had to come back by the couch, sit on the floor, and listen to the stories.  I knew every book wouldn't appeal to every kid, but I tried to entice them with a variety of voices, changing up the volume, and selecting books with adventure and plenty of conflicts.  Most of the time when I came back after a sub had been there, my class would request I re-read the parts I had missed.  I was only too happy to oblige; I LOVE reading books to kids.

Five weeks into the summer and it is finally my privilege to entertain our 10 year old granddaughter for a week.  Kayla is full of "yes, ma'am"s and "thank you"s.  She is so animated when she tells me about Mississippi and her best friends.  She knows the words to all of the songs on the radio and sings along in her sweet little voice.  We both wake up early, and we have enjoyed taking our Boston Terrier for walks along the canal and feeding the ducks, and then making breakfast for her mom and grandpa.  We both love to read, and it was with great pleasure that I went to Barnes and Noble and selected my very most favorite read-aloud book for her:  Ruby Holler by Sharon Creech.

Each night before bedtime, Kayla and I have spread out on the couch and I have read to her.  When we go for our walks, we talk about the book and what we like about the twins, Dallas and Florida and the old people, Tiller and Sairy.  We talk about how awful the Trepids are who run the orphanage.  I have always loved this book because it makes for good discussions about rules and what makes a good rule.  Kayla likes the book, too, and it has been so fun to share it with her. 

Tomorrow we have to get up early.  We saw our fox this morning on our walk.  I haven't seen him for a year or two.  And when my husband was taking Candace out for her birthday breakfast, they saw the mother fox with her babies.  Kayla and I are going to set the alarm and just sit and wait and hope we get a chance to see them, too!

Good night!

The Evolution of My Diet

It's all good.  Isn't it?

We grew up as a meat and potatoes family.  I married into a meat and potatoes family.  I raised a meat and potatoes family.  Our meat and potatoes family love us some SNACKS, too!  We've been known to consume Krispy Kremes by the dozens, and if it's a homemade treat, watch out!

Now that I'm "older," I have begun to question the way I eat...and drink.  I have been a soda drinker forever.  When we were kids, Mom made homemade root beer for us.  Every night for dinner, we drank root beer.  And then when I became an adult, and with my adult-level-thinking, I decided that it would be much wiser to drink DIET soda, to save myself some calories.

There is such a wide variety of soft drinks available.  Entire aisles at the grocery store are occupied by bottled and canned liquids enticing us with sugar or sugar substitutes.  Back in the sixties, there were two diet sodas:  Fresca and Tab.  Fresca was grapefruit flavored, clearly not developed for my childish palate!  Do you remember TAB?  What a miserable excuse for a soft drink THAT was.  I determined that sacharine was nasty stuff and have always steered clear of the "pink packets" on restaurant tables.

Over the years, I've tried to give up my Diet Pepsi.  I seriously love the taste.  Occasionally, I like a little Diet Dr. Pepper.  I would endure the three day headache that comes with the initial cessation of caffeine.  I would triumph over the cravings, drowning my thirst with quarts of water.  If there had been any visible, noticeable differences, like losing some quick weight, I might have pursued giving up pop altogether.  Come Saturday morning, I'd step on the scale, and if there wasn't a five pound drop from last week, I'd question what I was doing.  I hadn't lost WEIGHT, I had terrible headaches, and I just didn't enjoy that much water.  And back to soda I'd go.

After the Netflix propaganda-fest at our house lately of healthy eating, the vegan lifestyle, the Gerson approach to healing with nutrition, juicing, and documentaries about our questionable food industry, I have begun to think.  Thinking is always a good thing.  One of my biggest obstacles is mindlessly living my life.  Doing things according to habit, with no thought of consequence.

I'm realizing that my body has to process everything I put into it.  And then the guilt began to set in.  (Sorry about that pesky preposition!)  I had recently started eating FRITOS.  Food doesn't get much more processed than that.  I have no idea what's in them.  Cornmeal and grease, I'm betting.  And salt to make them yummy.  Give me a small bowl of Fritos (well, a big bowl would be even better) and a big, old, ice-cold Diet Pepsi and I was in Snack Nirvana.

Earlier on my blog, I posted my recipe for Le Beau Citron (homemade limeade).  Drinking freshly squeezed limeade made with natural stevia is what started my whole separation from Diet Pepsi.  I found that the citrus drink was so refreshing, that I didn't really want anything else.  I promised myself I could have a soda on the weekend.  That Saturday, when I ceremoniously popped the tab on my sweating can of soda, my mouth watered in anticipation of my first sip.  EWWW.  What had happened to my yummy drink?  It seemed acidic, sharp, and it assaulted my mouth.  I drank some more just to see if it improved, but I eventually emptied the rest down the drain.

If soda is full of artificial sweeteners and chemicals, what is in Fritos?  And Pepperidge Farm cookies?  And Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs cereal?  (A-hem.  Yes, these items resided in my pantry.  Don't judge.)
I started to THINK about my food.  I started looking at the ingredients.  And I started to put things back on the shelf and look for a healthier option.  (No, I did NOT put them in the trash.  Don't judge.  There are other people in this house besides myself to consider.  And what if I decide I need a little SNACK later?  Huh?  Well, now you know why I didn't dispose of the offending food.)

My husband bought a juicer this summer and loves pulverizing fruits and vegetables into a drinkable liquid.  I'm more of smoothie girl, so I add my fruits and veggies to the Vitamix and make frozen concoctions packed with nutrition, but they still give me the satisfaction of eating something sweet, cold, and creamy.

A friend asked if I were eating the Paleo Diet.  My son and daughter-in-law have done that for awhile, with good results.  If you're not familiar, allow me to simplify the idea for you.  You eat like a caveman on the Paleo Diet, but hopefully with better table manners.  If you can hunt it and gather it, you can eat it.  Plan on meals with plenty of meat and veggies.  And not much bread.  Or cookies.  Or Fritos.  No, I am not following the eating habits of any prehistoric tribe.

I am not following ANYTHING, except my heart.  I am not an herbivore, a carnivore, a Paleo dieter, a vegetarian or a vegan.  I am an omnivore, a whole foods omnivore.  I've read recently that some vegetarians have the worst diets ever because they believe as long as it's not meat, it's okay.  Their diets consist of voluminous amounts of junk food and have little to do with vegetables and fruits.  They simply avoid meat.

It was with great delight I read about Venus Williams' calling herself a CHEAGAN, a cheating vegan.  I guess I could be considered one of those.  I eat (you do realize I mean to say I have recently BEGUN to eat, don't you?  This isn't coming from years of experience as a healthy eater!)...ANYWAY, currently, I eat vegetables, fruits, grains, eggs, Greek yogurt, and cottage cheese, and when the mood strikes, I am still up for a good piece of meat, whether that be fish, poultry or beef.

My son is so worried I've become a vegetarian.  I'm not THERE.  Yet.  I am just trying to stick to WHOLE FOODS, and avoid consuming so many processed foods. Meat will still find its way to my table, but I have to force myself not to think about where the meat was before it was at the store.  I think that's a sign of some kind.  I am not going to dwell on that right now.  I'm just doing the best I can, eating as healthy as I can.  "When you know better, you do better."  This is where I am right now. And right now, I am glad there are no Fritos on top of the fridge today because all of this talk about eating is making me hungry.

P.S.  People always want to know...have I seen a difference? YES.  After a week-long trip back home to Virginia, I packed on a fast six pounds.  Within six days of returning to my smoothies, salads, fruits, grains, and selective meats, I lost those six plus two more. My skin is clearer.  I'm not craving my junk food.  I don't desire soda any more. Was there water weight lost?  Of course, there was.  All I know is I'm back on track after a week of eating NOT mindfully on vacation, and I feel pretty great physically, all things considered.

Was Thumper Wrong?

The looping soundtrack that runs through my head, the phrase I hear when in the midst of conflict, is really not that helpful.

The one line that surfaces whenever there is an argument, or a disagreement, is "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all."  

You're familiar with the words if you've ever seen Bambi.  Unlike me, though, you probably didn't base all of your conversations on one little line from a Disney film.

There are people who question my silence, those who think I should "say what I mean, and mean what I say."

Why couldn't THAT have been my lifelong motto? No, my brain latched onto a silly little bunny's advice, and took it, and twisted it into a way of life.  

"If you can't say something nice...don't say nothin' at all," Thumper's father told him, and his mother reminded him. 

How can I un-learn that response that has been automatic for me since childhood?

My mother repeated it often enough as we were growing up. She hated the words, "Shut up," which I also took to heart. I never allowed my students to say that to each other in my thirty years of teaching. My own children knew better than to say that to each other. I realize now that Mom's quoting Thumper was effectively a kinder way to say, "Shut up."

There are so many ways to approach a dark time, a setback, or a period of trouble. Perhaps I could have found someone else to emulate, and I would have developed better interpersonal relationship skills at the same time.  

I could have tried Dirty Harry's response, "Go ahead.  Make my day." Well, perhaps that isn't the best line either, but I definitely wouldn't have been walking away from conflict.

While pondering other perspectives, I was scanning the internet, and found a little gem entitled, "25 Movie Quotes to Live By" on the Total Film website.  Who knew? I should have checked it out sooner. 

Dr. Venkman of Ghostbusters fame offered this little line:  "I don't have to take this abuse from you. I've got hundreds of people dying to abuse me." That's a nice little comeback with a sprinkle of self-deprecating humor, for good measure. 

Just so you know, I scanned all 25 suggestions, and not one of them was Thumper's quote.  So whether Thumper was right or not, it may be unwise to base most of my conversational input (or lack thereof) on the advice of a cartoon rabbit.

My interpretation of Thumper's advice has been "Suck it up. Don't whine. Don't complain. Don't gossip. Refuse to add to an argument. Suffer in silence. Go along to get along."

Seriously, it's time to try a new tactic. I need to take pity on the poor people who try to converse with me. They bring up something that makes me uncomfortable, and I whistle and look off into the distance, trying to avoid adding fuel to the fire.  Saying NOTHING is not always the best tactic. 

Perhaps I could try a southern version of Thumper's advice, "If you can't say something nice, say what you need to, and quickly add, 'Bless your heart.'"

I've been through several years of counseling, and one thing I've learned about myself is that I believe I have a right to my own opinion...it's just hard to believe I have the right to express it. When I have dared to cross that make-believe line I've drawn for myself, I have watered down my thoughts so much to make them diplomatic, I hardly recognized them as my own.

Flight or fight response? I have always chosen flight. And that's just downright rude sometimes. I needed to practice hearing someone out, and offering an appropriate response, even if it's not agreeable to the other person.

I began to question my silence after being enlightened by Brené Brown’s talk about Comfort vs. Courage, and I began seeking to live my life with the value of courage. I realized that I can disagree without being disagreeable. 

It was hard, at first, to find my voice because it had been silent for so long. For me, what worked best was to be sure I was coming from a place of peace and love when hard conversations needed to be had. It was easier for me to be brave when I knew I could be kind when I speak my truth.

All of my life, I had confused being totally honest with being mean. It makes me sad that it took so long for me to see how wrong that thinking is, but at least I am learning it.

Perhaps Thumper's mama should have taught him, "If you can't say something nice, make sure that you speak with courage and respect." There. I like that much better. 

It is empowering to know that I have a voice, and it deserves to be heard. It is comforting to know that I can express myself freely if my value is courage, and my motivation is peace and understanding. No more staring off into the distance, keeping my thoughts to myself. I have a voice, and now that I have found it, I will use it for good. 

*No More Skiing?

"What are you going to do when you retire?"  I heard that question time after time as the end of May approached.  And I knew how to answer it, too. We're going to hike, bike, and ski. I've enjoyed an active lifestyle since about 2000, when I tried weight lifting, walking and running to get in better shape. When I was in my late forties, I decided I needed to learn to ski.

Still smiling on New Year's Day
2012

Last Christmas, I gave my teenager a season pass to Eagle Point Ski Resort. I wanted us to take advantage of the weekends we had together by skiing and boarding. New Year's Day was a perfect day for skiing, clear skies and sunshine. 

It is also the day that I joined the ranks of the injured athlete. I'm no professional; I am a "nube," a novice, but I try to make up for any athletic prowess I lack with enthusiasm. That can get a girl in trouble, apparently. 

I finally agreed to take on the hill to which my ski instructor had challenged me the previous year. It was with great trepidation that I started my descent, and the next thing I knew, gravity took over, and I was a tangled mess of arms, legs, skis and ski poles, careening down the mountain like a tumbleweed.

My doctor told me that I had torn my MCL. (I'd only heard of ACLs; the MCL is the ligament of the inner knee.) His face lit up with a big smile.  

"You have something in common with Karl Malone of the Utah Jazz!  This is the same injury that ended his career."  

If that was supposed to be comforting, it certainly was not. Lucky for me, I don't rely on my knees to make my money. I was able to return to my fifth grade classroom immediately; I just had a little "hitch in my get-along," as they say.

It seems that my passion for skiing would have to wait until the MCL healed, until about June. June is a pretty crummy time to hit the slopes, and my hopes were dashed. We only skied that one day last season, and the klutz in me saw to it that we we began and ended our fun times together on New Year's. NOT WHAT I'D ENVISIONED.

Summer came; I retired; I started hiking. I hiked with my boys in Saint George, checking out the ancient petroglyphs; I hiked with friends along the Bonneville Shoreline; I hiked alone in Bullion Canyon; I hiked with Bridger to Calf Creek Falls. I met a woman while I was hiking, and we exchanged phone numbers.  I had enlisted another hiking partner! The summer was off to a joyous start.

I just like this x-ray. My doctor assures me we can prevent
further damage in my finger joints by getting started now.

And then I met with my rheumatologist yesterday. I wasn't there about pain, necessarily, but about weakness. I knew there might be a problem when I started thinking perhaps we should buy our milk in quart-sized quantities because lifting half gallons hurt my wrists. Offers to massage family members dwindled because it hurt my hands to knead muscles for longer than a few minutes. Whenever I brush my finger across my nose, there is a sharp pain in my index finger. Once during a massage for myself, my wrists cracked and popped, much to the horror of the masseuse.  

"Wrists shouldn't do that.  You need to see a doctor soon," he advised.

So there I was, waiting for my lab and x-ray results. It seems my rheumatologist had two things to discuss...previous injuries that were causing a problem, and a diagnosis to explain my weakness and pain. Dr. Mathews snapped the x-ray of my back onto the lighted view box. I knew it wouldn't be a pretty sight. Falling out of a tree on my tailbone, and a couple of BAD landings in gymnastics when I was young had taken their toll on my spine. Lower back pain is just something I've dealt with since I was a teenager.

Basically, he told me that the GOOD news was that the damage in my spine occurred in the vertebra just below the end of the spinal cord, so if a future injury occurs in that fragile spot, it won't paralyze me. Well, that WAS some good news!  (Holy cow, this wasn't going the way I'd hoped.) He went on to tell me how unstable my back is.  

"You could do the same movement a hundred times without a problem, and then one day, your back might slip, and you will require the assistance of an ambulance to get you to a hospital, and surgery to relieve the pain in your back."

There was a crooked woman...
That tail bone should NOT be
that far to the right.

No walking on un-level surfaces. No sudden falls. No twisting ever. No lifting anything more than 25 pounds. No taking chances. No hiking. No skiing. No fun.

Then he went on to tell me I have Sjogren's Syndrome. Long story short, my body is a desert. I lack sufficient moisture (dry mouth, dry nose, dry eyes, etc.) that also affects the lubrication of my joints, which leads to arthritic conditions. Lovely. When I Googled Sjogren's, I learned that I have something in common with Venus Williams, the famous tennis player. This condition is what sidelined HER this year.

If I am going to have things in common with famous athletes, I would prefer it to be their salaries, their muscled physiques, or their mansions, if anyone in the heavens is listening. Just sayin'...

This is all still sinking in to my muddled brain. I am bummed. My feelings are hurt. And yes, I guess I'm a little depressed about the diagnosis, but I've always been a Pollyanna when it comes to setbacks. 

My mom taught me to see problems as challenges.  I've always banked on "when there's a will, there's a way." Once I realize that my life isn't ending, it's just going to be different, I'll be fine.

Was everything Dr. Mathews told me gloom and doom?  No.  I did hear a couple of "green lights." I can still walk on level surfaces, although NON-weight-bearing exercises are preferred. Biking and swimming are great, he reminded me. Biking is an activity I enjoy. We'll have to check out more of the bike trails in Utah. I love water, but I don't like swimming long, monotonous laps with my head underwater.  I like to "soak."  If I'm not going to be hiking and skiing, I better figure out new ways to burn calories because I sure don't plan to give up eating.

Speaking of eating, Venus Williams has adopted a raw, vegan diet since her diagnosis of Sjogren's. I've been trying to incorporate more veggies into my eating, and less red meat this summer anyway. I'm going to go slowly. Research. Experiment. Maybe this will turn into one of those blessings in disguise. Miss Venus is looking pretty trim these days. Miss Denise could use a little more lean flesh herself! There's the first glimmer of the silver lining.  

"It's all good," as they say in the south.  There's a saying which is not attributed to anyone famous, or anyone at all, really, that I like.

"It's not over until it's over."  And my ride definitely isn't over.  It's really just beginning, isn't it?

P.S. I cannot find the source of the above quote located on Pinterest, but I found a wonderful blog entry by Laura Jayne Martin that explores this whole "Everything will be okay" thing. She came to the same conclusion about the source of this quote. It's been attributed to many, including Paolo Coelho and John Lennon. I loved her writing.  Warning:  her language may offend some, but if that doesn't scare you, try reading "Everything Will be OK" here:   http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/everything-will-be-ok/