Goodbye to The Month of April

April, you were given a bit of a bad reputation by T. S. Eliot in his poem The Waste Land.  He called you the "cruellest month."  

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 

Memory and desire, stirring 

Dull roots with spring rain. 

Winter kept us warm, covering 

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding 

A little life with dried tubers. 

I wonder what he would have written had he spent this past April in Colorado.  His poem was not a happy one.  He was speaking as one with depression.  The reawakening of the earth is so often a difficult time of year to those with depression.  

Eliot  might have actually liked living here in Colorado because on this next to last day of April in 2016, the lines about winter and how the earth is covered in “forgetful snow” speak of the reality we are experiencing where I live.

 The snow, at times in thick curtains, falls silently to earth blanketing everything it touches.  The effect is one where everything appears to have been redecorated with thick white cushions.  As the day continues, the snow seems to be dissipating.  The warm earth that had soaked up sun a few days before is drinking in the snow quickly.  The trees branches weighted with snow, leaves, and blossoms droop and slough off the added weight of snow. 

 Some see this time as an extended time to do some cross-country skiing.  

Snow is April is common in the mountains and foothills of Colorado.  Snow in April is best seen as an unexpected gift where one is able to enjoy those things we most love about winter.

I’ve been trying to do that very thing myself.  I drink in the beauty of this unexpected snow.  I welcome the moisture which is feeding the life that wishes to spring up from the ground now covered in blankets of white.  I cast off the extra weight of being frustrated by things I cannot control.  I am reminded on days like this when snowy weather is not really what I might wish to have that I can choose to have a day of gold rather than a day of lead.   I welcome another day spent cozily ensconced in my home.  These days are as temporary as a spring snow.  They never last long.  They provide time for reflection, rest, and recharging.

Honestly, I’ve done so little for a month that I am beginning to feel as if I’m at risk of being completely slouched from the whirl wind of busy lives that buzz around me.  Will I ever again completely join the flurry of life that has been passing me by recently?  

Yesterday, my husband and I spent the morning doing a lot of nothing.  “I’ve wasted the morning away again,” I lamented as I headed to the shower when it was nearly noon.  “No you didn’t,” said my supportive husband.  “Did you enjoy yourself wasting time?  If you did, you didn’t waste it.”  Then he added this gem:

Beside, we have less time in the future to waste time than we did in the past, 

so we might as well enjoy wasting it.”

***********************

I can’t say that I have actually wasted time this entire month.  It just feels like it sometimes.  On March 31, I had cataract surgery on my right eye.  I spent the first few days just listening to a story on Audible.  I couldn’t bend from the waist or do heavy lifting, so I let housekeeping chores slid.  Once I was better, I caught up on my chores, did a little planting, had lunch with friends, visited the sick, and did a bit of exercise.

Ten days ago, on April 19, I had surgery on my left eye.  I again did not have any anesthesia during the surgery.  The surgery all went very well.  My doctor was fabulous.  He talked to me through the entire surgery to keep me calm.  I was quite proud of myself for being able to have both surgeries without taking any drugs.  

The day after the surgery, I could tell that the left eye was not responding like the right eye did.  I could not see anything but light and shadows.  At the one day follow-up appointment at my eye doctor’s, I could not see the big E on the eye chart.  All I could see was a lighted square on the wall.  That was a bit unnerving.  The eye doctor was quite concerned about the amount of inflammation I had in the eye and by the condition of my cornea.  He sent me home with instructions to do nothing for a few days but rest and put prednisone drops in my eye every two hours.  It is crazy how one eye had no problems, but the other eye had significant problems after surgery.

Following the doctor’s orders, I went home and listened to my story on Audible.  (Standby for a future post about the book I listened to.)  The Auschwitz Escape is a great book.  I really enjoyed it.

I was back at the doctor’s office in two days.  The eyesight was improving significantly.  Finally, at the one week mark, the eye was nearly back to normal.  I have 20/20 eyesight again.  I’m very pleased with the results after having the surgery.  It will be a month or so before I get new reading glasses.  

*************

Now that the eyes are all fixed up, I’m working on getting some dental work done.  That is always a fun thing to do.  I’m also trying to resolve pain issues in the left sciatica and hip area.  This has been an on-going area of pain for at least fifteen or twenty years.  Monday’s MRI and the one from February don’t give us any definitive answers.  In the meantime, there are days when I have trouble walking and sleeping because of the pain.  Because of my allergic reactions to steroid shots in the past, we are ruling out shots for right now.  I see the specialist that operated on Jim’s back soon.  Hopefully, he will have a plan.

Quite honestly, I am now ready to see May arrive.  I have some travel plans for May and June.  I can't wait.

It's Been Snowing, But I'm Not Snowed In

It has been snowing in Colorado.  I know that the calendar says that it is April, but the calendar alone is not a predictor of the weather.  In fact, I've been thinking that it would be best to throw the calendar away and not even be aware what month it is.  

I've lived in or near the mountains for much of my life, so I'm not really surprised when it snows in March and April.  In fact, I plan on the heaviest snow falls of the year to occur the last week of March.  I even expect snow storms in April.  I just expect them earlier in the month.

I see photos of flowers and trees blooming, and think that a different version of spring would sure be a welcomed treat.  I'd like to be rid of winter-like weather, but the weather doesn't seem to care one bit about what I want.  

This morning I have such a beautiful snowy view out of my window.  The sun is again shining, and there are hints of blue.  The rooftops are covered with two or three more inches of snow that fell over night.  We've been this pattern of snow followed by a bit of sun for days.

Sunday morning, I watched a little bunny rabbit that lives near my house as she was digging deep into the snow looking for food.  She found something that kept her nibbling for quite some time before she hopped over to the bare barberry bush next to her and started nibbling on it.  Now, I know why my newly planted barberry bushes did not do well last year.  The neighborhood bunnies feasted on them. 

Yesterday morning the snow was nearly all melted.  I saw that there were new green shoots of a perennial coming up in my neighbor's yard where the bunny had been lunching the day before.  I also noticed how green the grass is becoming thanks to the moisture provided by the snow.  The daffodil blossoms  are spent, and we don't have tulips in our neighborhood because the deer eat them.  The moisture that we have gotten from the snow is quite welcomed.  I must keep that in mind.  May flowers need moisture.  In Colorado, that springtime moisture generally comes in a more solid white form than it does in other areas of the country.

*************

Blogging has taken a back seat in my life as late because working on the computer has bothered my eyes.  On March 31st, I had cataract surgery on my right eye.  It seems to have been quite successful, but I find I still don't handle the glare from computer screens, my iPad, and my iPhone that well.  Today, April 19th, in just a few hours, I will have the cataract on the second eye removed.   I will be glad to get these two surgeries behind me.  

I will be rather limited in reading and writing for another week again.  That is the hard part!  My husband downloaded a book, The Escape From Auschwitz, by Joel C. Rosenberg, for me to listen to on Audible after the first surgery.  I am half way through the book.  It is quite an interesting and intriguing book.  I will again be listening to the book for the next couple of days.  I then hope to have a successful recovery and be back to reading and writing again soon.

Since I can't bend from the waist, or do strenuous activity for at least a week after the surgery, it is good for me that we have snow and cold weather.  By the time the sun appears again, I hope to be out in the yard planting more flowers and plants and hoping I just not planting things  for the bunnies and deer love to eat.  

I Am Against the Land Swap Proposed by the Broadmoor

It is rare for me to use my blog as a place for political action or political views.  I am very passionate about a land swap that has been proposed by the Broadmoor Hotel to the City of Colorado Springs. If you live in Colorado Springs, I urge you to write Mayor Suthers on this matter.  I also urge you to sign the petition linked below this letter.

Dear Mayor Suthers,

I am a third generation native of Colorado Springs.  My grandfather on my father’s side came here in 1908 to work for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad.  My great-grandparents on my father’s mother’s side settled in the Florence area as early as 1889.  On my mother’s side, her great-grandmother was in Colorado Springs within just a few years of its founding.  My mother’s father, came to live with his grandmother within a few years after his grandmother arrived, around 1893.  Needless to say, my roots go deep in this community.  

My father, William (Bill) French, was born in Glockner Hospital one hundred years ago on April 11, 1916. During his early childhood he lived on the west side of Colorado Springs.  The neighborhood where he grew up in his earliest years was razed to build some of I25.  When he was around ten years old, my grandparents bought a home at 823 E. Boulder, which was the family home until the 1980’s.  My father grew up going to Columbia School, North Junior High School, and Colorado Springs High School.  When he graduated from high school, he attended Colorado College and worked at Busy Corner Drugstore.  During the war years, after he had married and started a family, he purchased a home at 924 E. Boulder.  This was my childhood home.  Just before I was born, and just before he left for World War II duty, he went to work for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad as a clerk.  My grandfather, A.M. French, was a telegrapher for the D&RG RR and had been since 1908.  So, not only do my roots go deep in Colorado Springs, but they also go deep when it comes to General Palmer’s railroad.  I am a railroader’s daughter.  For that I am extremely proud.

 A lover of Colorado Springs, her beauty, and her history, my father would take us on long rides every weekend showing us the town, the land, and the area that he considered our heritage and our legacy.  He was a storyteller, and oh how I wish I could remember those stories.  I think we all could benefit from hearing the stories my father and his uncles could tell us about Colorado Springs.  

During the time the Air Force Academy was built, my father was assigned as a loss inspector for the railroad and it was his task to inspect all the building supplies that were shipped to the Academy by rail. Since my father was able to have a bird’s eye view of watching the Academy be built from the ground up, he wanted to share that historical time with us by taking us on rides up to the area every few weeks so we could see the progress being made.  Those are treasured memories.

During this same time, and after, my father was involved with the Colorado Springs Planning Committee.  I am not sure of the exact dates when he served on this committee.  I only know of how much he wanted to preserve what he thought made Colorado Springs the wonderful place that it was.  He was against anything that took away from the natives having access to public lands that had been bequeathed to the city.  He believed that we had a duty to honor General Palmer’s views of preserving the beauty of Colorado Springs.  He did not want developers of any type to destroy the natural beauty of Colorado Springs.  He believed we could have growth while also preserving our natural treasures and keeping them open for the general public.  It was then the public’s duty to keep these treasures of land safe.  Whenever we went for picnics in The Bluffs or in the Garden of the Gods, we had to form a human chain just before we left so that we picked up every piece of garbage, paper, cigarette butts, or bottle caps we might find in our path.  We were taught to leave things and places better than we found them.  We were taught to leave no or little footprint when we were in the places of nature that surrounded Colorado Springs or in other part of our beloved Colorado.

My father worked with and for Mr. Thayer Tutt, who was director of the D&RG RR.  He would always tell of stories of when he had to go see Mr. Tutt at the Broadmoor.  Mr, Tutt would ask, “Bill, how’s your railroad doing?”  My father would answer with, “I believe it is your railroad, and it is doing well.”  There was a close connection in those days with the holdings of the Broadmoor and the railroad, but I don’t think my father ever saw that as anything that would indicate that the Broadmoor was interested in a what many would call today a “land grab.”  The Broadmoor was a local treasure and enjoyed by her citizens, just as so many other showplaces of Colorado Springs were.

It was in the 80’s, after my father retired, that the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad was changed forever.  That was when Phil Anschutz, a man who owned "more land than any other private citizen in the United States” bought the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad.  It broke my father’s heart because he saw it as a way for the new owner of the railroad  to access some of the most valuable land in Colorado.  He knew the railroad was a good as dead when this deal for Anshutz to purchase the railroad was over.  He was right.

Some of us are not fooled by the transaction called a land swap. I see this as one more way for Phil Anschutz to acquire another piece of Colorado for his empire.  My father was not one to mince words; neither am I.  I think the winner in this swap is not the people of Colorado Springs.  The winner is the Broadmoor and Phil Anschutz.  I urge you to stand on the side of the people of the town whom elected you by making sure this land swap never happens. I urge you to keep Strawberry Fields as an undeveloped area owned by the City of Colorado Springs to be treasured and loved by, and enjoyed by her citizens.  I urge you to stand against corporate gain that may drive small businesses out of business.  I urge you to stand with the “little guy” that doesn’t have power in city politics.  I urge you to listen to the taxpayers of this town who do not wish to have a land swap of a piece of land that should remain in the City of Colorado Spring’s possession and under her protection.  

Yesterday, as I parked my car near what was once know as Busy Corner, Tejon and Pikes Peak, and I crossed Pikes Peak heading south on Tejon, my eyes drifted to where the magnificent Chief Theater and Burn Building once stood.  As I looked at that empty space that is covered with a parking lot, I was reminded of a conversation my father had with Mayor Larry Ochs back in the seventies.  My father was in Colorado Springs visiting after he had been transferred to Grand Junction to serve as Superintendent of the Western Slope of the D&RG RR.  As the two visited, Mayor Ochs asked my father what he thought of all the changes in Colorado Springs.  My father’s reply was, “I think Colorado Springs is becoming a kleenex town.”  Mayor Ochs asked for clarification, “A kleenex town.  What do you mean?”  My father’s reply was so indicative of his wit, his ability to use great metaphors, his love of Colorado Springs, and his disappointment over the loss of historic buildings and spaces, “Yes, a kleenex town.  You use it once, then you throw it away.”

Mayor Suthers, I urge you not to throw away Strawberry Fields.  Making a land swap with the Broadmoor Hotel for this property would bad for the citizens of Colorado Springs, for those whom may wish to visit our city in the future, and for wildlife.  Again, I urge you to remember not to throw this property away by making a deal that is not in our best interests.  Remember my father’s kleenex analogy when you ponder this decision.  Vote against the swap.  

Sincerely,

Sally L. Wessely

https://www.change.org/p/colorado-springs-city-council-the-broadmoor-hotel-anschutz-entertainment-group-no-to-the-broadmoor-land-swap-deal-our-historic-wildlife-open-space-is-not-for-sale?recruiter=82654902&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink

A Remembrance - Julie

Julie, my bi-centennial baby, would turn 40 this year.

4 - 8 - 16

multiples of four mark Julie's 40th birthday.

I try to imagine what Julie would be like at 40.

I asked Amy what she thought she would be like.

"She'd be the same," she said.

I had a dream not long ago about Julie.

In my dream, someone asked how old Julie was.

I said,

"She has no age.

She is ageless.

She now belongs to the ages."

Julie is no longer bound by time.

She is timeless.

We, in this earthly realm are still bound by time.

We, in her family, mark time by such remarks as:

"Julie would be 40 if she were alive."

"Julie has been gone nearly six years."

"I saw 8:08 on the clock today and thought of Julie."

Time has moved on since our dear Julie left our midst, but she is never far from our minds.

She remains so very dear to our hearts.

She lives on in our memory.

On her birthday, we celebrate the life that blessed our lives when Julie was born.

When Julie turned 33, I wrote a blog post about her birth and early years on our private family blog.

On Facebook that year, I wrote, "Julie celebrates her birthday tomorrow."

She responded with this:

did i get a 17 paragraph blog post smile emoticon

Seventeen paragraphs would not begin to describe Julie.

In my memorial service tribute, I tried to describe Julie this way:

Julie, my free-spirit with a soul that was as rich, full-bodied and interesting as her hair, was born on a spring morning on April 8, 1976. My springtime pixie, born while the daffodils were in full bloom entered this life like a fire cracker during the bicentennial year of our nation’s birth. She seemed to be all sunshine and laughter as a young child.

Julie had such a sense of fun throughout her entire life.

That impish quality that was so evident in her early life was a quality she always had.

She was clever.

She had such wit.

And her cleverness allowed her to be quite creative in most things she did in life.

She was energetic.

She loved to dance, to hike, to ski, to run.

She ran marathons and was on the track team in high school.

She was playful, spontaneous, active, dynamic, enthusiastic, graceful, outgoing, and adventuresome.

Julie was nurturing.

She love babies and children.

Babies and children loved her.

She loved being an auntie.

Reading with Hannah

Julie was smart, imaginative, logical.

She was a very hard worker and was a valued employee.

She earned a B.A. in English.

She loved to read.

Her favorite author was most likely Virginia Woolf.

She kept journals.

She liked to write and was an excellent writer.

Julie was interesting, friendly, inventive, logical, confident, and big hearted.

She loved being with family.

Julie loved her dog Phoenix.

Julie had such style.
She had good taste in decorating, and in dressing.
Clothes always looked good on her slim, athletic body.

Julie modeling my old coat from the 70's

Julie had great friends 

Julie & Jason

Julie was courageous.
When she was eighteen she had her first bout with severe depression.
She fought a battle with depression her entire adult life.
Her mood disorder caused her to be
moody, distant, troubled, detached, insecure.
Many never knew how much she suffered from depression.
At times she could be so annoying.
Her moods were overwhelming to her and others.

Still, she showed up.
She was independent, and wise, and trustworthy.

Julie had such physical strength and balance.
She always seemed to be the one we leaned into for balance in family dynamics,
or when we decided to kick up our heels in fun.

I always think of her as the lynchpin.

On the day that would have been Julie's 40th birthday,
I want to remember her as she has always been to me:
my beautiful springtime pixie.


My heart broke when she left us.
It will always be broken.
Between the broken pieces in my heart, my love for her, and her love for me, allows me to   remember clearly and  see her beautiful blue eyes and her smile.

I think of her sense of fun and of whimsy.
I remember her wise beyond her years intelligence.

I remember her arm around my shoulder.
I remember the special bond that we had.

I am blessed because 
Julie Ann Christiansen
was a special gift God sent to me on
on a beautiful spring day in April when the daffodils were blooming
forty years ago today. 

My life was so enriched because she graced my life.
She remains my treasured daughter.

March in My Neck of The Woods

March, 

you and Mother Nature need to talk.

According to the calendar, winter is over.

Spring is here.

March,

I always have such great expectations when you arrive.

My head begins to dream of  

flowers blooming,

sun shining,

and trees budding.
My soul longs for green grass and colorful landscapes.

March,

you are typically the snowiest month in Colorado.

Do you think you and Mother Nature could talk and change that statistic?

March,

when you arrive, I know your track record.

 You always seem to bend those optimistic looking daffodils over until they touch the earth from which they so recently have sprung when you cover them with your thick covers of heavy wet snow.
Soon their jaunty heads will defy the snow you bring.
They are hearty and resilient flowers.
They must be to deal with you,
March.

March,
I know you and your ways.
I've learned to adapt to your capricious ways.
When I was just a child, my grandfather told me all about you.
He'd say, "If you don't like the weather in Colorado in the spring,
stick around for five minutes and it will change.

March,
even though I know how you are,
I fall for your ways on those days when you bring us sunshine.
Your whimsical nature
makes me dream of sunny, warm days filled with flowers, and birds, and shady trees.

I imagine warm spring and summer evenings on the new patio I just had built
for those warm days to come.

On those days filled with your whimsy,
I forget how temperamental you can be.
The very next day,
you bring snow, and wind, and blizzards that keep me indoors and shut down traffic.

Deer looking for food on March 26, 2016. They are trying to eat pine needles on the tree they are under.

In my memory, I hear my grandfather singing, "When it's springtime in the Rockies,"
whenever it snows.

Yes,
March, I know all about you.

March,
you can be so volatile.

March,
your days are coming to an end for this year.
I am so looking forward to
April's
visit.

*************************

March has been as capricious as ever this year.

Easter plans were nearly ruined by the heavy snow that fell the two days before Easter.  Jim had to work on the day before Easter, and it snowed and snowed and snowed.  I had purchased food to cook for Easter dinner.  The weather changed all our plans for having family with us for our Easter celebration.  

That didn't stop me from cooking.  It was snowing.  The house was empty.  I had nothing else to do, so I cooked.  I made homemade rolls, a large bowl of potato salad, and frog eye salad.  As I cooked, I talked to my dear friend Linda on the phone.  She also was cooking for family.  Her family also had to change their plans.  I said, "Linda, come on over here for Easter dinner.  Let's put our food together and celebrate Easter together."  She said she'd made a cake.  I didn't have any dessert made yet.  I had a ham.  I told her not to cook her turkey.  She had cheese bread she'd made.  She also made a green salad.

After Easter church services, Linda and her husband Greg came over and celebrated with us.  It was good to have the time with the dearest of friends.  The sun was shining, the snow was melting, and we celebrated the renewal of spring that we would surely see in days to come.

I remembered to take a photo of Jim and Greg after dinner, but since I didn't take one of Linda and me, I am including a photo taken of us a few years back on Easter Sunday.

***************

The last few days we have been able to get out and walk when it isn't snowing.

The dark skies over the mountains confirm weather predictions.

Snow is on it's way.

We live in a valley at the feet of the foothills.

As we walk up the steep incline that is just a few blocks from our house,

we can get just a peek of the peak that is Pikes Peak.

Storm clouds are gathering.

We live in the city, but sometime's you'd never know it.

We get the best of both worlds where we live:  close to the city and close to the mountains.

That means we also get the snow that others just a few hundred feet lower,

and just a few miles away,

don't get.

It is snowing again tonight.

The prediction is that it will be colder and there will be more snow and wind tomorrow.

March is not going out like a lamb.

I will have cataract surgery tomorrow.

I predict I will be spending the day after surgery wrapped up in blanket and enjoying the beauty of the snowy world around me.

Potpourri

Potpourri,

a mixture,

a collection,

a mixed bag,

a rag bag.

A blog post

becomes a collection of thoughts and activities when one has been 

away from blogging for over a month.

Where to start?

I had a birthday while I've away from blogging.

Daughter Amy and granddaughter Hannah came to help me celebrate.
We also celebrated Amy's birthday which is usually five days after mine.
Every four years there are six days between our special days.
I was born on February 28.
I gave birth to Amy on March 5.


Amy and Hannah brightened my birthday by being with me to celebrate,
and Amy brightened the house by putting together this vibrant and colorful birthday bouquet
which I enjoyed for days.
My son-in-law had to touch the flowers to see if they were real.
Thanks again, Amy.



All the kids sent me a Mother's bracelet that came from Sheridan and Ryan's shop, Hip & Humble.
I just love it!

After Amy and Hannah left for home, Jim and I took advantage of the beautiful weather we were having by taking a walk under beautiful blue skies in the Garden of the Gods.



We had a lot of cake back at the house, so Jim's daughters, their husbands. and children came over to help me celebrate later in the evening.

The next day, Jim drove me to Denver for a doctor's appointment.
After the appointment, we drove out to tour Amy's place of employment, a data storage center.
Once we passed security, we had to go through this gate to get to the front door where Amy met us.

We were very impressed by the entire operation that happens at such a place.
It was all quite interesting.
Amy is the company's human resources generalist.
The girl actually gave in and let me take her picture.
Mom's have to brag on their kids once in a while.

*****************
March has been such a busy month.
It seemed I lived at National Jewish Health during March as I was having many tests done.
I won't bore you with details.  I just had a lot of GI testing for chronic problems.
I am doing well at the moment and feeling good.
That is the good news.

******************

I've attended way too many funerals this past month.
One was for the mother of a friend.
One was a heartbreaking one of a young man whom had been a student when my husband was principal.   He was the victim of a senseless act of violence.

I also serve on the funeral committee at our church.
This last month, we've unfortunately been hit by quite a few deaths in our church.
Our committee puts on a reception for the family and other attendees after the funeral service.
This means that we usually work five or six hours putting it together and cleaning up afterwards.
The ladies on the committee have become very close,
and we have a lot of fun together behind the scenes.
At one funeral earlier this month, I was in charge of making the coffee.
The coffee maker malfunctioned.
Actually, the coffee machine was fine,
but the maker of the coffee (that would be me) put the wrong size carafe under the machine.
I had a huge mess on my hands.
Let's just say coffee was going everywhere, and it kept on flowing before I figured out what to do: forget about cleaning  up the mess and get another pot under the machine.
Then I cleaned up the mess.

We serve because we have served by others when we lost loved ones.
Now, we are giving back.
It is good to serve others during their times of bereavement.

**************

Two weeks ago, I hosted for my high school girlfriend get together.
Thank heaven's EH co-hosts with me!
I get so scattered getting everything ready that I am useless.
EH comes in and helps me set things up, get the food served, and she even stays and helps clean up.
She keeps things together while I flit around losing my mind.

The time with the girls is a celebration of fun, friendship, and food.

This time we had fabulous Mexican food.

As is our tradition, we gathered to lift a Margarita toast to those dear friends that are now departed.

Then, we feasted on homemade tamales, green chili, enchilada casserole, and the most amazing flan cake.  There were veggies, and chips and dip, cheese cake, too.

Needless to say, we had quite a feast.

Before we ate, we took our group photo on my front porch.

I used the automatic self timer on my camera for the first time.

Note that I barely got to my spot in the group before the camera took the picture.  

I'm just glad I didn't knock over the tripod.

I love these girls!
We are all so blessed to have each other.
Our friendships become richer and more priceless with each passing year.

***********

Jim and I took a road trip to see my mother last week.
I hadn't been over to see Mother since September.
Since she lives on the other side of the Rocky Mountains, I no longer make the trip in winter.
After checking the weather forecast, we determined the best day to make the trek.
On the day we left, snow started falling in the mountains.
I suggested a more southern route which my husband thought seemed too far out of the way.
In the end, he took my suggestion.
Terrible snow storms that included wind, blizzard like conditions, caused road closures on the route we usually take.
Thankfully, no snow fell on us, and we had very little traffic.

I'd not told mother we were coming until we left home because I didn't want to disappoint her in case weather prevented us from making the trip.
She seemed so happy and quite surprised to learn we were coming.

The morning after our arrival, I snapped this photo of Mother.
This photo captures so much about her.
She is enjoying her coffee and the newspaper as she does every morning.
The coffee cup says CSHS on it and has a image of her high school on it:
Colorado Springs High School.
Her green thumb is evidenced by the gorgeous orchids on her table.
I gave her those orchids last year for her birthday.
She'd never grown orchids before, but that didn't stop her from keeping them blooming a year later.
The painting on the wall is one she painted.
The smile shows she is engaged and engaging.

She tells me all the time that she isn't going to let anyone one do for her what she can do for herself.
She often tells me she gets up and cooks herself an egg and bacon every morning.
"I cook a real meal. I don't just pour cereal in a bowl.  I make a meal."
"If I stopped doing for myself I'd be done."

I asked if she needed to go shopping.
She did.
She needed make-up.
So, she got her spring coat on and off we went to the mall.

This woman, my amazing mother, will be 100 years old in May.

She has a new walker that allows her to get around better than when she uses a cane.
She stood up straight and tall and pushed that walker through the mall.
In my mind, I heard her short quickly paced high heel clad steps walking down the sidewalk in front our home when I was child as she came home
from Wednesday evening choir practice at the church in the next block.

Straight and and tall, all 4'10" of her tiny frame stepped out at a pace that amazed me as she pushed that walker.
Again, an image came to my mind.
I saw her pushing a baby buggy down the street towards the bus stop, clad in high heels, walking at a fast clip, she was going to town to do some shopping with my baby sister in the buggy,
and myself at her side.


This day, all those years later, we had lunch at the mall where she commented on hair styles and clothing styles.  She notices such things.  She's up on all the styles.  She doesn't like some of them.  I wonder if anyone even knows what style is these days.

Then we went to buy her makeup.
She said she needed one more thing while we were there.
She was out of Chanel No. 5 perfume and needed to get a new bottle.

Yes, that is my amazing mother.

**************

Today is Good Friday.
It was warm this morning.
I went out dressed in a light sweater and slacks and flats with no stockings as I went to the store.
This evening when we went to dinner, I was dressed in winter pants,  a warm sweater, and boots.
I put on my long wool dress coat that I had not put on all winter to wear to Good Friday services.
It was snowing like crazy all through dinner.
We actually had thunder snow where it was thundering and snowing at the same time.

We missed Good Friday services because of the weather.
It just didn't make sense to go out for night services on a night like this.

On Wednesday, we were snowed in due to a blizzard.
Earlier today, before the snow hit, I went out to buy groceries.
I've leaned to get to the store early when snow is in forecast.
I'm not sure if my daughter and her family will make it down on Easter because of the forecasted storms, but I thought I'd better plan as if she were coming.

I picked up the last of the asparagus at the store.
I picked up one of the last six hams that were left in the store.
I got the last of the daffodils; there weren't even a dozen in the last few I grabbed.
They had plenty of eggs which I needed.
Thank heavens, they also had plenty of jelly beans.
I love jelly beans.
The store manager told me that he'd not gotten shipments in for the end of the week
due to storm early in the week.

As I left the store, the parking lot was filling up fast.
I was glad I made it there relatively early.

I don't think we will have an Easter egg hunt on Sunday.
It would be hard to find eggs in all this snow.

Happy Easter!

*************

Twenty Years Ago Today ~ A Tale of Teaching and Toxic Exposure

Fifty years of age may seem to be an advanced age to begin teaching.  It seemed reasonable to me when I took on my new teaching career at the half century mark of my life.  Teaching had been a lifelong dream of mine.  I began college right after high school with the goal of becoming an elementary teacher.  I quit college before I achieved my goal.  Soon I was married.  Then, I was a stay-at-home mother to five children.  After a divorce which left me unprepared for the work world, I took a secretarial job and in time began to work on finishing that college degree.   By the age of forty-five, I had nearly raised five children, and I had completed a bachelor of science degree in  business administration.

The dream to teach had not died as I worked as a secretary and as a bookkeeper.  So, at age forty-eight, I finally went to work on getting the education I needed to teach.  By the time my fiftieth birthday rolled around, I had nearly completed my B.A. In English and was doing my student teaching.  I would soon be endorsed to teach secondary Language Arts.  After graduating Summa Cum Laude in May, 1995, the next hurdle I faced was finding a job.

Feeling quite fit and very healthy, I began my first year of teaching in August, 1995.  I’d been hired to teach seventh grade language arts at Risley Middle School in Pueblo, Colorado.  Risley was in a rough neighborhood.  I was advised by veteran teachers not to smile until after Thanksgiving.  Smiling would label me as a softie.  I was also told never to cry in front of those tough kids.  Many of them were already involved in gangs or in gang behavior.

My classroom was a interior room.  It had no windows.  It had been abandoned for a few years as one of those rooms that was only used when there was a larger enrollment.  In other words, it was a typical room for a newbie teacher.  I hadn’t earned the room with a view yet.  It was stripped bare of teaching supplies.  I couldn’t find a paper clip or a piece of chalk in the place.  I set about setting up as my classroom.  Soon school started, and my students arrived.

In November of 1995, the weather had turned cool.  This meant that the heating and cooling system came on in the building.  I immediately began to develop symptoms of sinus congestion, fatigue, ear pain, and headaches.  I attributed the symptoms to exposure to all those new germs that a first year teacher gets to meet.

Over the Winter Break in December, my symptoms all went away.  They reappeared with a vengeance in January when school stared up again.  I had a terrible burning in my nasal passages, a raspy voice, and a dry, irritating, non-productive cough.  My symptoms always improved over the weekend.

I also had flat red rashes wherever skin was exposed: my arms, my face, my neck, my scalp.  At first, I thought it was a reaction to a new skin cream I was using.  I quit the cream, and my symptoms only got worse.  I applied cortisone cream.  The rash stayed.  It never went away until after I was no longer teaching in that building.  My students also seemed to be sick often and were out of school in droves.  They had bronchitis and pneumonia.

Interestingly, I would notice that every Monday morning when I came into the classroom, there would be yellow dust on the desks at the front of the room, the chalkboard, and on my desk and podium.  I would dust it off and wonder how the chalk dust was getting all over the place.  Then, it dawned on me that I didn't use yellow chalk.  The concentration of dust was greatest under a very large heating duct in the ceiling that was located just over where I would stand to teach.  I was becoming suspicious of the vent.

I was continually so fatigued that I could barely function.  I taught my classes each day, did as much planning and grading as I could, and then would leave the classroom about an hour after school because I could not tolerate the respiratory, and neurological symptoms I would feel as the day progressed.  I would go home, make my way to my bed where I would read until my husband or my daughter Julie would return home for the day.  Julie was in college.  She and Jim did all of the grocery shopping.  Julie did a lot of the cooking, or Jim would bring in dinner many nights because I didn’t have the energy to go out.

On February 12, 1996, I smelled a terrible sewer like smell.  I had actually been smelling this odor off and on since late fall of 1995, but on this day, it was worse.  I also thought the odor sometimes smelt like burnt hair.  The odors seemed to be coming from the heating duct at the front of the room.  On this particular day, my classroom was not fit for instruction, so I took my students from the room and went to the library.  When I returned to the room, a sulfur smell that reminded me of rotten eggs permeated the room.  I thought the air also seemed quite moist.  In fact, I noted that a fog like appearance was on the window of my classroom door when I returned to the room.

When I returned to the room, I felt very light in my head.  I thought I would vomit from the smell and began gagging.  I asked to leave work for the rest of the day.  I called my husband to tell him what had happened.  He told me to go directly to the workman compensation doctor and to file an accident report stating that I had become ill from the air quality in my room.  I did as he suggested.  The doctor noted in his notes, “Exposure to noxious fumes.”  He also stated in the report, “Have air quality checked at work.”

The room was investigated by school district safety staff officials.  No problem was identified

On February 15, 1996, three days after my room was declared safe, I was back teaching in the same classroom.   It was the day after Valentine’s Day.  I still remember the beautiful bouquet of a dozen red roses from my husband that greeted me when I returned to my classroom that Thursday morning.  My room was cheerfully decorated with red hearts, and other decorative touches.  A student had given me a paper rose that she had fashioned for me the day before.  It was attached to my podium.  I sat at my desk to prepare for the day.  On my desk was a photo of all five of my children that was framed in cloth and cardboard picture frame that had been a gift from a parent.

I had been in the first class period of the day for about twenty minutes when I became violently ill.  I rushed to the restroom which was located near the nurse’s office, a short distance from my room.  I hesitated to leave my class unattended, but I had no choice.  I had to get to the restroom - fast!  As I ran past the nurse, I told her I was so ill that I had left my classroom unattended.  I had barely made my way into the restroom when the electrical power to the building went down.  I rushed back to the classroom, pulled my students out into the hall where we had air and some light.  We were in the hall for a very long time.  More than an hour.  My students were complaining of being sick, of having headaches, of being intolerant of the light.

As we sat in the hallway, I began to make notes in my DayTimer.  I was already keeping notes on the fluctuations in the heat of the building.  At times, it was intolerably hot.  I had been noting my symptoms at work for several months.  As I sat on that hallway floor, still sick and dizzy, I was recording the day’s event when a man walked by.  He appeared to be a maintenance worker.  I’d never seen him before.  He was dressed in overalls and a work shirt.  He was carrying a beaker like container that had some murky looking liquid in it.  He had a towel-like rag draped over his arm. He said to me as he passed by, “The electrical power should be back on soon.”  I describe the man in my DayTimer, and wrote, “Who is that guy?  Why is he in the building?  What is that awful looking liquid in his beaker?”

When the power went back on, an announcement went over the P.A. saying, “Students we will now go to second period.”  My first class period students departed. I entered my classroom, and soon, my second period students arrived.  I noticed with shock that the dozen red roses on my desk were now all drooping and dying.  They had been beautiful a few hours before.  They had plenty of water.  The paper rose was also wilted looking and no longer standing upright.  The picture frame separated where the frame was glued to the backing.

I picked up my grade book and proceeded to my podium so I could take roll.  I couldn’t read the page.  Not only that, I couldn’t form words.  My tongue felt swollen and I had “cotton mouth.”  I was slurring my speech badly, was confused, and I thought I was going black out.  A student asked with alarm in her voice, “Mrs. Wessely, what is wrong with you?”

I answered with a question, “Are you students ok?  How do you feel?”  This same student answered with, “I have a headache.  I got it when I walked in your room.  My mouth feels funny.  I think I’m going to be sick.”  I responded with, “Do you have a metallic taste in your mouth?  Do you feel like you have cotton in your mouth.”  A resounding “yes” from the students came back to me.

I walked over to the phone on the wall and called the school nurse.  “Come and get me.  I’m going down.  I’m very sick and about to black out.  My students are also sick.”  She was there in just a few minutes.  She led us out of the room and took us to the gymnasium with instructions to “call the health department.”

Most in the school personnel  thought I was crazy, but other teachers were also having significant problems.  The custodian would make a show of telling me the room was just fine and not too hot.  I heard through the grapevine that I was a menopausal hysteric.

On February 15^th, just three days after my room had been declared “fine” the health department official came out to the school and entered my classroom.  She promptly got sick.  My room was closed down with a sign that said, “DO NOT ENTER.”  She and I would meet over the next months at the work comp office.  I still remember the union president saying to me in a somewhat mocking voice, “Sally, you have been vindicated.  The health department employee got sick in your classroom.” I never taught in that classroom again.

Another specialist from the health department was called in.  He interviewed me and noted I was confused and slurring my speech.  He asked a fellow teacher friend if I often drank on the job. 

One month later, the entire school was closed down.  We were not allowed to take our textbooks, our grade books, or any other item from our classrooms.  We completed the year in three different locations.  The school was gutted and the heating and cooling system was revamped.  I think it would be conservative to say that millions of dollars in law suits, doctor bills, and reconstruction cost to the school would be spent over years to follow.  I guess I wasn’t crazy after all.

As a teacher in the State of Colorado, I could not sue my employer no matter negligent their actions might have been.  There were lawsuits in this matter where I was a plaintiff and where I was a witness.  Many called me the “whistle blower.”  That title was bestowed upon me when I first went to the work comp doctor.  He told me he wouldn’t go back in the classroom without a canary on his shoulder.

What was I exposed to?  The doctor’s report reads:  

Documented exposures in the building include high level biocide and fungicide
exporters.  These include: Diamet, 2-mercapatobenzothiazole, (2-MBT), both of
which are known sensitizers, as well as polyacrylic acid copolymer, polyethylene
dichloride, and irritants potassium hydroxide, sodium hydroxide, and phosphoric
acid.  The other concern in this building is potential bioaerosol exposures related to
the use of evaporative cooling, and duct board duct work.  

My Medical Records from the Chemical Exposure

My workman comp medical file is nearly six and one half inches thick.  I have another equally thick file from attorneys.  In the next fifteen years before my file was closed out, I would see nineteen different doctors that were related to the injury in one way or the other.  I went through three workman comp attorneys because they kept retiring.

  A handful of doctors, three to be exact, believed me when I first started linking symptoms with my environment.  They were my first work comp doctor whom I saw on February 12, 1996.  He told me to put a canary on my shoulder when I returned to my classroom.  He was serious.  The other was my internist.  He told me to get out of town to get a good evaluation.  He was right. I insisted and was finally able to be sent to my wonderful doctor at National Jewish Health.  She is still my doctor. 

**********

At the end of the school year, my contract was not renewed by the school district.  My passion to teach was not dampened by my first year of teaching when I suffered a terrible chemical exposure.  I finished the year as a very sick woman, but I was determined to find another teaching job. 

I am proud to note that I never cried.  The kids knew I was tough and that I would stand up for them and look out for their best interests.

The next school year, I was hired to teach English and English as a Second Language at the high school level.  I went on to earn a M.A. in Teaching English as a Second Language.  Eight years later, I left the classroom and ended my career by writing curriculum and developing a program where teachers could earn an endorsement in Teaching the Linguistically Different (ESL) at Colorado State University-Pueblo.  I also taught future teachers of ESL and Secondary English at CSU-P.  I learned a lot my first year of teaching.  Mostly, I learned that I love to teach and nothing would stop me from pursuing my chosen career.  

***********

I’ve needed to write this account for a very long time.*  Many of the details of the initial exposure are fresh in my mind.  It took me years to get over the emotional effects of learning I was teaching in a very unsafe environment.  I believe I carry the physical effects of the chemical exposure in my body today.  I’ve never again been healthy like I was twenty years ago.  The doctor’s notes, the legal papers, tell the tale.  If they weren’t in my possession, sometime I wonder if even I would believe this story of my first year of teaching.  

* I wrote about my journey to becoming a teacher here:  Time in the classroom: Becoming a teacher. I promised I would write about my memorable first year of teaching.  I finally did.

Valentine's Day

We didn't exchange cards this year.

I say to him,

"Have you seen the cost of a card?"

I heard a commentator on the radio say you could buy a paperback book for the cost of a card.

True that!

I suggested we go to the store, 

pick out a card for each other,

exchange the cards we pick in the card aisle,

then, put the card back and go to dinner on the money we saved.

Jim loved that idea.

I have files full of cards from my Valentine.

I think I've saved them all.

He saves his too.

Maybe we should pick out our favorites and re-exchange them.

There is no doubt that this man is my Valentine whether I give him a card or not.

A blog post is free, so this one is dedicated to one I love.  

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

My Valentine 2012

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

There was a day, a very long time ago, when we were in high school, when this guy was my date to the Sadie Hawkins Sock Hop.

He was crowned the King of the Hop.

I was the lucky girl that he took home from the dance.

I was smitten then.

I still am.

Those kind brown eyes are the eyes that belong to the man I adore.

How can we ever know when we first meet someone whether or not they are that special someone?

If my daughters or granddaughter's would ask me that question,

what would I say?

I think that special someone should be

solid as a rock.

Can you count on that one you have fallen for?

Is he the real deal?

Will he be there through thick or thin?

Is that special someone kind?

Does he say and do kind things?

Is his kindness authentic?

Or is he just trying to impress you?

The man I chose for my Valentine is always kind.

He's impressive, but he doesn't seek to impress.

Does the one you think you love have a giving nature,

or does he need to always receive?

As I think of all the traits that a Valentine should have, my list could go on and on.

Let me sum it up by saying,

look for:

kindness,

tenderness,

faithfulness,

loyalty,

wisdom,

flexibility,

acceptance,

persistence,

endurance,

dependability,

romance,

a sense of humor, and

a bit of orneriness.

Look for someone with:

stability,

and

spunkiness.

Look for someone with a strong character.

Is he the same person when no one is looking?

Look for someone without bad habits.

Look for someone who values:

faith,

family,

and education.

Trust me.

Someday, those things will matter.

Would your Valentine make a good parent?

Does he love kids?

Is he willing to invest in the future by working with the youth of today?

Does your Valentine, love you?

Really love you?

If you left your Valentine for thirty years and he suddenly came back into his life,

would he still love you?

My Valentine meets all of the criteria above.  

I remember when my girlfriends and I were in high school, we would ask each other what we wanted in our boyfriends, or in the guy we might marry.

We'd say things like,

He's a good dancer.

Do you remember saying that?

Actually, I love to dance with Jim.  He gets the most charming look in his eyes, and his smile is so darn cute when we dance, that I guess I can check off that box.

Somewhere down on the shelf, in a high school yearbook, 

there is a photo of Jim and me dancing at the East High Homecoming Dance in 1961.

When we went to our first prom together in 1961, we never could have imagined that

Jim & Sally 1961

 we would go to our last prom in 2012.

Jim & Sally 2012

Because he was a high school principal, I danced with my Valentine at many a prom over the years.

Along the way, this is what I learned:

It isn't about the 

dance,

it's about the

dance partner.

Choose wisely.

Our dance has not always been one we would want to display on the ballroom floor.

Sometimes, we have a power struggle over who is going to lead.

Sometimes, we are just plain out of step with each other.

Other times, the music seems all wrong.

Sometimes, it seems the evening has drug on way too long,

 and we just want to sit the next dance out.

Then, another year rolls around,

Valentine's Day brings up the subject of love and romance.

I look at that dear man across the room from me on an early Sunday morning, 

his eyes still sparkle even when he doesn't feel that well.

He is incredibly warm and loving towards me.

He is supportive and accepting of me.

He is still my funny Valentine.

He makes me smile.

He makes me laugh.

He makes my heart ping with love.

He brings a tear to my eye because I am so grateful to have this man as my husband.

Since I didn't buy him a card,

I promised to take him to a new coffee shop that has some great treats and a romantic atmosphere.

So, I will end this this Valentine's Day tribute by saying,

I love you more today than I did yesterday.

I hope to spend many tomorrows with you, the man I love. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Jim & Sally Brown Palace Anniversary Trip 2013

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

XO,

Sally

The Writing Class

When I retired, I thought I would spend a lot of time writing.  I planned that finally get that memoir written. I had grandiose plans for myself whenever I thought about retirement.  Perhaps, the most grandiose idea of all was that I would spend a lot of time writing.

Since I retired, most of the writing I have done has consisted of writing in this blog.  I took up blogging in 2008 in order to have an outlet for all the writing I envisioned myself doing. It is hard to believe that I have published 372 posts over the past seven years. Blogging  has provided a great platform for writing.  Along the way, blogging gave me a bonus I never expected:  I made many friends through blogging. My life has also been so enriched by learning of so many new and different topics through reading blogs.  News around the world and nation has a new relevance to me because I  have blogging friends living in places where the news event is taking place.  My life has been broadened more than I imagined through my writing.

Even though I have written all those blog posts, I just never seem to get down to the real practice of writing that I envisioned I would do during my retirement years.  I write most days, but if I don't blog,  my writing mostly consists of journaling.  Journaling has become an important part of my writing journey as my journals have been the place where I worked through the grief I have experienced over the past five years after the death of my daughter Julie.

 Several of my dear friends are gifted writers and share a desire to get some serious writing done.  We have met on occasion over the years.  We always make promises to keep meeting to write, but then, life gets in the way and we cancel our next get together and don't meet to write.

In October, five of my blogging friends and I, the Vashionistas, as we call ourselves met for five days
 on Vashon Island in Washington to write.  It was dream come true for me.  I had often thought how wonderful it would be to spend a week writing with these great ladies, and it was great in many ways.  I guess you can say that the experience stimulated that desire to get serious about getting some serious writing done.

When I got home from my time with my blogging friends at the wonderful Lavender Hill on Vashon Island, I immediately began to search for a writing class.  I found that one was being offered through a local writing community that would be taught by Kathryn Eastburn.  I knew of Kathryn because of the writing that she had done as editor and co-founder of the Colorado Springs Independent, a local newspaper.  I also had taken a class several years ago with a woman who spoke highly of all she had learned from Kathryn when she had taken a class in creative nonfiction from her at Colorado College.
I knew that opportunities to take a class from such a great instructor are rare. so I paid my money and signed up for the class.

The timing for the class was not the best in that it would go from October 22 until December 17.  That is right during the holidays, I thought as I pondered whether or not I should sign up for the class that was limited to ten participants.  The timing of the class was difficult.  It certainly added to the stress of the season, but it is also good to have deadlines so that writing gets done.  We met once a week on Thursday nights from 6:30 to 8:30.  The class ended just before Christmas.  I felt a big hole in my life when I no longer had the mental stimulation and inspiration the class provided.

I so enjoyed the class.  Kathryn is the best.  She gave me so much insight into reading and writing creative non-fiction.  We had the best reading assignments that have given me great insight into how others have gone about writing memoir.  It was great being introduced to new authors I had never read before.  I wondered at times what rock I have been under that I have missed the work by these authors.  I most enjoyed reading selection from Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett, and a selection by JoAnn Beard from her book, Cousins.  An essay that appeared in the New York Times by JoAnn Beard entitled, The Fourth State of Matter, blew me away.  Blogging friends, take the time to read this essay.  It is an amazing piece of work, and a story that won't be forgotten.

Not only did I enjoy some great reading time because of the selections that Kathryn assigned for the class, but I also greatly enjoyed, and learned much, from the discussions we had in class about what we had read.

Every week, we would receive two or three pieces of writing from our fellow classmates to read.  As we read, we were to annotate the piece of writing so that we could workshop the piece in class the following week.  Some of you readers may not be familiar with the term "workshop" as it is used in the context of writing.  Think of writing an essay and then submitting it to several readers for feedback.  The reader is not acting as the grammar police looking for mistakes.  The reader is instead reading to give the writer or author feedback that speaks to the strengths and weaknesses of the writing.  What works?  What doesn't work?  Where should the writer give more detail?

It may seem scary to submit writing to be workshopped, and to be honest, it is.  A very safe and supportive environment must be established in order for this type of writing experience to work for all of the participants.  It is really up to the instructor or facilitator to create this type of learning environment.  Kathryn is an excellent facilitator/instructor.  She creates a stimulating, welcoming, safe, and instructive place where I personally felt very free to create and learn.


Stephen Krashen, a linguist and professor emeritus at the University of Southern California, my hero when it comes to teaching and learning in the area of linguistics and second language learning,  teaches teachers about of the affective filter.  Many students in the literacy classroom come equipped with a well constructed affective filters through which they pass the instruction being delivered by the teacher.  This filter must be lowered by the teacher by creating a safe learning environment before the student is able to comprehend the input coming from the teacher.  This theory hold true for me as an adult learner.  If I don't feel safe in a writing community, or in the environment in which I write, I am not able to write if I don't feel safe and supported.  I am grateful that Kathryn created such a community and environment and restored my confidence in writing for others.
Over the course of the weeks I took the writing class, I was able to produce quite a bit of writing.  The feedback I received from the pieces I submitted was very positive.  As a writer, I am my own worst critic.  I think the things that just won't work in a piece of writing are surprisingly the things that my readers liked best.

After the class ended, and after the holidays were over, my fellow writing group ladies and I began to email each other about how much we missed our Thursday nights together.  After a bit of discussion on where and when to meet, we settled on a plan to continue to hold writing workshops on Thursday nights from 6:30 to 8:30.

Last night five of us met at the appointed time in the upstairs room of a wonderful coffee shop in Old Colorado City.  Each of us armed with a pot of tea, our notebooks, pens, and books, ascended the staircase to sit in an inviting private room around a large round oak table.  We are reserving the room for a month on Thursday nights at a rate of $25 a night which can be covered by our tea or food purchases and a bit more.

We will follow the same format as before.  Work will be submitted on Sunday nights for the others to read and annotate.  We will produce writings twice during our month together.  We shared the books we have been reading.  We share personal stories of the storytellers in our life.   We determined our plan and process.

The writing group continues.  Perhaps, this month I will actually get  a chapter written on my WIP (Work in Progress).  The group has really helped me find a focus and the work is seeming less scattered.  I am so looking forward to seeing what we all will produce.

Hair ~ A Journey of Loss

Today, after consulting with one of the specialists at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus,  I made a decision that I regret not making nearly two years ago.  Now that the decision has been made, I wonder why it took me so long to make it.  I think the main reason for not making the decision was denial and fear.  I am not one to take medicines.  I resist taking medicine until I know I have no other option.

I hardly know where to begin in telling you this story about a journey I have been on that started more than ten years ago.  I've never written about this journey.  Oh, I written many a blog post in my mind, but I've committed none of these posts to writing.  I've only written about this journey in my journal and in my writing group.  Now the time has come when I am finally ready to tell you about my journey into the world of hair loss.

I don't really know when the journey began because it was a completely innocuous journey in the beginning.  I noticed many years ago that I no longer had hair on my arms, but then, I never had a lot of hair, so I thought little of it.  Then, I noticed I didn't need to shave my legs because I didn't have hair on my legs.  

Score!

That is a benefit that I get from going through menopause

, was my first thought.

Next, as I innocently proceeded on this journey I didn't know I was on, I started noticing that I had a red inflamed spot on the left side of my hair line.  It didn't itch.  It just looked terrible.  I also noticed that hair would fall out when the spot seemed to heal and move to a new spot.  Finally, on April 6, 2006, nearly ten years ago, I consulted a dermatologist.  I told him it looked like I had an infection or inflammation of some type on my scalp.  I somewhat sheepishly told him I didn't know what to do about it so I was treating the area with Listerine.  Seriously, I did that!  My logic was that putting this antiseptic on the weird looking sore would be better than doing nothing.  I had also stopped using the hair product I was using because I thought my scalp was reacting to it.

I was already into a hair loss journey in this photo, but I didn't know it.

2011

Frankly, I was dismissed by the derm.  I think he thought I was a nut job.  I guess I can forgive him for that.  I'm sure he hadn't seen anyone else that was using Listerine on skin problems that day.  He asked me if I had tried Windex.  Funny.  He then said he didn't know what it was.  He'd never seen it before.  He thought it might be psoriasis, but it didn't really look like it.  I have a history of psoriasis, so I accepted his diagnosis.  He did not offer to biopsy the area.  He gave me a prescription for Protopic and sent me on my way.  The Protopic cleared up the worst of the inflammation, and I thought little about it again.

My hair continued to thin.  I fretted, but I also figured it was a part of aging.

I remember that during the summer of 2010, just months after my daughter Julie died, my hair started falling out enough to notice.  My clothes would be covered with fine silver hair.  When my friends or family would start picking it off of my clothes, I called it my tinsel.  

The tinsel is falling of the tree,

I'd say.  I was told by doctors that stress was causing my hair loss.  "It will come back."

In July of 2011, I was visiting my daughter in Utah during a time of great stress for her.  The morning after I arrived, as I was putting on my makeup, I noticed my eyebrows were completely gone.  They'd been there the day before.  I called to my daughter, "Keicha, come here.  Do you see any hair where my eyebrows should be?  Where have my eyebrows gone?"  She confirmed that the eyebrows were indeed gone.  She didn't know their whereabouts.  This seemed really odd.  Under my breath, I said "I rather liked my eyebrows."

Another doctor visit about the the loss of the eyebrows received this response, "Have you been plucking them?"  Seriously.  In the doctor's defense, I must say that it was actually a legitimate question.  Perhaps, she thought my stress had started manifesting itself with

trichotillomania

, otherwise known as hair-pulling disorder.

I saw a new dermatologist.  She was a personal friend and knew of my recent loss.  She was compassionate and supportive.  She thought I had a form of alopecia.  She said stress could have triggered it, but she thought we should take a wait and see approach. She said it wasn't really presenting like alopecia areata.

Alopecia

al·o·pe·ci·a

ˌaləˈpēSH(ē)ə/

noun

MEDICINE

5. the partial or complete absence of hair from areas of the body where it normally grows; baldness.

Alopecia, a word I couldn't even pronounce if I did remember the term when describing a person who suffered from the condition.

I remember coming home from the appointment and looking up the condition on Dr. Google.  I wrote the term down and practiced saying it.  I didn't want to forget what it was.  (Believe me there has been no forgetting!)  This doctor was the third doctor that I had seen for my hair loss.

I looked up the specialist for alopecia areata on Dr. Google.  I found it was

Dr. Norris at UC Health

.  I felt I was a bit premature to try to get an appoint with him.

The next time I saw my endocrinologist, I asked her what she thought was going on.  She said that my thyroid was not the problem.  She said that it could be stress that was causing the problem, but she wanted me to get the scalp biopsied.

Heaven only knows why it took me a year to get a scalp biopsy.  There are legitimate reasons:  I had a fall that resulted in a head injury.  I suffered from visual vestibular disorder and couldn't drive for a year.  I had heart problems I was chasing down.  I had digestive problems I was trying to solve.  We sold our house.  We moved.  I had a lot going on.  My hair continued to fall out.

Finally in March of 2013, I saw another new to me dermatologist in Colorado Springs. He immediately diagnosed me as having

frontal fibrosing alopecia

, but he said that he would have to biopsy my scalp for a solid diagnosis.  I had never heard of FFA before.  The biopsy came back confirming FFA and

lichen planopliaris

.  He sat me down and painted a grim future for me and my hair.  He showed me pictures from the internet.  I was in shock and disbelief.  "Surely this won't happen to me."   He said that there was really no treatment, and he said that the treatments that might help were dangerous.  

Plaquenil

was mentioned as something I could try, but he thought the risks out weighted the benefits.  He said nothing would bring my hair back.  The plaquenil just might stop the process of loss.  I chose not to take plaquenil.  He prescribed clobetasol as a topical to help with the itching, pain, and soreness.  Yes, FFA and LLP are quite painful.  The pain is physical and not just emotional.

I saw Dr. Norris at UC Health in early to mid 2014.  He wanted to give me plaquenil.  He also prescribed

finasteride

, using its non-generic name of

Avodart

.  He said, "Avodart is being seen as having success in fighting FFA in the literature coming from the research being done at Duke University.  It is given to men with enlarged prostate, but it seems to stop the progression of FFA."  I was in shock, and quite frankly, I thought to myself that the man was grasping at straws.  Well, I was too, but I wasn't quite ready to be a lab rat.  Later that evening, I received a call from the pharmacist.  "I just received a prescription for finasteride for you from a doctor at the University hospital.  I've never seen this prescribed to a woman before.  I think there has been a mistake."  I assured him it was not a mistake.  I asked for his input.  In the end, I decided against taking any oral medications.  I did not want to be a science project.

I found another dermatologist.  This one prescribed topical steroid treatments.  I also began getting

Kenalog

shots in the scalp.  I broke out in rashes from the shots.  I broke out in rashes from all the traditional steroid treatments.  I took pictures of the rashes to show my doc.  He said "No more steroids for you."  My hair continued to fall out.

I learned how to cover up a lot of the loss with headbands, scarves, hats.  Then, I bought a hair piece.  I then bought three different wigs.  I cut up the wigs and made my own hair pieces.  I had a hair piece handmade for me to match my hair loss pattern.  I had not counted on having the loss spread even more to the crown of my head over the last couple of months.  I was truly in denial that it would ever get that bad.  I no longer can disguise my condition.

Below is a selfie of my new hair piece that I had designed and made for me.  Only the bangs and the top part of the sides are not my real hair.  The back of my head is covered with my own hair.  I love the solution that my amazing cranial prosthesis hair dresser at made for me.  My eyebrows are drawn on everyday.  I must do a pretty good job because I've fooled more than one doctor when I've told them my eyebrows are gone.

After Christmas, I called Dr. Norris and made an appointment.  I was now willing to take finasteride and plaquenil.  My doctors at National Jewish encouraged me to try these medications and assured me of their safety.  I was told I had to do something about the inflammation levels in my body.  Inflammation has  destroyed much my hair by causing it to to fall out and leave behind scar tissue that will never again produce hair.  I don't need inflammation to destroy my heart or my joints or any other part of my body.  I have several auto-immune diseases now.  Two of them are quite rare.  I don't need any more.  I have made my decision.  I'm taking the medicine.  I giving this terrible, disfiguring, destructive disease a good fight.  I hope to stop the loss.  Who knows, maybe I will even grow back a bit of my hair.

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