My Oldest Son Reaches The Mid-Century Mark

My oldest son reached the mid-century mark today.*

Pause…

What?

How can that be?

That would mean that fifty, yes, fifty, as in 50, years ago today, I became a mom.

More importantly, Ryan, my 

firstborn child

and 

firstborn son,

entered this world on a beautiful Sunday early afternoon in September,

fifty years ago today.

Ryan on his wedding day

This mother’s heart has stayed young and does not count the years when she thinks of her children.

Is that because children, even after they are grown, keep one’s heart young?

Ryan and Mom

I had no idea when I first met my firstborn that his life would expand my world so much.  From his earliest days, he was such a delight to me. That first year of his life was a year when I had the opportunity to bond deeply with him.  His father began college on the day I brought Ryan home from the hospital, and Ryan's father worked a full-time job at night also.  That meant that Ryan and I spent many hours alone, but what delight filled hours they were for me. In those early years,  many evenings were spent with mom pushing Ryan in his stroller for long walks exploring the neighborhoods near the basement apartment where we lived.  Often when he was a little older we would end up in a park where Ryan loved playing on the playground equipment.

Then, there was the day when my son got his first set of wheels.

His life, and mine, changed that day.  

He now had a vehicle where he could explore the big wide world out there on his own.

Honestly, I was a protective, almost over-protective mom to my very core.  Once Ryan had wheels, this protective mom learned she could never keep up with Ryan and his next adventure.  He was off and running.  Somehow, he’d be out of the house and on his bike before I’d discover he was gone, and I had no idea where to start looking for him.  At the age of three, he was seen riding his tricycle down the middle of a busy street as if he owned the road while I was looking for him somewhere else close to home.  He’d decided he wanted to go to the grocery store where I’d wheeled him in his stroller, or driven him to by car, by himself.  Thankfully, someone saw him, and brought him home just before he crossed one of the busiest intersections in town on his little blue tricycle.  I should have known then that adventure and exploration would be a foreshadowing of his life.  

Somehow, he survived riding dirt bikes that weren’t really dirt bikes, in places where his mother did not want him riding.  Somehow, he survived the driving the hot red sports car that got when he was 18, the little Mazda sports cars that he had through his thirties and forties.  He loves his wheels, and I always love when he takes me for a spin in one of his sports cars.  It is a thrill, but honestly, I also hang on and close my eyes, and sometimes, ok, always, say, “Ryan, please be careful.”  Mostly, though, I just try to hang on and enjoy the ride.  This has been a metaphor for my life with my firstborn son.

Ryan in his biking attire before a big race

Ryan (top left) and & team on LOTOJA Race 2007 On his fortieth birthday, he rode his bike on the challenging LOTOJA Race.  It is a 200+ mile race from Logan, Utah to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  For his fiftieth birthday, he got his favorite thing: wheels, an new truck.  I haven’t seen it yet, but he now has the ultimate truck where he can throw in all the kids, the camping equipment, the bikes, or the skis and take off on another grand adventure.  He tells me he loves his new truck.  I'm sure he does. ****** Ryan learned to read at the age of four.  He seemingly taught himself.  I read to him from his earliest days.  I’d just begun but had not completed teacher training to be an elementary school teacher when I married Ryan’s father a year and a month before Ryan was born, so I was eager to teach my son all the skills I’d learned about reading.  I had little plastic letters on the fridge.  We’d practice sounds and letters.  I’d point out the words on the page.  Then, one day, Ryan started reading.  I thought he’d memorized the book, so I took him to the library and asked where I could find the first grade readers.  I took one off the shelf, sat down with my curly headed four-year-old, and asked if he knew what the book said.  He did.  He started reading from it. Frankly, I was shocked.  He'd broken the code for reading, and now another great passport for his future life was in his hands: reading and learning.   School was not his favorite thing.  He was a peer leader socially, but not academically, yet those early leaning towards learning and growing have served him well as he progressed and grown in the world of finance.  His social skills, his love of people, his gift of gab, have also served him well.  He has already had a very successful career as a banker.

Ryan with Zion's Bank, his employer for many years, in the background

My handsome son after a long day of work at the bank

Ryan in his banking days

Now, in his fiftieth year, he is in the finance industry in an entirely new way.  I don’t even understand his new job, but he does, and that is what counts.  He has been on the ground floor in developing a program for the lending industry.  It has been an exciting, fulfilling time for him as he has worked in the development of and the marketing of this new financial tool that lenders throughout the country will be using.  Best of all, he says he no longer has to wear and suit, and in his fiftieth year, he has let his hair grow long and grown a beard.  He doesn’t look like a banker anymore.

*********

One picture of Ryan that I carry around in my head as one of my happiest memories is the one when he burst out of a hospital delivery room with his first-born son in his arms to present my first-born grandchild and grandson to me.  The look on his face was priceless.  It seemed to say, “Mom, look what I did.”  He was so proud and so happy.  I tear up every time I remember it.  Ryan is a great dad.  He loves being a dad, and his kids love having them as their father.  

Ryan with his three children Regan, Parker & Bridger

Christmas morning 2010 Ryan with Parker and Regan

*******

Ryan cooking breakfast for mom in her kitchen while wearing her apron. May 2011

Somewhere along the line, Ryan learned that he loved to cook.  Was it when he took cooking in junior high?  Was it when he was scouting?  I don’t know when he first started loving to cook, but he does love to cook, and he is a great cook.  I remember him walking in the door from a ten-hour day of banking, after a commute of two hours a day added on, and begin rolling up his sleeves as he walked in the door ready to fix dinner for the kids.  He says cooking relaxes him.  It also brings out his creative nature.  In his fiftieth year, he loves cooking for the kids, the family, for friends, or just with his wife whenever he gets the chance.

Ryan creating the ultimate Thanksgiving dinner with Sheridan November 2015

*********

Ryan met Sheridan the love of his life six years ago.  

Together, they have worked at building a family, a blended family, and a future that is filled with much love.  They have bought and built a family business that his wife Sheridan began with her sister many years before Ryan entered the picture.  Now in his fiftieth year, he and Sheridan manage a family owned boutique, (mostly Sheridan does this job these days), and he also works long hours with his financial software business job.  These two work long, hard hours, but they do it together.

The "Mordiansens" a blended family Parker, Regan, Max, Bridger, Henry, Sheridan, and Ryan

They also parent together so well.  It warms this mother’s heart to see how they are such great parenting partners.    ****** How could a young mom all those years ago have ever known the way that small son she first held would bring so much richness into her life?  As I told my husband today, I love having sons.  I’m also so grateful that I have daughters.   There is a special part in a mom’s heart for her first-born son.  He is the one that introduces her to the memorable ride of being a mom. What a ride it has been.   Photos of mother and son from 2007 to 2017 are below.

Ryan & Sally July 2016

Thank you, Ryan for gifting my life for the past half century. (How can it have been that long?)  You have so exceeded every desire I ever had for you when you were a child.  I never even would have imagined the path your life has taken. Perhaps one of the earliest milestones you reached was becoming an Eagle Scout.  When I think of you, I can’t help but think of the Eagle Scout character traits that you portray in so well in your life.  The words loyal, trustworthy, friendly, helpful come to mind.  You learned early to love the outdoors and survive in it.  That transferred over to living successfully in any environment where you found yourself.  You learned to set goals and reach them.  You learned leadership, and you have lead well.  You learned to love adventure, hiking, biking, skiing, and hiking. You keep on doing that every chance you get.  You make my day every time I hear your voice, and when you hang up the phone, you always say, "I love you, Ma."  You have been a wonderful son, brother, husband, father, friend, and business man.  You have made me proud.  I hope the coming decade brings you continued success in all that you do.  

Given your genetic makeup, you most likely have at least another fifty years of living, loving, and laughing ahead of you.  Enjoy it.  I love you.

* My photo program froze as I was writing this post, so I couldn't access many of the photos I had hoped to share in this post.  
** The formatting on this post is mixed up and crazy, but if I try to change it, it will take me until Ryan is another year older.  

Living with Hair Loss

It seems I must learn the lesson of living in the now on a daily basis.  I recently came across this photo taken by my husband about six years ago when we were on a trip to the eastern part of my country.  The image stunned when I first saw it because I saw myself as I was then.  I'd forgotten what I looked like. Quite honestly, the tears fell because the pain of hair loss screamed at me again.  "What would it be like to have hair again?" I wondered.  Was I living in the moment then?  Was I appreciative that I didn't have to figure out what to do with my head sans hair as I now have to do each morning and throughout the day? The takeaway lesson that I had from viewing this photo was that life is best lived in the moment  because you never get that moment again.  

Each day, I wake and try to live anew with a condition called Frontal Fibrosing Alopecia.  The hair falls in the shower, it comes out in the brush, my head itches, it hurts, it burns, and I have to decide what look I will have for the day.  

I don’t want to wear head coverings that scream cancer.  I don’t have cancer.  I don’t want to look like I might be dying from some condition.  This condition, the hair loss condition that I have, is killing me, but I’m not dying from it.  There is a big difference between dying, actually dying, and feeling like something is killing you.  

This is not the look I was going for, but it is the one I have

FFA (Frontal Fibrosing Alopecia) has killed my hair.  It took my eyebrows.  It took my bangs.  It is still taking.  It also killed my attachment to my hair, my bio hair, along the way.  It killed the link between my hair and my identity.

It has not killed me.

So much of my identity was tied up with my hair.

It still is, but now, I am learning a new identity.  The identity I wish to project is one I have struggled to accept.  It is the identity of a woman who wishes to live life as she is: nearly bald, altered on the outside, but changed on the inside.  I have progressed through the stages of grief over this new appearance of mine.  I’ve cried.  I’ve hidden.  I’ve screamed.   I denied that this could really happen to me to the degree to which it has happened. I’ve spent a lot of money on cures and cover-ups. I’ve been through the bargaining stage where I thought if I just changed my life style, the creams and lotions I used, changed my diet, this condition would die out.  None of that helped much or changed the advance of this progressive and permanent condition.  Those words progressive and permanent, I was just sure would not apply to me when I first heard them, but those words are true, and they are my reality.  Acceptance has been a long time coming, but day by day, I accept that there is so much in life that I can not change.

There is a meme that makes its way around social media where an image of a crazy haired woman is paired with the saying, “You can’t control everything.  Hair was put on your head to show you that.”  I fought and cursed my wild and crazy curly hair from my earliest days.  I wanted hair like all the other girls had:  smooth, under control, and straight.  I never embraced the hair I had until just before I started losing it.  I always tried to make my hair look different from how it was.  I wanted it to not have a mind of its own.  I wanted it full and straight, or at least I wanted it to have body without all the curves it seemed to want to take on its own.  I wanted to tame my hair.  I looked for the right styling aids, shampoos, conditioners, gels, and techniques to achieve the head of hair I wanted instead of the head of hair I had. How I wasted the times I had to just live life the way I was in that moment.

I was always looking for the perfect hair stylist. I had one for a short time.  Deborah was that perfect hair stylist. She was beautiful, stylish, glamorous, smart, a great business woman, a true professional, well read (we talked of books and literature), and she knew hair, especially curly hair.  She transformed my experience with my hair.  She helped me embrace the hair  God gave me.  She cut, and styled, and dyed my hair and loved on me and spoke her wisdom about life as she lovingly worked on my hair. Every trip to her salon made me feel like I had been transformed and lifted up inside and out.   

There was the time I was unfaithful to her and went to another salon and had my hair cut as short as I could get it so I could see what my real color was.  She said, “Was he drunk when he cut your hair?”  She thought I was too young and too young looking to go gray, but she went along with my desire to try and rock my natural color. 

I think of her often as I go through this journey of hair loss.  She shaved her own head and was stunningly beautiful before she sold her shop and before she got cancer.  Cancer took her quickly.  She died from cancer.  I am just living with hair loss.  There is a big difference.

I know Deborah would say to me, “You go girl.  Get the best hair piece you can and take good care of it.  Don’t be afraid to try new hair styles/wigs.  Wear fun scarves, headbands, and hats.  Don’t forget to get big, dangly earrings.”  Once, she fixed my hair right before a big social event.  She loved my outfit, but said the earrings would never do.  She left her shop with me by her side and walked me down the street to a little shop selling fun accessories and picked out the earrings she said I needed to wear.  I still have them.  Maybe, I’ll go put them on in celebration that I have what  she was denied: life. 

You just never know what look I will come up with. Summer 2017

Who knows, maybe I will shave my head.  I will never rock a shaved head like Deborah did, but I learned from her that hair is just fluff.  No one really needs fluff.  Hair, hairstyles, the perfect body, glowing skin, and just the right touches to clothes and accessories are fun, but when we think that we are projecting who we are through these expressions of outward appearance, we fool ourselves.  We probably aren’t fooling anyone else.  I know what few others get to learn: acceptance is an inside job.  

For My Father

William Morrell French

April 11, 1916 - March 25, 2002

Sawdust

 just might be my favorite smell

because it is the smell I most associate with my

father.

Hardware stores, 

wondrous places 

with lumber stacked to the ceiling,

two by fours on shelves,

nails,

hammers,

screws,

screwdrivers,

saws, table and hand,

knotty pine,

sheetrock,

paint,

painter's hat and brushes,

turpentine,

remind me of you, Daddy.  

How I loved when he would call out and ask 

if I wanted to go to the hardware store.

"Yes."

I think he liked that I loved those hardware stores so much.

I'd say,

"I love hardware stores."

Daddy, you took us camping in the Colorado mountains.

Coleman lanterns,

Coleman stoves,

percolators that made coffee over an open campfire,

camp cook kits made of aluminum,

were packed up and put in the back of the old station wagon
as we headed out to find our favorite "green spot."

After sunset,

 pine trees, 

looming larger than they seemed during the day, 

became a backdrop for a scene where family and friends gathered around a campfire,

 with cigarettes flickering around the edges of the fire,

grey smoke spiraling in the dark sky,

to listen to and to tell stories.

Oh, how we laughed.

You, Daddy, were the Chief Storyteller.

I loved your stories,

always.

You were the best storyteller ever.

Oh, how I miss you and your stories.

Snuggled in smelly green World War II era mummy bag sleeping bags,

scratchy green Army blankets spread over and under me as I slept on the ground,

staring at the stars,

thinking of those stories,

and pondering the vastness of the world, 

the universe, 

God, 

and what lay beyond,

sounds of the stream finally lulled me to sleep

in those magical days of childhood when my father took us camping.

Songs, we sang songs.

Daddy would start out with,

Ohhhhhhhhhhh,

and he would drag that "O" out forever.

I had a little pony,

His name was Dapple Grey,

I lent him to a lady to ride a mile away,

She whipped, she slashed him,

She rode him through the mire;

I would not lend my pony,

For all the lady's hire.

I never hear that song these days,

but if I did, I'd think of my dad.

Homemade rootbeer bottled in empty Coors beer bottles was my favorite summer treat.

I loved it when Daddy made homemade root beer.

Games, we played games at the dinner table.

We were not allowed to read at the table, but we played games.

I spy...

"Is it vegetable, mineral, or animal?"

We were allowed to ask those questions when you had us stumped.

Actually, he stumped us a lot.

Little did we know that he used that game to teach us deductive reasoning.

My father and I on graduation day. 1987 B.S in Business Administration

Books, we read books.

My father always had a book in his hand if he wasn't building something,

or fishing,

or working on the house or the yard.

In his younger years, he worked hard at the railroad and on the house and the yard,

so to went to bed early to read.

In later years, he read large print books from the lending library of books for the blind in Denver.

It was expected that we would be readers.

T.V., or the "boob tube" as he called it, was not in our home until I was a teenager.

I still don't like to watch T.V.

I read.

He taught me to believe in myself,

to stand up for myself,

to think for myself and not blindly follow others.

He spoke truth to me when I didn't do those things.

My father had a temper.

He never liked any of the boys I brought home.

He chased most of them away.

He liked things neat and orderly and insisted on square corners on the bed.

We made sure the kitchen table and surfaces in the kitchen were not sticky.

He hated a sticky surface.

Every table setting better include a salad bowl or salad plate for the salad and bread.

Oh, and there had to be a knife, a fork, and a spoon in place for each meal.

He was demanding.

He was as gruff as a bear on the outside,

but I've known fewer as 

kind and generous as he was on the inside.
He gave to those in need,
and even when you weren't in need, but he seemed to sense you needed a little gift,
or some gas money,
he opened up his wallet and he gave.
He was so giving.
That was one of his best traits.

He wrote.
He wrote family histories and collected family genealogies.
He carried on a correspondence with his parents,
his children,
his cousins,
his siblings,
his relatives that were connected generations back.
I even found letters he wrote to his grandparents, signed,
"Love, Billie,"
in his papers.
I have a large file of the letters he wrote to me.
He was a great writer, communicator, and keeper of the family histories.

In his later years, he became a born-again Christian.

The transformation that Christ made in his life was dramatic.

His faith was strong to the end.

During his last days, I was by his side with my sisters.

I'm so grateful for those days when I was able to witness the 

firmness of his faith

 while trying in some small way to give what little 

rudimentary comfort

 I could to his physical body in its final decline.

In my journal on March 23, 2002, just two days before he died, I wrote,

It is good to be here with him.  Yesterday, he told me over and over again, "You're a good girl." He would say, "Sally Lulu, you're a good girl."  I would say, "You're a good Daddy."  

He was that.

He was the best Daddy ever.

He was my Daddy.

And, I was his Sally Lou.

I remember when he died, I was filled with absolute certainty that 

he loved me,

that he was proud of me,

and that was enough for both of us.

Graduations and Grandbabies ~ Part II

The past week and a half have been a whirlwind of activity as this grandmother had two grandchildren graduate from high school during the same week. The first graduation was on Wednesday, May 24,  for granddaughter Gillian in Ogden, Utah.

The second graduation was for grandson Mason on Saturday, May 27, in Erie, Utah.  Thankfully, the graduations, unlike the births of these two, were spread out a few days apart so Grandma Sally could attend both milestone events.

One day back in 1998, daughter Amy called with the unexpected and exciting news that she was expecting a baby.  With tears of joy streaming down my face, I celebrated with her while also dreading that one of us was going to have to let her sister Keicha know that Amy was expecting.  Keicha was at the same time trying to conceive a baby, but all attempts had been unsuccessful.

I don't clearly remember the chain of events, but it was within a few days after Amy's announcement which was not yet made known to the rest of the family that Keicha called with the news that she was expecting a baby.  Along with my joyous reaction, I gave a big sigh of relief!

Both babies were due in October.  I was teaching at the time, so I could not travel to be with Keicha for the birth of her firstborn, but I was there with Amy when Mason was born on October 4.  Thirty-six hours later, Keicha gave birth to Gillian.

Those days when these two were babies were such fun.  Soon they were toddlers, and then in school. We tried to all be together for many special occasions as the two cousins grew up in separate states.

Those precious times together were documented through photos by this grandmother trying to capture those fleeting moments of her grandchildren's childhoods.  I don't think that I realized just how fleeting those days would be.  In a flash, the grandchildren were growing up and now these two have graduated from high school.

Gillian

Artistic, creative, and quite soft spoken, this girl just keeps surprising me with all of her maturity and resilience.  I've seen her transformed into a young woman whom is not only smart and talented, she is also a young woman who has great competence.  

On the morning of graduation, she walked into her mother's kitchen dressed for a pre-graduation photo shoot at the school.  "I'm doing this just for you," she announced to her mother.  The big smile showed off her beautiful teeth and displayed her easy looking confidence.  Neither the beautiful teeth nor the confidence was easily won, but here they both were on full display for graduation day.  

Gillian in front of Ogden High School May 24, 2017

I'm so very proud of this girl.  Nice job, mom and dad.

Gillian, Keicha, & Jeff Graduation Day 2017

We had a wonderful party with great food at daughter Keicha's boyfriend's house after Gillian's graduation.

After all of the graduation celebrations were over, Keicha, Gillian and I boarded a plane for Colorado so that we could attend Mason's graduation.

Mason

Since I have lived closer to Mason and his sister Hannah as they have been growing up, I've been able to be more involved in their lives and activities.  When Mason was a baby and toddler, I'd babysit him quite often.  At first, he was going to be a hockey champion, and so at a very young age, there he was out there on the ice with a last name emblazoned  on his shirt that seemed bigger than he was.  Then, he took up baseball.  Then, there was football.  Perhaps his best love is skiing.  When he isn't working for his dad at Outback Steakhouse, or participating in sports, or hanging out with friends, Mason will either be skiing or boating. 

Along the way in the small town where he lives in northern Colorado, Mason made many lifelong friends whom have gone to school with him and played sports with him from kindergarten through graduation from high school. His high school years have been well-rounded and grounded in friendship and family.

Graduation ceremonies were to be held on the high school football field, but it rained on graduation day.  Plan "B" meant that while Mason was walking across the stage in the gymnasium to receive his diploma, myself and other family members watched on a large screen in the auditorium.  While it wasn't quite the same as watching him graduate "live," it worked and I was quite thrilled for him.  

The rain in the skies did not damper our emotions which ran quite high on Mason's big day, nor did the wetness on his mom's face come from the rain.  When she saw her handsome boy dressed in his black robe and orange stole, as he handed her an orange flower thanking her for all she has done throughout his school, his momma's big smile and tears said it all.  This photo captures a mamma's graduation day emotions: great pride, exhilarating joy, and a touch of sadness.

We all were thrilled and happy to celebrate in the school parking lot after graduation.

Keicha & Gillian with Mason Grandma Sally & Mason Brother and Sister moment ~ Mason & Hannah

After graduation, Mason and his mother's side of the family went to Boulder for a celebratory lunch.  Mason was thrilled with his graduation present from his mom.  Grandpa Jim helped him get it all set up.

Graduation time is filled with so many emotions for both the graduates and the parents and grandparents of the graduates.  There is a sense of relief for the grads that high school is finally over. And there is a bit of anxiousness and uncertainty about the future.  When each of these two graduates took the tassel on their caps and moved it from side to the other to signify that they had completed all of the requirements to achieve high school graduation, I hope they felt pride for their accomplishments.  I know I felt great pride in them.  I can't wait to see the next chapter in their lives.  

Graduations and Grandbabies ~ Part I

Photos Tell A Story

 When my grandchildren see me coming camera in hand, most of them run and hide.  I admit it.  I am obsessed with documenting the times I've had with my children and grandchildren by taking photos.  Since the advent of the digital camera, I have literally amassed thousands of photos of my offspring. My photos are sent to my computer to an app created by Apple called Photos.  These same photos are also stored in iCloud.  One feature of the app Photo is called "Memories."  Photos are collected in the memories feature of Apple's Photo app by date and appear on my Apple products in the Photo app nearly daily.  I am always fascinated to see what photos may appear each day with the title "On This Day."

Today, it was a treat to see photos of the day twelve years ago when my youngest son Jonathan and his wife Samantha graduated from the University of Colorado Colorado Springs (UCCS).  I've spent the remainder of the day thinking about these two and the incredible journey they have been on since the day they met.

The Backstory

Jonathan must have been seventeen, or maybe he was eighteen, when he started talking about Sam, this new girl he had met.  Then, one day, he announced that Sam was driving down to Pueblo where we lived from Colorado Springs to pick him up for a date.  Jon didn't have a car at the time.  I don't even know if he had a driver's license, but Sam obviously had both.  Jon was not attending high school; he'd dropped out.  He was in his phase of wear grungy clothes.  I was more than curious to meet this new girl in his life as Jon had never brought girlfriends around the house.  Did he ever even have a girlfriend before Sam?  I don't think so.

I think we were instructed by Jon to be cool with Sam and not ask too many questions of her because she was shy.  I think she died a thousand deaths when we answered the door because she had to do the dreaded meet the parents gig.  When the doorbell rang, it seems Jon ran to answer the door first because he just wanted to rush out the door without making introductions to save both of them from going through the formalities.  Of course, I wasn't having any of that.  I wanted to meet Sam.  Quick introductions were made at the door.  Sam was polite, and cute, and dressed very similarly to Jon.  I approved of her, but of course I would never say that to either one of them at the time.

As soon as Jon was out of the door, Sam turned and together they walked across the porch towards the driveway.  That is when I saw that they each had heavy chains hooked to their belt loops that were attached to a wallet in the back pocket of their jeans.  My husband and I turned and looked at each other when we saw the way they both had those chains on their jeans.  "Soul mates." I said with a smile.  "I think Jon found his soul mate."

The Academic Journey

It was a number of years after that day, that these two graduated from college.  They had already lived on their own but together in New York, Austin, Texas, and then returned to Colorado Springs to marry and begin college.  Soon after they were married, they also had a child, dear Atticus.

Atticus Roberts Christiansen

Those two had a lot going on in those years.  They were working to put food on the table, keep a roof over their heads, and keep a car running.  Jonathan mostly rode his bike everywhere.  They also attended college and that meant they were constantly studying and writing papers.  They also showed themselves to be fantastic parents who spent a lot of time enjoying and nurturing their adorable and bright son.

Those years were not easy as they plugged away and worked hard and earned those college degrees.  It seems hard to imagine that is has been twelve years since the day when they met the goal they had set and accomplished that milestone of earning their bachelor degrees.

Jonathan and Samantha Christiansen Graduation from UCCS May 2005

Samantha graduated with highest honors and won a full-ride scholarship to work on her PhD at Northeastern University in Boston.  Jonathan was accepted to Boston College.  This meant that in the summer of 2006, we would proudly, but with sad hearts, send this little family of three off across the country to Boston.  Trips to see them and trips home to see us were not frequent, but at least we got to see each other as they continued their educational journey.

As part of the journey, Samantha was granted a Fulbright Scholarship to study in Bangladesh.  She gave up this prestigious scholarship to take a scholarship that would give her enough money to take Jonathan and Atticus with her to Bangladesh.

Boston seemed so far away, but it suddenly it seemed quite close to home when this adventurous and hardworking family took off to the other side of the world to Bangladesh.  They would live and study there for a year and half.  Atticus attended a bilingual French school while they were there.  They kept us intrigued with all of the stories of the adventures they were experiencing.

Once Samantha was finished with her research for her PhD, they returned to Boston from Bangladesh and were able to return to the same apartment building where they had lived before.  Since Jon had finished his MA at Boston college before they left for Bangladesh, he went to work as a researcher studying the effects of STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) grants in education.  He worked closely with researchers at MIT and Harvard.  Samantha returned to finish her PhD at Northeastern.  She also by this time had published a chapter in an edited volume about sixties movements.

Dr. Samantha Christiansen Atticus and Jonathan Christiansen Northeastern University, Boston, MA 2011

In 2014, Samantha and Jonathan moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania, where Samantha would begin her University career as a professor of history at Marywood University.  Jonathan was able to also gain employment at Marywood teaching sociology.  Their offices, like the two of them have been since they were teenagers, were side by side.

This past year has not been an easy one. Jonathan began working this past summer on his PhD in Binghamton, New York.  This has meant he has carried a full-load of teaching while also carrying a full load as a student.  He also drove an hour each way four days a week to get to and from  his classes in Binghamton. 

The journey these two began into the world of higher education has been a long one and a hard one.  It has also been exciting.  Today, as I looked at those photos of my son and his wife graduating from college twelve years ago, I just shook my head in wonder at all that has transpired since that day. 

Samantha & her mom Jonathan and his mom Graduation from UCCS 2005

Jon and Sam were both mostly raised by single moms and those two moms could not have been prouder of their two kids on that graduation day.  Those same two moms have missed these two kids and their son terribly as they've traveled the world and accomplished so much. 

It has not always been an easy path that they have followed.  There has been a few rocks in their pathway, and quite a few twists and turns, but they have persevered and been successful in their academic, professional, and personal lives.

As a couple and as a family, Jonathan, Samantha, and Atticus are a pretty tight unit.  I think I was right the first time I met Samantha and saw her and Jonathan together.  They are soul mates.

As I said this past year has not been an easy one, but it has been so exciting because...

wait for it...

These two surprised us all with the most amazing news ever earlier this year. 

News I could not share at the time, but I can now. 

This couple has added to their family and presented me with my eighth grandchild!

 Leon Roberts Christiansen 

was born a week before the end of this semester on April 23, 2017.  

Leon Roberts Christiansen

Can you even believe how beautiful he is?  I know I might be biased, but I honestly don't think I've seen a more adorable baby in a long time.  Probably not since my last grandchild Atticus was born.  This grandma is over the moon.  I can't wait to see him!

True to form, Samantha gave birth to Leon on a Sunday night and returned to teach her classes at the end of the week.  Jonathan continued to teach and write papers for his program.  Thankfully, Grandma Rita flew out from Colorado to help these two with taking care of the new baby while she also kept meals cooked, dishes washed, laundry done, and got plenty of time to hold and love on this adorable baby. 

Atticus now fourteen is getting to know his new baby brother. 

 There is even more amazingly happy news.  

They are coming home to Colorado Springs to live! 

Samantha has been offered and has accepted a job as a tenure track professor at the University of Colorado Colorado Springs.  In August, she will begin working as a history professor in the department from which she graduated twelve years ago.  Jonathan will have to stay in Scranton another year to finish up his PhD, so this academic journey is not quite over for him.

Quite honestly, I am so thrilled with all of this good news that I can scarcely believe it.  Come August, I will finally get to hold this precious new family member in my arms while I welcome this family back home.  They will have come full circle since that graduation day twelve years ago.  I could not be prouder of them.

On Being A Mom

I'd always dreamed of being a mom. Always.  Being a mother has brought me more joy than any other experience in my life. I love being a mother.  I guess we all were quite naïve when we entered motherhood.  Perhaps it is best that way.  Looking at what motherhood might cost a mother might have scared me from walking down that path more than half a century ago, but I doubt it.  I think no matter what, I would have chosen to be a mom.

Amy, Keicha, Ryan, Julie, Jonathan

Now, as I look back on my life knowing the pain, the sorrow, the grief, the heartache that being a mother has brought me I still would not change a thing.  Truly, all grief I’ve ever experienced over the death of a child has been tempered by joy and gratitude for being a mother. The journey through motherhood is one I would never want to miss. I would do it all again. 

In fact, sometimes I wish I could go back and live all those days with my children over again. Just one more time, I'd love them ALL under my roof again.  ALL of them.

Julie, Keicha, Mom, Jonathan, Amy, Ryan 2007

 I’d listen to their banter, and laughter, and I'd laugh with them.  Oh how we laugh when we are together. I'd watch them chase each other around the house teasing and taunting and acting like a bunch of pups frolicking in the joy of having spirited, like minded playmates and likely call out, "watch out or one of you is going end up crying." 

The household in which I raised my children was anything but quiet. When the children were small they roller skated and rode their tricycles in the house.  They practiced their high jumping skills by moving the family room couch to the middle of the room so they could run towards it and jump over it.  The result was that Julie in particular could not only jump high and wide enough to clear the couch.  She also learned to stop running quickly before she ran into the fireplace.  Her track coach once told me he loved how wide she jumped when she ran the hurdles event.  “She learned that at home,” I said with a laugh.

Garbage bags or sleeping bags provided were repurposed to slide down the basement stairs.  An old bedframe with only springs and no mattress perched under the apricot trees in the back yard provided a unique trampoline, a place to build forts with blankets, and a place for summer night sleepovers.  My kids were inventive, resourceful, and imaginative when it came to turning found things into just another way to have fun.

If I were together with all my adult children, I'd listen to their informed and insightful conversations that would include very divergent points of view.  I would, and do, rest assured that no matter how different they all may be from each other, they love and respect each other so much that they will remain a pretty tight group.  They may have their squabbles, but I truly doubt anything could ever destroy the bond they have with each other.

These bonds and this devotion to each other was hard won.  Even though the early years of my children’s lives together were spent establishing and creating childhood bonds with me and with each other, our family was split many years ago by a judge in Utah. 

It happened when my children’s father and I went through a divorce.  My five children ranged in age from fifteen to five.  In those days, custody of the children was not an issue in most divorces.  In the case of my divorce, custody was not even discussed.  As a stay at home mom, I was the major caretaker.  In fact, at the time of the divorce, I didn’t even have a job.  The home in Utah was awarded to me, and so was the custody of the children.

A year after the divorce, I decided, after much urging from my parents, to find a job in Colorado. I had no restrictions on the custody I had been awarded, and the children only occasionally saw their father, so I proceeded with my plans to rent out my home in Utah and move my children with me to Colorado.  Once their father learned what was happening, on a day when visitation rights were to be established for him, he instead surprised the court by filing for custody of all five children.

After a hearing, the judge could see no reason why I should not maintain custody.  He then did a very interesting thing. He asked my thirteen-year-old daughter and my fifteen-year-old son what they wanted to do.  Both said they wanted to stay with their father so they could stay with their friends.  Probably most teens would have said the same thing.

And so, the trajectory of our family was irrevocably changed.  After that fateful day in court, my two oldest children remained in Utah with their father while I flew home in a state of shock and devastation with my three youngest children.

Through absolutely no fault of my own, I lost children legally before I was finished raising them, loving them, and being with them as a mother should be with her children.

Being a mom has brought me some of the greatest emotional pain in my life.  I am not the only one who suffered because of this legal decision.  My children, every single one of them, also suffered immeasurably from this judge’s decree.

In the years when our family was divided down the middle with two children living with their father and three children living with their mom, so much was lost.  I think of all the time I lost where I could have been involved in those teenage years with my two oldest children and my heart nearly breaks.  I wasn’t there to watch over their schooling, their choice of friends, the way the spent their time, or the choices they made.  I didn’t get to make or help pick out prom dresses, or even a wedding dress, for my daughter.  I wasn’t there to advise, console, comfort, or admonish when two teens needed a mom in daily attendance.  So much was lost.  One never gets back time once it is gone.

My younger children also lost all those times they could have spent with their older siblings.  One never gets back the occasion once it has occurred.

To that judge in Utah that ruled to split my family down the middle, I would like to say, "You, with all of your legal power, hurt my family more than you will ever know.”

I wonder if he ever again wondered about the welfare of our family as a whole, or of each child as an individual.  I wonder if he ever even thought of us again.  Did he really consider the financial, the emotional, and the spiritual costs that his decision would place upon all of us?  Did his decision ever wake him up at night?  Did he spend sleepless nights wondering how to restore all that was lost by his decision?

When faced with making, as my daughter has said, a decision worthy of the wisdom of Solomon, this judge abandoned his responsibility and asked two minor children to decide their own custody arrangements.  These children were not old enough to vote.  They couldn't be licensed to drive.  Under law, they still had to go to school, but this judge left a decision, that they could never have had the skills to make in their hands.  I would say to this judge all these years later, “You did great harm to them and to all of us.  The legal system failed my family dreadfully, and each of us paid the price."

All those years ago, when my family was shattered and broken into two distinct pieces, I wondered how all the problems that were created for all of us as a whole and for each individual would be resolved.  It was ordered that all the children spend as much time together as they could.  The order seemed to place precedence over the children visiting each other over the children visiting with the parents.  Or so it seems to me now.  Perhaps, what really evolved from the situation was that the children spent more time all together with their father in Utah then they spent individually or collectively with me.

As a single mom, I had to work to provide for my children.  My earning capabilities were severely limited due to a lack of education and a lack of experience.  I worked as a very poorly paid secretary school secretary.   The irony was that while I had spring breaks and summer breaks off, I did not end up having those times with my children because their father, a teacher, was also off of work and the two teenage children were by that time beginning to work.  They seldom were able to come to visit me or spend time with me.  The three younger children spent every summer with their father and siblings.  Spring and winter breaks were also nearly always spent with their father.

Practicality was not the only deciding factor that led to the visitation arrangement that developed.  In my heart I had determined that I wanted my children to spend as much time together as siblings as they could.  The relationships they forged with each other was of great importance to me.  I wanted them all to experience and create a sense of family that would surpass the limitations that time, money, and a legal decision had placed on the family unit.

Early bonds are not easily broken when they are carefully established.  My children and I have endured as a family.  We love being together.  Each family gathering is a cause to celebrate each other and the family we are.

The law has great power, but it can never have the power that love has.  Love wins.  It always wins.

My children have lost a sibling and I have lost a child to death.  That loss was another loss that was painfully woven into the fabric of our family.  As a family, we experienced much of the sorrow, the shock, the pain, the grief that came from the death of our dear Julie together, or by sharing our grief with each other.  This experience gave us another thread that has sewn our family together into a beautiful covering to provide mutual love and healing for us as a family and as individuals.   

 

Ryan, Keicha, Amy, Jonathan 2016

Death is often seen as the ultimate show of power, but death cannot destroy love either.  Again, love wins.  Love always wins.

When I think back to those years when I dreamed of being a mother, I wonder what I thought being a mother would look like.  When I brought my first born home from the hospital, did I have any idea of all that being a mother would bring to me?  If I had, would I have had children?

The answer to the first question is: No.  I had no idea what being a mother would mean when it came to how I lived out my life. None of us ever do.  The answer to the second question is:  Yes!  I would not have wanted to miss out on being a mother.  I love being a mom.

Somehow, my children navigated those teenage years and became successful adults.  They are pretty amazing as far as I’m concerned.  There are no other adults I enjoy hanging out with as much as I enjoy my children. 

I have been blessed beyond measure by each of the lives of my beautiful, bright, articulate, funny, complex, and thoroughly delightful five children.  Knowing the pain, the sorrow, the grief, the heartache that being a mother has brought me would not change a thing.  I’d do it all again.  I’d do it and savor every single minute of it.  Thank you Ryan, Keicha, Amy, Julie and Jonathan for being my children.  Thanks for letting me be your mom.  XO

Celebrating a Change of Heart

Two years ago, the quality of my life was not great.  The core problem, the heart of the matter, the nitty-gritty of it all, was that my heart was not working properly.  I had developed a heart syndrome called tachy-brady. Sometimes, it is also called sick sinus syndrome.  The first time I heard my primary doctor say to me "I think you have sick sinus syndrome," I was clueless as to what it meant, but I knew it wasn't good.  In truth, she was the first to come up with this diagnosis, one that the nurse practitioner at my cardiologist's office dismissed.  By the time the GP, reading the same sleep study report that my cardiologist had received, made this observation, I already had an extensive file containing drugs tried, tests done, and procedures considered for troubling symptoms of arrhythmia.

A year before the final slump with a heart not functioning correctly, I had a heart ablation to correct tachycardia, a rhythm problem that the heart will sometimes develop that will cause the heart to beat too fast.  After the ablation, I felt wonderful and was able to carry on with my life until about six or eight months later when I again began to experience a wildly beating heart that would leave me exhausted and faint.  A sleep study was ordered to see if I was getting enough oxygen at night.  I wasn't, but adding oxygen at night didn't help my faintness and exhaustion.

 Diagnosing my problem was a process.  It wasn't enough to have a GP say that she thought I had sick sinus syndrome.  Diagnosis for me involved having a small device called a loop recorder implanted in my left breast. This miraculous little device allowed my doctor to see exactly what was going on in this heart of mine when it would decide not to beat properly.  I had the recorder fewer than two weeks before it was determined that I needed a pacemaker.  

Getting that pacemaker changed my heart, the way it beat, and it changed my life.  A pacemaker gave me my life back.  Today, two years ago the miracle of modern medicine allowed for a device to be implanted in my body which would monitor my heart and keep it from going too fast or too slow.  I can now walk longer distances, walk up hills, and I can go about the business of my life with few problems with my heart.  I am so grateful.

Two years ago, just before I received the pacemaker, I remember sitting in the my chair in the living room feeling quite sorry for myself as my husband went out for a long walk in the neighborhood with the dog and without me.  I remember that while he was gone my heart rate went down in the 30's and my blood pressure plummeted so low that I had to call the doctor.  He ordered me to get to the hospital.  It was Easter Sunday.  I did not want to go to the hospital with yet another heart episode, but I had no choice.  When my husband got back from his walk, he had to take me to the hospital.  They almost implanted the pacemaker that night, but finally determined I would be safe to wait a few days for the procedure.

I don't take being able to walk at the altitude where I live for granted.  I am grateful I am able to go for my daily walks and enjoy the beauty of the world around me.  Today, the sky was as blue as it could be.  I never tire of looking at the rock formations near my home.  They fascinate me.  They remind me just why I love to live where I do.  My marmalade cat rock (I love her) looks down on me as I walk by her, and seems to say, "I'm happy to see you out and about today."  (She is the rock formation on the top right.)  The table rock on the lower right is still waiting for one you to come and join me for a tea party on her flat surface.

I never could have made it through the bouts with my health that I have had without the guy by my side, my dear and greatly loved husband.  It is so good to walk through this life with him.  I so love when we go on walks together.  Today, I said, "I love where we live," as we sat on our patio after our walk.  With my camera, I captured this laugh on his face when he brought up my one complaint about where I live, "Except for crawlspace in the basement."  Hey, I'd probably live in crawlspace with the guy, but don't tell him that.  He keeps me laughing.  He keeps me keeping on.

I can't forget how much I love my other loyal companion.  He also is always at my side.  (Except when his master is home.  Then he is by his side.)  I love my Boston boy too.

Today, was such a beautiful day.  The sun was shining.  The sky was blue.  My man was by my side.  Even the daffodils I planted around our new patio last fall were blooming.

On this glorious spring day, I was able to walk 1.9 miles, gaining 137 feet in altitude at an altitude of over 6,600 feet.  My average heart rate was 115 BPM.  Look at this cool map that shows my route.  (Thank you Jim for my Apple watch which tracks such things.)  

I could do this because of that change of heart I had two years ago.  That is something to celebrate.  

April You Bring Such Joy and Such Sorrow

The sun was unseen and unfelt, as I, clad in a heavy wool sweater, entered an office building for a recent late afternoon appointment.  For days, a mind full of thoughts all over the map regarding sundry problems in my life alternately vacillated between agitation and calmness. The weather, nearly always given to sudden and seemingly unaccountable changes in spring in Colorado, was not helping my unsettled feelings about those troubling thoughts weighing down my mind. 

The day, one packed with activity and plans, was far from over when after the appointment I briskly walked towards the car.  Once out of deep shadows cast by the office building, I realized the sun was warming my back as I hurried down the street. As my mood lifted by the good visit and the sun at my back, my quick pace slowed down enough for me to glory in the beautiful spring scenes around me.

As I entered the building just an hour before, had I even noticed that the once brown bare bush branches near the doorway were now clad in green leaves? Why hadn’t I earlier drunk in the beauty of trees covered in fluffy white blossoms that lined the wide street on which I stood?

Since my husband and I had long awaited plans for the evening, I wanted to keep believing that the sensory input I was experiencing was true and trustworthy.  Sight, smell, touch: they all confirmed it was a warm, sunny spring day. I could feel the warmth of the sun.  I could see that Mother Nature had done her springtime magic by causing bulbs to emerge from their long winter’s nap in the earth. Hoping be eradicate any belief in the weather forecast of snow later in the day, I looked to the west.  Blue skies minus any clouds provided a beautiful backdrop for the snow covered mountains in the distance.  “No storm clouds are coming in over the mountains,” I told myself. Even the car temperature gauge reading of 70 degree supported my internal argument that surely snow would not ruin my day, and my mood.

Then, I turned around.  I looked south and east.  The forecast that had been in the weather for days was confirmed.  Sensory input coming from the direction I now faced, could not be denied.  A storm, not coming from the mountains in the west, but from the south and east, was brewing.  Dark, nearly black, low clouds forming and covering the entire sky to the south forced me not to be misled by only looking at part of the picture. 

Logic, rational thinking, and experience caused me to turn and to look towards the part of the sky where the weatherman had predicted the storms would form. The evidence was clear.  A storm was on its way. 

The skies above and around me provided a perfect metaphor for the juxtapositions we encounter in life:  Darkness meets sunshine.  Two extremes collide.  Springtime, a time of perfect juxtaposition between winter and summer.  Upon which image is one to focus?  Should one focus only on the springtime flowers and sunshine, or should one focus on stormy skies stirred into a fury by chinook winds which bring blizzards and destruction?

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

On the day I just described, I wanted to believe that the sun would keep shining.  I could substantiate that belief if I only looked at part of the evidence. 

 

Julie's Tree April 8, 2011

Placing images of sunshine, spring flowers, white blossom covered trees, and dark, threatening, moisture laden dark clouds driven by fierce cold winds side by side in my mind, a new metaphor began to emerge.  It was a metaphor for strongholds in the mind.

 

April 1, 2017

Strongholds in the mind remind me of spring. 

They deceive. 

They don’t tell the entire truth. 

They ignore evidence,

 believe false evidence,

or they only consider a portion of the evidence. 

Strongholds of the mind are clung to as if they could save, rescue, restore, give peace.

They run hot and cold. 

They are sunny one moment, and oh so stormy the next.

Strongholds keep us from living the life we were meant to live.

Strongholds are like March.

March, the madness of March, could nearly drive one mad.

The weather vacillates.

Soft mountain breezes whispering hope for sunny skies stir the daffodils one day.

 Those same bright yellow flowers that brought such hope and joy, such optimism on a perfect spring day,

 are buried in snow the next.

April, no wonder you have the reputation of being the cruelest month. 

Spring, you are so capricious.

In those dark dreary days of being shut-up indoors during winter, we believe that when Spring brings forth her flowers, we will only have sunshine and happiness. Our beliefs on how spring should be suddenly become incongruent with our experience when a sunny spring day suddenly turns stormy and snowy. Uplifted, buoyant emotions change like the weather.

Strongholds are like that.

Strongholds take root in the mind based on some belief about how we think life should be.

Or maybe, strongholds are based on what we think we should be, or how others should be. Too often we base our beliefs, our emotions, on what we can see, think, or experience.

Can we always take that which we

see,

feel,

think,

believe,

as being true?

On that recent spring day when I wanted to believe the sun would not give way to a storm, I based the information I wanted to believe about the day by only looking in one direction.  I based my belief on only one part of what I could see.  I wanted to ignore the dark clouds forming to the south and east of me.  I wanted to focus only on the sunny sides to the west. 

I could have faced only to the south and east and stood in the shadow of a building and denied that the sun was shining, the skies were blue, and that winter’s dreariness was giving way to spring.  I could have. 

I could have insisted that my truth was informed by what I could see and feel while only looking in one direction.  I could have.

I could have rejected the evidence that a strong wind was stirring those dark foreboding clouds in the southeast and moving them westward towards the sunny skies.  I could have told myself, “I don’t think it will storm.”  I could have thought these thoughts, and I could have believed them.  Thankfully, earlier in the day, I’d heard the truth of these words:

Don’t believe everything you think.

Thinking that is not consistent with the truth will never bring peace.  Just because one thinks something is true doesn’t mean that there is any truth in what that someone is thinking

Spring reminds me of strongholds in the mind.

Strongholds of the mind remind me that there just as spring is capricious, so also are my thoughts and my emotions.

Spring nearly always breaks a part of me.

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

The breaking comes as I associate both the birth and death of my daughter with spring.  She was born forty-one years ago today on a glorious spring day in April.  I noted in my journal on the day she was born that the daffodils were blooming. 

A first peek at Julie by her sister's Amy and Keicha

Keicha, Julie, Amy April 2010 The last photo of my three girls together

She took her life seven years ago just as spring was nearly over in 2010.

Strongholds in her mind brought on by depression, suicide ideation, and other addictions became too powerful for her to overcome on that day when her life ended.  So many other days and times she had not believed the destructive thoughts about herself and the future, but on that day, the day of her death, her battle with her mind, her body, her emotions, her beliefs, her demons, was lost when she took her life.

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

On this the day of her birth, I wish to remember all that was Julie.  The spirited joy that she brought to us all is what I remember most. Birthdays are to be celebrated.  As a mother, it breaks me each year as I seek to integrate the joy and sadness that Julie’s birthday evokes in my heart.  I also purpose in my heart and mind that Julie’s life will never be remembered only for the strongholds which ultimately destroyed her. 

Julie surrounded by daffodils in Ireland

Julie’s legacy to me is a lesson I hope to pass on to others.  

You just cannot always trust what you are feeling.

 I’ve learned a lot about strongholds of the mind since that fateful day when my daughter took her life. I’ve also learned how to fight those assailing thoughts which seek to destroy. 

After Julie died, a sticky note found on her desk became the message I believe she left for us all.

Live well was its simple message.*

That is the message of her life I hope to remember most. 

I wrote in my journal right after her death, that I hoped to integrate her life and death as I progressed through life.  I did not want to live as a person shattered in broken pieces that never were gathered up to make a new a new story for my life which had held so much joy and sunshine but now contained such grief and darkness.  I wished to live well and not give in to any strongholds which could destroy. 

Today, the girls, my beautiful daughters have each called and with brave voices asked, “How are you, mom?”  I heard their tears and my throat catches as I say, “I’m ok.”  I know they hear the tears in my voice.  We cry.  We remember.  Amy, says to me, “You have handled this all with grace, Mom.”

Grace.

If it shows to my daughter, it is because I’ve been given so much grace. 

Grace is always a gift.

It is not one I could have conjured up for myself.

It is simply God's gift to me: 

Grace for the journey.

Grace has allowed me to take the darkness and the sorrow, 

the joy and laughter, 

the snow, 

the rain, 

the wind, 

the flowering trees, 

the jaunty daffodils 

and seek the grace to live out the message Julie left for us all.

Live well.

*The photo at the bottom of this post, and the photo of Julie's message to us all were taken by my daughter and her sister, Keicha.  You can read a beautiful tribute to her sister here: Julie, Do You Love Me?

Doing What I Can to Stay Healthy

Today was a beautiful day here for those of us whom live along the foothills of the mountains of Colorado.  With temperatures in the low to mid-70's (F), folks in shorts and white legs were jogging and walking and pushing babies in strollers in every neighborhood I drove through.  These warm temperatures are great on one hand, but they also bring the danger of fire.  We have not had much moisture in the lowlands of Colorado this winter.  Right now, it feels like we are living in a tinderbox.  When I look at the snows in the eastern part of the country, I am just a bit envious of all the moisture that such storms provide.

I didn't get out to walk in the neighborhood today, but I did yesterday, and it was wonderful to out walking in such pleasant weather.

Sally with Boston

If you look closely at the landscape, you will see how dry the grasses in my neighborhood are.  Also, the trees are very dry.  I am hoping we will get some much needed moisture soon.

I am working very hard at getting healthy again after being so sick during February with a bad sinus infection and acute bronchitis.  It seems there is always a fall out when one goes on antibiotics.  I dread the questions that come when I am sick.  The doctor looks at my long list of drugs that I have reactions to or am allergic to and then asks, "What can you take?"  "Not much," is my standard reply.  I was given three different antibiotics over the past six weeks and prednisone (one day only before I had a reaction that landed me back in the doctor's office)  and now I am struggling with problems which were most likely brought on by medications and a body fighting infection. Heart arrhythmia and tachycardia (rapid heart rate) have been causing me a lot of concern of late.

I saw my cardiologist yesterday for my six month check-up after my recent "download" from the pacemaker.  Thankfully, the data from the pacemaker looked good, but that data was downloaded before I started being symptomatic again.  I am so thankful I have the most phenomenal cardiologist. He knows me well, and he knows Jim well.  He jokes with us, shares stories, talks about some place that has the best food, or just makes us feel like he enjoys visiting with us while he is also taking care of business and checking out the old ticker.  He said that the lung issues I had can trigger the heart to act up and sometimes those issues can take two months to resolve themselves.  He also said that the antibiotics can cause the problems I'm having.  He ordered blood work to check my thyroid since I have Hashimoto's disease.  He then surprised me by saying he was going to have me wear a Holter Monitor to compare its findings with my pacemaker.  I must admit that I was surprised that he is having me do this testing, but I am also relieved because the tachycardia has been quite troublesome in the past few weeks.

In the meantime, I am actually feeling quite well.  I know that sounds crazy, but I do feel good most of the time now.  I just hate having those spells with my heart.  I thought they were all behind me after the pacemaker was implanted nearly two year ago, and after I had the heart ablation.

Besides the heart problems, I am really fighting my weight.  I put on ten pounds quite quickly last year because of a medication I was taking to try and tame the chronic inflammation I have.  The weight gain caused my A1C to go up.  I am trying so hard to keep those diabetic numbers in the range of pre-diabetes.  So far, I have fought pre-diabetes successfully for about eight years.  I'm trying to limit my carbs to 30 per meal, and I am trying to walk or do some sort of exercise daily.  This has been a challenge because it was after an hour's class in water aerobics last week that I suffered a bad spell of tachycardia and arrhythmia.  The cardiologist said to keep up the exercise, but to listen to my body, make sure I stay hydrated when I exercise, and try not to overheat.

The antibiotics also stirred up GI issues.  Can I just say that I really am grateful for antibiotics, but I hate taking them!  They stir up so many problems for those of us with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and SIBO (Small Intestine Bacteria Overgrowth). These are not by any means new problems for me.  Over the last five years or so, my digestive issues have become extreme.

A few years ago, my GI doctor handed me a list of foods to avoid.  She said, "This is the FODMAP Diet and many of my patients have found that following it has really helped them."  I looked at the list, smiled, took it home and filed it away.  Then, she asked if I was following it on my next visit.  The answer was, "No."  Being one who hates diets, when my symptoms became more and more severe, I decided to do a bit of research on the diet.  I downloaded all the materials I could find about it on my phone and bookmarked websites on my computer.  Then, finally, I decided to be brave enough to try to follow the diet.

FODMAPs are short chain carbohydrates and sugar alcohols found naturally in foods and in additives to foods.  FODMAPs is an acronym that stands for:

• Fermentable 
• Oligosaccharides
• Disaccharides
• Monosaccharides
• and
• Polyols

To know what those terms mean, read the links I am providing.  I am not about to try to explain it all because I am not scientific enough to do so!  Trust me, it makes sense once you study it, but don't ask me to explain it. 

I follow a dietician from the Boston area who is an educator on the FODMAP diet.  Her website is katescarlata.com.  You can learn a lot about FODMAP from her.  


I've never been 100% successful at following the diet's 21 day elimination phase faithfully,  but I have been faithful enough at following it to have identified some triggers.  When I avoid these triggers, I do well with my digestion.  When I have a flare-up of symptoms, I can be sidelined for days on end with pain.

My endocrinologist recently thanked me for telling her about the FODMAP diet.  She said she had told some of her patients about it and had seen some wonderful results.  She said it was too early for her to know if it also helped with establishing a diet that helped diabetics.

As I said, I hate diets.  I don't like restrictions in my diet, and I don't like avoiding some foods; however, when one suffers badly enough from digestive pain and problems, one becomes more open to taking the advice a doctor gives.

I am absolutely against fad diets where whole food groups are avoided.  I am also against self-diagnosis and treatment for health problems.  For that reason, I haven't written about the plan I have studied and tried to follow for the past year.  I am now taking it much more seriously and am following it more consistently.  If a food doesn't bother me, then I don't exclude it.  I have followed the plan enough to have learned most of the things I must avoid.

I snapped a photo of a recent lunch I fixed myself that is a suggested lunch on the plan.  I made a salad of mixed greens, grape tomatoes, red peppers, carrots, eggs, kale, and a dressing I made with red wine vinegar, dijon mustard (with no added garlic or onion), and chopped green onion tops.  The dressing made the salad especially good.

My father used to say that no one want to hear about health issues.  I have a hard time writing about health issues for that reason.  I do suffer from a number of issues that have taken years for me to sort out. It has also taken me years to find answers from professionals I trust.  Thankfully, I now have a team of doctors that give me great support and care with two of the health issues that I juggle on a daily basis.  I'm doing what I can on my end to do what I can do be healthy.

February Notes

Late February may seem a bit early to be doing some spring cleaning, but winter doldrums magnified each time I dealt with dog fur, dander, dust, and dirt accumulating throughout the house.  Vacuuming and dusting just were not dealing with all that debris tracked in by the dog throughout the winter.

Having spent most of the month of February ill and cooped up in the house, I decided spring cleaning needed to come early this year.  The light switches, every surface in the bathrooms, the door knobs, and other frequently touched areas of the house were wiped down with Lysol once I started getting well.

On Monday of the last week in February, the sun was shining and it was warmish enough outside that I opened windows throughout the house so that the house and I could breathe in fresh air.  The dog's bed was carried to the back deck where my hubby vacuumed every square inch of it.  We then moved the bedside tables and vacuumed under them.  Tables throughout the house were cleared of knickknacks.  Sheets were changed on our bed and on the guest bed.  At noon, the carpet cleaner arrived.  Now, I also have clean carpets and much tidier house.

The house is losing its winter doldrum appearance.  Over the weekend, my daughter Amy gifted me with the same flowers she almost always brings for my birthday: daffodils.  Even the daffodils in the yard are poking their head up.

Soon, spring will be here.  In Colorado, that means that we most likely will be having our heaviest snows of the year, but I can handle that because I will know that winter is nearly behind us, and we will experience springtime in the Rockies.

February, the year's shortest month in days, was such a long month this year because I was sick nearly the entire month.  It is rare for me to have colds.  This year, I was hit with a terrible sinus infection and acute bronchitis.  I don't even know when I've ever had bronchitis, but I had it this year. Thankfully, it did not go into pneumonia.  I think that is because I had the Prevnar 13 vaccine for pneumonia a few years ago.  I had also had a vaccine against pneumonia about twenty years ago.  This year, I was grateful to know I had taken precautions against getting pneumonia.  The case of acute bronchitis was scary enough.  In the end, I was given three different antibiotics, and had to have three breathing treatments before I finally began to kick what was making me so sick.

Days were lost.  I don't even know what I did with my time when I was sick.  I didn't feel like reading.  I didn't spend much time on the computer.  I had no appetite.  I drank a lot of tea and water.  I sat in my hubby's easy chair under an electric throw blanket and watched some episodes of The Crown while the cool mist vaporizer beside me helped me breathe.  Through it all, I had two loyal guys by my side:  Jim and Boston.  They certainly made me feel better just by being there.

Sharing a Footstool ~ Sharing a Life

Cozy evenings at home in front of the fireplace brought solace to me during the long winter days of late January and throughout February.  One night, as my hubby and I shared a footstool as we sat quietly beside each other reading, I snapped a photo that captured for me the comfort that comes from sharing a life with a dear companion.

Quite honestly, there were days towards mid-February when I wondered if I'd ever be well again.  We had planned a winter vacation to Southern Utah.  We thought we would go to St. George and perhaps even venture into Zion National Park.  Jim had a week off from work, reservations were made, and we began to plan our adventures.  Then, a day before we were to leave, we had to cancel our plans because I just wasn't well enough to travel.

Then, we thought that perhaps I'd be well enough to go to Mt. Princeton Hot Springs near Buena Vista, Colorado, for the few days leading up to Valentine's Day.  I thought soaking in the hot springs would be just what would make this old girl feel better.  We were able to book a wonderful room, and we were looking forward to a Valentine's Day dinner in the lodge.  A day before we to leave, after I had to go to the ER for my third breathing treatment, we cancelled yet another get-away trip.

I thought our plans for Valentine's Day were doomed, but thankfully, we were able to get last minute reservations for lunch at The Cliff House which is just a short twenty minute or so drive from our house.  The Cliff House was built in 1874 in a tourist area near Colorado Springs called Manitou Springs.  The historic hotel has in recent years become a sought after place for wedding receptions.  The restaurant has become a destination place for those seeking a special meal ever since one of the top chefs from the Broadmoor Hotel came over to be the executive chef.  We were very lucky to get the reservations for lunch on a day when they had been booked for months.

The sky was a beautiful blue, and the sun was shining on the first day I'd had anything to look forward to for weeks.  My spirits were lifted even more when the first thing I saw when I stepped out of the car upon our arrival at this historic hotel were tiny purple crocuses in bloom.  Suddenly, winter's gloom began to lift because I actually had visual confirmation that spring is indeed on its way.

Our Valentine's Day venture across town to enjoy lunch together was just what the doctor ordered.  The smiles and jolly laughter from my dear husband lightened my heart and filled it with gratitude.  I am so blessed to have this wonderful man by my side through sickness and health.

A shared life is a rich life.  We share our ups and our downs, but sharing those ups and downs is so much easier when they are shared with one whom makes one smile, laugh, and is solid and trustworthy.  Such is the man with whom I share my life.  I met him during the springtime of my life, and now as we enter the last season of life,  he remains the young man whose personality, character,  smile, and sparkly eyes first captured this girl's heart.

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

During those days of youth, my life wasn't just blessed by meeting my dear husband, it was also blessed by meeting some of the most amazing women I know:  my high school girlfriends.  In November, I had committed to hosting the next gathering which was to be held in February.  Then, I took that short lived journey into employment, so my plans to host a gathering had to change.  Thankfully, the girls agreed that meeting at a restaurant would be a good plan.  

Our group was smaller than usual, but girls from Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo all met together in a small community just north of Colorado Springs.  One of the girls recommended we meet at The Bistro on 2nd in Monument, Colorado.  We loved Rick, the owner, and his restaurant, and the food!  Rick gave us a private room and the very best of service.  He also joked with us and made our time together all the more fun.  If you are in the Monument area, stop by the Bistro on 2nd, you will love it.

As usual, we giggled, and laughed, and told stories from our days in high school.  Quite honestly, I can't imagine my life without this group of girls in it.  They are counted as some of my richest blessings.  In Ann VosKamp's book, The Broken Way, she writes of talking to her daughter about friends who "betray and break trust."  Our girlfriends group is not perfect, but of them, I can best describe their characteristics by quoting from VosKamp's  book.

Girls can rival each other, but real women revive each other,

girls can impale each other, but real women empower each other.

Girls can compare each other, but real women champion each other
 and we are all made to be
ground breakers and peace makers and freedom shakers.

I am so blessed to be a part of this group of real women.

***********

We are two years into our seventies.   I have no idea how we got to be this age.  It seems like yesterday these high school girlfriends and I were studying Latin, and English, and algebra, dragging Main Street,  cheering at high school games, going to dances, and having sleepovers.  Now,  we are older, much older, and some of us have had serious heart operations, have been widowed, are nursing loved ones through cancer, and are sharing stories of how we are fighting back against other aspects of aging.  One of us no longer would even know the rest of us because she has Alzheimers and lives in a home in another state.  That doesn't mean we have forgotten her.  A few years ago, a few from the group went to visit her and took a gift of a warm sweater from the rest of us.  It is comforting to celebrate another year of life with girls I've known since long before any of us even thought we would get wrinkles.  When I look into their eyes and receive a smile from them, I know for certain that age is just a number.

********

Exactly two weeks after Valentine's Day, on the last day of February, I celebrated my birthday.  I was again reminded that I am grateful for each and every birthday I have.  Birthdays are good.  They are so much better than the alternative of not having them.  Daughter Amy and granddaughter Hannah came to celebrate on the weekend before the big day. They brought flowers, presents, and cheer.  Amy's birthday is five days after mine, so we celebrate together most years.  Jim had a beautiful cake made for both of us.

We went to dinner at a sushi place.  My choice.  Granddaughter Hannah said she really didn't like sushi or fish or sushi places.  My response: "That's too bad.  It's my birthday and your mom's and we like sushi, so you can stay home if you wish.

I will have Grandpa bring in McDonald's for you."  Her response:  "Well, maybe I'll try the sushi place."  She liked tempura, and even ate tempura shrimp.  

Amy remembered a story about Julie, my daughter and her sister, that happened many years ago when Julie was in Salt Lake City going to college.  It was New Year's Eve and Jim wanted to go to a fancy steak house.  Julie went with us even though she wasn't very happy about it because she had recently become a vegetarian.  She ordered an expensive steak.  Jim asked her when she stopped being a vegetarian.  She said, "Just now."  He laughed and said, "Now's a fine time to change your mind about meat.  The steak is more expensive than vegetables."  

*******

February, my birthday month, has always been a special time of year for me.  In Colorado, we have a mixture of winter and spring, sometimes both seasons occur in one day.  Yesterday, on my actual birthday, Jim and spent a mostly quiet day together.  We had an early dinner/late lunch at one of our favorite restaurants.  I finished reading the novel I'd been reading.  As I progress into my seventies, I find my definition of celebrating a birthday changes.  An early dinner and quiet evening at home seem perfect.  

A high school friend wrote a phrase on my Facebook page on my birthday: tempus fugit.  That simple phrase meaning time flies is one I can't seem to get out of my mind.  February is gone, and now we are in March.  Winter is nearly over.  Where does the time go?

Today is Ash Wednesday.  In six weeks, in forty-six days, we will celebrate Easter.  We are entering a time of renewal.  Now that my deep spring cleaning has begun on my house, I hope to spend the days during the Lenten Season sweeping out the cobwebs in my heart and soul.  I told my son I have been suffering from political fatigue this past month.  I plan on changing my focus to that which brings me hope.  I hope to spend a bit more time reading the Bible and in prayer.  I am grateful for a season of renewal.