Do You Need A Body Reset?

Imagine getting the following text from one of your friends:

How do you reset your body back to its original factory settings?

Is it kale?

It’s kale isn’t it?

Please don’t say it is kale.

As you read the text, you can almost feel the writer’s desperation.  She wants four things:

1.   She wants to reset her body.

2.   She does not want to eat kale.

3.   She doesn’t want to eat (or do) what she doesn’t like.

4.   She wants a simple fix that involves just one ingredient.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we?  I know I have.  Tell me I’m not alone.  There have been times in my life when I desperately needed something that would reset my body so that I could feel like my body was being sent in for an overhaul. 

At those times, if kale were the answer to “reset my body back to its factory settings,” I’d eat kale for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.  Or would I? I might for a few days; then, I’d become bored with eating all that kale and probably be on to next magic bullet. 

In truth, there have been times in my life, when I could have written such a text because my body was so out of balance that my mind and spirit followed the same downward spiral to the point where I probably would have tried any crazy fix just to feel better.

For instance, in February of this year, my husband and I traveled to Sedona, Arizona, to celebrate my birthday.  As we left home, I knew I should probably cancel the trip because of the pain I was experiencing in my gastrointestinal tract that came on with a vengeance seemingly out of nowhere.  This was not a new phenomenon for me, as I suffer from chronic IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome).  When the symptoms hit last February, I decided to ignore them as I was determined to make the long planned trip. So off we went from our home in Colorado and headed south to New Mexico.  We planned to spend our first night in Albuquerque, New Mexico which was the halfway point to our destination.  

When in New Mexico, what does one eat?  One eats spicy Mexican food of course.  That was not a good plan for me, but I threw caution to the wind and ate yummy, fatty, and very spicy food.  As I ate, I tried to convince myself that it really would not matter what I ate.   (I was wrong about that!)

The next day was my birthday.  We arrived at our destination and found a nice restaurant for dinner.  My birthday was duly celebrated with some rich entrée, wine, and a decadent dessert. Just what I needed to make my poor tummy all the more upset.  It was my birthday, and the stubborn self was going to celebrate it in style.  

Do you ever do that?  Or better yet, the question should be asked, WHO does that?

The next day, we visited the Grand Canyon for the first time. 

 I was in terrible shape.  Pain from a full-blown IBS attack and exhaustion from the pain were making me miserable, but I kept on going.  

As we visited the rim of the Grand Canyon, we visited a visitor’s center to learn more about this marvel of nature.   The explanation of how that vast canyon was created rang true to me as I felt that I too was on the verge of collapse.

The layered rocks of the Grand Canyon include hard resistant layers and soft crumbly layers.  Softer layers erode faster, undercutting the harder layers above them.  The hard layers become unstable overhangs that eventually collapse.  

Hard resistant layers?  That would be me at that moment.  I was not wanting to admit that:

a.   I was ill.

b.   It probably would be best to rest and not follow the previously determined schedule.  

c.   I should make wise food choices when I know that my system can’t handle some of the food I really like to eat.

d.   I was in denial.

e.   All would not be well if I just carried on as usual.

Soft crumbly layers? 

a.   That would be the body where I now live. 

b.   My sensitive gastrointestinal system is fragile, and no amount of hard exterior is going to change its sensitivities.

While the crumbling layers of rock that formed the Grand Canyon created a natural wonder, after the third day of this trip to the Grand Canyon and Sedona area, I knew that if some changes in my thinking and in my choices were not made, the consequences of the crumbling going on inside would me would not create a beautiful natural wonder to behold.  Instead, I would most likely create a disaster. 

Finally, on that third day, I told my husband that our plans would have to change.  We would have to take a day off from touring so I could get some medical help and so I could rest.  My husband fully supported me in that decision.  In fact, he’d been suggesting a change in plans since we had left home.

Not wanting to admit that something is wrong is a big problem.  For me, it meant that I would have to admit to my husband that I was foolish when I insisted on carrying on with plans when clearly, I was not well.  It also meant that I had been foolish to think I could eat what I wanted when I knew I really couldn’t without paying the price.  Denial is a very stubborn and resistant layer.

Those soft layers inside of my gut were crumbling, the hard layer of my stubborn nature was quite unstable.  Let’s just say I truly was on the verge of collapse.

Kale was not the answer to resetting my body in the scenario that I just recounted, but a sensible diet that include the types of foods I knew my GI tract could handle was.  I began to make wise food choices.  Just because I was on vacation, it did not mean that I could indulge in those foods I knew I could not eat.

I listened to my body.  I rested when I was tired. Together my husband and I restructured our plans so that we had activity that included walking and taking in the sights but did not include hiking that might have been more than my current condition could handle.

There was so much beauty to be enjoyed in Sedona. I often wonder if I would have even enjoyed any of it if I had not taken the time to have a serious talk with myself about practicing self-care whether I was not vacation or not.  Do others of you ever let self-care go out the window when you are on vacation?  

In the end, I learned some valuable lessons about resetting my body.  No, I did not set my back to its factory settings while we were on this vacation because that would mean I would have to come up with a way to wipe away decades of living. Original factory settings are no longer possible. My body has changed.  New rules apply as I learn to live in a body which is different than the one I had in my forties, my fifties, or even in my sixties; however, small changes can do wonders when it comes to resetting a body that is begging for restoration to optimum health.  

·      I began to listen to my body.  

·      I made positive dietary choices.  (Those choices did not include kale!)  

·      I rested when I need to do so.  

·      I made sure I continued to exercise by walking and exploring the beautiful area where we were visiting.   

·      I didn’t waste the experience by giving in to illness, but I let the illness instruct me on how to heal.

On our last day of the trip, I found these words written on a Coconino Forest Service sign in:

Listen

       Can you hear the stream?

Touch

      Feel a soft leaf or a sycamore.

Look closely

      Discover who lives here.

 ********

Answers to the questions such as the one asked by the sender of the text which I wrote about at the beginning of this post seldom have one answer.  Kale, while it is a healthy food, and a food most of us wish to avoid, is not the answer to gaining a healthier lifestyle.   Instead, I think we have to slow down and do these last three things which I found printed on a forest service sign.

We must listen to nature around us and to our bodies.  We need to touch the positive and beautiful things in our lives.  Yes, it is so important when things are out of balance to take time to get in touch with those things which are beautiful and positive in our lives.  That means we must change our focus.  We can't look on what ails us.  We must look to what heals us.  And finally, when we look closely, we can discover who it is that inhabits the body we now have.  

Life is about change.  Nothing stays the same.  We will never live in the body that we were given when we left the factory. We must accept that and treat our bodies and minds and spirits with respect by giving all three what nourishes the body even if it sometimes includes, but is not limited to, kale.

A Saturday in November

I’ve spent a lazy Saturday morning sitting around reading with my husband at my side.  I observe how lazy we are being.  He says, “Speak for yourself.  I’m enjoying not having anything to do.”  

Whispering, so the dog won’t hear, I say, “Let’s get a walk in this morning.”  At 11:00, I finish a lazy woman’s breakfast of granola and yogurt, finish off my now cold coffee, think I better get going if I’m to get a walk in, glance out of the window and say, “It looks blustery out there.  I don’t think I want to walk in this.”  A few minutes later, I look up again from what I am reading and observe there is moisture accompanying the wind.  My husband checks his weather app and says there is 20% chance of rain today.  A few minutes later, I say, “That is thick rain coming down.”  

Having decided we would not go for a walk, the man has gone to a part of the house where there are no windows.  I called down to him that the rain was now coming in fluffy flakes.  Now, just thirty minutes later, no one could characterize what is falling from the sky as rain.  Thick, fluffy snowflakes are coating the ground, the rooftops, and the streets with enough snow to create the perfect kind of day for staying inside and reading all day long.

View from my window on a snowy morning:  doe in the snow

This storm, (is it a storm?) was completely unexpected.  We have plans.  We are to travel out of town tonight to attend an alumni dinner at the school where my husband served as principal for many years.  I don’t know if we will make the trip or not.  

It is the third day of November.  The year is coming to an end.  This is the month where at the end of the month we have a day where we express our thanksgiving for those things in our lives that are blessings.  November is a perfect month for reflection upon all the blessings in our lives.  

The first Saturday in November of 2018, I sit down and write down about just some of the activities, observations, challenges that have filled the past week.  Each gives me cause to express great gratitude.  

• Health concerns, sickness, and health create reasons to have gratitude for health coverage.  

It has been a week that brought some sickness into my life and into Jim’s. It has been a week of challenges because we both live in aging bodies that don’t seem to function like they did in their prime.  During weeks like this, I am grateful for good doctors whom care for both of us, and that we have access to such doctors.  I am grateful for good health care coverage.  Yes, such good coverage comes at a great price, but the price far outweighs not having it.  I think of those in fear of losing coverage, or of those, like Jim and me, whom have pre-existing conditions which might not be covered if there are drastic changes made to our healthcare system.  These thoughts motivate me all the more to get out and vote.

• During the second week of November, during early voting, I am able to cast a vote in the mid-term elections in the United States of America. 

At the beginning of the week, my husband and I took out our ballots and read through each proposition and amendment on the ballot.  We discussed what we thought of each, read some of the pros and cons on each issue, and then marked our ballots.  We discussed the candidates and cast our votes for the ones we wished to see in office.  Voting is a sacred privilege and not one I have ever taken lightly.  This year more than ever, I am grateful I can vote in a free democratic society.  I am deeply concerned about the future of my country.  I stay informed.  I read about the issues of the day. I don’t just read news source stories on the topics of the day, I read opinion writers on both sides of the issues.  I weigh the opinions of others against what I know about my own vast reading of history over the years.  I synthesize what I hear from talking heads with what I’ve read from voices from the past.   I analyze what I hear and read.  I rarely take much of anything that I see or hear at face value.  I’ve been like that my entire life.  I am grateful that I was taught to be a critical thinker and that I practice critical thinking when it comes to making up my own mind about the times in which we live.  

• I am a member of a wonderful church and during the past week, I was able to worship freely the God I serve.  

Sunday morning, chills ran through me as I sang with others in my congregation the great hymn of the Church A Mighty Fortress is Our God.  Bagpipes were playing, as was a brass band, as we stood as a body sing and to remember our roots in the Reformation on Reformation Sunday.  Again, I am reminded how very blessed I am to have been able to worship freely in this great land.  Again, I am reminded that others have been gunned down and lost their lives in the great land while they worshiped in a sacred place.  As I rejoiced in my worship, I did so with a broken heart over what had happened in Pittsburg the day before.  I pray anew that I will sow seeds of peace and continue to seek reconciliation in this time of such great division in our country. 

• On Wednesday, I had lunch with my prayer warrior moms.  

One of the greatest blessing of my life over the past four or five years has been to meet every two weeks with an amazing group of women to pray for our loved ones.  My life has been changed by meeting with these women and praying with them.  It has been changed in ways I could never have believed when I first came into their midst.  Our prayers and our conversations are confidential.  The transparency of their hearts has helped to heal my own heart as we have prayed for each other.  This week at time other than the time we set aside to pray and joined each for lunch in the love home of one our fellow praying moms.  We talked and shared our stories about who we were we before we were moms.  We talked about our professional lives.  We shared life stories.   I learned new stories about these amazing women that I never knew.  These women are my heroes and my dearest prayer companions.

• On Thursday, I gathered with women in my Bible study to study The Letter of Paul to the Philippians.  

During the study, I became ill and had to leave the study.  Women gathered around me and prayed for me and ministered to me.  One, a nurse, drove me home and continued to give me kindness and words of encouragement and support.  I am so very grateful for the many women in my church whom have been like sisters to me and shown me so much love and support.  The fellowship we share is such a special bond.

• On Friday, I was able to serve at a memorial service at my church.  

These past few years, I have been blessed to serve on a committee that provides a reception after every memorial service or funeral at our church.  These dear women on this committee are also some of the dearest women I know.  We make the coffee, arrange the cookies on platters, visit with those attending the services, and try to provide comfort for the bereaved during a time that is so difficult.  

Next week, will be so difficult as we will be serving during the service of one our own, a dearly beloved member of our committee whom has gone from our midst to her home in heaven.  She was such a spark of delight and joy in every setting.  

As I help clean-up after the reception yesterday, as we were folding table cloths and putting away serving dishes, I remembered that the last time this dear departed one had served by my side, which was only a few months ago, she and I discovered we had a problem after the service because one of the cloths on the memorial table had been ruined by melted wax.  This dear one knew just what to do.  She began working on the wax with ice, and then she took the cloth home to get the rest of the wax out with a hot iron applied to layers of cloth over and under the ruined cloth.  It was returned look better than brand new.

I am so grateful for all the women in my life whom I have met over the years. My life is so very rich in friendship and in fellowship.

The week has been a full one.  It has truly provided so many reasons to feel gratitude.  

Now, the sun is out.  The sky has large patches of blue.  The snow is melting.  We are going for a walk.  I think we will be able to attend our out of town dinner meeting after all.  

I’m back from my walk.  This walk gives me another reason to rejoice in thanksgiving.

My hubby and Boston lead the way on our walk.

As I observe the quickly melting snow, Jim comments on how brisk and refreshing the air feels.  

Boston and I pose for our photo on this beautiful Saturday in November.

I am so grateful for where I live.  The beauty of this place continues to fill my heart with such joy.  I love living in the foothills of the mountains again.

Living among the creatures is a mixed blessing.  This big boy was watching me go for my walk as he sat sunning himself in my neighbor’s front yard.  

His harem was nearby.  

How was your was your week?  What did you do this Saturday?  Are any of you taking time to record your gratitudes this month?

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Happy Birthday to The Love of My Life

On this day seventy-five years ago, my husband was born.  Yesterday, we celebrated both the occasion of his birth and the man himself.  Family and a few friends gathered at our home to eat a light lunch and some cake and ice cream while we shared laughs and stories with each other. 

Just before our guests arrived, I placed the numbers 7 and 5 atop an orange chiffon cake, stepped back to see if I had placed them correctly on the cake, and then was struck by the realization that the love of my life, the man I first met when we were both teens, was turning 75! 

Earlier in the day, I’d joked that he was just five years from entering his ninth decade.  All joking aside, two other thoughts also entered my mind:  

1.  I’m right behind him in age by just a year and a half.

2.  I hoped we both would continue to grow old together as we progress through the decades ahead.

In preparation for the party, I had gathered a few photos and portraits of Jim and placed them around the house.  One, a photo taken in his childhood, perhaps when he was about three shows a shy boy not looking at the camera with just a hint of a smile on his face.  He looks like he had already become quite a charmer.  I know how much he was adored by his older sister, his parents, and his grandparents, all of whom were refugees from Europe.  Jim represented all their hopes for the future.  I only wish they were all alive today so I could tell them just how much he had fulfilled all their hopes and dreams for the future they envisioned for him.  They would be so incredibly proud.  

Now, he is surrounded not by his parents and his only sibling, but he has a wonderful legacy of children, step-children, and grandchildren who also adore him.

I saw that same young boy shy smile on his face in his seventy-fifth birthday photo.  Yes, the man with the gift of making friends, shaking hands, and making others feel like they belong, is a bit shy.  Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that he does not like attention being paid to him, but he certain is able to command the stage and garner much respect and many accolades whenever he occupies it. 

One photo on display yesterday, was the iconic photo of Jim standing by his Chevy when he was about eighteen or nineteen years old.

Yesterday, my cousin reminded me that she remembered him picking me up for a date in that car back in the day when were both teens.  

I’ve had the joy of knowing this man since I was a very young girl filled with young girl’s dreams of what love and marriage would be like.  I still have a few treasured love letters from those days, and there are the earliest records of our expressions of love for each other recorded in old high school yearbooks.  

Voted “Most Ambitious” in his class, the yearbook also noted that he “was twenty-fourth in the class and had applied for a scholarship.  He won the scholarship, paid his way through college, worked forty-two years in education, and continues to work to this day.  Ambitious?  Yes.   

To say that I was smitten with this young man when I first met him would be an understatement.  The words I wrote to him in his yearbook are words of a young woman experiencing the early days of the very first time of being in love. They were words gushing over the fun I’d had with him at dances, picnics, parties, and “on dates.”  I ended the missive I’d written in his yearbook in 1961 with these words: Whatever happens in the future, I’ll never forget you, and I hope we’ll always be as happy as we are now.  Ours was a very innocent love, so different from those so many teens have today.  

In truth, I had great admiration for Jim from the moment I met him.  I was a few years behind him in school, I looked up to him.  He was a peer group leader, and quite popular with all the guys and gals alike.  He was king of the sock hop which was one of our first dates.  (Such things were so important to young girls back in the day.) Beyond that, and more importantly, Jim always treated me with such great respect and kindness.  I note that in that high school yearbook, I wrote …thank you for all the thoughtful things you have done for me, no matter how big or how small, they have meant more to me than you will ever know.  He won me by his genuine good nature, his humor, his charm, and his great kindness.  He set the bar high for any man I might meet after him.

Sadly, I did not marry him first.  He did ask me more than once, three times he asked, before I foolishly married someone else when I was just twenty-one years old.  When I married the first time, it seemed Jim was destined to become a sweet memory of my youth, a young man of whom I would speak to children and grandchildren if ever they asked about the days of my girlhood.  It seemed they might just chance upon his name in my yearbook, or ask about mementos pasted in my scrapbooks, or perhaps they might have even found those long ago written love notes or a photo or two.  They would never have the blessing of having him be a part of their lives.

Thankfully, all of that never proved to be true.  Thankfully,  Providence smiled favorably on us both. In 1991, ten years after I was divorced and not long after Jim was also divorced, we reconnected.  It seemed we picked up where we had left off thirty years before.  On our first date the second time around, we talked non-stop for six or seven hours catching up on the past thirty years and the lives we had lived before we met again.   When he proposed marriage a few months later, I did not turn him down.  I had become much wiser in those years between the ages of twenty-one and forty-seven.  Good men are hard to find.  Thankfully, I had another chance to join my life with this good and kind and dear man.  In the corners of my mind and heart, I had always carried a special love for him.

We became man and wife in midlife.  Our children were all nearly grown.  We still had three children at home.  One was his.  Two were mine.  We faced the challenges of blending families, rebuilding lives that had been rocked financially, professionally, and emotionally by divorce.  We worked hard together and found that as a team we functioned well together.  We were always on the go.  Jim became a high school principal, and I taught high school English.  We didn’t have time to age.  Being involved with youth kept us young. Age was truly just a number.

  

The children all married.  They began to have children.  Our tribe grew by leaps and bounds.  They moved miles away from us which meant that vacations were spent traveling to see them all.  It seems unbelievable that we now have nineteen grandchildren between us.  We have had so much joy with each new addition to the family.  Jim has also been there by my side as I buried a child and have grieved the loss of her life.  I truly do not know what I would do without this man by my side.

On this very day six years ago, after about six years of semi-retirement, on Jim’s birthday, we moved to our current home and started another new chapter of our lives.  

The man I married failed at retirement.  So far, he has never successfully achieved full retirement. After returning to academic life as a principal whenever there was a need at a school for an administrator for a short term, Jim decided not to renew any teaching credentials after we moved to Colorado Springs.  Soon, he was toying with the idea of working again.  He applied for a job at an Apple store and was hired to work part-time. He loves his job of selling computers, iPads, phones, and Apple watches.  

Yesterday, at his birthday party, I think the favorite photo I took was of him working on my cousin’s phone.  Just as we were to light the candles on his cake, she handed him her phone and said, “My phone isn’t working right.  What’s wrong with my camera?  Can you fix it so I can take your picture blowing out the candles on your cake?”  It is so typical of what happens wherever we go. “Jim will you help me with a problem I’m having with my phone?” Jim, the Apple man fixes all your Apple problems.

*******

When we were teens, I remember that the girls used to list the attributes we were looking for in a boyfriend.  We were so naïve.  I remember most of us would say that we wanted a “good dancer.”  Did we think we would be dancing through life?  

Jim & Sally dancing at Homecoming September 1961

Ironically, Jim and I did go on to attend many dances in the future.  As a high school principal, we had prom duty for more years than I can remember.  We always danced.  

So many times when I think back to my youth, for some reason, I clearly remember dancing with him at lunch during high school to the song “Runaround Sue” by Dion.  In my mind’s eye I see his charming slight grin, the one I only see when he dances a “fast dance” in the rock and roll style of the early 60’s.  I guess we would say we danced the Bop.  (Now, that term dates us, as does the style of dancing we still dance when we get a chance.)  I see his eyes sparkle in my mind’s eye, and my heart still melts with the memory of it all.

 I also remember dancing with him at the prom to “Some Enchanted Evening.”  It was the theme of the prom his senior year.  In my naivete, I thought life with such a guy as Jim would be full of nothing but enchanted evenings.  

 

Jim & Sally Prom Spring 1961

Those guilelessness days have long since passed, yet the charms that Jim possessed mostly spoke to me of his sincerity, honorable character, truthfulness, his forthrightness, and his unpretentious nature. I just didn’t understand that when I was sixteen years old. I knew he earned my love and trust, but I never could have realized how important it was to have a companion with those sorts of characteristics when I was naively saying I wanted a guy who was a good dancer.

 

Jim & Sally dancing at my cousin’s wedding 2012

Last month, my husband and I danced at his granddaughter’s wedding.  A month away from his seventy-fifth birthday, we danced the Bop to one of the old-time hits from the 60’s.  We danced a slow song and held each other tightly as we danced to some love song.  I no longer care if my partner is a good dance partner.  How could I have been so shallow?  Thankfully, the partner I have on the dance floor these days is that young man whom first took my hand during the grand procession during his senior prom and led me onto the dance floor to sweep me off my feet on a spring evening fifty-seven years ago.

He is the best partner in life that a woman could ever have.  We don’t have a lot of enchanted evenings, nor have we lived an enchanted life, but we have lived a life of sweet companionship filled with all the things that attracted me to him in the first place:  laughter, good humor, fun, like-mindedness, kindness, selfless serving, generosity, truthfulness, faithfulness, honesty, and integrity.  

This man, the love of my life, becomes dearer to me with each passing day.  I snapped this photo of him recently at his granddaughter’s wedding right after he had said to me, “I love you.”  In case you can’t tell, I’m still smitten by him.  

Happy birthday, my love.  Here’s to many, many more years filled with happiness and love. 

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Staying Alive At Fifty-five

Full disclosure:  Don’t let the title of this blog post mislead you.  

I am not fifty-five,

but I am staying alive.

A few weekends ago, I gathered with my high school classmates for our fifty-fifth reunion.  When the invitation to the gathering arrived in the mail months ago, I saw that the theme for the occasion was: fifty-five and staying alive.  At my age staying alive all these years after high school graduation is something to celebrate, and in truth, the sobering fact is that so many of my classmates did not live to see this reunion.  

I’ve thought about that theme a great deal since our gathering.  Here are some lessons I’d like to share with you.

Lessons learned at my 55th high school reunion 

• Stay connected!  I made some of the most amazing friends in high school.  Thankfully, these friends are among my dearest friends today.  Do you know why?  It is because we have taken the time to stay connected.  And when I say connected, I mean connected.  Not only do we meet on a regular basis (four times a year), but we also take the time at these gatherings to really share about what is going on in our lives.  Without a doubt, no matter what, I know these girls will be there for me until my last breath, and I will also be there for them.  They are among my dearest and closest friends.
  

A month before our reunion we realized we had not met for way too long because when we set up our yearly schedule for gatherings, we had decided to wait until the reunion to meet after our early spring gathering.  In July, we had an impromptu meeting and those who could went to lunch.  There is something really special that happens when a bunch of 70+ year old ladies meet for lunch and spend the afternoon laughing.  Kathy, seated at the far end of the table on the left, planned the lunch and gave us each a rose as we left.  

• Laughter makes you look younger!. Find those friends that make you really laugh.  When you laugh, the wrinkles around your eyes and your lips come from laughter so you can fool people into thinking that you are younger and don’t really have any wrinkles.  “Those wrinkles!  They aren’t from age. They are only there when I laugh.”  Well, maybe not, but I am convinced that laughter not only makes you look younger, it also makes you feel younger. 

• The eyes never age.  I look into the eyes of some of my girlfriends from high school and I see the same girl I used to tap on the shoulder in English class while we were reading A Tale of Two Cities and ask her if she had the answer to the question I didn’t quite get.  I see her blue eyes, and we are both sixteen again.  I know her life story and know it has been filled with triumph and tragedy, but to me she is both a naive girl of sixteen and mature grandmother of 73.  Those eyes connect hearts and those connections have deepened over the decades.  In each other’s eyes and hearts, we will never really age.

• Guys still love their cars, so pose with them beside their cool cars.  This guy restored this old car.  He and his car both look amazing.  

• Treasure friendships that span the generations. Tell the stories that include those whom are no longer with us.  This guy’s parents were best friends with my best friend’s parents.  I remember those days when our parents were all still alive and they all would gather together for a summer evening barbecue.  They would be laughing and telling stories, and we would be the kids listening to their stories of long ago.  Now, our parents are gone, and we are left to remember those times and tell the stories of long ago.   It seems that as we age, there are fewer and fewer of our acquaintances whom knew our parents.
• High school sweethearts are the best kind of sweethearts to have.  I came home from my fifty-fifth high school reunion with the very best gift that my time in high school ever gave me: my high school sweetheart, the love of my life, my hubby.  
  

Fifty-five and staying alive is something to celebrate.

I’m so very grateful I had the blessing of being able to do so.

Strands of Silver

I thought I would be brave and that I would not cry,

But cry I did,

when I made that call to have my 

strands of silver 

shorn.  

Shorn.

So many images come to mind when I speak the word.

Sheep in the pasture after a shearing looking so 

naked.

So exposed.

Powerless,

 they are led to the shearing shed

 where their wool is cut and gathered.

Shorn.

The word can be used to describe depriving someone from power once wielded.

Shorn.

Yes, the days when my hair could be brandished,

shown off for its natural curl and color,

are gone.

I held on to those silver curls even when they were getting thin

because I needed to twirl them in my fingers,

wash them,

shake them out,

ply them.

I remember when once they wielded power over all the other girls with straight locks.

They looked at me with envy after a day of swimming.

In those days,

days of my youth,

I did not flaunt my curls on purpose.

In fact,

I did not love them.

I did not embrace them.

I fought them.

I straightened them.

Tape.

Orange juice cans.

Wrapping strands of hair on great big rollers,

before I went to bed.

Blow driers.

Hot irons.

Curling irons.

Reverse perms.

I tried all methods I ever knew of to try to achieve the looks the other girls had.

I did not want my curls.

I did not want those unique locks.

And yet,

curls 

have always been a major part of my identity.

There once was a little girl

With a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

That was me.

When I was older,

I let my hair go silver, and it was a beautiful silver.

I finally learned to embrace my curls.

And then,

I began to lose those silver strands of hair.

Strand,

By 

strand

hair fell from my head over many days and nights,

eight years of days and nights where hair fell out.

Silver would cover my clothing.

Silver strands would tangle in my fingers as I washed my hair.

It was a 

Slow

Shedding

Of

Silver 

Strands.

Shorn

By a strange disease,

scars

replaced where each of my hair follicles once flourished.

Today, 

I ran my fingers through those very few 

strands of silver

for

one last time.

My fingers where tangled in the 

silver strands

that have been deserting me.

Silver strands on a headband

I am done.

It is now time 

to wield

 my own power.

Today, I will be 

Shorn

Of these 

Silver strands forever.

A Second Blooming

Stuck

I often struggle with becoming unstuck.

I read in a book about grief that one must guard against becoming stuck in one stage of grief.

Life is the same way.

One must guard against becoming stuck in one stage of life or another.

I have a wise and wonderful advisor and friend in my life.

She recently asked me where I was in my grief journey.

As I often do, instead of directly answering the question, I told a story.

I also showed her a photo to go with my story.  

The photo was of my amazing daisy plant.  It has bloomed itself crazy this year.

When the daisy was blooming at its very finest, a friend came by to spend the afternoon on my back deck visiting.  She asked just what I had done to produce such a beautiful plant.  Honestly, I just planted it in the right location for sunlight and drainage, and I then watered it.  For several weeks, I enjoyed the positive comments that came my way because of Miss Daisy’s performance.

Then one day, Miss Daisy didn’t bloom anymore.

I just could not leave that beautiful plant in her current state.

My Daisy needed a hair cut.

July’s appearance had been stunning,

but by mid-August she just was not looking quite the same.

I knew she looked tired, spent, and all dried up, but

I knew my dear Daisy was not through blooming.

She might not bloom as gloriously as she had earlier, but she was not dead yet!

Sure enough, as I began to clip away at the blooms that were no longer beautiful,

hidden beneath the spent blossoms were

 new buds just waiting to have their chance

 to show up and  bloom in the sun.

The new buds would never see the sunshine, 

nor would they have the room to bloom again

 if I had not

 cut off the remains of the blooming which had already occurred.

After I related this gardening story to my wise and wonderful friend, I said, 

“Let me tie all this together,” 

  You did ask me a question about where I was in my grief journey.

The answer is:

I’m growing.

I’ve learned some very important lessons in trying to remain unstuck.

In order to grow, 

to bloom, 

to not become stuck in grief 

or in other areas of my life which are stuck in the past,

where I have carried unrealistic expectations,

I too must remove those things from my life which no longer bear fruit.

 Holding on to outdated beliefs about how life should be,

practicing old habits that are not productive,

hanging on to things that were once in their glory in my life,

prevent me from moving forward in life.

As every good gardener knows, time in the garden is not just spent on planting.

Time must be spent on deadheading also.

Get rid of the spent blooms.

Give the plant a chance to bloom again.

Real life deadheading is never fun.

It hurts when we experience parts of our lives being pruned and cut back.

We feel as if we have been shorn when we are going through such an experience,

but in the end,

we bloom again when we allow all the dross to be cut away.

Summer is Fading Away

On a Sunday morning in late August, sidewalk art caught my eye.  Even though it seemed a bit crazy to do, I stopped to take a photo of an image that provided me with a metaphoric representation of a message I have been unwilling to accept:  Summer is fading away.

The faded sidewalk art must have been so bright and colorful on the day that an unknown artist brightened up a bit of sidewalk by painting a sunflower.  I imagined the artist painting the flower in anticipation of an upcoming festival at the beginning of the summer.  Since that day, many feet have passed over the painted flower throughout the summer.  Its brightness has faded as the paint was slowly chipped way to leave only a faint rendering of the original image.  

Artists do not paint on sidewalks if they wish the art they are making to last long.   As I age, I find that like temporary sidewalk art, I am very aware that summer seems to be the most fleeting of all the seasons.  It is also the season I most wish to extend.  I wish to deny that another summer is ending which means that the days ahead will be less full of sunshine, flowers, and warmth.   

Flowers can't bloom forever.  For everything there is a season.  I can't deny that truth.  I am grateful for each season of the year.  Each is needed in the cycle of life where I live.  I would not want to live where I wouldn't be able to enjoy the changes that each season brings.   I am also grateful for each season of life, but as I age, I find myself asking myself how many more summers I will have where I will be able to do all those things that make summer so special.  

Summer ~ A Time to Be Outdoors

I live at the base of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.  My walks, while healthy for my body, are even more beneficial for mental health.  

In the evening, as the sun begins to set, I see some spectacular sights. Ending a day gazing at a sky filled with light and shadow reminds me that while I might have experienced both light and shadow throughout the day, it is the light that not shine through but also lifts my eyes upward.  Light pierces the darkness as the day ends, and my soul finds peace as I reflect up the message of hope that shines brightly before my very eyes. 

Each day I look for opportunities for finding the silver lining behind every dark cloud.  We just have look for those silver linings.  I've found that I usually can find them in every situation.

I share my daytime walks with the many wildlife creatures that live near my home.  I never know what creature I may encounter along the way.  Can you see a doe poking her head between these walls and houses as she searches for food or shelter?

As I got closer to this sweet little doe, she seemed so small and vulnerable as she stood behind some bushes.  I noted her skinny little legs and inquired as to her health.  She just watched me with her soft doe eyes as I passed by without making any comment or movement.  I do hope she is well.

As much as I fret and fume over the damage the deer do, I also feel so much compassion for these beautiful creatures who find themselves living in an urban setting which is really not healthy for them.  

Summer ~ A Time for Creativity 

As with every summer, I began this summer with high hopes for the small garden plots I worked to create around the perimeters of my house.  The grasshoppers, the slugs, the rabbits, and the deer all have feasted on my plantings.  Needless to say, my impossible garden did not live up to my expectations, nor did I see my dreams of flower blooming around my house realized. I did manage to get one bouquet from the delphiniums I planted before the bucks showed up and ate the plants down to the ground.  These blooms represent a victory of sorts and my determination that I will grow flowers in this environment that seems to be set against me doing so.  

Many evenings and afternoons were spent on the back deck writing in my journal or reading.  I love summer evenings spent in the quiet solitude provided by my back deck.  

Summer ~ A Time To Enjoy My Man & My Dog

I do think dogs enrich our lives so much.  This special companion is so loved by us both, but there is no denying that Boston is Jim's special boy.  We love taking him for walks.  We are all three getting older, and sadly Boston has developed a limp due to hip dysplasia.  The vet says he must lose some weight.  Hmmmm.   The doctor told us the same thing, so we all three must keep up the walks and start limiting the food.  

Summer ~ A Time for Limited Structure to Schedules

In summer, I find I return to the types of schedules I liked to keep when I was teaching and summer vacation finally rolled around. I like to read fluffy novels that keep me up late at night.  I love going to bed late.  I like sleeping with the windows open so I can feel the cool mountain breeze flow down through the valley where we live and through our bedroom as we sleep.  I love being awakened by the chimes from Mount St. Francis a mile from my home.  I love not having a strict schedule.  I have purposed having a healing, relaxing, and mostly stress free summer.  

I accomplished that by spending a lot of time right here on my very own front patio.  

Summers spent with those you love most in settings that bring joy and peace are the very best kinds of summer to have.

How was your summer?  What did you do this summer?

Blogging Woes ~ A plea for help

I am about to throw in the towel on Blogger!  After blogging for just over a decade, I suddenly no longer understand Blogger at all.  Today, I took a bit of a memory walk down my blogging history timeline.  When I did that, I knew for sure I am not ready to give up blogging, but I also knew I needed to reach out to those of you still blogging on a regular basis and see if you could give me some support and answer some questions for me.

My desk is way too clean, and my computer is lonely because I never touch her anymore.  She wants me to start writing blog posts again.

Here are some of some stats about my blog:

• I have published 346 blog posts!  That amazes me. 
• According to Blogger, my first blog post, published June 25, 2008, had nine (9) views.
• My next post, was not published until November of 2008.  It had 24 views.
• It was not until October of 2009 that I had any readers outside the family whom actually left a comment on my blog.  
• My first real follower, or reader, was Jann from www.benchmark60.blogspot.com.  She identified herself as #1Nana.  We became blog friends and later met in person more than once when we joined other bloggers for a weekend on Vashion Island.  We called ourselves the Vashionistas.

  The first Vasionista Gathering in 2012 Sandi, Deb, Linda, DJan, and Jann

Bloggers blogging at a blogger gathering. The Vashionistas at the second gathering in 2013 Jann, Sally, Deb

• After my daughter died unexpectedly in June of 2010, the blogging community became a great source of support.  As I blogged of my experience, I gained not only readers, but great compassionate support from the blogging community.  
• I have never understood the way spammer affect the numbers of views that a blog would have, but I know that as my views grew into the hundreds of views for one post, that I had spammers because I would get nonsense type comments.  
• Throughout 2012 and 2013, I regularly had between 400 and 500 views of each post, and I would publish at least 20+ comments for each post.  I would not publish comments that appeared to be spam.
• The top number of views that I had for any one post, was 14,778.  This post was commented on by 63 people, but I only published about 30 of those comments because of some the attacks that readers made on the comments of others.  This post, a remembrance,  was written after the death Kara Tippets, a dear, and much loved woman, whom had great influence me and so many others as she battled breast cancer.
• I have used comments moderation since I very first started blogging.
• My 70th birthday post written three years ago had 988 views.  
• Travel posts and posts about family in 2016 continued to show high numbers of nearly 2,000 views throughout 2016.
• Admittedly, I lost interest in blogging in 2017, and stopped posting on a regular basis.  One would expect readership to go down.  The views appear to have been in the 300 - 500 views per post range.  I continued to get a lot of comments.
• Then, suddenly, the views seemed to stop, as did the comments.

I have never been concerned about numbers of followers, viewers, or readers.  Numbers just never mattered.  I was not using the blog as a source of income.  I did not sign-up for adsense.  I saw blogging as a way to stay connected to the broader world.  I have made friends through blogging, but some of those friends stopped blogging for a variety of reasons.  Blogging takes time and commitment and many just decided to stop spending time on blogging.

Blogging brought many people into my life whom I would never have met any other way.  Many fellow bloggers became great friends.  Many I have never met in the flesh, but we correspond on a more personal basis through Facebook, or by email.  I know many of my blogging friends better than I know most of my neighbors.  In fact, I keep up with their lives more avidly that I keep up with the lives of family members.  Blogging does that.  It is a place we gather socially and share the stories of our lives.  That is what I love about blogging.

In the time that I was being a bit of a slacker with blogging and not reading or writing posts, it seems like the blogging world turned upside down on me.  I no longer understood Blogger at all.   Here is what I have been experiencing:

• I can no longer post comments on blogs I have read for years.  
• Not only that, I am getting virtually no comments at all on my posts.  I wondered if my blogging friends were mad at me.  Had I offended everyone somehow???
• I noticed it seems my posts are no longer appearing on Blogger Reading List.
• I wondered if I had messed everything up when I switched over to Google+, so I stopped posting using Blogger.
• Then, I went back to using Blogger only to post and did not use Google+. 
•  I’m so confused.
• A dear reader wrote me a private email and told me she could not post to my blog because I needed a gmail address.  (I had a gmail address and thought it was linked to my blog.)
• I did a bit of reading about the need to switch to make sure I was publishing using https.  Ok, that is when I really get confused!  

I thought I would just be done with Blogger and start all over.  I considered using Squarespace, or Wordpress, or whatever.  I thought of hiring someone to create a website for my blog.  I thought of throwing the computer through the window!  

Finally, I bought an ebook on how to fix the mess I could not understand on blogger.  Now, I need to hire someone to tell me what the ebook is saying!  I don’t get it.  Maybe Blogger has truly left me behind.  Maybe I should just sign off and never blog again, but I’m really not ready to so that.  

So, please, those of you out there among my blogging friends, forgive me for not commenting on your blogs.  If I must comment by using a Google identity, I can’t seem to leave a comment.  

I miss seeing comments on my blog and wonder if comments have been left and then lost in space somewhere.  One woman said that one day, after weeks and weeks of never getting comments, she got all of weeks and weeks of comments in one day.  

In conclusion, if you have read all of this and are still with me, please send help!  What did you do when blogger made all of the recent changes?  Did you change anything?  What am I doing wrong?

I will be forever grateful for any advice you can give me.  I haven’t given up yet.  I hope to be up and running at full speed soon.  It is discouraging to write posts when they seem to be flung to the universe and never make it to readers.  

Thanks again for all of your loyal support in the past.  

Reflections on Grief and Gardening

8/08/18

Team 808

This post was written seven years ago when I struggling through my journey with grief after the death of my daughter Julie on May 29, 2010.  

Gardening was one place where I always found solace, comfort, and peace during that time.

The lessons I learned during that time continue to teach me as I continue this journey 

one day at a time.

I am reposting this in Julie’s memory on this day that always reminds us of her.

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

If gardening truly is a form of autobiography, then I would have to say that my gardening this year could serve as a metaphor for my life for the past month or so.  Mostly, I have felt that I have been living in a hit or miss style when it comes to gardening, blogging, house keeping, and journaling.  Perhaps, I have an excuse for this style of living.  Perhaps, I do not.

It has been a hectic past four weeks.  Family has been visiting.  I have many trips up and down I25 from Pueblo to Colorado Springs to visit my son while he was staying at his mother-in-law's house, or to keep doctors' appointments.  I have also made my share of trips up and down I25 between Pueblo and Erie, Colorado to babysit grandchildren and help out my daughter Amy in other ways.  And, I've even made a trip up North to work on a professional project with which I have been involved over the summer.

I have struggled with anxiety, stress, pain, and grief throughout the summer.  I am finally feeling better.  I am learning to deal with my stress better.  I'm no longer quite as surprised by the waves of grief that continue to wash over me.  I am learning to expect this as I move forward in the healing process.

Most mornings begin with me reading the newspaper, drinking my coffee, eating my breakfast, and chatting with my man while we sit on our back deck.  I'm grateful for such an unhurried, peaceful way to start the day.  I love the comfort the beauty of my flowers give me.

Today, I did get out of my hit or miss mode and got the roses deadheaded.  I also gave the lavender a hair cut since I had neglected to harvest the blooms when they were in their prime.  I am hoping for a second blooming.

I keep my old Olympus C740 in the shed to use to record work done on the yard and garden.  I also take photos to remind me how a certain bed was planted the year before, or to remind me of lessons I need to learn as I plant in coming years.

Yes, gardening is a form of autobiography.

Autobiographical Lessons from This Year's Garden

• Spacing and planning ahead

I love my zinnia bed in the front yard,

but

I failed to space my planting appropriately.

I have that problem in life.

I had five kids in ten years.

This is another illustration of my spacing problem.

My kids, and my zinnias, are a beautiful sight to behold,

so

maybe a wild, blooming bunch of them all together is not a problem after all.

• Think before you commit to something that might be a hard thing to remove in your life.

I once loved the look of Russian sage that grew in hedges I saw as I drove through town.

I planted three for four of them to use as a hedge in my front yard.

My neighbor put weed killer on all but one of them,

thankfully!
I was so upset with him at the time.

Later, I dealt with the reality of that big, land grabbing, spreading plant that I added to my landscape.

I no longer loved it.

It took two years of applications of weed killer,

an ax,

a shovel,

and a strong man

to get rid of the roots that this plant put down.

Finally, it is gone.

It no longer sends out new plants.

I research things a bit more now before I let them become rooted in my life.

Digging out Russian sage

Using an ax to get the job done

• Gardening and grief

As in gardening, we must make choices in how we respond to grief.

Grief adds many textures, colors, and dimensions to our lives that were not there before.

We have a choice on how we respond to grief.

In the early days of the grief experience, we sometimes think our lives will  never bloom again.

During a time of mourning and grief, everyone turns to something.

Making choices that mask our pain is done because we believe this will make our pain go away.

In reality, such choices can delay our healing.

H. Norman Wright said that after the loss of a loved one
it takes at least eighteen months 

to experience longer stretches of time with less pain.

By trusting God's healing grace,

I find I am moving forward 

in life

and 

in healing.

Grief changes everyone.

Grief is hard work.

Doing the hard work of grief brings the lessons that only grief can teach us.

When we invite grief to changes us,

it deepens us.

It grows our souls.

We find peace.

* Many of the lessons on grief quoted in this post were taken from Susan Duke's book, Grieving Forward, Embracing Life Beyond Grief.

** All of the flower photos were taken today in my garden.

• The pink rose bud:  Queen Elizabeth
• The white rose:  Pope John Paul II
• The red rose: I did not record the name for this rose.  I named it Julie many years ago.  
• The pink/yellow rose:  The Peace Rose

A Trip to Philadelphia ~ Memorial Day to the Fourth of July ~ Part Two

These days, I do not travel alone.  I may go to Utah without Jim to visit my children, but other than that, as I have gotten older and have had a few health challenges, I do not like to travel alone.  Utah is a place where I spent many years living, and I have spent all of these thirty plus years since I left Utah returning at least once during the year for a visit, so I am very familiar with my surroundings there.  It is like returning to my old hometown. 

Also, I have friends and family there, so I never feel adrift when I am there alone.  I no longer drive to Utah alone.  I make the one hour flight so easily that I often wonder why I don’t make the trip more often.   Once I am there, I generally rent a car so I have my independence while visiting friends and family.  

Philadelphia 

This year, I made decision I rarely make these days. I decided to fly to Philadelphia alone so that I could attend conference. When we were working, Jim and I went to different destination spots to attend educational conferences. It was always fun to make those trips where we would learn new things, meet new people, and explore new places.  This trip to Philadelphia was different from many of those professional conference trips that we once made.  The conference I planned on attending in Philadelphia, while educational, was a medical conference where I would learn the very latest about living with and treating a medical condition that I have called Frontal Fibrosing Alopcia.  

Jim always so supportive of me in dealing with this condition, encouraged me to attend the conference.  I wanted to make a trip out of it for both of us, yet when we discussed the trip, we decided that he really would not enjoy being at the conference with me, and since the conference was being held at a hotel at the airport, it would be difficult and expensive for him to make trips into the city from the conference hotel to explore the historical sites found in the city.  We even discussed extending the trip so that we could explore the area together once the conference was over. We thought we might rent a car and drive to Scranton, Pennsylvania, to visit my son and his family.  

Flights, rental cars, and hotels are very expensive in the east during the first of June, so that also was a factor that we considered when we thought about making this trip together.  As it turned out, my son and his wife were going to be packing up and getting ready to move back to Colorado about the same time I would be attending the conference.  In the end, it just made more sense for me to travel alone to Philadelphia.  

If you have read my blog before, you may have read my accounts of living with alopecia.  I first wrote about my journey with hair loss in 2016.  You can read that post here:  Hair: A Journey of Loss.  The most recent I wrote can be read here:  Life Lessons Learned from Hair Loss.  

CARF

Cicatricial Alopecia Research Foundation

I attended my first CARF Conference two years ago in New Orleans.  When I was in New Orleans, I made great friends among the wonderful people whom also have some form of scarring alopecia.  One would never aspire to join the CARF community, yet one is so grateful to have a group that offers so much support when one is hit with scarring alopecia.   It is a shock to be hit with alopecia!  I often welcome new members to the scarring hair loss community by saying, “This is one of those clubs you never wanted to join, but you will find it is one the best clubs you can ever join because it is where you find so much understanding, support, and friendship.”

When I finally left for Philadelphia, I could hardly wait to meet all my friends that I had met in New Orleans two years ago.  Some of these friends, from all over the country, have been there when I have called them on the phone and we have talked for over an hour at a time sharing hope and help when it seemed no one else even knew anything about the disease we share.  We send emails, and we support each other online forums. We have an awesome community!

You won’t see photos of my alopecia friends in my posts because this is a condition many choose not to share with others.  I honor and respect the privacy that others wish to have.

********

I posted the following on a private internet support group page when I first arrived in Philadelphia:

I’m here in Philadelphia attending the CARF Conference. Ben and I have a lot in common. I never thought I’d end up looking like him, but FFA hit me, and now he and I have a real connection. I’m looking forward to learning more about this condition from the shared wisdom of this awesome group of people.

Good old Ben and I really do have a lot in common these days.  We share the same hairline.  Actually, Ben’s hairline is not as far back on his forehead as mine is, and he has more hair in the back than I do.  

My forehead is not even a “fivehead” anymore.  It is more like a “sixhead.”  In other words, I need the width of six finger to measure how far my hair has receded.  This is not the look I was going for as I aged!

*********

Once I landed in Philadelphia, I boarded a bus to take me to the hotel and happily realized that my dear, dear friend that I officially met two years ago was on the same bus.  She was the first person I ever spoke to by phone who also had the same form of scarring alopecia that I have.  We “met” over the net because I wrote a blog post about my condition.  Someone else with this condition read my post, called this friend to tell her to read my post.  Once this person read my post, she commented on my blog about what I written.  I read her comment, and then tracked her down, sent her an email, and then we spoke by phone for nearly two hours!  That was two and a half years ago.  I now count her among my dearest friends.  

*********

I saw little of Philadelphia itself.  Most of my time was spent at the conference.  I hope to write about the conference itself later.  I did however make three short trips into the city.  

The first day I in Philly, one of my friends and I took an Uber into the city, did a little bit of walking, and ate lunch while we caught up with each other about life and about our shared hair condition.  She took a photo of me while we were in town.  That’s me wearing one of my wigs while I am standing in front of Independence Hall.  

I learned from ConstitutionFacts.com, that those wig-wearing men whom frequented Independence Hall when our country was first founded were wearing wigs made of goat and horse hair.  Those wigs were seldom washed properly, smelled terrible, and tended to attract lice.  (Yuck)  That is why these wigs were called  “powdered wigs.” The wig wearer sprinkled a powder that was made of “finely ground starch and scented with lavender” over their wigs. (Was this the first dry shampoo?)

I can’t even imagine how heavy those wigs must have felt, and it makes my head itch to even think of having goat hair or horse hair next to scalp.  Scratch, scratch, scratch.  

Ben Franklin was truly a wise man.  He rocked his bald head.  He did not wear a wig.  

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

My next trip into the city came when on the second night of my conference my son surprised me with a phone call saying that since the flights bringing his wife and baby to Pennsylvania had been disrupted by late flight connections, she was now flying into Philly.  He and his oldest son picked me up after my conference Saturday night dinner, and took me into town for dessert at Max Brenner’s.  What a fun time that was!  I didn’t think I’d get to see these two when I was in PA, but it turned out we had a special adventure of driving around downtown Philly at night while looking for that special place where chocolate addictions are fed by wonderful concoctions heavily flavored by chocolate. 

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

On the last night of the conference, after nearly everyone else had gone home, one of my dear friends with scarring alopecia whom I met in New Orleans and then was able to spend time with again in Philadelphia, asked me to join her and her mother on a trip into the city for dinner.  We took a taxi to Reading Terminal Market.  What a fun place!  We ended up eating dinner at a place called Molly Malloy’s.  The hamburgers there were seriously the best I have eaten in a very long time!

It had been raining when we arrived at Reading Terminal Market, but since the rain had stopped when we finished eating, we decided to do a bit of a walking tour of Philadelphia.  

I recognized a few of the landmarks from my trip into town with my son Jonathan, so I suggested we go to Max Brenner’s for dessert.  I thought that Google Maps would help us find the way.  I think I also must have been thinking that the guy on the horse was pointing in the direction we should go.  

My friend took a walk through the water fountain...

We then got out to the street where we were supposed to go, but I learned that I am very challenged about direction in big cities.  Actually, I already knew that.  Also, I learned that when following Google Maps, one should make sure that the “walking” instructions are on instead of the “driving” instructions.  Oppps.  There are a lot of one way streets in Philadelphia, so the driving instructions kept telling us to turn when we should not have turned while walking.  

We were very turned around, and we were walking in the opposite direction from where we wanted to go.  My friend and her mother suggested that it seemed we were heading into a neighborhood that didn’t look too safe.  They were right.  Thankfully, a couple came along, and we asked them for directions.  Yep, we were truly walking in the opposite direction from our destination.

We turned around and soon we arrived at Max Brenner’s where for the second time, I enjoyed a wonderful chocolate dessert.  

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On my last day in Philadelphia, I only had time for breakfast at the hotel before I had to leave for the airport.  I was sure everyone from the conference had left when I went downstairs, but I was wrong.  As I headed to the restaurant, I heard the familiar voices of a few of my friends.  We all were so happy to have one last time to share a meal, some conversation, some words of support.  Departing hugs were given, and we all promised to meet again in two years for our next conference.  

My trip to Philadelphia was memorable for so many reasons.  I reunited with so many friends, and I made new ones.  As I have said before, some of the most intelligent, successful, and beautiful women I have ever met are the women I have met whom also suffer from scarring alopecia.  There are also some men in this group whom have given so much to make sure we have the support and information we need to deal with this disease.  I can’t imagine having this disease without the support of all of the wonderful people associated with CARF.  I’m so grateful I had the opportunity to attend this conference and spend some time in Philadelphia.

More on the conference itself later...