The Last Word (Blog #925)

Currently it’s four in the afternoon, and I feel gross. For the last week and a half I’ve been fighting sinus junk and losing. Last night my dad came down with a sore throat, and today he said, “It’s your fault. You gave it to me.”

That’s me, a giver.

Thankfully, Dad and I have been able to rest today. Last Tuesday, right after I got sick, Dad had a pacemaker put in. “Don’t touch the dressing or take a shower for ten days,” the doctor said. And whereas I remember thinking that ten days was SO FAR away, it wasn’t. This morning Dad had his dressing removed, and everything was fine. Anyway, now Dad’s taking a nap in his room, and I’m in bed–horizontal–in mine. Outside the temperature is dropping. Fall is here. Life is slowing down, urging me to.

Later tonight I plan to go out dancing. Not because I have a ton of energy, but because I think it will be enjoyable to move, to see my friends. Having dealt with sinus issues most of my life, I have a lot of memories of dancing not at my best. There was that holiday performance at a local department store. I could barely stand to get ready. There was that miserable trip down to Houston. Thankfully my fever broke once we arrived. Anyway, in every case I somehow made it, dragged my ass out onto the dance floor and managed to have fun. That’s the point, of course, fun.

Years later, I’d rather have the memory of dancing while sick than not dancing at all. Which is why I plan to get myself together and get out of the house later. Now, granted, if I were at death’s door, running a fever and coughing constantly, I’d stay in. But it’s not THAT bad. I just need to take it easy, pace myself. Perhaps do more talking than dancing. Leave when my body says leave.

One way I’m pacing myself today is getting this blog done now instead of later. So when the dance is done, I’m done. Today’s blog is #925 in a row, and I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve forced myself to stay awake to finish writing. This has been my choice, of course–to write at night, to write at all–but I’m sure my body has paid the price. Our bodies always pay the price. Sometimes they shut us down, force us to rest whether we like it or not. Personally, listening to my body is one of the toughest things I do. I’d much rather tell it how it should feel instead of listen to how it does. Alas, our bodies always get our attention.

They always have the last word.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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I’m Sick, I Hurt, I Stink (Blog #908)

Yesterday I said that I woke up with sinus junk and started my magic probiotic (L. sakei) in hopes of healing. Well, once again, it worked. I woke up in the middle of the night with a surge of energy. It was like my body said, “Yippee! We feel better!”

“But it’s three in the morning,” I replied.

Of course, my body didn’t care. We lay in bed, wide awake and tossing and turning, until five. Not that I’m complaining. I’d rather be sleep deprived than sinus sick any day. And whereas it’s a bit frustrating to have to deal with sinus junk at all, my life now sure beats my life five years ago. Hell, twenty years ago. For decades I got several sinus infections a year, each infection lasting at least a week. I went to doctors. I took (so many) antibiotics and steroids. I was out time and money. Nothing really helped. Now what used to take a week or more to go away disappears in as little as half a day, without doctors, without drugs. And all for the cost of what? Yesterday I spent six dollars on a bottle of kimchi (which contains L. sakei). All this to say that I’m extremely grateful. This morning I woke up actually looking forward to going to work to paint. I was just happy to be alive and well.

Now, could I wake up sick tomorrow? Of course. None of us are guaranteed a thing.

I guess tonight’s blog is about gratitude, my consciously acknowledging that some things in my life are healing. My sinuses, for one. For another, my headaches. For months (years) I was getting them weekly, sometimes several times a week. But between going to my new chiropractor and (I think) acupuncture and cupping, I haven’t had a full-blown headache in three weeks. Is all my neck tension gone? No, not be any means. But I’m learning that things don’t have to be perfect to be better than the used to be. To be heading in the right direction.

Another thing that’s improved–just in case you wanted to know–is my body odor. Ugh. Ever since I took a ton of antibiotics before my sinus surgery in 2017, my arm pits (and other pits) have off-and-on stunk. Like gag-a-maggot gross. I can’t tell you what a drag this has been. I love dancing, but when I dance, I sweat. And when I sweat, I stink. No one has ever made a big deal about it, but I’ve been super self-conscious about being close to anyone. In the last almost three years, I’ve tried everything–Yodora deodorant cream (which contains borax), white vinegar, baking soda, coconut oil, magnesium and zinc supplements, chlorophyl supplements. The list goes on. Well, I’d pretty much given up. I thought, Maybe this is just the way I smell.

Then God threw me a bone.

What I mean is that a few weeks ago I was reading a book about I don’t even remember what, and that book mentioned another book about the importance of magnesium. Well, I started reading that book, and while doing some Googling about something it said, I ran across an article that said Milk of Magnesia was fabulous for stinky arm pits, I guess because the magnesium keeps the bacteria on your skin (that are responsible for how you smell) in check. No kidding. Look it up. Dr. Oz even did a program about it. Anyway, I bought a bottle (for five bucks), gave it a shot, and it worked like a charm. That first day I worked outside in one-hundred-degree weather and didn’t smell a thing. Now, if I don’t reapply every day (or if I don’t shower), I smell something. Again, things aren’t perfect.

But things are so much better.

A lot of times when I fantasize about healing anything in my life, I imagine something grand like an angel or miracle swooping down and fixing things in an instant. Bippity boppity boo. You know, like all of a sudden a problem is gone and gone forever. Alas, this doesn’t seem to be the way the universe operates. Do miracles happen? You’re damn right they do. And whereas I’m convinced the insta-fix can and does occur, I’m also convinced that more often than not the miracles we experience are a combination of work on our part and grace from above. For instance, I spent hours upon hours scouring the internet for sinus infection home remedies (and trying none too few of them) before coming across one that worked. The same with my headaches, the same with my smelly pits. I consulted and questioned doctors, healers. I spent a lot of money.

Did these actions on my part guarantee my improvements? Absolutely not. That’s where grace comes in. At the same time, I’m not sure the grace of healing would have come had I just stayed at home and done nothing. When was the last time someone magically showed up on your doorstep with the answer to your problem? Probably never. You’ve gotta do your part. So it’s a combination, a paradox of action and inaction. This dance between accepting what is (I’m sick, I hurt, I stink) and believing the answers you’ve been waiting on for years can show up in the blink of an eye.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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On the Right Tools and Being Lined Up (Blog #849)

What can I say? Today has been great. I’ve been house sitting, and this morning I slept in, made breakfast, then set out to do the one and only thing I had on my to-do list–repair a broken (rotten) door at my friend’s house. If I can get this done, I told myself, I won’t tackle any other projects. Instead I’ll do something “fun,” like read a book. Hell, I might even take a shower.

This is a good plan, I thought. So off I went to make it happen.

First off, I took the door off its hinges and surveyed the damage. The problem was that the door had a doggie door, and one day when the doggie door was locked, the dog ripped another hole beside the doggie door, through the rotten wood. It was a mess. Anyway, I covered the doorframe with a blanket, loaded up the door and my tools, and went to Lowe’s. And whereas I’d intended to buy the wood needed to patch the door then cut it myself, I thought, Hell, they can cut it easier, faster, and better than I can, so I had the nice guy in the lumber section do it. This in itself was a small victory. Years ago I would have been too embarrassed to ask for help, too shy to approach “a dude.”

After Lowe’s I stopped at my parents’ house to pick up some paint/stain for the patch, as well as some probiotics for my sinuses, since I woke up feeling slightly junky this morning. One of the things I experiment with is breaking open a multi-strain probiotic pill and swishing the powder around in my mouth. The idea is that whenever you have an excess amount of mucus or–god forbid–a sinus infection, your microbiome “up there” is off, so inserting new critters in your mouth can help (because they crawl up into your nose and sinuses and go to work balancing things out). All this to say that I was chatting with my dad in our kitchen as I broke open the probiotic pill into my mouth and then–sort of like how you try to chat with the dentist when he has his hands in your mouth–I continued talking.

Well, white powder everywhere.

You should have heard my dad laughing.

“I really needed that,” he said. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

Wiping powder off my face, I said, “I’m glad I could help.”

Fortunately, the door repair went better than the probiotic situation did. Granted, it took a while, but there were no major hangups. A friend let me borrow their garage and their power tools to do the work, and y’all, the right tools make all the difference. At one point I needed to cut through the plywood so I’d have enough space to fit my saw into the wood and then cut farther, so I used a small rotary saw to get the job done. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without it. Back at my friend’s house, I hung the door easily enough, but had to make adjustments where the bolt slides into the frame. I think this part was off previously. Regardless, this happens a lot in old houses. Something settles, then things don’t line up like they did before.

And then I took that shower.

Intent of spending the rest of the evening relaxing, I went to a late-late lunch and finished a book I started yesterday. Then I bent my own no-more-work rules and returned some not-needed screws (never thought I’d say that) to Lowe’s and also bought a new hammer because my old one went kaput recently and I’m tired of nailing things in with my flashlight or crowbar. (Anything in a pinch.) Then I helped my aunt with a small project, AND THEN I came back to the house to relax (listen to an online lecture) and, later, eat dinner.

Here’s a secret (that’s not really a secret). A lot of times when I sit down to write, I don’t know what I’m going to say. More specifically, I don’t know what my theme is going to be, what important nugget I’m going to discuss. I’m saying this now because this was the case when I sat down tonight. However, reading what I’ve written, a couple things stand out, which I’ll get to in a moment. But before I do I think it’s important to recognize that this is how creativity works–it doesn’t reveal itself in advance. You have to actually do the thing before you know what’s there. This was one of the points in the lecture I listened to–that in terms of personal growth and transformation, you’ll only discover your latent talents, abilities, and powers when you’re willing to set your old self aside and let your new self come forth.

Now.

The first thing that popped out to me earlier was “the right tools make all the difference.” This is true in handyman work, personal growth and transformation, and healing. For example, my therapist has been an invaluable resource to me and has offered me countless tools for accepting and honoring myself. Lesson One in A Course in Miracles says, “This (fill in the blank) does not mean anything.” This chair does not mean anything. This car does not mean anything. This hot guy across the room does not mean anything. The point of the exercise is to realize that if something means something to you, it’s only because YOU’VE decided that it should, and this means you have a lot of control over the things in your life and whether or not they have control over you. My point is–this exercise is another tool for peace of mind.

If one tool doesn’t get you want you want? Try another.

The other statement I noticed while reading tonight’s post was “something settles, then things don’t line up like they did before.” In my experience, I know when I settle in relationships, what ends up not lining up is me with me. That is, we all have an inner voice that lets us know when people cross the line or when a situation simply isn’t right for us. This is an invitation to self-advocate or simply be honest (this isn’t working for me). Perhaps this means you have to allow a latent power within you (like your voice) to express itself. So what? You try a new tool. A few years ago I would have been intimated to repair a rotten door. I would have thought, I’ve never done that before. Even now I’m almost always intimidated when I have to get real or have a come-to-Jesus meeting with someone. But I’ve done it before, so I can’t say I don’t know how or that I can’t. Plus, more and more I’m not willing to settle. It’s more important for me to be lined up with me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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99.85 Percent and the Pause (Blog #698)

This morning I woke up feeling crummy. Sinus junk. Shoulder pain. Consequently, I’ve spent the day trying to take care of myself. Eating right, beefing up on vitamins, using muscle rub creams. Currently I’m sipping bone broth and have a heating pad around my neck. It’s super sexy. Thankfully, things aren’t AWFUL (except in my mind), and I’m hoping I can head whatever this is off at the pass. I went to the gym to rehab my knee this afternoon instead of tonight, which is when I normally would have gone. Now I’m blogging earlier than normal so that I can go back to bed, get some rest.

When I went to the gym earlier, my dad and my aunt went with me. Dad’s been my gym buddy for a while now, and my aunt signed up while I was out-of-town this last weekend. We’re taking over. Afterwards we went to McDonald’s (don’t judge us just yet) for (wait for it) salads. When we walked in, a teenage boy held the door for us, and my dad told him what he tells every stranger (that’s a man) who holds the door for him–“You, sir, are a scholar and a gentleman. (Pause.) And there aren’t many of us left.” Ba-dum. I’ve heard this more times than I can count. It’s classic Dad. Right up there with what he says every time someone says something about a hormone. “Do you know how to make a hormone? (Pause.) Don’t pay her.”

Groan.

This evening while watching The Voice with my parents, I finished my first official knitting project–a pot holder that says HI. (It might as well say THIS HOMOSEXUAL IS SINGLE AND LIVES WITH HIS PARENTS.) When I sat down to complete the project, I only had six rows to go–six rows of thirty-six stitches each. There are a fifty-nine rows altogether. (Technically, there are sixty. The last row requires “binding off,” which I haven’t learned yet.) Anyway, whenever I finish a row, I count the stitches to make sure I didn’t screw up, and tonight after my first row (row fifty-four), I realized I did. There were thirty-five stitches instead of thirty-six. Crap, I thought, I don’t know how to fix this. But then I decided to carefully “undo” my last row and fix the “dropped” stitch, which I did.

Well, sort of.

For over an hour, I did my best to work in reverse. When it was all said and done–yippee–I ended up with the correct thirty-six stitches. However, there was still “a mistake.” This, I’m sure, was because I didn’t fix the dropped stitch correctly. Oh well, better luck next time. I added up the total number of stitches in the project, and it was 2,124. Of those, I think I screwed up three. That means, if I were getting a grade, it would be 99.85 percent. And whereas I hate that I actually took time to mentally give myself a grade, that’s a pretty damn good one.

I really am trying to get away from this, mentally giving myself a grade in every area of my life. Granted, I don’t normally give myself a percentage, but I do tend to feel like I “haven’t passed” whenever something goes wrong. For example, when I wake up not feeling well, I tend to feel responsible and self-flagellate. I think, I shouldn’t have had pancakes on Saturday. Never mind the fact that I’ve been eating like a health nut for the last month and it was only one exception.

One delicious exception.

Well, two, since I had pizza for lunch that same day.

Two delicious exceptions.

Really, I’m a better knitter now. Thanks to my mistake(s), I learned something about the way my project is put together that I didn’t know before. Likewise, I’m learning things about my body because it’s presenting me with certain challenges. Granted, I hate those challenges because they hurt, but I’m grateful for the lessons they bring with them. But back to my dad and his corny jokes. The secret to telling a good joke is largely in the delivery, the timing, THE PAUSE. That’s what I’m reminding myself, that it’s important to slow down in life, whether that’s to evaluate something that didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, to rest and let your body heal, or to give yourself a damn break for not getting a perfect grade.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."