Coming back to life again

It's Saturday, 9:04 AM as I write this.  I'm enjoying an uncommonly quiet, slow pace.  Usually by now, I'm on my way out the door to see my first client/family, but they're enjoying time out of town, so I'm grateful for the temporary respite.

Make no mistake, I love my work...mostly.  Because I pour so much of myself into the day job, I am quite depleted by day's end and week's end.  And this past fortnight (I love this English term!), I've been on overdrive about one particular situation, with a few others nipping at me like a high-strung terrier.  Another analogy might be the attention-demanding "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!" we remember from our kids' preschool ages.

So this mommy (both literal and figurative) is running away from home, at least for a few hours...

Things weren't all bad.  In fact, in keeping with my recent resolution to learn something new everyday, I made some pleasant, unexpected little discoveries within the past 72 hours:

• Keith Richards is a grandpa five times over.  His slim memoir about his own grandfather "Gus" is an absolute delight, illustrated in an elegant simplicity by his daughter Theodora Richards.  The central theme was how the grandfather-grandson relationship was enhanced by the power of music, and led Keith to his first guitar.  I've also now connected to Keith's website, www.keithrichards.com, which features the book.  I also like the edgy design of Keith's page, with its black background.  
• This weekend is going to also be a catch-up time for my magazines.  In the June/July issue of my AARP magazine is a piece by Gen-X author Rich Cohen, "Rock 'n' Roll with Never Die." Who should be featured, among others, but Keith Richards.  When Cohen asked Keith about his "lifestyle," Keith replied matter-of-factly, "I haven't got a lifestyle.  I'm just me.  I do what I do....".  It's great to have our rock idols, but remember how they are, like any of us, human under the skin.
• In another between-clients interval, I picked up a new book at the one of the Arapahoe Public Library's branches, and look forward to both motivation and inspiration between the covers. Written by Bernadette Murphy, it's entitled Harley and Me: Embracing Risk on the Road to a More Authentic Life.  Given my recent fascination with motorcycles and those who ride with a passion, it's as if the book leaped off the shelf into my hands.  With reminders that Sturgis (http://www.sturgismotorcyclerally.com/) is fast approaching, and I'll have to wait till next year to go, I'll hope to find my "motorcycle man" someday soon, along with renewed life energy fueled by adrenaline.  Even off the bike, such experiences certainly would spill over into the rest of my life, imbuing it with heightened creative juices.

It's been a little over three years since my rheumatoid arthritis (RA) diagnosis.  Because I was trying, at that time, to wrap my head around what that was going to mean for me going forward, I blogged about it--a lot, in great deal.  Fast forward to present time, I've got myself a terrific rheumatologist here in Denver, who's taking my symptoms seriously, and I feel hope that my life can proceed without too much impediment.  One of the things I try to do is educate those around me, so that when they meet someone else with RA--and yes, there's lots of us out there, of all ages--they can appreciate the person's efforts to live life to the fullest.  Check out the Arthritis Foundation's site, www.arthritis.org.

Along with my recent nasty arthritis flare, I'm going to be having a brain MRI soon to figure out what to do about this anosmia (loss of sense of smell).  Aside from not being able to detect most common odors in my environment, I'm having just a little bit of a freak-out when the words "brain" and "scan" are used in the same sentence.  What comes to mind is, "OMG, maybe they'll find some horrific tumor or something."  So, till that takes place, I'm trying to be calm and logical, taking the doctor-recommended Beta-Carotene, and doing (don't laugh!) smell-training exercises.  My patient instructions are:  "Eucalyptus, rose, orange peel, coffee, clove, lemon. Smell each smell 20 sec per day 2 times per day."  Wow...so my visits to King Soopers' floral, Starbucks and baking supply sections have taken on a new meaning.  My doctor says that about 30% of anosmiac patients recover this sense, so wish me luck.

I'm not going to be doing any Sunday after-church wandering this weekend.  Besides reading, I have to get back to my writing and social media projects.  My Facebook page is languishing, and I need to resuscitate it and other sites.  Each day that I age, I'm reminded how unproductive the "maybe tomorrow" mindset is.

Stay tuned.  I love you.

Because it's SCARY!

Awhile back, I told you that I have resolved to try to learn something new everyday.  So far, so good...with the daily news (good or bad), efforts to promote my writing, reading more and consuming network television less, going on frequent trips around Colorado, and engaging in friendly conversation wherever I can...it's all adding up.

Now, my next goal is to break out of my comfort zone.  How I plan to do this is to deliberately do things I either have longed to do, or have been to scared to try:

• Rock climbing  --  this past week, I had the chance to go to an indoor facility and watch people of various ages defy gravity, and scale the walls with the toe holds, and then seemingly float to the mat below with their rope.  Suddenly, I was fascinated, and was surprised by my thoughts of I could do this, too!  As I departed, I was astonished to hear myself tell the front-desk staffer, "I'll be back to try this."  He probably didn't believe me, but I want to surprise him.
•  Zip-lining --  I really, really hate heights.  But I love the beautiful views in the areas around the Rockies, awakened with my recent trip to Leadville.  So, I want to face this fear, and get an adrenaline rush.  Maybe I can find a group to go rafting with, too.
• Motorcycle riding --  okay, here's where you're going to think I've totally taken leave of my senses.  For quite a while now, I've thought about finding friends who would introduce me to riding one of those beautiful classic Harleys.  Don't laugh, but my parents would not permit me to learn how to ride a harmless pedal bike (I'll spare you the long story about their over-protection), so I probably would be the passenger in this scenario.  I've googled a website, www.MotorcycleRoads.com, and found a wealth of biking events where I could make some connections.

Eventually, I'll think of other things I'd like to try in 2016.  For now, it's time for sleep and to prepare for my work day tomorrow. 

The Purse

Let me begin by saying this was not the best day I've had in a while, and I'm so wound up right now that it's not going to end soon.

My tale actually started last night and into the wee hours of today, when I was up doing mind-numbing documentation that is necessary for my day job.  But....I do enjoy getting paid for my labor, and I like to have actual evidence that I provided services.  So the "docs" got done.

I hauled myself out of bed after getting perhaps four hours of shut-eye, and first did my Monday morning weigh-in, per my Weight Watchers program.  Up a pound and a half....how did that happen, especially because I've been following the program?  While eating my breakfast and tea, and after I'd logged my status on the Weight Watchers website, I did an online chat with one of their counselors, and was assured it was "normal...that my body is adjusting."  Okay....I'm not exactly sure to what my body is supposed to be "adjusting," but I'll persevere and keep reminding myself that others have done this successfully, so I should just calm down and develop some more patience with myself.

Seeing that I had to get to an early-morning appointment, I trundled out to my car with my wheeled cart loaded up with my briefcase, my laptop, my lunch bag, my purse (shown above), and my trusty psychedelic cane.  I was ready for a workday that would last till 7:30 PM, minus the drive home. While loading up my trunk, I did something I've never done...I slipped my purse off my shoulder and placed it on the pavement!  With the trunk full and hatch door down, I entered my car with my cane and lunch bag, and sped off.

I got to my first destination almost twenty miles to the northeast, and reached over to the passenger seat for my absent bag.  My realization was in the form of  "oh, s***"sheer panic...everything vital to my life, including my identification, Auto Club card, keys and cell phone, had been deserted in my apartment parking lot!  My first appointment resembled a speed-date, and I made a return trip feeling both vulnerable and naked.  This also would definitely not have been the most opportune day to get pulled over by law enforcement.

Fortune was with me.  Some kind person, part of the maintenance staff, had rescued my poor little bag and turned it into the office.  I looked toward Heaven, said a heartfelt thanksgiving prayer, and was relieved that everything that should be inside, indeed was.

As I went about the rest of my day, I pondered my earlier emotional reaction.  My purse, itself, is not a valuable accessory.  In fact, I'm kind of a traitor to my gender; I couldn't care less for "nice" bags or shoes.  This purse, as I recall, is from a Kohl's sale last fall. It's fun, with its leather tassels, and I've gotten compliments on it.  I carry as little cash, and as little personal information, as possible.  I toss my bag carelessly around--into the car, on the counter at day's end, wherever.  I guess you'll never see me toting one of those pricey Chanel clutches, right?

Still, we women have a unique relationship with our purses.  I remember being fascinated with my mother's handbag, and how carefully she kept tabs on it and organized its contents.  Fast-forward to junior high, and girls would express trust in their friends by allowing one or two close pals know what they carried around.  Purses, like our first lipsticks, were symbols of our emergence as young women.  Fast-forward even further into our futures, and most men in our lives knew better than to breach the mysteries of "the purse."  You often hear, "Oh, honey, hand me my purse," like we're Brinks armed guards.  And stories of delinquent youth, stealing from their mothers' purses, inevitably provoke outrage.

Women, especially those with families close by, are the keepers of stuff.  Have you noticed that moms and grandmas, when on family outings, are asked, "Can you hold onto this for me?"  And that's what purses do; help us in our role as the guardians of family stuff.  Men are no fun--so minimalist with their wallets!

And what about the chaos that can ensue when we change purses?   We omit crucial items, and have a hard time adjusting to a new shape and feel.  Kind of like starting a new relationship.  

So, today's beginning gave me a lot to think about.  When I retrieved my purse, the joy and relief was similar to being reunited with a lost companion.  And with its multiple pockets, inside and out, it is a helper, an organizer in what can be whirlwind days.  Having important items close by gives me a sense of security.  At the risk of hyperbole, it truly is a part of me.

July 5th and Beyond--Finding Meaning Behind the Holiday

OK, the fireworks have been shot off and the Parks and Recreation folk will be busy picking up after all the revelry in the public spaces.  In private homes, people will be gathering up bottles and cans, and scraping off the grill.  Ah, the price we pay for fun!

What if every day could be an independence day?

I know that a lot of talk goes on about the history behind the holiday.  For those of us who are history nerds, we like to root around on library sites and try to find out little-known back stories about our founders and the major events of which we were taught in history class.

That's great.  But what does it really mean to be independent?  That's something that I think we should be always considering.  During this current presidential campaign whirlwind, it's good to turn off CNN, step away from the Facebook posts, put down the newspaper--and take a breath or two.  Reflect on what the results will mean for you individually, independently from what others tell you they should.  It is our right, our privilege and our responsibility to take the time to do this.

I'm wondering what Thoreau (one of my heroes) would say about all the rhetoric and predictions, if we could channel his wisdom from Walden.  I'm going find my copy of Walden this week and re-read it.

I don't want this post to be a neatly-wrapped "How to be Independent" presentation  even if that were possible.  Rather, I want to challenge each person--and myself--to reflect on how to be more self-aware, which can lead to our knowing what we need from this world, and what we can bring to it.  And that, my friends, can lead to the noblest form of personal independence.

How to (Re)Build a Future

Recently, I began collecting--and actually wearing--teeshirts like this, for the first time in almost forty years.  Aside from being intrigued by sayings that resonate with me, I found that displaying my affirmations openly is another way to push myself forward.  If people see me walking around like this, I feel responsible for actually living up to the words.  The last thing I want to feel--or be perceived of as--being full of crap.

Same goes for the necklace above.  I wore it for awhile while still in California, and then, when life got "too crazy" from 2012-2015, I put it away.  Now that I think about it, wearing it and invoking the message inscribed on it during that "crazy" time, would have made a lot of sense.  I could have derived a lot of comfort, and been more able to stand my ground when I was receiving lots of well-meaning but contradictory (and in some cases, harmful) advice.  I would have believed that I was, in the end, going to be okay.

While getting ready for my day this morning, I came across the necklace. Suddenly, the words spoke to me, and I put it on. And it's now going to be part of me, like the pewter cross my courageous grandmother left me.  

Takeaway:  items we wear can inspire us, and our inspiration can be reflected in our outward presentation to others.  I was at my doctor's office the other day, and she (very young and young-looking herself) kept repeating "how great" I was looking since my visit in May of 2015.  Besides getting my severe arthritis pain somewhat under control, I mentioned to her that I was now re-committed to Weight Watchers, and already feeling some difference.  By the way, to date, I'm down ten pounds, but I feel there's been more of a loss since this past Monday.  Less weight = less knee pain = more ability to go on walks and weekend outings.  One more way I feel confidence on the upswing.

Besides my day job as a therapist, and squeezing in the writing into precious blocks of time, I'm now trying to master social media and make it work for me.  When I had a private practice years ago, how naive I was!  Somehow, I thought posting in all the web's nooks and crannies was all anyone needed to do.  It was (I thought), the digital equivalent to writing ads on 3-by-5 cards,  running around town, tacking them on whatever community bulletin boards I could--and then praying for responses.  Now I see that the internet is the closest thing possible to a living organism, with all kinds of systems that need continuous tending to.  No wonder big corporate social media are departments all onto themselves.

Well, this fledging "corporation" (me), has to navigate social media on a DIY basis--so far it's on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram, and ello.co.  It's a work in progress, so please be patient with my neophyte efforts.  Catch you out there!

Brain Food

OK, first, another pound gone buh-bye.  When I got on the scale yesterday (I've designated Monday as my weekly weigh-in day), I was a little disappointed it wasn't more.  Then I realized that, as long as the number keeps decreasing, and I start actually feeling better, then I resolve to look at this weight-loss effort as a process, not some race.  And so it is -- my waistbands are not pinching now, and every pound gone is one I'm not lugging around anymore.

Anyway, my writing!  What can I say except that the creative pipeline is clogged somewhat.   I wouldn't call it a "block," because lots of ideas are swirling around in my brain, but I would say the energy is running low.  Usually, once I start clicking away at my laptop, the blog or article usually "writes itself."  So, I've taken some time off as a reset, and here are some of the random things I'm indulging in just to get the juices flowing again:

• Sunday getaways -- Last Sunday, I went to early Mass and then hit C-470 up to Golden.  My destination--Lookout Mountain, and the Buffalo Bill burial site and museum.  My timing was a little off; the whole region was beginning a heat spell, and by the time I headed home in the late afternoon, my car thermostat was registering 106.  I came prepared with sunscreen and water, though, and chalked up trudging up the steep hill to pay my respects to Mr. Cody as good exercise.  At the end of the day, the visit entitled me to log lots of Fit Points in my Weight Watchers app.  It also happened to be Father's Day, and I like the way Johnny Baker, Cody's "foster son" and longtime friend, was honored near the entrance of the museum, including for his role in getting this museum founded.  I wholeheartedly recommend this site to anyone, especially for those who are fellow history enthusiasts

          I've already mentioned my Leadville trip in the previous entry.  Next stop--Steamboat Springs.  I've checked out the Facebook page they have up dedicated to weekend rodeos, and so, I'm going, ASAP.  The point to all these trips is to finally, after a year of settling into Littleton, explore the places I have listed on my refrigerator.  Colorado is such a treasure-trove of history!  And the drives through the countryside plant wonderful, refreshing images in my brain.  Inspiration comes in so many forms, subtle and obvious.  I just want to open the sensory gates, and let it all in.

• NPR --  Part of the benefits of Colorado Public Radio is having access to quality programming, especially in this particularly divisive campaign year.  Besides being made aware of national and global issues, like the Venezuela crisis, there are also opportunities for exposure to arts that are not aired on regular networks.  I recommend that everyone go on YouTube and watch/listen to Yo-Yo Ma's Silk Road Ensemble--almost like musical diplomacy.  Also on CPR, I find Open Air's "new music" to be a welcome switch from mainstream pop stations.  As much as I've loved classical music for years, I'm finding that staying relevant to the upcoming generations is so important, especially through their music.
• Line dancing -- After nearly a year, when I stopped dancing to give my knee a rest, I'm ready to get back out there again.  Besides the fun exercise, I feel a need to socialize again on Saturday nights.
• Self-care -- there's nothing like the jacuzzi after work, these trips and partying to soothe the muscles and get a good night's sleep.  And, since sleep is an important restorative function, it can also benefit my creative functioning.

So, let the summer begin, and let's all enjoy!

Six Pounds Gone

Following up on my June 6 post, I'm down 6 pounds....a good start.  I do feel an ever-so-slight difference in my jeans, especially the waist band.  And so, victory begins.

In addition to being mindful of the Smart Points, I'm also logging as many Fit Points as I can, considering my schedule and my daily pain level with my arthritis.  I figure that a plan of as much walking as I can manage, followed by a cup of soothing herbal tea in the evening and a lovely warm bath or soak in my complex's jacuzzi to soothe the joints...that's the way to really treat myself.

Last Saturday night, I got really brave and went to a local dance studio, where I faced a big fear -- that of (gasp!) ballroom dancing.  Born to a generation that just got out on a dance floor and did a solo "whatever," learning the two-step and some confusing variations--that was an exercise in bravery!  Our teacher is a very sweet and patient lady, and she gave those of us (including me) who were struggling with the coordination of feet and steps, lots of kudos and told us to be patient with ourselves.

This Saturday, I'm going to try it again--this time to a salsa beat.  Our teacher assured us that this style will be simpler.  Certainly it will be more up-tempo, and more calories will get expended.  If only I could find a regular dance partner, not only to accompany me to this studio, but to practice with during the week so I can get really good,,,also someone who is aware I have issues with relaxing and following a lead.   Anyway, I want to just have a bit of fun, and not take this activity so seriously.   I even posted about this on my Yelp page.

Utilizing my love of travel and history, I got up even earlier than usual last Sunday, and drove up to Leadville.  It's one of the towns that has been on my radar since moving here last year, since it was an integral part of Colorado's formation into statehood.  I began by attending Mass at the landmark Annunciation Church, which has its own history, including being where Margaret (the "unsinkable Molly") Brown was married. This is where I really got a walking workout, especially along Harrison Avenue, taking in the Tabor Opera House tour, ducking down a few side streets to look at the Tabor House Museum, the "House of the Eye," and a sweet little antique shop named Sweet Betsy's From Pike.  And then (with the aid of my Weight Watchers app!), I enjoyed a sesame chicken sandwich, paired nicely with a Killian's Red at the Historic Silver Dollar Saloon (again, reviewed on my Yelp page).  Before heading home, I spent the last two hours at the National Mining Hall of Fame and Museum.  If only I had been here in the days when Son and I were taking regular tours of museums.  It's such an educational and inspiring place!  Front and center, right at the entrance, is a display of Rhodochrosite, the beautiful Colorado state mineral.

By the time I was finished with this part of my day, the Mining Museum was ready to close, and my knee was beginning to say, "I'm done for now."  So, I headed back home, and felt that it had been a great day on many levels.

Adult Conversation

Each of these posts is intended to serve to functions:  1)  to share with my fellow humans bits and pieces of my experience and 2) to spur discussion, debate, thoughts--whatever.

I'm going to be crafting this post carefully, since it involves my son, a fiercely private person when he is not pursuing his craft (entertainment-related).

When I'd been in Colorado about five months, Son called me, asking if I "really liked" my new state and hometown.  I answered swiftly and decidedly--yes, this is where I am, and where I will live out my days.  He then stated what I had already known for a long time:  he and Wife were "so done" with California--the cost of living, the pace, the climate, etc., etc., pretty much mirroring my own set of grievances  Son was only asking me because they were considering Colorado for the next phase of their lives.

In the days/weeks/months that followed, I was thrilled to lay eyes on Son again, giving him a thorough orientation to my hometown, my apartment complex, all that is My World.  This was a delicate balancing act--my being helpful while not being an Overbearing Mother.  We each have strong personalities, and so I kept my Consultant hat on, and my mouth shut as much as possible.

DMV stuff, setting up a mailbox, getting belongings unloaded--all pretty much tasks Son did, and I just butted out.  Things sometimes got testy when I again donned the Mom hat, and insisted that he needed to find a proper Colorado winter coat, gloves--and that a wear of sturdy Western boots would fare better than his shiny dress shoes--because I said so.  Never mind that there's no snow right now--Colorado weather has a mischievous habit of without-warning change.  And I got to say I told you so when it did snow several days later.  And it's a good thing that coat came with a hood.  So there!

Actually, because we have so few family members left anywhere, this relocation has drawn Son and I closer--I think.  We sometimes go for a day or two, or more, without seeing each other, but we've come to a mutual agreement that texting is a means of contact, without hesitation.  With our respective schedules, calls can be too intrusive.  To respect that boundary is important for our sanity, and the health of our mother-son relationship.  One time, after a brief (sixty-second) bickering session, Son looked down at me (he's way more than a foot taller than me) and said, "You know I love you, don't you?"  That remark stopped me cold--we are not from a demonstrative family--but it touched me deeply.  This, from a man who, as a kid and a teen, had uttered the frequent, heart-stabbing, typical, "YOU'RE THE WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD!"

A turnabout from all the years I told Son, "Don't touch that!" in regard to stuff in my home office -- I've seen Son's professional set-up.  There are three large monitors, a hard-drive unit, a camera, a professional-grade microphone and an enormous keyboard that blinks four different colors. And other gadgets that I haven't a clue what they're for.  Intimidating.  Kinda like Mission Control.  What went through my head was MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This."  Don't worry, I  won't.

Maybe we've both grown up.  Son drove, without any complaint, through blizzard conditions so we could celebrate Thanksgiving over a nice restaurant meal.  About two months later, he responded to my frantic distress call, came in, scooped me up, and transported me to the E.R. at 2 A.M., when my rheumatoid arthritis "locked up" my entire left leg. (Don't ask why the EMTs didn't transport me.)  Son is my go-to escort when I go to Costco and need muscle for those heavy/bulky goods, or assist for reaching items way.out.of.my.4-ft-11 reach. He voices concern when he thinks I'm working too much--or too late.  He's got my back--and I'm becoming okay with that.

Yes, Son, I do know you love me.

More Changes

I'm relieved to have made the commitment to get back on a healthier path (through Weight Watchers), and it has led me to some other decisions to live better:

• Yesterday, after considerable thought, I closed my account with one of the major TV cable companies.  They made two calls during the day to try to persuade me to stay, but I held my ground.  From now on, I will consciously choose my programming through Hulu and Netflix.  Aside from being more budget-friendly, being conscious of my recent habit of coming home, and "crashing" in front of the TV "to unwind" will help me consider other options -- like doing the "unwinding" with a walk in the open evening air.  AND -- not losing track of time, and getting to bed earlier.  The last two nights of more hours of relaxed sleep have already made a difference in my concentration and mood.
• When my online dating account expires in August, I'm no longer going this route for socializing and companionship.  I'm going back to being an old-fashioned gal, and meeting people in the real world, in real time.  I already have plenty of opportunities to have fun in such a friendly town as Littleton.  In my off-work time, I'm going to be proactive and go out without feeling I need to be invited to join the human race.
• As my weight drops, and my joints feel better, I'm going to look into ballroom dancing classes.  What better way to meet other people, have fun and burn more of those clingy excess calories?  Surely, MeetUps and Groupon can make it feasible and affordable.

I'm feeling excited about "revving up" again.  Stay tuned.

Dropping Ballast, and Revving Up Again

I'm going public on this, if, for no other reason, it will help me feel more accountable for my goal.

The media is chock-full of accounts of celebrities and public figures who struggle with their weight and physical fitness.  When they shed significant poundage, we cheer...and then we feel an almost sadistic glee when they fall back into the pit of overweight.

I'm going on record, for whomever cares to know, that I've rejoined Weight Watchers.  In 2005-2006, I was able to get rid of almost 50 pounds and keep it off.  When a person is 5'0" and tiny-framed, there's not much room for error...and midlife metabolism is unforgiving of too many late night stress eating and carb-oholic binges.  Still, I went to many, many meetings and did the online program, and it showed.

Then, the domino effect began in 2012...caring for my mom as she slid steadily into her dementia...my knee injury in 2013, back-to-back with the onset of severe rheumatoid arthritis...my brother's terminal illness...it was all such a whirlwind that I didn't stop to see what a toll it was taking on my psyche and body.

On this past Sunday, as part of the enrollment process, I sucked it up, took a breath, and stepped on my scale with fear and dread.

173.  Seeing that number really, really hurt.  But so do my feet...and my knees...and my pride.  I want to walk again, dance again, date again.

It's been the end of Day Two of my online program.  I've got the Weight Watcher app on my phone to keep track of what I eat.  This morning, I had a phone session with a coach who has kept 75 pounds off for about six years.  And I've got the little awards from my previous Weight Watchers program as a reminder that a do-over is possible, and that this time, I will be able to sustain my success.

Thanks for letting me share this.

A Democrat Again -- Reluctantly

Before typing up this post, I tried, without success, to get Google to pull up a link to an article that appeared in the Denver Post last Sunday (May 29, 2016) entitled, "Malaise hits both parties as voters look to Nov. 8."   It's on page 2A of the front section, so if you still have your hard copy lying around, take a look at it.  For those who lack this paper, I'll do a brief recap.

It's quite an interesting piece, based on a May 12-15 poll of 1,060 adults, describing the anticipatory moods of the respondents as ranging from "Frustrated" (70%) to "Proud" (13%), with "Interested," "Helpless," "Angry," "Hopeful," "Bored" and "Excited" falling in between.

Honestly, I can say that I feel most of the above each day, depending upon whatever media to which I've been exposed that day.  There's another word I used more often -- "concerned."  The article went on to say many voters are anticipating voting against a candidate rather than for someone.

When I moved to Colorado in May of 2015, I made going to the local DMV a priority -- to get my Colorado driver license, duly register my car and get the new plates and, while I was taking care of important business, registering to vote.  I'd given this matter considerable forethought, and told the clerk I wanted to go on record as "Unaffiliated."  The clerk reminded me that, in making this choice, I would be waiving my right to participate in the primary election.  Presently, only Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Massachusetts, Michigan and Minnesota afford unaffiliated voters this right.  I told the clerk I was fine with this.  And I was--until the Great American Political Three-Ring Circus went into full juggernaut mode.

From the start, I tuned into CNN for the debates.  For comic relief, I have enjoyed the barbed humor on late night talk shows, Stephen Colbert's series in particular.  Bumper stickers and article headlines such as "I'm Catholic & I Vote" or "I'm a Senior & I Vote" are encouraging to me.  This whole process is human drama to its highest--or lowest--degree.

Last week, I received a form letter from the Colorado Secretary of State, reminding me of the consequence of my earlier choice, and that I had a limited time to rethink my decision.  As a result, I did some quiet grumbling and rejoined the Democratic party.

In the 1972 emotionally-charged Nixon vs. McGovern election, I was ineligible to cast a ballot, since I didn't turn 18 until a month after it was all over.  During a trip home from college at the Thanksgiving break, I registered as a Republican.  My choice, at that time, was influenced by my entire family being vehement Republicans; to make any other choice would have been seen as unthinkable and un-American.  Within five years, my differentiation was reflected in my switch to the Democratic side. Ten years after that, I re-registered--as a Green Party member.

My brief Unaffiliated status came about as I got older and began chafing at accepting ready-made labels.  Politics, for me, had become more about underlying issues, rather than slogans or candidates attempting to represent huge demographics.  In my freshman college year, I relished calling myself "a RADICAL," because of the Vietnam War and the influence of my peer group.  My twenties saw me mellowing into "a liberal."  By the time I got into my fifties, I had trouble identifying with any  pre-packaged agenda, and realized that I could consider concepts like democratic and republican (deliberately lower-case here), while being open-minded and truer to myself.

Referring back to the Denver Post article, I'd like to suggest that a measure of "malaise" might be productive.  The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines malaise as a "slight or general feeling of not being healthy or happy," which seems to routinely happen when the post-election euphoria wears off.  Whoever "wins," let's focus on what needs to be accomplished and how we will support the president-elect's efforts to get the job done.  That will be a tribute to our human endeavor and our country.

Just a quick check in this AM

I've jumped into the delightful fray of Instagram this week....and continue to churn out ideas on Sixty and Me.

Tonight, I'm going to put up my profile and introductory stuff on ello.co and reddit.

But, it's now the AM, and my workaday world beckons....so, at about 8 PM Mountain Time, I'll going to rev up the Thoughts Machine, and let the ideas flow again.  A lot of women sew, others knit, cook, or whatever.  I like to weave tapestries of words.

Till then, have a great day....and short work week.

Write to Live!!

I can't help but thinking about how Elizabeth Barrett's life went on a dramatic upward trajectory as she began to be recognized as a writer.  And, of course, it led to her encountering the love of her life, Robert Browning.  Life through words!

And there were a pantheon of others...Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Emily Dickenson...all whose words not only captured their lives for all time, but transcended it, to continue to inspire others for all time.  These authors found their voices in literature, and have, posthumously, helped others do the same.

My high school English teachers, Mrs. Doris Lang and Mrs. Elaine Conery (now Reece), were among the most popular with our high school graduating class.  A gift they gave us was an awareness of the power of words, whether they are to be used to craft a novel or a job-search cover letter.  Who in their teen years could have appreciated the life-juice contained in A Tale of Two Cities, or The Canterbury Tales?  Those lucky enough to be in Mrs. Lang's or Mrs. Conery's classes did.

My mother could have left this kind of legacy.  Back in 1967, for a very brief time, Mom wrote a column for the Valley News and Green Sheet, which later became part of the Burbank Leader.  As a tribute to Mom today, I offer readers a glimpse at the writing career Norma Cook had hoped to have:

I was in the seventh grade at the time of the brief run of this column, and can only recall that Mom soon got a terse letter saying that Sorry, it was fun while we printed your articles, but we can't use them anymore.  Our family pretty much gave her a collective shrug, and an "Oh, well, that's tough" reaction.  Her dream got dismissed by everyone.

Mom packed these away, and no one in our household ever mentioned them again.  I found them, yellowed but well-preserved in an album, about two years before she died.  By then, Mom was in the throes of her dementia, and didn't even remember writing them.  Along with the articles, I found a spiral-bound notebook, with the first half filled with working titles and story ideas...never to come to fruition.

I've often wondered what might have happened if Mom had experienced less indifference from our family, and gotten more encouragement to keep writing.  What if she'd found a writer's group with which to network?  What if the internet had arrived sooner for her to leverage as a promotional tool?  So sad that Mom gave this up...

For all those who write, even it's in a journal, I say treasure what you're doing and don't let anyone devalue your words and thoughts.  They are your legacy.

I'm thinking of the Biblical story of the fig tree that rotted to the ground after failing to bear fruit  Perhaps, in a way, that's what can happen when we don't share what's inside us.  Writing is, especially in this electronic age, as much a social as well as a creative outlet.  It can keep our brains active, and help us build connections to others.

Perhaps all words can be seen as forms of "social media," so keep on writing.

Directing Traffic

As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I'm back at my blog, inspired by my new participation in the great site, sixtyandme.com.  On the "Featured Contributors" page, I'm down near the end, to the left.  I'm also working with the admin folks to get more icons connected to my introduction, like Pinterest, Facebook (I'm working on a page right now),  and one I want to pay more attention to, Boomer Authority.

In about an hour, I'm going to be at my office, working my main gig as a psychotherapist.  After that, about 8 PM or so, Mountain Time, I'll be back around the social media circuit, and working on some more writing.  And please bear with me patiently, for any delays, missteps or technical glitches that may occur.  My skill is in writing, not so much IT.

This morning on goodreads.com, (another favorite site of mine) I found this:

I read hungrily and delightedly, and have realized since that you can’t write unless you read."  -- 

William Trevor

So, my friends, catch you later--and soon!  Have a great Tuesday.  

Trying Something New

Sundays are always special for me, and rejuvenating on many levels.  Since relocating here in Colorado, I have made it my firm resolve to make it a day of rest and reset.  

The day begins for me with 7:15 AM Mass, followed by scooping up a copy of the Sunday Denver Post on the way home.  For readers who are not religious, there are other Sunday-specific activities that can set this day apart from the rest of the week, such as a sunrise hike, a leisurely brunch or catch-up on a movie you've wanted to see.

Because I don't have to be on my usual sprint out the door on Sundays, while running down my mental to-do list, I can start by savoring the slower pace, outdoor quiet and bracing cool of the early air...

Once back, newspaper in hand (yes, I still enjoy the experience of hard-copy reading material), a hand-crafted omelette and a cup of tea, while enjoying the morning sun view with my kitty Tiggy, is a perfect start for the day.  Colorado Public Radio provides my preferred acoustic backdrop, and I find myself actively listening to the music and the morning host's commentary.

Recently, I decided to incorporate "new" as a byword for each day.  Seven days a week, I make an effort to either learn something new or try something new.  In the workweek hustle-bustle, it can be a challenge, and call for a conscious effort.  It doesn't have to be dramatic, though, or out of one's budget or comfort level.  Just some small difference from one's usual routine can lift a person out of a well-worn rut, as a one-time experiment, or as start of a welcome new variation.

This morning, I made my first two cups of matcha green tea latte.  Having fallen in love with the unique, grassy-pungent flavor at a local coffee/tea shop, I did a YouTube "how-to" research and compiled the core ingredients.   The matcha powder, two-percent milk, and agave nectar syrup...what could be hard about this?  I invested in a bamboo whisk, said to be essential to the process.  Lo, and behold--it did make the tea and the warmed milk frothier.

The results?  Let's say it is part of a learning curve.  I used a little too much matcha for the first cup, and slightly too much milk for the second.  Both cups were drinkable, and I've decided that matcha will be my "Sunday tea," as I arrive at just the right proportions to make it "perfect."  It will help me develop my tea-making skill, patience and in-the-moment enjoyment.

While sipping matcha at the above mentioned establishment the other day, I sat and read an inspiring article in the current issue of Columbine Courier about a "Blind Cafe" event at Columbine High School.  A link to the entire article is below, and I especially liked the report that, "The purpose of the evening is to be in the company of others, without distractions, such as cell phones and other electronic devices...".   Eating a dinner in the dark as part of a social event may strike many as foreign or unnecessary, but one of the things it achieved that it caused its participants to pay attention--to others, to the moment, and to how the event affected them.

And aren't those good reasons to try something new?

http://www.columbinecourier.com/content/enlightening-experience-dark

Back Again -- With Apologies

I feel more than a little embarrassed.  When I started blogging way back in September 2009 (https://drladyprof.wordpress.com/), I did so in a tentative way, as if lending my voice to the collective chorus was somehow self-indulgent.  It was enjoyable, though, and a way for me, inherently shy, to have a voice.  "More important" matters got in the way, and soon "drladyprof" was just another page on the web, forgotten.

On June 30, 2010, www.sagehippiephd.blogspot.com made its appearance.  This time I got a little bolder, sharing a link on my Facebook page, and was pleased when the posting got approval from my friends.  After I had settled in Colorado for awhile, that blog morphed into its current edition.

The truth is -- a successful blog is, in the best sense of the word, a relationship.  All of us have "friends" of various degrees -- the familiar Starbucks barista, or the neighbor in our complex with whom we exchange pleasantries and promises to "get together sometime."

And then--there are those who are really "there for you."  They listen.  And they show up.  I have to rat myself out here; I haven't been showing up.  Friends show up even when life throws difficulties at them, or at those around them.

I remember a professor in my doctoral program saying, "You've got to find your voice."  Writing has been my voice, and an inner voice has been nagging me, "If you're a writer,  just write, dammit!"

Someone was paying attention even when I wasn't.  Recently, I got a gracious invitation from Margaret Manning at the site, "Sixty and Me," inviting me to begin submitting pieces for women about issues important to them.  As of today, I've been promoted to the status of "Featured Contributor."  This is a validation of what I've been doing, but it's also a reminder of what I withhold from others when I don't "show up," online or elsewhere.

So, this weekend, I'm going to be taking a hard look at my daily schedule, and make showing up a priority, a labor of love.  Sixtyandme.com/author/valarie-cascadden/

April 30 -- One Year Anniversary

Look on http://sagehippiephd.blogspot.com/ for the post entitled "Tiggy's and Valarie's Most Excellent Journey."

Today marks exactly one year since I arrived in Denver, in search of motel accommodations during a pretty hefty evening rainstorm.  And now, as I sit with the memories, I look out my window tonight and in Littleton, we've been having a mix of rain and snow the last few days.  Those who've followed my progress as a new Coloradan remind me, "This is what spring in Colorado looks like."

And it's still okay with me...the rapidly changing weather, the pronounced difference in seasons, all of it.

As I reflect on where I'm at with my goals, I'm okay with that, for the most part.  I'm more than a little embarrassed that I haven't yet gotten around to visiting the old high school friends who preceded me here, people I'd sworn I'd look up "right away" after getting here.  If any of you read this, please forgive me and let me try to make things right.  There are no more excuses that I'm still unpacking or anything like that.

You see, the older I get, the more I realize the folly of carelessness, of delaying seeing those who are close to us with delusion that "there's always plenty of time."  We can't take the length of the future for granted, nor the presence of dear ones in our lives.

My Facebook/high school friends are well aware that Kevin Douglas Cook, my "big brudda," passed away exactly a month ago.  His demise has hit me especially hard; besides being my only sibling, he was the family member I looked up to as a role model of independence and confidence.  Kevin's birthday is coming up on May 21st; he would have turned 71.  One of my few remaining family members recently sent me a huge bundle of photos she had unearthed recently.  I will be culling through them, and posting a pictorial tribute to Kevin on his birthday.

I also, belatedly, became aware of the loss of another family friend.  Dorothy ("Dottie") Frye passed away in February.  She, another woman and my mother had been very close since their high school days, keeping up correspondence and visits, even as the years passed and the three of them ended up miles apart.

 Like Kevin, Dottie had a strong maverick spirit.  She never married, but there were conflicting stories about a certain young man--the "one who got away."  Many said Dottie allowed her overbearing mother to  interfere with this romance, while others said she was strong-willed and preferred her decades-long career in insurance as a means of independence.  All I know is that Dottie, and the anecdotes about her I heard Mom relate over the years, served as a touchstone for me of female strength.

As my Mom deteriorated physically and mentally, I kept up the correspondence with Dottie.  Her letters became less frequent and detailed, and finally she admitted in one of the last ones I have that her vision was failing.  No problem--I'll just call her sometime, I thought.  After all, I've got the phone number written in Mom's old address book.

Then, Kevin's illness took center stage a few months ago, and I kept thinking, "Gotta call Dottie."  Before I knew it, Kevin died and I had the hurried trip to and from South Carolina for his memorial service.  The day after I got back home, I got out the address book, dialed Dottie's number--and there was no answer.  After taking a deep breath or two, I did a Google search, and it didn't take along to know...

Dottie was dead.

So, as I go about my life these days, and see or hear something funny or irritating, at first I think, "Boy, I should call Kev/write Dottie, and see what he/she thinks..." before I realize, "I can't...not anymore."

And it hits me...two people who had profound influences on my life are gone.  Not just people, but pieces of who I am.

Once again, I am reminded of cherishing those in my life, new acquaintances and old friends.  Especially now that I'm settled down here in Littleton and marked this year milestone, I must live for now and reach out, even with all the imperatives in my schedule.

Before it's too late.

With help from St. Michael

When I unpacked my jewelry box last year while getting settled, I found a precious memento from the time my brother Kevin was stateside in the Army, prior to his tour of duty in Vietnam. Pictured on the right is a necklace he found for me at Fort Bragg, in the very early days of his Army career.  It's got the official Army medallion affixed to a mother-of-pearl background with a silver filigree embellishment.  I remember wearing it a few times to school, and proudly telling classmates how I came to own it.  After that, it stayed safely in the jewelry box.

In the years that followed, I joined up with a group of friends (which included my first college boyfriend) in demonstrations against the Vietnam War, including marching in various protest rallies in downtown Los Angeles.  Still, the necklace remained in my possession.  Unconsciously at that time, I saw it as a reminder that my "big brudda" was in the service to protect my rights to make free life choices, including demonstrating against, or for, whatever.  Perhaps knowing that I had this necklace was on my mind when the previously-mentioned boyfriend asked me to sew him a Viet Cong flag, so he could display it in his dorm window.  I turned his request down flat, with no discussion.

To the left of the necklace is a medallion of St. Michael, with the Army insignia on the back.  I got this recently from a Catholic gift shop in Denver, and was drawn to it for a couple of reasons.
Besides honoring Kevin's service, it is also to remind me of Michael, the saint name I chose last year when I got confirmed at St. Robert Bellarmine in Burbank, just before my move from California to Colorado.  Until my mother passed away last February, I'd strongly considered selecting St. Rita as my confirmation name, largely because it had been her saint name.

St. Rita, patroness of the sick and impossible cases.  As much as I respected her place in my mother's religious life, was it that really reflective of my own path?  As time passed after Mom's death, I began reflecting how other people had often declared, "You're your mother's daughter."  Yeah, okay, just what did that mean--and how much room did that leave for me to be my own person?

And there were also the issues I had to deal with at time -- my freedom to get back to full-time work, and the decisions that had to be made about my future.  With the pressures building up, I found myself pushing back.  A high school friend had, for some time, been urging me to consider moving to Colorado and making a fresh start.  All I could ask myself was, "Why not?"

As the reinvention of my life seemed increasingly less "impossible," the less I was relating to St. Rita.  I then remembered a list I'd seen online of saints, and seemed to be drawn to St. Michael.  In many images I'd seen of him, he was girded with armor and wielding a sword to slay the serpent.  I've often thought of the serpent as representing more than just temptation.  He can stand for any force that interferes with a person's ability to live life freely and authentically.

So St. Michael it was, as Fr. John laid hands on my head in church on April 19, 2015.

I like Michael's energy and style, and try to incorporate it into my life.  And now, with Kevin extremely ill, and his wife Pam mounting a valiant effort to make his life as comfortable as possible, it pains my heart to read her posts.  Her gofundme.com page is now more than just an outreach for financial help; she is also opening up about her experience as the wife of a Vietnam veteran.  She is attempting to apply for a grant, for which she has been told they are qualified for, but the Veteran's Administration seems to her so distant and overwhelming, that she feels she can't communicate effectively with them.  Perhaps if people also read this on my posts, there just might be someone who can assist them.  Isn't there anyone -- a case worker, or an advocate -- who can help Pam and Kevin?

Her latest post is at:  https://www.gofundme.com/qqkjwszs?utm_source=internal&utm_medium=email&utm_content=cta_button&utm_campaign=upd_n
"Help a Veteran Stay in His Home."

By joining the fight via social media, this is my gesture of love this Valentine's Day.

For my "big brudda"

The internet....since it's invention it has been both blessed and cursed.  It's here to stay, no matter what, and in the last day or so, I've seen how it can motivate people and bring out the best in our relationships.

This will be a very brief post.  It's purpose is to promote a gofundme page started by my dear sister-in-law Pam, to aid in my brother's care and comfort in his serious illness.

Kev, I've always looked up to you, even in times of our lives when we've butted our sibling heads together.  So, besides having shared this link with some family and friends via email, I'll put this out to a wider readership.  God bless you and thank you for your service, both as a soldier and a civilian.

https://www.gofundme.com/qqkjwszs?utm_source=internal&utm_medium=email&utm_content=cta_button&utm_campaign=upd_n

A Most Invigorating Day Off

Wednesdays have become my new Saturday, since the latter now is scheduled with clients.  Actually, it's handy when there are appointments that cannot be handled on a weekday.

Anyway, I've decided that each Wednesday is going to be a day for further exploring my new home state--a field trip, if you will.  As busy as I am with work and home life, I cannot allow my world to shrink the way my mother and my grandmothers did.

Several weeks ago, I was listening to Colorado Public Radio, and heard about a most intriguing exhibit at University of Colorado, Anschutz Medical Campus, located in Aurora.

Sarah Richter, an artist who first manifested symptoms in 2009, is featured in this showing called Sensory Paradox: An Artist's Experience with Multiple Sclerosis, located at the college's Fulginiti Pavilion, Center for Bioethics and Humanities.  The exhibit shows both pictures and videos, and also an set of headphones, to convey to visitors how Ms. Richter's auditory and visual symptoms now affect her world view, as well as her self-concept.  Although I've had a number of people in my personal life affected by MS, I cannot begin to imagine how I might respond to this diagnosis if  it became mine.  I applaud Ms. Richter for her openness and courage to share part of her inner experience.  To look at the article from the Colorado Public Radio website, follow this link:

http://www.cpr.org/news/story/denver-artist-sarah-richter-finds-beauty-having-ms

That was the beginning of my fun.  I wandered around the campus, feeling warm and "at home."  Any time I've gone onto a campus--as a student, an adjunct professor or just as a visitor--I've felt connected with those who I see around me.  After leaving the exhibit mentioned above, I took a walk around the Fulginiti Pavilion, admiring the wall art, the section with plaques honoring the many benefactors and donors, and even eyeing the piano to one side, with the sign telling people that they could feel free to play, provided they do not disturb any nearby students who are trying to study. There is even an intriguing piece of art hanging from the ceiling that was made to honor Dr. Fulginiti.
Going out a side door into the noon sun and 50-degree briskness, I first surveyed the massive quad--indeed, every campus should have a quad!--and strolled through the Intermission and Emerson cafes.  Wandering still further, I toured the bookstore, and was impressed by the stock of textbooks and supplies for each school, including Pharmacy, Dentistry, Nursing and Medicine.

My journey ultimately took me through Boettcher Commons, ending with my entering the venerable Building 500, the site of the old Fitzsimmons Army Hospital.  I was especially drawn to a suite of rooms on the eighth floor where President Eisenhower convalesced and executed his presidential duties after experiencing a heart attack in 1955.  Being a hard-core history geek, I made my way up there, but was told that tours have been suspended for awhile.  The woman with whom I spoke encouraged me to "keep checking back," which

I certainly will, as I want to see inside this historic suite.  Instead, I settled for taking some pictures of wall hangings.

What also intrigued me was the vintage architecture alone of Building 500, and I snapped many photos of little details that show the era in which this was built.  I love 1930s amd 1940s structures especially.  I will attach my day's photos to this post, and hope you can enjoy them.  Maybe, if need be, the system can allow you to zoom in on some of them.

What's on tap for next Wednesday?  Maybe Evergreen, or to the north in places like Glenwood Springs, Eagle, Leadville or Rifle.  I just can't wait to travel around more...