How I Fill My Days

Gone are quiet mornings that began whenever my husband I felt like getting out of bed.  Gone are the days when we leisurely read the paper, slowly sipped coffee, and ate breakfast when we got around to it.  Gone are the mornings when we had no schedule.  Things have changed, big time, since Boston, our 13 week old puppy became a member of the household.

These days, we are up, out of bed,  and down the stairs at the sound of the first yelp that emits from our puppy's mouth at about 6:30 every morning.  He lets us know, in no uncertain terms, that he is awake, tired of being in his kennel, and ready to get outside to do his business.

We have a schedule these days, and it is a demanding one.  It has been set by an equally demanding little creature who is challenging us on who will really run the household.

Early in the morning, we are now out walking the dog.  If you see me, be forewarned, my appearance may appear unkept.  As I walk the neighborhood in weird outfits that I throw on when I get out of bed, I remind myself of a quote by Barbara Ueland, "If I did not wear torn pants, orthopedic shoes, frantic disheveled hair, that is to say, if I did not tone down my beauty, people would go mad.  Married men would run amuck."

The truth is, I look this way because I am a bit frazzled these days.  I walk the dog several times a day.  In between walks, I am trying to keep Boston's puppy mouth full of toys rather than then having him chew on my expensive furniture.  I am mopping up the floor.  I am feeling like the mother of a very active toddler.  I am busy.  I am tired.

A former colleague asked me today why I felt the need to take on a 15 year commitment at this point in my life.  I guess no one had put it that way before.  We have taken on a 15 year commitment by getting a new dog.  That is a long time.  My husband and I will be really old in 15 years.  I hope we both live 15 more years.  I hope the dog lives 15 more years.

For now, my husband and I are filling our days by caring for a new puppy.  We know we are the ones who are benefitting from taking these twice daily walks.  We comment about how we certainly would not be out walking if it were not for the dog.  We are filling up our days with new duties, new experiences, and at times we wonder if we were crazy to take on a task like training a new puppy when we were getting quite settled into a quiet retirement schedule.  Wish us well.  We need it!

A Thank You, A Blog Link, and A Review

A Thank You from Keicha:

It seems so strange to feel such love and support from people I've never met. Thanks to each of you for all of your very kind and encouraging words. I don't feel strong, or brave, mostly what I feel is that I just want my sister back. I know that will never happen, so the next best thing I can do is hopefully prevent someone from ever having to go through such a horrific loss.

Thank you again for your constant support and feedback. It really does help.

A Blog Link:

I am attaching a link to my daughter's blog.  When Keicha was a child, whenever she would misbehave, which was quite rare, her punishment was that she had to put down her book and go outside and play.  Books have always been her passion.  

Having read prolifically since her earliest days, it is no wonder that she is such a wonderful writer.  I am quite proud of her ability to express herself so well with her writing.  I am sorry that she must write about the hard topics of grief and loss, but I am grateful she can use her gift of writing to examine these topics.  I know that her heart hopes that her writing helps others just as she has benefited from the writings of others.

The link to her blog is below:

http://o-townramblings.blogspot.com/

A Review:

I hope to create a new topic for my blog which features books I have read about loss, grief, and the difficult subject of suicide.  Reading and writing have been an important part of my journey through grief.  Perhaps, the books I have read will also benefit others.

Blue Nights by Joan Didion
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It is difficult to write a review about this book because I can't be objective.  I can't be objective because as I read this book, I felt as if I were reading my own thoughts, questions, sorrows, regret, memories, and psychological battles.  I lost my daughter a year and a half ago.  That is why I felt as if I were reading my own story.

I wanted Joan Didion to tie up the loose ends of grief for me.  I wanted her to give my some answers on how she coped with her loss.  I wanted to know that she was doing just fine.  I knew I wouldn't find these answers, but in my own denial about my own daughter's death, I hoped that just possibly she had been able to accomplish something I could not.

Joan forced me to confront some memories of Julie that I had buried in a place in my mind I could not visit.  While I did not want to lose what little I had left of my daughter, the memories of her alive and well, I wished not to really see her either.  Seeing her made her loss more unbearable.

I wept so many times in this book.  I wept for Joan, for Quintana, for Julie, for me.  I wept because so many memories were very much alive.  I saw them as if I were first seeing the smile that swept across my daughter's face the first time I held her after her birth.  I vividly remembered how her eyes locked in on mine and she held my gaze when she was just hours old.  I visited those memories, and my heart broke all over again.  I went over the details of the memory in my mind.  I saw her hair, smelled it, held it in my hands, but only in my memory.  I allowed myself to do this as I read this book.

I read some of this book while sitting in a cold doctor's office, just as Joan Didion described.  I had to close the book and put it away because I started weeping nearly uncontrollably.  I have been in that same place as she was in.  In fact, I was in that place.  I have experienced the psychological and physical toll that such a death takes on the mother who survives.

Joan Didion does not resolve anything in this book.  There is no resolution.  How can there be when a mother loses a child?


View all my reviews

Sense of Humor

One of the things that I love about my husband is his sense of humor.

A Short Story to Illustrate A Point:


A few weeks ago, my husband I purchased a new washer and dryer at Lowe's.  The purchase was sweetened by some good discounts.  Today, my husband noticed there was a sale on the brand of washers that we purchased, but the model on sale was actually an upgrade from what we had purchased.

I guess the knowledge of a better deal has been on his mind today. At dinner he mentioned he would really like to go see the upgraded washer that is currently on sale.

Immediately, the phrase "cognitive dissonance," popped into my mind.  "He is trying to reduce the dissonance he was feeling because he thought he had missed out on getting a better deal on a new washer by buying too soon," I thought.  I know I can expect this response nearly every time we make a large purchase.  Some may describe the feelings he experiences as buyer's remorse.  

Feeling a bit flirty and feisty, I asked him a question.

Me:   "Did you have to practice cognitive dissonance after you married me?"

Jim:  "No, there wasn't a sale."

Gotta love that sense of humor!

Our Wedding Day

Surrounded by our children and their spouses

The groom is holding his first grandchild.

Sharing An Article by My Daugther

Keicha & Julie
2010

Don't suffer as a suicide survivor alone

By Keicha Christiansen

Standard-Examiner

Fri, 11/04/2011 - 11:33am

In May, 2010, I lost my 34-year-old sister to suicide, instantaneously and involuntarily becoming part of a group that until then, I hadn't known existed. Inclusion in the group is undesired, yet the number of people who join each year is in the hundreds of thousands. On that awful day a year and half ago, I became a suicide survivor. No clear definition exists for who might be considered a suicide survivor. In a 2011 study by Alan L. Berman, Ph.D., survivors of suicide were defined as "those believed to be intimately and directly affected by a suicide."

Each day in the United States, approximately 94 people take their own lives, leaving behind family, friends and loved ones to struggle with loss, grief, confusion and many questions. Conservative estimates state that six to 10 people are intimately affected by each suicide. The devastation felt by those left behind after a suicide is huge and, for most, life-altering. According to the American Psychiatric Association, "the level of stress resulting from the suicide of a loved one is ranked as catastrophic-equivalent to that of a concentration camp experience."

For months after my sister died, I felt alone and confused. Many people seemed to be uncomfortable with my grieving. Perhaps they were confused over how to respond to my grief, or didn't know what to say about the nature of my sister's death. Instead of sympathy, some responded with silence. From my perspective, I struggled with how to describe the trauma I felt. In her book "Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide," psychologist Kay Redfield Jamison says, "Suicide carries in its aftermath a level of confusion and devastation that is, for the most part, beyond description."

Survivors already struggling with complex reactions including, guilt, anger, or abandonment face the added challenge of dealing with the unfortunate stigma that still surrounds suicide. For many, this leaves them feeling that their loved one's death is somehow shameful.

According to the most recent statistics available from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. Utah ranks 17th in the nation for the number of suicides annually. Research shows that more than 90 percent of people who die by suicide have an underlying, although not always diagnosed, psychiatric illness at the time of their death, most often depression.

As a suicide survivor, I've chosen not to suffer alone, in silence, feeling ashamed about something I had no control over. Instead, I will speak out, advocating for comprehensive, statewide suicide prevention education and initiatives. Additionally, I will reach out to let other survivors know they're not alone. Although every one of our stories is unique, we all share a common bond. Each one of us has lost someone we cared about deeply, and our lives have been forever altered because of it.

The holiday season can be particularly difficult for survivors. To help, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's International Survivors of Suicide Day will be held on Nov. 19 in more than 250 cities around the world, including Salt Lake City. The program is also available online. If you're a survivor, I hope you'll join me in taking part in this day of healing and sharing. For more information, visit www.afsp.org.

Christiansen is a volunteer field advocate for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.


* Used by permission of my daughter, Keicha Christiansen.

The photos below are just a few of the family photos that are mostly of my daughters.  They were all very close, and they tried to get together as often as they could even though Keicha lived in Utah, and Julie and Amy lived in Colorado.

Running Strong
Keicha & Julie

Amy & Julie
Summer 2009

Good times & laughter at Mom's
Julie, Amy, Keicha

Out on the town
Amy, Julie, Keicha

Thanksgiving 2008

Sisters function as safety nets in a chaotic world simply by being there for each other. 

~ Carol Saline**

When the bond formed and shared by sisters is broken through death, there is a hole in the hearts that are left behind that is never filled.  When the loss of a sister comes from suicide, it is truly one of life's greatest tragedies.  

My family and I continue to try and heal since the death of our beloved Julie.  As part of our healing, we hope to put an end to the  silence that surrounds loss by suicide.  

We hope to see others who have lost a loved one to suicide get the support that they need.

We hope to see more suicide prevention education programs.

We hope to see more funding for those with mental illness, and more support for their families as they struggle with knowing how to support their loved one who has a mental illness.

Not long after the photo below was taken, I noticed that Julie is the one in the photo who is strong and steady.  We are all leaning into her for support.  Even then, it seemed ironic that she provided all the stability for the pose we decided to strike.  In life, she also displayed great strength and fortitude.  She struggled valiantly for many years with depression and the demons that so often accompany this devastating illness.  

Kicking Up Our Heels
Mom (Sally), Amy, Keicha, Julie

As Julie's mother, I join her sister Keicha in sharing our story of survival. Much must yet be done to change the perceptions of shame and silence that surround suicide.  We add our voices to those of others who also joined, through no choice of their own, this group that has such great stigma attached to it.  

I do this to honor my beautiful daughter, Julie Ann Christiansen, who was more, so much more, than her final act.  I hope her legacy will be one of love, hope, and healing.  

*Article written by Keicha Christiansen and published in the Standard Examiner

**Quote taken from the blog:  bossybetty.com

Unfortunately, This Is Not A Costume.

Today is Halloween.  I've never been one who really enjoyed Halloween.  It was fun when the kids were little to see their excitement over getting dressed up and going trick or treating, but even then, it was not my favorite holiday.

This year, I actually had to think about putting together a costume for Halloween.   My main squeeze and I were invited to a costume party that was held last weekend.  We dreaded getting dressed up because it just isn't our thing.  I guess we are just duds in that department.  We could think of absolutely nothing to wear, so, reluctantly, we went to the Halloween Store.  This seasonal store has been a fixture near our mall for several years.  We had never even thought of going there before, but when we were desperate for inspiration, we decided to go see what the place had to offer.

The place is a Halloween fantasy shop for sure.  We could not believe all the costumes, wigs, shoes, accessories, jewelry, and assorted props that were on the shelves.  These costumes are not cheap either.  The average price was at least $40!

Little did we know how much fun we would have looking at all the various Halloween outfits.  I guess we are still kids at heart as we found ourselves joking about the types of outfits and combinations we could come up with.

In the end, I was too cheap to buy anything but a couple of wigs and a pair of glasses.  I didn't have time to sew anything because, as usual, I had waited until the last minute to come up with an idea.  I bought a Marilyn Monroe wig for me and an old bald guy wig and pair of glasses for my hubby.  I was just sure I could come home and fit into my red sexy dress that would make me look like Marilyn.  "It was big on me the last time I wore it," I said to hubby.  (I wore it last in about 1988!)

Unfortunately, my bubble was burst when I got home.  I checked the size first: a size 8.  Thinking it would fit because it really did used to be too big, and still in denial, I tried it on.  It could not be zipped up because there seemed to be at least a four inch gap that the zipper could not accommodate!  I guess I've gained a few pounds since I wore it last.  In the end, I wore my grandmother's old mink stole and wig.  Jim looks a bit like Einstein.

Today, I am not in costume.  I wish I were when I look in the mirror!  I look how I feel: frumpy, old, and tired.

In the past four months, I have lost nearly all of my left eyebrow.  My right eyebrow still has a few hairs left.  My eyebrows suddenly disappeared in June.  As I told my daughter, "I've lost my eyebrows, and I really always kind of liked the ones I had."  Once, very thick, I constantly had to wax or pluck them to keep them in shape.  Now, they are gone.  (Are they gone for good?)

My hairline has receded so much that I think I look like my father more and more everyday.  I can't even get my newly cut bangs to cover up the loss.

I'm tired.   I barely can drag myself around.

Oh and then, there are the heart palpitations and racing heart that I am again dealing with.  These are accompanied with anxiety and near panic attacks.

Does this not scream that I must again be suffering from hypothyroidism?  A year ago, I was finally diagnosed with Hashimoto Disease after being on synthroid for hypothyroidism for years.  A new regime of taking my medication worked for about nine months.  I knew it was no longer working, but sometimes, it takes the doctor a bit longer to decide to change my medication because the blood work says I am the "normal range."  I happen to know where I need to keep the levels to feel right, but that doesn't seem to count for much.

The doctor's office called this morning after I dragged myself into her office last Thursday and said that she had to find out what was wrong with me.  She ordered all kinds of blood work.   Sure enough, I am "out of range" on my TSH.   I need to change my dosage of synthroid.  I also need to go back on iron.  No surprise here!  Hopefully, I will start feeling better.

In the meantime, in order to not scare the little trick or treaters at the door tonight, I will put on my make-up, starting with penciled in eyebrows, and hope they don't think I'm dressed as a frumpy, worn-out, old woman.

Happy Halloween!  Are any of you dressing up this year?  Do you have plans for any parties?

On The Road with My Husband and His Other Sweetheart

Fall Trip 2011

Upstate New York - From Ithaca to Cooperstown

As the title to this post indicates, my husband brought his other sweetheart along on the trip we took this fall.  He insisted that he was not making the trip without her.  Since the trip was my idea, and since I love to take a road trip, and since I insisted that we could handle traveling unknown territories by taking roads we had never taken before, I had to give in when he insisted that the only way he was going along with my idea was if he could take along his other sweetheart.  

Yes, he has another sweetheart.  "She" is a GPS.  "She" tells my husband what to do, what way to go, when to turn, and even when to make a u-turn, and he listens.  He even talks to her.  He says, "Thanks sweetie."  "Ok, sweetheart, that is what I will do."  "She" is the bane of my existence.  I consider her constant direction giving a nuisance.  Needless to say, he and I do not agree on how one should take a trip.  I think maps work just fine, but since my husband really loves his little sweetheart, and likes to take her on our road trips,  I try to co-exist with her when we are all in the car together.

Somewhere between Ithaca and Cooperstown, my husband and I had to have a little talk.  I called it our "Come to Jesus Talk" about his other sweetheart.  You see, there had been some damage to roads between point A and point B due to flooding.  My husband's other sweetheart didn't seem to understand this situation, but he listened to her anyway.  I, on the other hand, kept consulting the map.  You see, I can read a map.  I am rational.  I can problem solve. I am not programed!  I finally said to my husband, "You must make a choice.  Either you listen to this sweetheart who is beside you with a map in hand, or you listen to the one you program, but you can't listen to both of us.  Make a choice."  

He chose me.  We made it to Cooperstown.  Unfortunately, we had to have this same conversation about his other sweetheart a few other times during the trip.  But, it all worked out.  He and I are still together, and his other sweetheart is somewhere upstairs in a drawer.

The landscapes we saw on this particular day were simply beautiful.  I kept thinking I was viewing scenes I had  admired as a child when I looked through a book we had of lithographs by Currier and Ives.  

We stopped in Bainbridge, New York to take some photos.   For some reason, when I saw this structure in the park in Bainbridge, I thought of my grandfather and how my grandmother described him as looking as if he "just stepped out of a bandbox."  I imagined attending a band concert in the park back in the 1890's.  I loved this cute little park that was surrounded by several churches and a cemetery that dated back to the Revolutionary War.

Unfortunately, we couldn't stop in every little town along our way.  We wanted to reach Cooperstown in time to visit a few attractions in that town before nightfall.

Cooperstown, New York

Cooperstown is really a beautiful little town.  As visitors to this town, we sometimes felt as if we were stepping back in time.  Many of the tree lined, clean swept streets are lined with beautiful Victorian houses.  The shops all seem to close when the National Baseball Hall of Fame closes.  The gas stations are not modernized because the city fathers want to keep things as "they were."  The town seemed to scream, "Americana" to me.  Patriotism and nostalgia are very much on display at every turn in the museums, the shops, the restaurants, and of course, especially at the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

Our first stop was the Fenimore Art Museum.  I had really looked forward to visiting this museum after reading so much about James Fenimore Cooper in David McCullough's The Greater Journey.  Perhaps because I never taught any American Literature classes when I was teaching, I hadn't thought much about the works of Cooper for many years until I read McCullough's book.  Then, a desire to see the area that inspired all of Cooper's great works was awakened in me.

The Fenimore Art Museum itself was a great disappointment to me.  Most of the walls were blank.  I even took photos, which I decided not to share here, of all the blank walls and the packing crates that were on display in place of piece of art.  It seems we visited between exhibits.  In fact, I had missed by a few weeks an exhibit called, Frida Kahlo:  Through the Lens of Nickolas Muray.  A fan of Frida Kahlo, I would have loved this exhibit and was disappointed to have missed it.  The museum has exhibits of interesting early American art works, and of course an exhibit that featured the portraits and memorabilia of the Cooper family which was quite interesting.

The Fenimore Art Museum as a building is really beautiful.  It is located on the shores of Otsego Lake which was a prime piece of real estate when James Fenimore Cooper's father established Cooperstown. 

I kept wishing I had at least read The Pioneers as background reading before we took our trip.

I hope you enjoy a few of the photos we took as we toured the grounds of the museum.

The back view of the Fenimore Art Museum

Looking toward Otsego Lake from the ground of the Fenimore Art Museum

The Museum viewed from the shore of the lake.

A path that runs along the side of the lake.  Can't you just imagine how it must have been in the days when the Iroquois roamed this area?

Isn't this just an amazing place?

Lake Otsego
Fenimore Art Museum

A lakeside exhibit called, "Otsego: A Meeting Place."

The day we visited the Fenimore Art Museum and drank in the beauty of Lake Otsego was a perfect fall day.  There seemed to be no better way to capture the memories of a bright, colorful, golden day that my hubby and I spent together than to photograph this simple sunflower growing with great splendor along the shores of the beautiful Lake Otsego.

*  A Reading List Suggestion:  William Cooper's Town - Power and Persuasion on the Frontier of the Early American Republic.  ~ Alan Taylor  


I am working my way through this Pulitzer Prize winner.  While it is not an entertaining book to read, it is certainly informative about the settlement of this area in the early days of the American frontier.  It is called a work of "biography, social history, and literary analysis."   

Happy Birthday to My Wonderful Husband

He is a prince of a man.

I know of few who are so kind.

I was blessed to meet him when I was just sixteen.

He is loved, admired, and respected by many.

He is the much loved father and step-father to eight children.

Seventeen children call him Grandpa.

Many in the city respectfully call him Mr. Wessely.

He was a teacher, counselor, and principal to thousands.

My German Prince
Heidleberg Castle, Heidleberg, Germany
The place where his parents married.

I am the woman who is greatly blessed to be his wife.

We've had a wonderful life together.

I am blessed to have him as my companion.

I wrote this poem for him a few years back as anniversary gift.

Masked Lover

Masked lover

Night breathing through a machine - 

Your lifeline.

The sound:  smooth, quiet, regular,

comforting,

providing a white noise of sorts.

You, my masked lover, are my lifeline - 

solid, strong, masculine, unmovable.

Winter warmth.

Trouble comforter.

Rock of my daily experience.

Anchor for my heart and life.

All these words cannot express

The comfort,

The strength,

The safety,

The provision,

The stability,

That I thank God for

When I embrace 

you, 

my lifeline, 

at night.

Happy Birthday, Dear.


Here's to many, many more!
XO