Observations on Then and Now

Observations and Reflections 

on Then and Now

1962 vs 2012

This morning, as I stood idly at the counter of Starbucks waiting for the barista to make my de-caf, skinny cafe latte, or as one barista called my coffee choice, "a why bother," a girl dressed in a high school letter jacket and sitting in the cab of her truck waiting for her morning coffee at the drive-through window caught my eye.  Her make-up free face looked tired and a bit harried.  My first thoughts were, "She's a bit late for first period.  School has already started."  That was the teacher in me.  Then I thought how harried she looked.  It seemed to me that a girl of seventeen or eighteen just should not look as if she were the mother of three and in her 30's.  I don't remember looking that tired and overwhelmed in high school.

Coffee Shop Reflections

Suddenly, I found myself comparing my life as a teenager, a senior in high school, to what I found myself observing of a quick snapshot into this girl's life.

As a senior in high school, I did not stop by a coffee shop on my way to school to pick up coffee because:

• I did not drink coffee.  I ate two pieces of toast and drank a glass of milk, both of which were prepared by my mother every morning of the world before I went to school.  I didn't like breakfast in those days, but my mother insisted I eat something, so I did eat what she fixed me.
• I did not drive.  My father drove me to school every morning of my senior year at Leadville High School.  My first class, college prep English, started before 7:00 a.m.  Mornings were very cold at the two miles high altitude where we lived.  I would freeze just sitting in the car as my father drove me school.  
• I did not drive because I did not have a driver's license.  My father didn't support the idea of me having a driver's license.  He insisted I learn to drive, but he saw no need for me to have a license to do so.  Once my driver's learning permit expired, and I knew how to drive, I never got a driver's license until I was 21.
• I never would have had my own car, nor would I have had access to a car.  My father would never have even dreamed of getting me a car.  He wouldn't let me get a job during the school year either, so I wouldn't be able to earn the money to get a car.  In fact, the idea of having my own car never even entered my mind as a young woman.  Very few of my friends had a car.  A few guys had a car, very few, and my girl friend Mary had an old '50 Ford.  Other than that, it was just unheard of in my town for high school girls to have cars.
• If I had a car, and if there had been a Starbucks or some other coffee shop to drive up to and buy a cup of coffee, and if I had drunk coffee at the time, I would not have had any money to buy a cup of coffee, and I would never have dreamed of all the coffee drink choices there are today.

Even today's visit to a coffee shop is a rare one for me.  I had some time on my hands after dropping my husband off for a medical test at a hospital near-by and thought I would settle in with my book and a cup of coffee while I waited for his call to pick him up.  After observing the girl in the truck,  I couldn't help questioning whether I would have liked to live today's teenage life, or if I preferred the life I lived as a teenager.  With my 50th high school reunion coming up this year, it only stands to reason that times have changed.  

I'm thankful I came of age at the time I did.  My life was much more sheltered than the lives of so many teens today.  Since I was under my parents' roof, I was also under their rules.  These rules protected me in many ways.  I didn't have the responsibility of driving.  I didn't have to have a job during the school year.  My father thought there was plenty of time for having job responsibilities later in life.  My mother made many of my clothes, or I made my own.  I had a difficult schedule at school, but I also had plenty of time to study.  I loved to read and spent hours doing so.  I didn't have anything handed to me.  Whatever clothes I wanted beyond the basics made by my mother or purchased just before school started, I bought with the money I made as a car hop at the local A&W across the road from our home in the summer.

I had a very active social life with much time spent at Teen Town dances, attending ball games, taking jeep tours with my friends in the mountains, hiking, biking and having a lot of fun just "dragging Main' with the lucky ones who did have cars.  I was not a cheerleader; I was too clumsy for that.  I was involved in drama and acted in high school plays with lead roles.  I was elected homecoming queen.  I guess I must have been popular.  

If there is one regret, it is that in those days, before Title IX, girls did not participate in sports at school.  There were no teams for girls at school.  I wish I could have had the chance to develop my skills at a sport.  

The early sixties was a different time from now.  We did our research projects by using note cards, and I typed my senior paper on an old upright typewriter.  We listened to records and danced to the Loco Motion, Wipe Out, and Our Day Will Come on recorded '45's.  We watched Perry Mason, Gunsmoke, and The Ed Sullivan Show on television.  

There were no coffee shops that I knew of in our town.  A memory stands out in my mind of walking to a bakery after school before play practice would begin.  We would buy the most delicious cream puffs and eat them as our after school treat.  On a Saturday, we would go to a restaurant with a group of us and order cokes and French fries and take up the booth for a very long time talking and laughing with each other.  We didn't text; we talked.  Our talks were sometimes long and quite philosophical.  We didn't facebook; we had lots of face to face time.  All I remember is that high school was a fun time in my life.   I had a chance to gain my own identity.

The summer after I graduated from high school, just before I left for college in the fall of 1963, I visited my boyfriend's home to say good-bye.  I am now married to the one who snapped this photo of me in front of his parent's home.  High school provided me with a time when I made life time friendships.  It also was a time when I met my true love and partner for the second half of my life.  I remember how proud of me Jim was because I had earned a scholarship for college tuition and was going away for college.  Dressed in my new shirtwaist dress, I thought I was the picture of a college girl.  Now I think I look terribly young and if naiveté is written across my forehead.  When this photo was taken, I had wonderful dreams and goals.  I am happy I reached all of them.  I do wish I'd had higher goals and loftier dreams.  It was a different time then.  Women didn't really think of doing much except being a wife, teacher, or nurse.  For the times, I am happy with my choices and that I accomplished what I set out to do.  I wouldn't trade the time in which I came of age for anything.  I grateful I grew up when I did.

End of A Season

Announcing Some Big Changes Coming Our Way

It was hot this summer.

Some mornings after a romp on the grass,

Boston would rest in his favorite spot under the glider on the back deck.

Before long, once he was settled and comfy, 

he would be asleep and taking his morning nap.

Or

If Mom wasn't looking, he would climb onto the glider so he could take a proper nap.

This spot is forbidden,

but who could make him move?

He was too cute, and he looked very happy and content in this spot.

He is a smart dog.

He found one of my favorite spots and made it his too.

This glider was where I spent many hours journaling after my daughter's death.

It gave me great comfort to look out on my garden during many difficult days.

This spot is also a favorite for my husband.

This is his morning newspaper reading place in the summer.

I usually sit across from him when he reads here in the summer.

Once a week, usually on Sunday, I sit here and happily enjoy watching Boston's grooming time.

Who is enjoying this time more?

Is is Jim,

or

is it Boston?

I see joy in the faces of both of them.

Buster, 

our previous golden retriever,

also loved this deck.

As a pup, he chewed it so badly, it had to be rebuilt.

My daughter-in law Sam

has sweat equity in this deck. 

Sam

She,

and my son Jon,

shown here with my daughter Keicha enjoying time together on the deck,

rebuilt the deck for me over a decade ago.

Jon & Keicha

Cousins have spent many happy times here with each other.

Gillian and Hannah

Atticus

It has been the gathering place for the family during summer get-togethers over the years.

Trista, Julie, Amy, Ryan

Yesterday marked the beginning of the end of a season of our lives.

We will say good-bye to this deck,

and to so many other places we have loved so much 

in this home

where we have 

lived, 

loved, 

played, 

laughed,

 and 

cried 

for the past seventeen years.

It is the end of season.

The season has been good.

We have loved this place.

We will be so sad to leave it.

There will be tears as we say our good-byes,

but seasons do change, and we are ready to move on to a new season in our lives.

After 25 showings,

and after keeping our house on the market during this past summer,

we finally have accepted an offer on this home.

We have made an offer on a new home in Colorado Springs.

It all came together yesterday.

The last few days have been an emotional roller-coaster.

I didn't find the house I wanted to buy until Tuesday after accepting an offer on this home the day before.

Hopefully, all closings and all those other details that go along with selling and buying a house will go well.  If so, we will be out of here on October 23rd, the day after Jim's birthday.

Did I say I haven't slept much?

Did I say I was exhausted?

Well, I am.

I am also feeling those mixed emotions that one feels as one moves from one season to the next.

I am melancholy.

I am sad.

I will miss this place I have loved so very much.

I am excited.

I am looking forward to many new adventures.

Tomatoes, Peaches, Grasshoppers, and Ducks

We brought home a half bushel of peaches from our trip to peach country on the Western Slope of Colorado.  Even after sharing half of the box of peaches with friends and family, Jim and I have had fresh peaches for breakfast nearly every morning for several weeks now.  Our tomatoes are also starting to ripen, so I have been thinking of ways to include an abundance of cherry tomatoes into our meals.   Eating all of this wonderful fresh produce has reawakened memories of days gone by.

Memories of Gardens of Long Ago

Ryan and Jonathan
North Ogden, Utah
Summer 1979

Peaches

When my children were young, we lived in North Ogden, Utah.  At one time, before farms were broken up into subdivisions, North Ogden had been an area where the folks in Ogden would go to get peaches, apricots, and cherries from the many orchards that grew in the area.  North Ogden was also known a place that grew wonderful raspberries.

 Our home had been built on a fairly large lot where one of those a peach orchards once stood.  The builder had left some of these old peach trees on the property, and by the time we bought the house three trees remained.  The former owners of the house had built a new home where an apricot orchard once stood.  They asked if we could trade trees each year.  In other words, they wanted to come and pick peaches from one of our trees in exchange for us picking apricots from one of their trees.  It was an arrangement that worked well.

 As the above photo of my two sons shows, these peach trees produced an abundant crop each and every year.  Can you see how the branches are so loaded with peaches that they are nearly touching the ground?

While my children most likely have only great memories of climbing these trees and playing beneath the shade of them, I mostly remember that I had a love/hate relationship with them.  I'm allergic to peach blossoms and to peach fuzz, so I would have a terrible time with my allergies when they were in bloom and when I had to pick them.  Sometimes, when the trees were loaded with peaches, my arms would be covered with rashes when I would go out to pick peaches.  I am also very afraid of heights, so I would not get up on the ladders to pick the peaches at the top.  I hated to have the kids pick them too, because they would want to go out on the branches to reach those peaches inaccessible by ladders. I would stand on the ground afraid the branch would snap and they would fall and break a leg, an arm, a neck.  If we didn't get them picked, the peaches would fall to the ground and make a terrible, mushy, smelly mess.  The peaches would quickly rot on the ground and before long the air would have a terrible vinegar smell and the peaches would attract earwigs.  Needless to say, I tried to harvest as many peaches as I could.

What did I do with all those peaches?  I canned them.  My memories of those days when the above photo was taken are memories of being very, very busy this time of year.  In 1979, I had five children under the age of 12 and a very large yard and garden to help maintain.  My former husband, the father of my children, did most of the maintenance and care of the yard and garden, but he would go off to summer camp for the Army Reserves every summer for two weeks.  During that time, it was really a chore to keep up with the kids, the house, the yard, the garden, and canning.  I wonder now how I did it.  In my neighborhood, one could barely hold one's head up without feeling shame if one didn't relate the number of bottles of peaches, pears, applesauce, jam, tomatoes, or whatever else was in season one had preserved that week.  It wasn't all peer pressure that drove me.  The produce I canned was what fed us during the next year.  We counted on it to supplement our food budget.  Plus, there was great satisfaction that came from seeing my shelves in basement filled with all that beautiful produce bottled and waiting to be consumed.  In many ways I miss those day, but I remember how bone tired I would be as I stood at the sink and peeled peaches and tomatoes, made jams and jellies, sauces and juices.

Raspberries

We didn't just grow peaches.  We grew a lot of raspberries.  I never had many to freeze or to make into jelly because we ate them fresh as they ripened everyday.  Raspberries are a lot of work to grow, but the rewards outweigh the work.  What I wouldn't give to walk out into the yard to pick fresh raspberries again.

Grapes

We also grew grapes. Every fall, not long after the kids would have returned to school, I would step out onto the back deck and know that it was time to harvest the grapes.  I could smell them when they were ready.  This was usually just as the weather was turning cooler, just before the first hard freeze, in fact it seemed that there would be a slight frost the night before they were ready.  Below, is a photo my me and my precious Julie as we show off the grapes we just harvested.

I had a steam juicer that I used to make grape juice.  If you are interested in the process, you can read about it here:  how to make grape juice.  I would use some of the juice to make grape jelly.  Yum!  I miss that homemade grape juice and grape jelly.  I still have the steam juicer and all the jars in the basement.  What do think the odds are that I will ever use them again?

Tomatoes, grasshoppers, and ducks

I've also been thinking about all the tomatoes I used to grow to can.  My father-in-law was a master gardener when it came to growing a vegetable garden.  My daughter told me he grew tomatoes this year in his garden during his 88th year.  His tomatoes were always abundant and beautiful.  I never could grow tomatoes like he could, but then, I didn't care for them as well as he did.  I grew them because I loved eating a fresh one from the garden everyday, and I loved to can them to use throughout the year in cooking.  Home canned tomatoes went a long ways in stretching the food budget when feeding five children.  I've been thinking I should can some again when I read all the salt that are added to the canned tomatoes and tomato sauces that we buy off the grocery shelves.  Surely, my home canned tomatoes would be better for us.

One year, when I was growing tomatoes to can, our garden was being overtaken by grasshoppers.  I was very frustrated by the way they were destroying our tomato crop.  My former husband, who was a teacher, was talking about how the grasshoppers were ruining our crop at work one day.  One of his fellow teachers who owned a farm not far from our house said that he had ducks.  He said the ducks ate the grasshoppers before they could destroy his tomatoes.  Based on his experience and observation, we decided that we would have to see if the ducks would help our situation.  My husband drove over to his friend's house, loaded up a couple of ducks in our Ford Pinto, and brought them home.  The kids named them Donald and Daffy.  

I could see the downside to having ducks right away.  Do you have any idea how much of a mess they make in the yard?  I couldn't even let the kids go out in the yard to play.  We had to be very careful and watch where we stepped when we went out to the garden to pick vegetables or fruit from the trees.  I thought it was worth the mess if we got rid of the grasshoppers.  Soon, we had few grasshoppers.  It seemed to be working.  There was just one problem.  I still was not finding any ripe tomatoes.  I would see that tomatoes were nearly ripe, but then I could find any ripe ones to pick a day or two later.  Then, as I was gazing out of my kitchen window as I washed the dishes one evening, I discovered why.  One of the ducks was in the vegetable garden.  He was standing next to the tomato plant where I could clearly see a ripe red tomato.  In just an instant, the duck took the tomato into his mouth and walked away.  The ducks were eating my tomatoes!  

Since the ducks were making a mess, and since the neighbors kept calling and saying, "Your ducks are in our yard again," and since the ducks ate more tomatoes than the now gone grasshoppers had done, we decided our plan was not working.  After the children were all in bed that night, my husband and I loaded the ducks in the back of the car again, took a little ride out to the marshlands, and let the ducks go.  They had been trying to fly away anyway, so we figured they would be much happier where they belonged, and I was happy because now my tomatoes could grow without any disturbances from outside predators.  

Retirement ~ Time to Smell The Roses

My usual morning routine is one that sometimes takes two hours to complete after I first get up in the morning.  By the time I get up, my husband has made my coffee and read one newspaper.  As I descend the stairs, I hear Boston run to get a toy so he can greet me with his happy morning dance as he begs me to admire his toy and pet him.  I then kiss my dear sweet husband, pour my coffee, and settle down in my favorite red chair to watch the Today Show and read three newspapers, The Pueblo Chieftain, The Gazette Telegraph, and The Denver Post.  I always read for an hour while I sip my coffee before I finally make my breakfast.  My hubby is probably already to take the dog for his morning walk by the time I eat.  On summer mornings, we do our morning newspaper reading and chatting on the back deck.  I love retirement.  There is no rush to get out the door.

Yesterday, on Thursday, feeling especially good mentally and physically, soon after pouring my cup of coffee, I heard Lionel Richie singing on the Today Show.  I couldn't stop myself.  I was dancing around the kitchen and family room, coffee cup in hand to "Oh what a feeling, we're dancing on the ceiling."  "This is a great way to start the day," I thought.  I even posted on Facebook that I was starting my Friday off right by dancing to Lionel Richie while I drank my first cup of coffee.  Then, I took my medicines and saw the pill container said it was Thursday.  Then, my daughter-in-law posted on Facebook, "Wait, isn't it Thursday."  Yes, it was Thursday, but I am retired.  It is hard to know what day it is.  It felt like a Friday to me.

Today, Friday, the 17th,  the man and I both slept in.  The dog didn't wake up my hubby, so we were able to sleep until we were both awake.  In fact, I think I woke up first.  That is a rarity.  "Oh well, it is a Saturday, so we can justify sleeping in," I thought upon awakening.  But, when I read the paper, I realized it was not Saturday, it was Friday.  I've been confused on what day it is for two days.  Every day in retirement feels like Friday or Saturday.

I usually fix big breakfasts on the weekend.  Of course, today was not the weekend, but I thought it was.  We had gotten up late, so it really felt like Saturday.  Before breakfast I slipped out to the garden to see what was ripe.  I picked some cherry tomatoes, snipped some chives, got some Pueblo peppers out of the freezer and made us a frittata.  I've never made a frittata before.  It was quite yummy.  We also had fresh raspberries and blueberries in Greek yogurt.  This was really a Saturday or Sunday breakfast.

After breakfast, I again slipped outside.  It was so nice and cool outside.  I sat on the deck and thought of how much I love this house.  While we were both working at demanding jobs, I dreamed of just enjoying my house and yard after I retired.  Today, as I sat out on the back deck, I looked over to one of my favorite sights, my back rose garden, the one I planted the year I retired.  I call it my Peace Garden.

This summer has been a hot one.  I thought these roses would never come out of it in late June and throughout July when they looked done for, but I kept up with the feeding routine, I made sure they were watered, and I deadheaded every few days, although all through July I had few blooms, and the few blooms I had dried up on the stems.  Now, the weather is cooling and we've had some rain.  The roses are having what I call a second blooming.  Isn't that what retirement is all about?  A second blooming.  The second blooming is almost the best.  The colors are richer, deeper, and the blossoms are fuller when roses bloom in late summer and early fall.  It is true, "Gardening is a form of autobiography," I think as I look at the roses.

My eye catches one rose bud on the Peace Rose.  It is so stately.  I venture down the steps into the garden to take a closer look at this particular rose.  I capture it with my iPhone camera.

I haven't seen quite as much pink on the edges of these roses until now.  The cool weather is allowing the pinks to show their hues.  This rose, the Peace Rose, was planted in 2006 when I retired.  It was the first rose in the garden.  It was selected because it is one of my favorite roses.  Introduced by in the United States in 1945, the year of my birth, it was given to delegates of the first meeting of the United Nations with a note that read,  We hope the 'Peace' rose will influence men's thoughts for everlasting world peace.  

I really do love this rose.  It is the one I usually choose to place in a vase in front of my father's portrait when I have them in bloom.  I do this to honor my father and his time of service in the war, and to remember the time when I was going a bit too caustic and angry about a problem during my divorce many years ago.  As he listened to me rant, my father said nothing as he held up his two fingers in a peace sign.  That simple gesture spoke volumes to me, and I calmed down. My father was not one to go around putting up the peace signal, but he did so that day to send me a message.  I got it, and I haven't forgotten it.  Peace!  It is a beautiful thing.

It is such a great thing to have time to smell the roses and think about the reason I have a garden.  I have a garden because I love to create beauty.  I also love to have a creative outlet, and gardening allows me to do that in a way that is physically, spiritually, and mentally satisfying.  I thought I would spend my retirement years working as a master gardener.  I even took the course and have the certificate, but I don't consider myself a master gardener.  I still think of myself as a "dig in the dirt" kind of gardener.  I design in my head as I work the ground.  This means I have had some major design flaws in my yard.  It means I am always digging something up and moving it somewhere else.  It means I have not always considered nature, space, and placement as well as I should when I garden, but I am learning.  I keep some notes along the way.  I have a file in my garden shed where I keep the original receipts or tags for the roses and perennials I have planted over the years.  I try to have a rule that if I can't say the name or remember the name of plant, I don't plant it.

My gardening has been very hit or miss this year.  The heat has been a factor.  My health has been another factor.  And, we have our house on the market, so I have not made any huge additions to the garden.  I just try to maintain it and enjoy it.

I don't know how I will part with this beauty if we ever actually sell this house and move.  This is Easy Does It.    This beauty was planted in June of 2010 after being purchased to be planted in my Peace Garden in memory of my daughter Julie after her death.

Julie at her class reunion dressed in a shirt covered with orange flowers

This is the perfect rose to honor Julie.  The color reminds me of her.  Julie wore a lot of orange.  She had a vibrant personality and could carry off wearing such a bold color so well.  I love the touch of yellow, and a bit of pink and apricot in this rose.  It is complex in its color scheme just as Julie was complex in her personality.  Perhaps, the rose reminded me of her dressed in a top she used to wear that suited her so well.

Another flower I love to admire in my Peace Garden, is the Queen Elizabeth.  Introduced in 1954, it is sometimes known as the Queen of England rose. Interestingly, this rose did not bloom this year until the week of the Queen's Jubilee.  When it first bloomed this year, it bloomed all week of the Jubilee, and then it stopped blooming because of the heat.  It started blooming again when the Olympics began. I guess it identifies greatly with its British roots.

This rose is easy to grow and rewards me with beautiful sweet smelling bouquets.  I prefer to cut the buds for arrangements because they are so beautiful.  I like them better than the fully blossomed flowers.

I love deadheading my roses.  It is a very relaxing pasttime for me.  Working in my roses gives me time to think, to reflect, to smell the fragrance of the beauty of the plants I treasure.  As I clip the spent blossoms, I always toss them into one my great treasures:  my father bucket.  I love this bucket because it reminds me of my father.  It is a simple galvanized work bucket that still has paint splatters and cement attached to the surface inside and out of the pail he used as he went about working on the home he loved to maintain.  I think of how important it is to stay connected to the simple pleasures and pride that work can bring.  I am grateful to find beauty in a bucket full of spent blossoms.  I am grateful for this time in life when I can just putter in my garden while literally taking time to smell the roses.  It is good to not have to know what day it is, or even what time it is.  Time is suspended as I ponder all the sights and smells of my garden.  I treasure the memories that such times evoke within me.

One Who Helped Me Heal

Imagine feeling the following sensations periodically on a daily basis: 

dizziness,

floating,

spinning, 

whirling

light headedness,

nausea.

Add to that:

confusion

and

 a sense of being out of sync with life, your environment, and those around you.

This all makes you feel

isolated

and

not understood.

Add to all of these symptoms, pain and headaches.

Along with the headaches, 

add

visual disturbances,

tinnitus,

fullness in the ears.  

Along with the above symptoms and sensations,

add:

fatigue 

that does not go away even as you sleep much of the day away,

loss of the ability to

concentrate,

the loss of 

short term memory,

and the inability to problem solve.

Imagine:

not being able to drive,

socialize,

frequent public places,

or

 go grocery shopping

because you are overwhelmed by the sights and sounds surrounding you.

Add crippling anxiety to all of the above.

Intensify the debilitating effect of all of the above with the process of dealing with

 grief over the recent death of a child.  

Imagine that it is the dead of winter and the landscape seems bleak and bare.

Nothing seems to be blooming in your life, not even hope.  

This is how I felt though much of January of 2012 after a head injury from falling down the stairs of my home.  This fall sent me on a new journey of learning much about healing, hope, pacing, and patience.

I remember that one of the first pieces of advice given me after my injury by my chiropractor was, 

"Be patient with yourself."

I am not a patient person.

I needed a very special person in my life to teach me patience and pacing.  I also needed one who had the education and skills to properly diagnose my problems and give me the therapy I needed to heal.

That person was

Julie Knoll.

Julie, a physical therapist with South Valley Physical Therapy, is a board certified neurological clinical specialist who specializes in all those symptoms that were robbing me of the life I once had.  To say that she was a God send to my life is an understatement.  I honestly do not know how I would have survived without the skill set that she used to diagnose my problems and to design a treatment plan that would give me both hope and healing.

In many ways, I consider that fact that I even found Julie Knoll nothing short of a miracle.  As I reflect back on my life over the past year, I am aware that I have suffered from vertigo and dizziness since early last summer.  Just as the symptoms of vertigo were finally abating some, I fell down the stairs and my problems with this puzzling symptom in my life were exacerbated.  If I count the number of doctors and tests that I had before I fell, I come up with at least four different specialists or tests that were done to try to find out what was going on in my life.  I was tested for seizures.  I was given MRIs and CAT scans.  I saw a balance disorder specialist.  I was sent to a cardiologist.  I had all kinds of tests, but I had no answers.  Interestingly, the Vestibular Disorders Association found in a survey of those diagnosed to have this disorder that 52% of those diagnosed had seen five or more doctors before they were properly diagnosed and treated.  

After already suffering from attacks of vertigo from an unknown source,  I fell and suffered a head injury.  After the head injury, when things just weren't getting better, my chiropractor,  of all people, sent me to an optometrist, Dr. Saxerud,  who specializes in visual mid-line shift problems.  This doctor confirmed I did not have a visual mid-line shift but told me I totally failed the test for vestibular disorder.  He recommended that I see Julie Knoll. He said she was the best person he knew of to help me with this problem, but he also noted that I would have to travel to Castle Rock, Colorado to see her.  That was not a problem.  Driving 85 miles to see someone who could help me seemed like a blessing.  At least I didn't have to go into Denver.

When I first met Julie, I was immediately impressed by her demeanor.  In fact, since I had been working on acquiring patience in dealing with my vertigo and headaches, I felt especially reassured by the quote on a plaque behind her desk.  I have superimposed it on this photo of the Pope John Paul II rose from my garden.  The quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson reads:  "Adopt the pace of nature, her name is patience."  I knew my healing would not be instantaneous, but I knew I had found someone who would help on the journey.

Julie exudes competence, self-confidence, wisdom, peace, patience, and hope.  She is able to build all of these same virtues in her patients.  As Julie began to review the intake form I had filled out prior to seeing her the first time, I was immediately aware of her great knowledge about the disorder for which I was seeking treatment.  Her academic knowledge was enhanced by her obvious possession of much successful experience in her chosen field.  While all of these attributes are greatly sought for in looking for any healer, I was especially struck by Julie's healing nature which was expressed by her care, concern, and willingness to truly listen and respond with ideas to aid in healing.  She didn't just come up with a treatment plan, she gave me other resources to help me on my path to health.  She suggested books to read, tips on handling times when I was experiencing symptoms, tips on traveling with this disorder, food choice that might make a difference, and advice on how to handle reactions to activities and medications.  She is both a gifted healer and teacher.  She taught me about the importance of exercise and diet to aid in recovery.  She suggested that I might explore dietary changes.

Every time I saw Julie, she gave me exercises to do to help me overcome my disorder and injury.  The philosophy behind the exercise program she developed in one of habituation.  In other words, I was to do those very things that made me dizzy in order to retrain my brain to accept those things that caused me to be out of balance with my body and my world.

As I think back over the past year, and especially over the last six months, I truly do not know what I would have done without the support, encouragement, knowledge, and help I received from this outstanding professional.  It is no small thing to give one a name for something that is disrupting one's ability to cope with what is going on within one's body and brain.  I learned that what I was experiencing had a name:  vestibular disorder.  I learned there was much to learn about the disorder itself, and I learned that the more you inform yourself about your disorder, the better equipped you will be to manage your symptoms and communicate effectively about your needs with family, friends, and health professionals.*

This past week, my husband and I traveled to the other side of the state to visit my mother.  The trip itself was horrendous.  The canyon roads that wind through deep canyons brought back intense vertigo.  The changes in altitude as we drove over mountain passes caused pressure and fullness in my ears that added to the vertigo and nausea.  I was fatigued, nearly unable to cope, my memory and concentration were disrupted as I struggled to regain some sense of equanimity in my mind and my body.  Thankfully, I knew this was temporary.  I knew what to do to regain some balance.  I knew it would take time.  I knew I needed to be patient, to pace myself, to rest.  I was reminded that I should build in a recovery day when I travel.  I was fine after resting a day.  I am not able to drive mountain passes yet.  I hope to be able to do so soon.

I know many will never understand the full scope of how this disorder has impacted my life, but I know that because just one person did know, did have the ability to diagnose and treat my symptoms, and listened to me while giving me help and hope, I am able to do those things I love to do again.  That person is Julie Knoll. I will be forever grateful for her.  She gave me the tools I needed to begin to recover my life.  Thank you, Julie.

*Quote from brochure published by Vestibular Disorder Association

Summer Memories Are Being Made

A pair of black shorts and a red t-shirt were found under my footstool in my study, these forgotten clothing items will be mailed tomorrow. The beds all need clean bedding.  The pile of dirty towels have been laundered (thanks to my dear husband) and await folding and putting away.  The wall boards need a good wiping down. The dirty footprints have been scrubbed from the tub. The few days with three of the grandchildren are over.  Today, unmotivated, I sit, very much at peace with the world, and reflect on the great memories that were made in the past week.

Blackened bottoms of the feet and of the hands are common at my house when the grandchildren are here.  When they were younger, in self-defense, I put a tub of warm water, a bar of soap, and a towel at the back door so they could wash their feet and hands before entering the house.  I am not a clean freak.  I gave that up when I had five kids, but the black feet from trampoline jumping were leaving black marks everywhere.  I fought back with soap and water.  Summer at Grandma Sally's house means that much time will be spent jumping on the trampoline, and the trampoline gets the jumper dirty no matter what we do to the trampoline itself.  I wouldn't have our memories any other way.  Sometimes having fun means making a mess, and that is ok in my book.

Hannah and Mason came and spent a few days with me over last weekend.  Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling well on Saturday, so Grandpa Jim took them swimming.  By the evening, I was feeling well enough to go to our favorite Mexican food restaurant and then take Boston for a walk at the River Walk.  Mason and Hannah had their first experience of walking Boston.  He did great with them, and they did well with him.  Walking Buster at the River Walk had always been one of Mason's favorite things to do since he was just a small child, so he was really looking forward to walking our new pup Boston.

On Sunday, Hannah was a bit impatient waiting for Atticus to arrive.  She and Mason had thought he would be here when they arrived on Friday evening.  Atticus had been staying with his other grandmother in Colorado Springs since his parents returned to Boston the week before.  He did not arrive at our house until Sunday.  Hannah and Atticus are just a month apart in age, so they always look forward to being together.  Meanwhile, as she waited, Hannah read the Sunday comics while sitting in Grandma Sally's chair in the "newspaper room."  Our front living room, seldom used except for Saturday and Sunday morning newspaper reading, was dubbed by that name when the grandkids were little.  We found a note written by one child to the other, "Meet me in the newspaper room."  The name stuck.  

Once Atticus arrived, I decided we need to go on a picnic.  Veggie chicken nuggets, fried chicken, potato salad, chips, cantaloupe, and Oreos were packed in the cooler and off we went to the mountains.  Everyone was in great spirits as we piled into the car and took off.  Boston was especially thrilled!

Lake San Isabelle was our destination.  A favorite spot of mine because of its beauty and easy access from our house, I knew the kids would have fun playing in the mountain stream that flows into the lake.  We all looked forward to going someplace cooler.  It was 99 degrees in Pueblo when we left, and it was 77 degrees at Lake San Isabelle when we arrived there about 30 minutes after leaving home.  The cool, mountain air felt great.  


After eating, with Grandpa Jim leading the way, the kids grabbed their towels and headed out to find a place to play in the water.

They found the 'perfect spot' which was really just the first spot they came to where there was easy access to the water.  They quickly scampered across the stream to set up a place in the sun.

Boston loved the water.  No surprise there.

Atticus poses in the middle of the cool Colorado mountain stream.  

Posing for Grandma Sally...

Since Boston kept drinking the mountain stream water, Grandpa Jim took him back up to the picnic site to work with him on some new training he was doing.  We didn't want Boston to get sick since we had just nursed him through a severe bacterial episode that required two visits to the vet.  One visit was overnight.

I sat on the side of the stream and recalled many, many happy days in childhood when I played with my many cousins in the most wonderful mountain stream ever at our favorite camping spot that we called "The Green Spot."  Green it was, and the stream was always perfect for wading and for building dams to create 'swimming pools.'  As I sat watching the kids play lost in my own memories, I started to get nervous.  What if a bear came along?  We had been warned by our next door neighbors, and the warning was confirmed by the ranger, that there were bears up at San Isabelle Lake camping areas.  Our neighbors had just returned from camping at the same place we were heading and had seen bear, right at their camping site, several times.

I decided to go find Jim and take the dog from him so I would have a dog with me to warn me of bears. The kids decided they were done playing in the water.  They said it was full of parasites.  They could see them they said, so off we went to find Grandpa.

We found him standing up on the road and surrounded by people.  They were all looking down the mountainside at something that held their interest.  As we got closer, I saw many in the group seemed to  be taking photos with cameras and cell phones.  I knew they had to have seen a bear.  Sure enough, that is exactly what they were all staring at.


It turns out that Jim was concentrating on Boston's training, and I guess Boston was concentrating on Jim (for once) when a crowd of people started shouting at Jim that there was a bear by him.  Jim said it was about 20 yards away from where he was working with Boston at a campsite.  So much for Boston warning us if a bear was around!  


The kids were very excited and wanted to see if they could see the bear.  We ventured down the hill a bit, and sure enough, there he was.  Unfortunately, I had not brought a good camera with me on the picnic.  All I had was my point and shoot that the kids reminded me I had sat on and broken when were up at San Isabel Lake a few years ago.  They are right.  I did sit on it.  It was fixed and still takes pictures, but not very good ones.  


The bear is just to the left of center.  He is the dark black spot.  Really, it is a bear.  Trust me on this.  

Here is another shot of the bear.  He is near the picnic tables near the center of the photo.  I did not get a good shot.  He wouldn't stand still, and I wasn't going down there to get a better shot.  Jim said he had been working with Buster near the red pump.  The bear was up near the trees at the front of the photo when he saw him.  He measured by estimating a football field and was quite sure the bear was only 20 yards away.  

All in all it was pretty exciting.  I caught this great photo of the kids looking at the bear. The experience provided a great Facebook status update.  Then, I worried the parents would never let Grandma Sally take their children on a picnic again.  Son Jon said, "Damn spoiled kids.  I've been in hiking and camping in the woods for 34 years and never seen a bear."  Guess what, neither have I.  This was a first for me too!  


It all makes for wonderful memories and some great stories in years to come.  I can just hear the grandkids as they meet for reunions in years to come, "Do you remember when we saw a bear when we went on a picnic with Grandma?"  

Moving from Mourning to Joy

Committing to the Journey

Pressing On

Commit to the journey, long or short, that leads back to living life.

This sentence found on page 57 of the book, Through a Season of Grief, published by GriefShare may or may not have spoken to me when I first read it.  Placed at the beginning of the book, under the title Healthy Grieving:  Step Five, I am sure that as I read this statement, I assented to it intellectually.  I doubt that I was unable to process it fully emotionally.  I think I must have appreciated reading it because at the time, early in my reading of this wonderful book full of devotions for those in grief, I needed to believe that I would someday be able to go back to living life.  I needed to know that while the grief journey may be long, it would take me to a place of healing, hope, and health.

Along the way on this journey, I have learned some simple truths.  I learned that I must accept that I was on a journey.  As with all journeys in life, I had to accept that I would not know what lay ahead of me as I made my way down the path of recovery after a terrible loss.  I did not know the hills I would face, nor would I know how difficult the valleys could be.  Thankfully, long ago in my life, I had come to believe that life is best lived one day at a time.  I did not know that on this grief journey that I suddenly found myself on, I would at times only be able to live moment to moment.

How does one press on with such a journey the newly bereaved may ask?  I only can answer this question by thinking about my own journey and noting those things that have most helped me press on.

The Need to Memorialize a Life

In my first journal entry after my daughter's death, I wrote about a beautiful wreath that had been sent by her employers.  I wrote how the color choices gave me such comfort because they were beautiful and bright, just like Julie.  Orange roses were in the arrangement.  I wrote, What could be a better choice for Julie?  The orange roses were surrounded by red gerbera daises with yellow lilies to balance the reds and oranges.  I also wrote, I've tried to make sense of why the hints of Amy's wedding bouquet in this arrangement seem oddly sensible, appropriate, and right in the irony of being selected as a floral tribute to Julie at her death.  The wild profusion of asparagus fern and the several shades of purple delphiniums intertwined with a touch of ivy seem so right in the ability to comfort me because Julie and Amy are so intertwined, so bonded, so close, why wouldn't I link these flowers with both of them for the rest of my life?

Julie on Amy's lap
Being silly at Mom's house

I then went on to write how Jon, my youngest son, would be coming to my home in a few days to begin work on the Julie Christiansen Memorial Garden he wanted to build.  I began plans for the flowers I wanted in the garden.  I also spoke of wanting some sort of structure.  I wrote, I will bring beauty out of this loss.

More than needing to plant a garden, I now know that I needed to memorialize my daughter's life.  I want her remembered as a beautiful, bright, vibrant, loving, funny, gifted individual because that summarizes the essence of Julie to me.  She would want me to remember her alive.  She would not want me to stop living because of her death.

In small ways, I try to memorialize her life.  I did begin the garden.  Jon did most of the work on getting it started by building a small patio.  We planted a tree, a Newport plum because it blooms near the date of both her birth and her death.  The purple leaves remind me of her.  I hoped that the garden would have a sense of permanence to it.  I hoped it would be healing to my children and grandchildren as they visited my home.

At the time of Julie's death, I could not foresee that in just a few short years we would decide to sell this home and move.  I could not foresee that my health would suffer, and I would be limited on my ability to plant the garden I wished to plant.  I could not foresee that draught would hit our area this year and that we would have over a week straight of days over 100 degrees.  Twice, during that week, temperatures would reach 113 in our backyard.  These conditions are not conducive to growing the garden I envisioned.

In May, I purchased a kinetic wind sculpture for Julie's garden.  It arrived on July 5, just in time for Jonathan to erect it while he was home for a short visit from his home in Boston.  On July 6, he and his wife Samantha, who has helped Jon with so many projects that he has completed in beautifying my yard, and their son Atticus visited and erected the wind sculpture that I bought as a memorial to Julie.  We may be leaving the garden behind, but the sculpture can go with us.  

Jon and Sam read the directions

This part is engraved with
"Into the freedom of the wind and the sun we let you go."
In memory of
Julie Ann Christiansen

Atticus with new sculpture

Jon and Atticus

Jon and Sally

We took a few minutes to reflect and visit on the patio that Jon built.

Jon on the patio he built

As this photo indicates, we have had a long, hot, dry summer in our area.  Not only did I choose not to plant the garden because we are trying to sell the house, but those flowers that were planted are struggling to survive no matter how much water I give them.  The beds in front of the garden were filled with annuals that I placed out early.  They promptly died due to heat and bugs.  I have never had a hard time growing a lush annual bed in this area.    The clematis is usually full of blossoms this time of year, and the delphiniums that now struggle to live are usually blooming in late June and early July.  It has been a rough year for flowers in Southern Colorado.

This also could be a metaphor for the grief journey.  At times, the journey is dry and does not produce much beauty.  During these times, one must hang on to hope.  I have no doubt that those flowers that bloomed in beauty last year, will do so again with the right conditions.

Mom & Son time 

 Living Life

There are few things in this life that bring me greater joy than my children and grandchildren.  My life is dedicated to the four children I have who remain and to the seven grandchildren that I have.  They are what motivate me to keep on living life as fully as I can.  I do not want to be stuck in grief.  I do not want to miss out on watching them grow and enjoy life.  I want to see all of us heal and live lives full of meaning and joy.  That is one of the great motivators along the grief journey.

Three days after Julie died, we lost our beloved Buster.  I could not even believe it when we suddenly had to put down our dear golden retriever just days after losing a child.  Last fall, we got Boston, our new golden retriever pup.  Atticus had never met Boston before.  The day we erected the wind structure was the first day that the two of them were able to play and bond.  Atticus immediately went to work trying to train Boston.  This is no easy feat.  Boston responded with great obedience.  I think he really wanted to make sure he could count on Atticus to be his great buddy.  I was actually quite amazed at how well Boston, our problem child who has challenged us so greatly in his training, took to Atticus and immediately began to follow his commands.

Atticus rewards Boston for bringing him the ball

Playing soccer together

I think these two will be great friends over the years.

Add caption

I've read in some of the grief books that one should get a pet after the loss of a loved one.  I think this is good advice.  I know that as I look at this beautiful photo of my youngest grandchild and our new pup, I feel great joy.  Moments such as these are what I call spots of grace.  I am flooded with peace at such times.  The soul learns to rejoice and give thanks for such a grace that has allowed me to heal and again live with a heart full of joy.