Rest Quietly

I haven't been feeling well lately.

I know that sounds ridiculous - I never really feel well... but it's been more than my usual. I've been feeling weak and dizzy and nauseous more often than not. And last night as I woke periodically I was frustrated by the fact that in my dreams I felt unsteady and nauseous. I was searching constantly for the culprit and I would wake feeling as though I was falling. I just can't seem to escape it.

Just like in my dreams, in my waking moments I find myself constantly trying to seek out a reason: Is the pain causing it? Has my body just had enough of the pain and needs a break? I don't think so. I don't think it's any more intolerable than usual. Is it the weather? It must be the weather. It seems I am feeling bad right before a storm begins to approach. But I was at my worst when it almost missed us, passing by sheepishly and only offering a sprinkling of rain. But it definitely got better after the rain had passed.

Is it this unseen culprit in the air that has been torturing my lungs? This invisible antagonist that only seems to be pestering me? As I woke in the morning and nothing I did settled me I finally tried a Benadryl and it seemed to be a little better. Is all of this weakness and nausea due to that tainted air that got in my lungs and through my system?

It's maddening trying to figure it all out sometimes. There are too many factors... too many variables. The truth of the matter is that it's probably all of them creating a perfect storm on any given day. My immune system is weakened; my body is susceptible to the changing pressure in the atmosphere; it's sensitive to the unknown in the air these floods have probably left behind. And every fiber of my being wants to fight it off... figure out the culprit... find the solution... take the medicine. Energy wasted.

I glanced at my wall and saw this:

"It is such a folly to pass one's time fretting, instead of resting quietly on the heart of Jesus."

So I'm taking my own advice today. I'm going to stop searching and wondering and figuring it out. I do that enough in my sleep. Today I'm going to stop passing my time fretting. I'm going to lay down with my pup, watch a movie and rest quietly on the heart of Jesus.

Take a deep breath for a moment to do the same yourself...

It's a relief, isn't it? Maybe tomorrow my perfect storm will turn into a perfect rainbow. For today, I'm resting quietly.

You're So Vain

I've created a monster.

Every time I try to capture my pup on video running through the house like a crazy dog, he sees me grab the camera and stops to strike a pose.

Right before these photos were taken, he was doing his low run through the house... tearing from the living room, back the the red room, sailing through the air to land on the couch and then turning around to do it all over again.

And you're missing it.

Because he's vain. And I taught him to be vain by doing this:

So pretty much, you may never see him running and doing cute things on video because the only trick I have ever taught the dog is how to sit still for a Cheerio... and he now thinks if he sits still every time the camera is out he'll be in Cheerio heaven.

And no, I'm not totally insane... I know you're not sitting at home weeping about not seeing my cute dog run laps. But if you knew what you were missing, you'd be begging me to train him to run around for Cheerios. I guarantee it.

Come Bearing Gifts

So, people... how was your holiday weekend?

In the midst of my stewing about remaining stuck indoors and missing all of the 4th of July fireworks, food and festivities, I got company! Mom and Dad were heading to my sister's house for the holiday weekend, and due to her working a half day on Friday (I love it when I benefit from other people's dedication) they came to see me at the start of their journey. Considering my sister's house is North of them and I am well South of their home, they definitely took the scenic route to visit their single daughters.

Regretfully, I wasn't feeling exactly up to par last week as I was weaning myself off my short run of steroids, which for me seems to produce a dizzy, nauseous blend of fun along with some increase in pain. My rheumatologist calls it a rebound effect... I call it annoying.

But I digress.

In my favor is the fact that my parents enjoy ordering in food and watching movies as much as I do so we tend to get along fine in the entertainment area. But the real fun came when they brought me a hand-me-down... my three favorite hyphenated words.

So I inherited this lovely window covering:

Score one for me :)

Mom recently moved her store location (she has a store called Interior Designs) and could no longer use this lovely bamboo shade on her new storefront window. So sad for her, so happy for me. It's ideal because while people can't see in, I'm still able to see out... and so far Riley has been less prone to barking at every stray leaf that accidentally blows by. I have a feeling the people in the building are all going to write thank you notes to my mother soon.

The only problem is that mom's windows weren't as tall as mine, so the shade is a bit short... and my window looks like those people who wear floods because they think pant legs shouldn't touch the top of their shoes:

I love the shade so much I don't really care, and Riley seems to enjoy laying in the bit of sunshine at the bottom. Susie and I might try to put a strip of dark brown fabric across the bottom to lengthen it (she is required as I have no sewing skills), but I can't decide. I think the addition could look very classy... and it might be an idea for all of you out there who, after reading this post, have come to terms with the fact that your pant legs might be on the short side. Fabric on the bottom could just be your new fashion statement.

And because Riley saw the camera, he felt a need to be a part of the action (he does that a lot). Brace yourselves, people, for a return of the tongue: 

"I smell barbeque..."

Kids These Days...

I have such great memories of the 4th of July, and all of them involve being on the lake. When we were young, as I've mentioned before, we loved to go to Clear Lake on Sundays. But we also took a week during the 4th of July holiday and rented a cabin at the Methodist Campgrounds with our friends, the Bakers. (I was always very grateful the Methodists didn't mind us Catholics moving in on their territory.)

Mick and Sally Baker have two boys, Andy and Chris... and their small family was inundated with a myriad of Frankls during the week. Not only were there six of us kids, but I often brought a friend or cousin... and sticking with the Catholic tradition there were times when a few nuns or a priest here and there would come along for a little sun. We had so much fun. The cabin we stayed in was big and old and basic. And perfect. We could run around, lounge on the old couches in our swimsuits and eat anywhere we liked. And we ate like no one had ever fed us before, but since we spent the entire week swimming and skiing and playing volleyball, it all pretty much equaled out in the end.

There were staircases leading upstairs on the right and the left side of the cabin, separating the girls quarters from the boys ... and the week consisted of pranks between the two. We weren't all that creative... saran wrap over the toilet kind of stuff... but for kids who never went to summer camp, we thought we were ingenious.

The photo below is of my brother Jim, myself and Andy Baker (yes, I look like a boy with that haircut... I'm aware) building card houses. I sucked at it, but Andy would sit with me and do it every year anyway. He's now a big-wig medical examiner, and I take full credit for making sure he had a steady hand and keen eye. I'll remind him to thank me next time I see him.

Kids these days (I can't believe I'm old enough to say that) don't think a vacation counts unless they are in an airplane, on a beach or at Disneyland... but I wouldn't trade a week at Clear Lake in a run-down cabin for anything. We not only had fun, we were really together and I cherish the memories. I don't think the Methodist Campground exists anymore, but I have to imagine there is still a spirit of fun to the place where we were for so many years.

Happy 4th of July to you all... I hope you are somewhere with your family making memories.

Doggie OCD

When I joked about Riley's OCD tendencies at the end of a previous post, I really wasn't being sarcastic. Take for example his nightly bedtime ritual. When I get into bed, he sits to the right of me and starts licking my hand. Then he goes to the bottom of the bed... where he scopes out the room and lets out a little growl, as if warning the darkness not to approach. At this point he either comes to the top edge of the bed on my left hand side where I lift the covers and he goes underneath them to sleep next to my left leg, or he goes around the head of my pillows to the right side of the covers. If he goes under the covers on my right hand side, he steps between my ankles to curl up between my feet.

Every night.

Left hand side, next to my legs. Right hand side, between my feet. That's not normal, right?

One night as the ritual started I put my right hand under the covers so he couldn't start licking it. I thought it would be an interesting experiment, but that poor pup FREAKED OUT. He stared at me like I had just beat him and then was digging at the covers and whimpering/crying trying to find my hand. It worked him up so much I decided he could lick my hand every night for the rest of his life if it made him more at ease.

He might be a little crazy at times, but how could you not love that face?

I find that as my life has gotten a bit more unpredictable in the past few years, I have gotten a lot more habitual as well. Some of it is just a physical necessity. I pretty much eat the same thing every day... I know what my stomach can handle, and the more I keep things consistent, the less nausea comes into my day. I love organizing, which is mandatory when living in a small space. But I've also found that having everything in it's place does save me a lot of wasted energy rummaging around looking for stuff. Knowing how to keep things consistent and make the most out of my physical abilities allows my day to run a little more smoothly.

But unpredictable can be good now and then, too. For the first few days I was on steroids last week I started out on a higher dose than I am at now. And it was such a lovely thing to be unpredictably more mobile. Oh, I had all the typical side effects I don't like... but I also found myself getting up from a chair and being able to stand up straight. I noticed I was just less fidgety and uncomfortable. And I savored every moment of being able to stretch a little easier.

Of course, they don't want me to stay on the higher dose for long. So when I got up one morning after lowering the dose and realized I felt like I always do, it was like the day after Christmas when all the presents have been opened, the company's gone and you have to go back to work. Reality. But every now and again, when life throws you a curve ball like not being able to breathe well, it's nice when it includes a couple days of pain relief too. It makes having to roll with unpredictable changes a little more interesting and a lot more tolerable.

I wonder if that's how Riley feels when he decides to duck under the right side of the covers instead of the left... maybe it's not OCD... maybe he's just keeping his life interesting, too.   :)

Falling in Love with Music

It's amazing what you can find when you snoop around YouTube. I'm not sure if any of my siblings other than Laura actually read this blog, but all of them should certainly remember this singer:

The rest of you may think he's odd, but when we were young my parents loved to listen to Roger Whittaker. I can remember getting into our big old blue van (and not a van like the minivans of today; a real van with the u-shaped couches around the table in the back) and heading to Clear Lake to go skiing, with Roger Whittaker filtering through the speakers.

I know, not exactly the kind of music to pump you up for a lake outing, but I really did love this cassette tape (just be impressed we moved beyond the 8-track). We were always a family that had music playing, but there was something about Roger Whittaker's voice that made me aware of singing as a story-telling process. It was one of the first times I realized a person could get lost in thought while listening and actually feel the emotions in your skin. It's how I wanted to sing someday; making other people feel what you were at the moment.

Just so you don't think we were all some sort of hippie kids wanting to listen to Roger Whittaker 24/7, I'll have you know that my brothers tried very hard to listen to a cassette tape of KISS... until my mom saw what the cover looked like with the white and black make up and confiscated it. And if we wanted to listen to Olivia Newton John's Let's Get Physical, we had to do jumping jacks. I swear to God, people, I can't make this stuff up... 

For the Birds

Before all this breathing nonsense started a few weeks ago (the steroids are helping, by the way), I was able to catch a couple pictures of my little wren family that lives in the bird house right outside my sliding glass door. I cannot believe how much I enjoy these birds and the beautiful melody they sing. I always thought of them as something to shoo away for fear they'd leave their droppings on my patio, but they've been excellent tenants and have kept the area around the house quite tidy. Let's just say they'd get their deposit back if they decided to move to a classier neighborhood.

 

They first laid claim to the bird house last year... and unlike my Grandma Rita I have absolutely no knowledge of birds whatsoever, so I had to snap some photos of them to email mother and have her tell me what they were. The bird house was given to me a few years ago by my friend Susie, who gave me the hummingbird feeder in the photo below for my birthday this year:

 

 

Which is only funny because the woman hates birds. Apparently they used to swoop at her head when she'd walk into the barn on the farm where she grew up. Blonde hair must have been an enticing addition to their nests, because I was in a lot of barns growing up and not one bird went for my brunette head.

 

Thus disproving the theory that blondes always have more fun...