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It’s just what we do!

The text message read:

Morning. 

I received a private message from my friend in Colorado. Her body is shutting down and is calling hospice today. She asked if I would be able to come photograph them as a family during these last days. I want to make that happen if it’s possible.

Call me.

A few hours later our daughter Austyn was on a plane to CO and we had rearranged our schedules to help Dad take care of the two kids she was leaving behind on their last week of school.

I recall standing next to Austyn a few years ago after she had offered to take care of a situation for someone and they asked, “Why are you so nice?”

She looked at me, smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and said a-matter-of-factly, “That is what we do.”

Today, while Austyn was photographing this young family as they are most likely living the final days with their mommy, I stood in her place at my grandson’s award ceremony.

We had joke over the weekend that it must be difficult for teachers to come up with awards for every child. But that wasn’t the case when I walked into the room. All the K-3rd graders sat crossed legged on the floor watching as 14 of their classmates received recognition.

Liam receive an award for Integrity.

If you want to teach children to be kind, you have to be kind.

If you want to teach children how to  be forgiving, you have to be forgiving.

If you want to teach children how to love unconditionally, you have to love them unconditionally.

If you want to teach children to feel important, you have to show them how to love themselves.

If you want to teach children to respect authority, you can’t speak poorly of those in authority.

If you want to teach children integrity, you have to live it.

…after all, “that’s just what we do.”

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The Moxy Chick

Each year I find myself revisiting Proverbs 31. It’s been a proverb that I have loved and read since a teen. Back then, this Proverb was all about being the perfect wife – HA!- the perfect wife only exists when there is a perfect husband – HA!HA!

In my 30’s  it spoke to me on a new level. It became a guide on how to manage a crazy life and pretend that you have it all. Honey, only 30 year olds believe they can have it all. HA!HA!HA!

In my 40’s, Moxy started to shine a new light on the importance of building character, being a strong, courageous woman, and living without fear.

In my 50’s Moxy has become a good friend, a wise old woman who has hidden secrets that she reveals when she feels like it or when the reader is finally listening.

A few months ago I was going to start a study on her at our church, but one thing led to another and it was postponed until fall. Somewhere between writing the workbook and trying to figure out childcare for those attending the study, the idea of recording each week snuck in.

So here it is; Moxy, A Study of Proverbs 31. Twenty lessons on a woman who I adore. So pour yourself a drink, turn on your favorite background music, get comfy, and take a listen. She will not disappoint.

jeanniegb YouTube Channel:

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=jeanniegb+moxy 

 

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But they said…

My recent surgery to remove a large barnacle and two malfunctioning organs (details in the link below) gave me cause to seek out some advise, and there was a lot of it.

I asked those who had this procedure what I should expect. There was advise on medication, recovery, and the highly debatable – estrogen. Some said it was too risky, others said it was the best thing I could do, yet others said not to have the surgery at all.

I did my best to be a good patient and took all the meds prescribed. But one by one my body made it clear it wasn’t happy with any of them. So I heard the words, “You better stop taking it,” several times. And to my surprise, I didn’t really need any of them. The intelligence of our bodies is amazing if we shut up long enough to listen.

When it came to hormones, I had come to the decision that I would take estrogen from the beginning to avoid any shock the removal of such organs might have. BUT I wanted an exit plan, I would get off of it as soon as possible. I made it through four doses of that little blue pill before I decided the tingling hands and my brain feeling like a rubix cube might not be worth it.

When the words, “Stop taking it,” were heard once again, I wanted to do cartwheels.

“I’m not afraid of all the terrible things they said I would experience,” I said. “I got to go through it sometime.”

“There are some hidden benefits to taking estrogen,” my doctor assured, “but there are alternatives that we will discuss on Thursday.”

So all day Monday I waited…they said I would go plunging into menopause right away. I was ready. I would take it on, full force, head on, I was ready!

They said I would winkle up like a prune. So I googled skin care oils and was amazed at all the health benefits found in Olive Oil and wondered why we don’t bath in the stuff.

They said the hot flashes could be an inferno and the night sweats would not be sweet.

They also said the I would loose all my desire to crochet (or sex, which ever you prefer).

“Please God, don’t take that away,” I said.

“OK,” I heard HIM say. “Don’t worry.”

I didn’t worry, but I did wait for the title wave of menopausal symptoms to consume me.

Day four, I was the same old me.

Day five, I waited…after all, they all said it would happen!

Day six, “Hey, I still think you’re cute!” I told my husband. “I’m glad,” he said.

Day seven came and so did the one week check up. My doctor and I sat in his office as he asked questions and answered mine. Finally I had to ask, “So… when are all those terrible side effects they said I would experience happen?”

He tilted his head a bit and shifted in his chair, “You’ve not had any?” he asked.

“No, not since I stopped taking the Estrogen.”

He looked at his clipboard and then back at me, “Well then, I guess it won’t be an issue for you…”

I know he kept talking, but I don’t know what he said because all I could hear was all they said and once again I wanted to do cartwheels.

We finished the exam and I met Jeff in the lobby. Once outside, I leaned up against the railing, looking at the beautiful clear blue sky and listening to the birds. The trees were in bloom and the parking lot was shadowed by pink flowers. Jeff thought I was tired, but I was exploding inside.

“You know all the things they said I would go through?” I said.

“Yeah?” he said pretending he knew what I was talking about.

“The Doctor asked me if I’ve had any symptoms, you know, hot flashes, night sweats, insomnia. I said no. He said I most likely won’t!”

“Really?”

“I can’t believe it, everything they said, everything I was prepared to tackle, he said won’t happen.” I began it giggle and I’ve been giggling ever since; we’re now two and a half weeks later and yes, I still giggle.

What they said was important, because it came from their experience. These things really happened to real people. But what I’ve learned is that someone else’s experience does not have to be mine.

Looking back…I think something happened when I said, “I’m not afraid.”  And I can’t help but wonder if it’s one of the reasons HE said, “OK. Don’t worry.”

 

Related blogs:

Barnacles, Ovaries and Miracles:  http://wp.me/pEozB-s0

Crocheting (or sex, which ever you prefer): http://wp.me/pEozB-s9

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Crocheting (or sex, which ever you prefer)

I’ve wanted to write a little ditty on sex but thought it may be too provocative for some (or my mother) so I’m going to refer to sex as crocheting.

I personally fall into the category of only ever having one crocheting partner. I’m not sure if this is rare as I don’t think my fellow single partner crocheters are very vocal about it. I think it may be because we’ve been made to feel as if there is something wrong with us. I wouldn’t know, I have nothing to compare it to. For that matter, neither do those who have crocheted with many.

Those who crochet around have the chance to make new and exciting garments. Crazy scarves, colorful hats, and fuzzy mittens. For those of us who have somehow found a way to only have one crocheting partner, we create the afghans, the throws, and oversized sweaters. They may not be as exciting or colorful or current as the others, but they are warm, inviting, and comfortable.

When you are young, crocheting is fun and exciting; it can be an adventure. A little later on,  crocheting becomes a requirement if you desire to recreate little ones. No matter how evolved we become, someone still has to crochet to produce those desired new creatures. After the little ones arrive, crocheting can become taxing due to the over whelming fatigue that comes with wee ones. Life can quickly snowball into a busy life that pushes the yarn and crochet hooks to the back corner of the closet waiting to be rediscovered.

As you age, crocheting takes on a new life. The house is empty, the kids are gone, life in many ways is simpler. If you want, you can crochet anytime, anyplace, as long as you’re not too tired, or you hip isn’t hurting, or you didn’t eat something weird for dinner and you now have gas. Or in some cases, you’ve tasted a little too much wine and the thought of crocheting is exciting until you are snuggled under the covers and snuggling under the covers becomes the most awesome part of the day.

Many partners or just one, I’m not sure if either is wrong, they are just different. Each creates it’s own outcome in which the crocheter must own. Scarves or afghans, mittens or sweaters. I’ve only ever crocheted sweaters. As I look ahead to the next thirty to forty years, I am confident that there are new sweaters to create and olds ones to wear.

After all, when don’t you want to snuggle into a oversized, worn, cozy, favorite sweater?

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Barnacles, Ovaries and Miracles.

In a few days I’m going in to have an ugly skin tag removed. It been with me for a while and I really could live with it, but the doc says it can come off, so why not?

At the same time, he is going to remove my uterus and ovaries. Now, one would think that the fear of having the later removed would over shadow an ugly skin tag, but it doesn’t. I have no emotional tie to these organs anymore. The thought of losing the barnacle on the top of my leg makes me want to raise my hands and shout hallelujah!

I don’t take having my organs removed lightly. But this idea of being still, observing life, and listening, has brought me to a place where I can only see the good in the situation.

A few weeks ago my body cried out for help, it came in the form of a doctor who gently pushed me down a path. Along the way, and because of his careful, intentional procedures, questionable cells were found. The solution to rid my body of any further issues, including the potential of cancer, would be to remove the organs. I can’t find the bad in that. It all looks like the making of a miracle, if you ask me.

Miracles still happen. They happen every day. Not the squint your eyes really tight, pray really hard, be really good, and believe with all your might kind of miracles, those usually end up in disappointment.

The Miracles I’m referring to are the quiet prayers that ask for help and guidance. The quiet moments of trusting. The over-heard comment or Facebook post that points you in the right direction, the urging in your gut to ask a question, the person who just happens to be in the right place at the right time – your time, your place. These Miracles happen everyday, all day long.

We miss them cause we’re so busy… or consumed with fear… or angry at the world. Our heads are preoccupied with figuring it out on our own… or obsessed with blame, threatening to sue anyone and everyone who we feel has caused our need for a miracle. We’re so overwhelmed with noise we miss the whisper, the gentle nudging, the missing piece that finishes the puzzle.

I am in awe of this entire medical process. A hysterectomy is now an out-patient surgery. A short two-week recovery. Who knew?

So in a few days I’m going to wake up in a recovery room. I’ll be missing a few organ, but they’ve served me well, it’s okay that they must leave. With their absence goes the potential of a really serious illness, a risk I didn’t even know existed three weeks ago. I’ll most likely be tired, but I’ve got two weeks to rest.

It all seems miraculous to me, every step of the way. Best of all – that old ugly skin tag will be gone and to that I’ll shout –

HAL-LE-LU-JAH!!

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Carrots, Bikes and Listening

Three weeks ago I found myself down for the count. In fact, I was so down that I was gathering my things to go to the hospital.

I called a nurse hot line and was assured that I wasn’t in any danger but I should call my doctor. I did and they made me an appointment the next morning. After my exam I was told I would be fine but I should schedule a procedure in the next three weeks, just in case.

Jeff and I were at the grocery store a few days later and I had an overwhelming craving for carrots. To my great disappointment, there wasn’t a carrot to be found; its a very busy grocery store. Three days later I was back at the same store and I was excited that the carrot truck had been there. By the time I checked out, I had five bags of carrots; baby, whole, chopped, whatever they had.

Back home, I steamed them, smothered them in butter, sprinkled a little brown sugar and cyanine pepper on them and devoured them. I ate them for breakfast the next day. I ate them as a snack. If asked, I would have eaten them in a box, with a fox, on a train and in the rain.

Carrots? How bizarre. I went to the google to find out what these wonderful creations had to offer. There were many, but the two that jumped off the screen – iron and potassium. The two things my body was depleted of the week before. Go figure…my body knew what it needed to heal.

I’ve recently had a desire to get back on my bike and ride. I live in a beach town where I can ride 25 miles along the Pacific Ocean. Biking here is a delight, not a chore but it still takes the effort to actually get on the bike. After years of no rain, it’s finally the rainy season here in California, so I’ve been diligently riding my stationary bike in the garage till the weather breaks.

Yesterday, I geared up for my first outdoor ride. My hope was to make it five miles, but for some reason I chose the ten mile route.  About two thirds of the way into my ride, I was delighted that I was going to make the entire route and I noticed the knot I carry in my stomach was beginning to release. For the past thirty years, I’ve been trying to convince myself to follow a very strict diet. When I do so, all my digestion issues go away. When I don’t follow it (which is a lot of the time) I get all knotted up. By the time I was home, my tired little tummy was happy.

Hmmm. Carrots and biking, our bodies know what they need – we just have to listen.

Most of us can’t hear our bodies talk cause we’re so preoccupied with the unimportant conversations in our head. We have to get to know the unimportant voices, and to most of them, we need to tell them to shut up and go away. We have to stop trying to figure everything out, sometimes things just are. We have to stop analyzing every thought or feeling that runs through our minds. And we have to stop blaming everyone else for our struggles. We have to stop drowning in the pool of self-obsession and start living. We have to STOP TALKING, SIT DOWN and learn to LISTEN!

You never know what you might hear. Sometimes it may be as profound as “eat carrots and get on that bike!”