Two years ago I was talking to a good friend of mine after Thanksgiving. Both her sons had been home for a true family dinner. Her husband said to her, "You're happiest when everybody's feet are under the table." I love that.
We had such a meal this evening, although Labor Day week-end seems an unlikely family holiday. These days I appreciate any time we can all be together, and tonight it worked out that everyone could be here for dinner.
Everybody's feet under the table ~ time enough to sit down and share a meal. Dinner time ~ traditionally the time our family spent together to talk about the events of the day.
Even now, whether there are two of us or five of us, we sit down together for dinner, a meal loosely defined by anything from frozen pizza to meatloaf and potatoes. While the ingredients of the meal matter more some nights than others, the most important thing is to be at the table to eat at the same time. Some days it is the only time I see my youngest son, who currently lives at home while he works at a co-op through the fall semester.
It's a bonus for all of us to be at the table these days, and it's something that happens only a few times a year. I've learned to celebrate the times we do have together instead of bemoaning all of the times we don't.
Time spent at the kitchen table is time to connect, time to catch up on all that's happened since the last time we were together. There is no better way to make an occasion special than to have everybody's feet under the table.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Intimacy Before and After Menopause
My husband, Ken, and I have been together for more than 33 years. Our first date sealed the deal on our friendship. For weeks before that memorable evening we met nightly over coffee at Dunkin' Donuts, where we talked for hours. We liked each other and enjoyed being in each other's company. Ken and I knew we were in the relationship for the long haul before we donned our best duds and went out to dinner.
Our relationship was emotionally intimate before it was physically intimate. We shared what we were thinking, questioned each other's ideas, discussed our differences, made compromises, and dared to dream. It was important to me that I could talk to the man I loved.
Physical intimacy came as naturally as emotional intimacy had. We were a good fit. When we made time to talk, our relationship flourished. We married, moved, bought a house, and started a family. We needed both emotional and physical intimacy for our marriage to stay strong.
When we reached an impasse in our marriage, communication suffered and so did physical intimacy. There were times when we had different goals and couldn't agree; it was hard to talk without fighting and we grew apart. Sometimes it was physical longing that brought us back together, so we could again hear what the other had to say. Sometimes it was a recognition of all we had to lose, if we didn't make things right, that started us talking and led us back into each other's arms. Emotional and physical intimacy went hand in hand for us.
After three decades together, and as our children became adults, Ken and I looked forward to spending more time as a couple. We had come full circle and could again focus on each other. What I didn't anticipate was how menopause and postmenopause would affect the intimate relationship I had with my husband. We had always found a way to work through problems together. For the first time, I had to find answers on my own.
Initially, it wasn't apparent to me how much things had changed. I was tired, my body was changing, and I didn't react in the same way when my husband and I were physically intimate. Ken was patient, and I was frustrated. We talked about it, as much as I was able because I didn't understand what was happening. I was well into menopause, so I thought the worst was over. Ken and I continued to communicate, which is what I've always counted on to keep us close. This time, when I needed it most, it didn't help to talk about what was going on. When talking didn't help, I stopped making the effort to explain my experience, and our communication suffered.
In the past, we used emotional and physical intimacy to build our relationship. When we were low in one, we compensated with the other. We tag-teamed the emotional and the physical to overcome hurdles. This time we didn't have enough of one to make up for the lack of the other, and I didn't know how to replenish our supply.
Was this the true "change?" Was this why couples moved to separate beds? Was this where loving looks replaced passion? Was this the end to my hope to reclaim the life my husband and I shared before we had children?
I decided "this" would be none of those things. I overcame my modesty and shared what I was going through with my massage therapist, who worked to loosen muscles in my back and abdomen, and my acupuncturist, whose treatments and herbs addressed my symptoms. I continued to use natural progesterone regularly, and lubricant became a mainstay. Over a period of months the situation improved. Then I hit the proverbial wall where things no longer continued to get better. And that is when I reached into the back of the linen closet and pulled out the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me last year. Intercourse is no longer painful, and physical sensation has improved in the last few weeks. I will continue to work on all fronts to get back to 100%.
I thought long and hard before I decided to post about my experience. It has taken me six hours to write the words that express what I want to say. I wish I had known what to be aware of. Neither Ken or I did anything wrong, but our relationship changed because we could not rely on what had always worked in the past. I needed to use a variety of strategies to solve the problem. I didn't need to lose the emotional and physical intimacy I have shared with my husband for the last 33 years.
Our relationship was emotionally intimate before it was physically intimate. We shared what we were thinking, questioned each other's ideas, discussed our differences, made compromises, and dared to dream. It was important to me that I could talk to the man I loved.
Physical intimacy came as naturally as emotional intimacy had. We were a good fit. When we made time to talk, our relationship flourished. We married, moved, bought a house, and started a family. We needed both emotional and physical intimacy for our marriage to stay strong.
When we reached an impasse in our marriage, communication suffered and so did physical intimacy. There were times when we had different goals and couldn't agree; it was hard to talk without fighting and we grew apart. Sometimes it was physical longing that brought us back together, so we could again hear what the other had to say. Sometimes it was a recognition of all we had to lose, if we didn't make things right, that started us talking and led us back into each other's arms. Emotional and physical intimacy went hand in hand for us.
After three decades together, and as our children became adults, Ken and I looked forward to spending more time as a couple. We had come full circle and could again focus on each other. What I didn't anticipate was how menopause and postmenopause would affect the intimate relationship I had with my husband. We had always found a way to work through problems together. For the first time, I had to find answers on my own.
Initially, it wasn't apparent to me how much things had changed. I was tired, my body was changing, and I didn't react in the same way when my husband and I were physically intimate. Ken was patient, and I was frustrated. We talked about it, as much as I was able because I didn't understand what was happening. I was well into menopause, so I thought the worst was over. Ken and I continued to communicate, which is what I've always counted on to keep us close. This time, when I needed it most, it didn't help to talk about what was going on. When talking didn't help, I stopped making the effort to explain my experience, and our communication suffered.
In the past, we used emotional and physical intimacy to build our relationship. When we were low in one, we compensated with the other. We tag-teamed the emotional and the physical to overcome hurdles. This time we didn't have enough of one to make up for the lack of the other, and I didn't know how to replenish our supply.
Was this the true "change?" Was this why couples moved to separate beds? Was this where loving looks replaced passion? Was this the end to my hope to reclaim the life my husband and I shared before we had children?
I decided "this" would be none of those things. I overcame my modesty and shared what I was going through with my massage therapist, who worked to loosen muscles in my back and abdomen, and my acupuncturist, whose treatments and herbs addressed my symptoms. I continued to use natural progesterone regularly, and lubricant became a mainstay. Over a period of months the situation improved. Then I hit the proverbial wall where things no longer continued to get better. And that is when I reached into the back of the linen closet and pulled out the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me last year. Intercourse is no longer painful, and physical sensation has improved in the last few weeks. I will continue to work on all fronts to get back to 100%.
I thought long and hard before I decided to post about my experience. It has taken me six hours to write the words that express what I want to say. I wish I had known what to be aware of. Neither Ken or I did anything wrong, but our relationship changed because we could not rely on what had always worked in the past. I needed to use a variety of strategies to solve the problem. I didn't need to lose the emotional and physical intimacy I have shared with my husband for the last 33 years.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Estrogen Cream Plus Natural Progesterone
*Note: My latest post at 50-something moms blog is titled From Childhood to Adulthood: How Do We Measure the Transition?
I had an acupuncture treatment today. I go once a month. She asks how I'm feeling and what my body is doing; she inspects my tongue, which I can't explain; and she takes multiple pulses, all through my wrists, and I can't explain that either. Based on what I say and my physical indicators, she determines what treatment is necessary. I told her today that I've felt more emotional than usual this week and haven't been hungry in the last week or so. Today's treatment was a series of needles on my right ear; needles in my lower legs; and one needle in my abdomen, the top of each hand, and my forehead. Then I relaxed to soft music for about twenty minutes. Without exception, I feel better after a treatment.
Today I shared that I have started using the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me over a year ago. She wrinkled her brow and asked, "And you're still using the natural progesterone cream, right?" The natural progesterone balances the unwanted effects of estrogen. I assured her I was still using the natural progesterone cream daily. I went on to explain that I used the estrogen cream every day for a week, and since then I have used it once a week. So far that has been enough.
Last week, for the first time in over two years, I did not need to use lubricant during intercourse and sex felt the way I remembered it. This is a good thing. A healthy sexual relationship is an important aspect of the intimacy my husband and I share. In my next post I will write about intimacy after menopause.
*An important note about the use of the creams I have mentioned here and in a previous post: Although natural progesterone is available at health food stores, it should be used according to the advice of your health care provider. A prescription is needed for any kind of estrogen cream, and your health care provider can talk about the options available.
I had an acupuncture treatment today. I go once a month. She asks how I'm feeling and what my body is doing; she inspects my tongue, which I can't explain; and she takes multiple pulses, all through my wrists, and I can't explain that either. Based on what I say and my physical indicators, she determines what treatment is necessary. I told her today that I've felt more emotional than usual this week and haven't been hungry in the last week or so. Today's treatment was a series of needles on my right ear; needles in my lower legs; and one needle in my abdomen, the top of each hand, and my forehead. Then I relaxed to soft music for about twenty minutes. Without exception, I feel better after a treatment.
Today I shared that I have started using the estrogen cream that was prescribed for me over a year ago. She wrinkled her brow and asked, "And you're still using the natural progesterone cream, right?" The natural progesterone balances the unwanted effects of estrogen. I assured her I was still using the natural progesterone cream daily. I went on to explain that I used the estrogen cream every day for a week, and since then I have used it once a week. So far that has been enough.
Last week, for the first time in over two years, I did not need to use lubricant during intercourse and sex felt the way I remembered it. This is a good thing. A healthy sexual relationship is an important aspect of the intimacy my husband and I share. In my next post I will write about intimacy after menopause.
*An important note about the use of the creams I have mentioned here and in a previous post: Although natural progesterone is available at health food stores, it should be used according to the advice of your health care provider. A prescription is needed for any kind of estrogen cream, and your health care provider can talk about the options available.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
All Politics Are Local
Introducing our new Democratic Headquarters!This is where it will all happen, all the conversations and connections with neighbors to get out the democratic vote in November. We have the entire first floor, where there are windows on every side for the light to shine in. There hasn't been an office to represent our end of the county for many years. This is our year to fill state and federal offices with people who will represent, and act on behalf of, all Americans.
The office was cleaned and readied for Sunday's grand opening by volunteers, and it will be staffed with people who donate their time. I worked for two and a half hours today, and since I was the first one on the schedule it was my job to unlock the doors and set out the flags.
Signs for the candidates fill the windows and cover the walls. The counter in the front room holds literature, buttons, and bumper stickers. I walked through the sunlit rooms and imagined all the activity that this office will see in the next ten weeks. Meetings. Phone banks. Conversations with people we know and people we have yet to meet.
We may not be able to meet personally with Barack Obama or candidates for Congress, but we can support their campaigns, spread their message, and get out the vote. We will be able to meet with local candidates, whose campaigns rely on the work of volunteers. And, most importantly, we will chat with neighbors about the issues that impact our lives and the hopes we have for the future.
We cannot go back and undo all that has gone wrong. We can go forward, get involved, and elect people who will take our country in the right direction.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Feedback
I have received the first official feedback on my product, the IntiMat®. The woman who made the comments is a seamstress. It is the highest compliment that she thinks the IntiMat® is "made with excellent craftwomanship." The other feedback I have received, from people who market-tested my product, extols the virtues of the IntiMat® from a user's point of view. I appreciate the time people have taken to use my product and share their thoughts. This feedback tells me that I am on the right track.
[My etsy shop is at http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5700127. I invite you to visit.]
All morning I thought about why this feedback is so important to me. It matters. The last time someone had something to say to me about the job I was doing it was to tell me that I had too many ideas and I needed to stop making suggestions. Yeah, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that one, too. It looked like the perfect job for me....
In the spring of 2007 I was in my last semester of school for an MSW. I was taking four classes and working 20 hours a week at a non-paid internship. We had just moved, so life was busy and the timing wasn't good to take on another, albeit paying, job. But the position was just what I wanted: work, half-time, as a project manager and policy analyst. I was so excited! The first project was to work with principals from all over the state to update school policies around alcohol and substance abuse. As a teacher and a parent, I knew many of the issues. I also knew how important it was to include teachers and parents in the development of policy since they were often the ones left to explain and enforce the policy.
I started in with great gusto. The organization I worked for was a non-profit that relied on grants from other sources. I thought my first meeting with the representative of the funder of the project went well. The next day my supervisor informed me that she had gotten a call about the meeting; the word was that I had too many ideas and came on too strong. I relayed to her exactly what I said, and she agreed that that was my job. I asked her if she was going to back me up, but she said there wasn't anything she could do because we relied on the funder for more than this project. I backed off and did the very things I shouldn't have done - I lost my voice and gave away my power. I believed everything that was said about me. I went quiet, just like a submarine in enemy waters.
Looking back, I know I was too exhausted to handle the situation the way I would have under different circumstances. My mind went blank and I forgot everything I know about how to compromise, collaborate, and create solutions. I found myself weighing every word I said and stopped sharing ideas based on my experience and education. I watched while meetings were mismanaged and opportunities to work with stakeholders were lost. I gave up.
Then my mother had a stroke, and I took time off to be with her. That is when I decided I needed to quit the job and find the me I had lost. When I resigned, I took responsibility for how I handled the situation. Once I left, the job was restructured to research/project "assistant" and someone with less experience was hired.
That experience is why the positive feedback about my product is so important. It matters to me that my work meets my standards for excellence, and it feels good to have someone else recognize that, too.
[My etsy shop is at http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5700127. I invite you to visit.]
All morning I thought about why this feedback is so important to me. It matters. The last time someone had something to say to me about the job I was doing it was to tell me that I had too many ideas and I needed to stop making suggestions. Yeah, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that one, too. It looked like the perfect job for me....
In the spring of 2007 I was in my last semester of school for an MSW. I was taking four classes and working 20 hours a week at a non-paid internship. We had just moved, so life was busy and the timing wasn't good to take on another, albeit paying, job. But the position was just what I wanted: work, half-time, as a project manager and policy analyst. I was so excited! The first project was to work with principals from all over the state to update school policies around alcohol and substance abuse. As a teacher and a parent, I knew many of the issues. I also knew how important it was to include teachers and parents in the development of policy since they were often the ones left to explain and enforce the policy.
I started in with great gusto. The organization I worked for was a non-profit that relied on grants from other sources. I thought my first meeting with the representative of the funder of the project went well. The next day my supervisor informed me that she had gotten a call about the meeting; the word was that I had too many ideas and came on too strong. I relayed to her exactly what I said, and she agreed that that was my job. I asked her if she was going to back me up, but she said there wasn't anything she could do because we relied on the funder for more than this project. I backed off and did the very things I shouldn't have done - I lost my voice and gave away my power. I believed everything that was said about me. I went quiet, just like a submarine in enemy waters.
Looking back, I know I was too exhausted to handle the situation the way I would have under different circumstances. My mind went blank and I forgot everything I know about how to compromise, collaborate, and create solutions. I found myself weighing every word I said and stopped sharing ideas based on my experience and education. I watched while meetings were mismanaged and opportunities to work with stakeholders were lost. I gave up.
Then my mother had a stroke, and I took time off to be with her. That is when I decided I needed to quit the job and find the me I had lost. When I resigned, I took responsibility for how I handled the situation. Once I left, the job was restructured to research/project "assistant" and someone with less experience was hired.
That experience is why the positive feedback about my product is so important. It matters to me that my work meets my standards for excellence, and it feels good to have someone else recognize that, too.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
High on Hiatt
Ken and I had the experience of the summer last night - an outdoor concert by our favorite singer/songwriter on the perfect August evening at the flagship LLBean store in Freeport. The concert was free, but you never would have known that by the performance John Hiatt and The Ageless Beauties put on for the crowd. From the opening with "The Tiki Bar is Open" through three encore numbers, it was two hours of pure joy. We sang, tapped, swayed, clapped, and were happily carried away by music and lyrics.
John played guitar all evening and was accompanied by band members on guitar, bass, and drums. We usually see him perform solo, so we enjoyed watching his delight in playing with a band. John was on fire last night. The energy on stage was electric and palpable. The crowd cheered with recognition as each song began. We know his music, and we're not afraid to sing along.
There were surprises, too. John played a guitar intro to "Cry Love" that we've never heard, and he sang the last encore of "Have a Little Faith in Me" while he played guitar instead of the usual keyboard. No complaints about the missing keyboard; the back-up band was a fair trade.
Ken and I discovered the singer John Hiatt in 1994. Unknowingly we had been listening to his songs for years, songs sung by a variety of artists. One night at dinner Ken and I wondered if the other had heard the song "Perfectly Good Guitar" on the radio. Yes! The song was enjoying air play on our favorite station, and we listened for more music by John Hiatt. We were not disappointed when we heard "Walk On" and "Cry Love." The purchase of CDs followed, and we attended our first John Hiatt concert in 1995.
Last night was an evening to remember. It may well be the highlight of our summer. And the best thing? We have his music on CD to keep us in tune until his next concert.
John played guitar all evening and was accompanied by band members on guitar, bass, and drums. We usually see him perform solo, so we enjoyed watching his delight in playing with a band. John was on fire last night. The energy on stage was electric and palpable. The crowd cheered with recognition as each song began. We know his music, and we're not afraid to sing along.
There were surprises, too. John played a guitar intro to "Cry Love" that we've never heard, and he sang the last encore of "Have a Little Faith in Me" while he played guitar instead of the usual keyboard. No complaints about the missing keyboard; the back-up band was a fair trade.
Ken and I discovered the singer John Hiatt in 1994. Unknowingly we had been listening to his songs for years, songs sung by a variety of artists. One night at dinner Ken and I wondered if the other had heard the song "Perfectly Good Guitar" on the radio. Yes! The song was enjoying air play on our favorite station, and we listened for more music by John Hiatt. We were not disappointed when we heard "Walk On" and "Cry Love." The purchase of CDs followed, and we attended our first John Hiatt concert in 1995.
Last night was an evening to remember. It may well be the highlight of our summer. And the best thing? We have his music on CD to keep us in tune until his next concert.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Survey of the Yard
I added "Claude Monet of the Day" to my homepage. A different Monet painting is posted each day, and I see it every time I open Internet Explorer. The painting replaces CNN headlines. Beauty instead of fear was a good choice.
This week marks one year that I have been doing everything "house" - painting, unpacking, painting, organizing, painting, clearing out...you get the idea. On the week-ends Ken and I have installed shelves in every closet, hung photos and artwork on the walls, painted and adjusted doors, organized the garage, installed a TV antennae, stained the deck, and started to think about where we need to start with the property, which brings me to the visitor I had yesterday.
I've gotten to know a woman who lives in town and knows everything about gardens. She said she'd be glad to come by and take a look at our yard, a term I use loosely. We had a good visit yesterday morning over coffee and cake. She said that our yard has so much potential - there's that word again. As we walked around the house, she found a natural ledge that I had not noticed before. We talked about trees that need to come down and others that need to be pruned. Any work we want to do on the driveway should be done before we start planting. She suggested chipping trees and brush, instead of burning, so we will have wood chips for ground cover - something else I hadn't thought about.
We agreed that there is a lot of work to do. It will be an ongoing project. She laughed and said that's the nature of working outdoors. She said I will have so much to keep me busy that I won't have time to worry about finding a job outside the home.
Working inside the house and painting outside has certainly given me enough to fill my days. Those tasks are different than working in the yard, with my hands in the dirt and time spent with nature. I feel disconnected - and unexpected tears appear. Pay dirt. Looking for connection. It's time to head outdoors.
This week marks one year that I have been doing everything "house" - painting, unpacking, painting, organizing, painting, clearing out...you get the idea. On the week-ends Ken and I have installed shelves in every closet, hung photos and artwork on the walls, painted and adjusted doors, organized the garage, installed a TV antennae, stained the deck, and started to think about where we need to start with the property, which brings me to the visitor I had yesterday.
I've gotten to know a woman who lives in town and knows everything about gardens. She said she'd be glad to come by and take a look at our yard, a term I use loosely. We had a good visit yesterday morning over coffee and cake. She said that our yard has so much potential - there's that word again. As we walked around the house, she found a natural ledge that I had not noticed before. We talked about trees that need to come down and others that need to be pruned. Any work we want to do on the driveway should be done before we start planting. She suggested chipping trees and brush, instead of burning, so we will have wood chips for ground cover - something else I hadn't thought about.
We agreed that there is a lot of work to do. It will be an ongoing project. She laughed and said that's the nature of working outdoors. She said I will have so much to keep me busy that I won't have time to worry about finding a job outside the home.
Working inside the house and painting outside has certainly given me enough to fill my days. Those tasks are different than working in the yard, with my hands in the dirt and time spent with nature. I feel disconnected - and unexpected tears appear. Pay dirt. Looking for connection. It's time to head outdoors.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Potential
potential - n. that which is possible, unrealized.
Getting a job outside the home and/or getting my business off the ground are two things that have potential. Here's the problem with that which is possible but unrealized - something needs to change for the potential to become reality.
I don't know what may pan out, so I'm working on both fronts.
Yesterday I made two phone calls: I called a lingerie store about the possibility of selling my IntiMats® there; she has no room for a display, but I could leave a sample of the material and my business card. Then I called about a lead on a job and left a message; as of now there has been no return call, email, or smoke signal.
Today I made two phone calls: I called a store, that carries all handmade items, about carrying my product; she thought it sounded lovely, but the store is closing in four months. Then I emailed another lead about other possible job openings; I got a reply that there will be openings, but the jobs haven't been configured yet so it will be a while.
Two weeks ago I called the sister of someone I met at an Etsy Maine Team meeting about selling IntiMats® at home parties where "items of passion" are sold. She liked the idea, but she's busy with other projects and only has one party a month right now.
The end of June I sent an IntiMat® to a well-known, household-name blogger. She sent me an I-may-keep-this-on-my-refrigerator-forever post card about how elegant and gorgeous the product is, and she thanked me for the generous gesture.
So potentially I will get a job and/or I will be able to sell my product. Something needs to change for that potential to be realized.
potential - adj. conceivable
Message to the universe: I am ready for what comes next.
Getting a job outside the home and/or getting my business off the ground are two things that have potential. Here's the problem with that which is possible but unrealized - something needs to change for the potential to become reality.
I don't know what may pan out, so I'm working on both fronts.
Yesterday I made two phone calls: I called a lingerie store about the possibility of selling my IntiMats® there; she has no room for a display, but I could leave a sample of the material and my business card. Then I called about a lead on a job and left a message; as of now there has been no return call, email, or smoke signal.
Today I made two phone calls: I called a store, that carries all handmade items, about carrying my product; she thought it sounded lovely, but the store is closing in four months. Then I emailed another lead about other possible job openings; I got a reply that there will be openings, but the jobs haven't been configured yet so it will be a while.
Two weeks ago I called the sister of someone I met at an Etsy Maine Team meeting about selling IntiMats® at home parties where "items of passion" are sold. She liked the idea, but she's busy with other projects and only has one party a month right now.
The end of June I sent an IntiMat® to a well-known, household-name blogger. She sent me an I-may-keep-this-on-my-refrigerator-forever post card about how elegant and gorgeous the product is, and she thanked me for the generous gesture.
So potentially I will get a job and/or I will be able to sell my product. Something needs to change for that potential to be realized.
potential - adj. conceivable
Message to the universe: I am ready for what comes next.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Camera Shy Felines
I was in such a muddle yesterday. I woke up this morning after a good night's sleep with the feeling that I had worked some things out - in a dream that I couldn't remember. Frustrating. It does give me hope that my brain is working on whatever is nagging at me, even if the answers haven't surfaced yet. Sigh.
Two days this week I have spent time at my daughter's house. She has two cats, Izabelle and Beazlie, who disappear the minute I open the door. Sometimes I will see Izabelle as she flits from room to room, but I rarely see Beazlie unless my daughter is home. When my daughter got home Monday evening, Izabelle jumped onto a window sill in the kitchen but refused to look at the camera:
My daughter picked her up so I could get a picture - of a very unhappy kitty:
Today I found Beazlie in her hiding place under the workbench in the cellar:
These cats are sisters that my daughter adopted from the humane society before she was even moved into her house. While she works long hours in her residency, my daughter wanted two cats to keep each other company, and they do. Izabelle and Beazlie are the keepers of the house, and they resent my presence. I make noise, move through the house, rearrange all kinds of stuff, and generally disrupt their lives.
Two days this week I have spent time at my daughter's house. She has two cats, Izabelle and Beazlie, who disappear the minute I open the door. Sometimes I will see Izabelle as she flits from room to room, but I rarely see Beazlie unless my daughter is home. When my daughter got home Monday evening, Izabelle jumped onto a window sill in the kitchen but refused to look at the camera:
My daughter picked her up so I could get a picture - of a very unhappy kitty:
Today I found Beazlie in her hiding place under the workbench in the cellar:
These cats are sisters that my daughter adopted from the humane society before she was even moved into her house. While she works long hours in her residency, my daughter wanted two cats to keep each other company, and they do. Izabelle and Beazlie are the keepers of the house, and they resent my presence. I make noise, move through the house, rearrange all kinds of stuff, and generally disrupt their lives.Izabelle and Beazlie look harmless enough. Well, let me tell you that they had me fooled, too. When no one is looking, their routine includes carrying yarn, fiber, and unfinished knitting projects from room to room and floor to floor. My daughter can leave with everything picked up and return to a house littered with anything-to-do-with-yarn that is not in a closet or tight container. Likewise, when she gets up in the morning she can expect to find anything from balls of yarn to cat toys to odd pieces of paper in bed with her. I didn't realize the extent of their industriousness until I stayed over one night and listened to their antics in the wee hours of the morning.
The sisterz keep my daughter on her toez and provide untold hourz of amuzement and companionship. Thank God for feline friendz.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Know Myself
Yesterday I had the chance to watch an Oprah show I missed the first time it was on. Her guest was Gavin de Becker, author of The Gift of Fear. His premise is that if we learn to listen to our intuition we can save ourselves from potentially dangerous situations. Gavin's point was that we often know when something doesn't feel right, and sometimes we don't act on that because we don't want to hurt someone's feelings or we don't want to appear stupid. The show highlighted many stories of women who saved their lives by listening to their intuition and taking action.
Then Gavin shared a Carl Jung quote that caught my attention, and I may be paraphrasing: that which remains unconscious is fate. He gave the example that if a woman gets the feeling that there is something about a man that doesn't seem right and she doesn't listen to that feeling [it remains unconscious], then what she hasn't acknowledged will become her fate. If the woman raises the feeling to the conscious level, then she can protect herself. That's why his book is about the gift of fear, that a feeling of fear is a red flag that something isn't right even if things appear okay on the surface.
The connection between unconsciousness and fate stayed with me and I have been trying to figure out why. Move beyond Gavin's narrow context and consider Jung's quote in terms of all that we might feel. Fate is destiny, a done deal, something I have no control over. I don't want to think that fate determines my future. I also don't want to be unaware of what I know and feel deep down inside. I want to be intuitive and conscious.
Listen to my intuition. That is something that does not come naturally to me, something I have been learning to do. Intuition is immediate knowing, understanding without reasoning. To trust my intuition means I trust myself. Then I raise that knowing to the conscious level, and that is how I know myself.
Becoming still and listening, bringing to the surface what I know to be true, being aware of what is, and accepting a situation - all part of what Eckhart Tolle teaches. These are the very things that I have been reading about, learning about, and putting into practice. When I am fully aware, I am able to observe my reaction, and according to Eckhart that is the beginning of freedom (A New Earth, ch. 7 ). Intuitively I will do the right thing if I am open to the situation; when I face a situation as it is, I see what can be done about it; acceptance of the now changes the situation because I am no longer resisting what is.
The start of this blog coincided with my reading of A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle and watching the web series he did with Oprah. Along the way my insightful readers have made comments that cause a post to blossom into a lesson about learning to know ourselves. I am grateful for the company on this journey.
Then Gavin shared a Carl Jung quote that caught my attention, and I may be paraphrasing: that which remains unconscious is fate. He gave the example that if a woman gets the feeling that there is something about a man that doesn't seem right and she doesn't listen to that feeling [it remains unconscious], then what she hasn't acknowledged will become her fate. If the woman raises the feeling to the conscious level, then she can protect herself. That's why his book is about the gift of fear, that a feeling of fear is a red flag that something isn't right even if things appear okay on the surface.
The connection between unconsciousness and fate stayed with me and I have been trying to figure out why. Move beyond Gavin's narrow context and consider Jung's quote in terms of all that we might feel. Fate is destiny, a done deal, something I have no control over. I don't want to think that fate determines my future. I also don't want to be unaware of what I know and feel deep down inside. I want to be intuitive and conscious.
Listen to my intuition. That is something that does not come naturally to me, something I have been learning to do. Intuition is immediate knowing, understanding without reasoning. To trust my intuition means I trust myself. Then I raise that knowing to the conscious level, and that is how I know myself.
Becoming still and listening, bringing to the surface what I know to be true, being aware of what is, and accepting a situation - all part of what Eckhart Tolle teaches. These are the very things that I have been reading about, learning about, and putting into practice. When I am fully aware, I am able to observe my reaction, and according to Eckhart that is the beginning of freedom (A New Earth, ch. 7 ). Intuitively I will do the right thing if I am open to the situation; when I face a situation as it is, I see what can be done about it; acceptance of the now changes the situation because I am no longer resisting what is.
The start of this blog coincided with my reading of A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle and watching the web series he did with Oprah. Along the way my insightful readers have made comments that cause a post to blossom into a lesson about learning to know ourselves. I am grateful for the company on this journey.
Monday, August 18, 2008
A Day at Popham Beach
Last Wednesday I read in the newspaper that already this month we have had 5 inches above the average amount of rain expected in August. On Friday someone told me that in the first two weeks of August we had 15% of the sunshine possible, compared with 85% in the same two weeks last year. No wonder we have been feeling soggy and gray.
This week-end was different. Other than rain overnight Friday and thundershowers Saturday evening, we had a more typical August week-end. People were out to enjoy it, me included. Yesterday I went to Popham Beach with my husband and daughter. Popham is a state park on the ocean less than an hour from our house, and it's our favorite beach in Maine.
Ken and I walked a mile and a half down the beach in one direction and looked out to sea:
That's a lighthouse in the distance.
The beach in between was packed with people. The tide was high at 12:40 p.m., so all morning people moved their blankets back from the incoming waves. The ocean water is always cold, but a few brave souls ventured out for short periods of time. I tried but could not capture in a photo the beauty of the day ~ I did capture the vast feeling I have when I stand on the beach at the ocean. Expansive. Unending.
This week-end was different. Other than rain overnight Friday and thundershowers Saturday evening, we had a more typical August week-end. People were out to enjoy it, me included. Yesterday I went to Popham Beach with my husband and daughter. Popham is a state park on the ocean less than an hour from our house, and it's our favorite beach in Maine.
Ken and I walked a mile and a half down the beach in one direction and looked out to sea:
That's a lighthouse in the distance.
This was the scene down the beach when we walked a half mile in the other direction:
The beach in between was packed with people. The tide was high at 12:40 p.m., so all morning people moved their blankets back from the incoming waves. The ocean water is always cold, but a few brave souls ventured out for short periods of time. I tried but could not capture in a photo the beauty of the day ~ I did capture the vast feeling I have when I stand on the beach at the ocean. Expansive. Unending.
[Several years ago Ken was offered a different job within his company. I clearly remember that we went out to dinner to discuss the opportunity. It was serious business because this type of job rarely opens up. We needed to consider it carefully because it would mean a move to Hanover, NH. While I don't remember everything we talked about, I recall the two things that topped the con list: moving away from friends and living four hours from the ocean.]
We have never regretted that we didn't make that move.
A day like yesterday reinforces our decision.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
A Regular Saturday Outing
Our town recycles. Everything. Every kind of paper, cardboard, plastic, glass, styrofoam, aluminum, wood, tire, and food waste. At the recycling barn there is a shelf for old paint, hazardous liquids, and batteries. For $2 they will recycle an old television or computer. The only things I have to take elsewhere are plastic bags, for which there is a bin at the grocery store, and most drink containers, which are returnable under Maine's bottle law. I throw away very little: plastic wrap, which I have learned to rinse because we empty our trash every 3 weeks or so; junk food wrappers, like microwave popcorn bags and potato chip bags which are either coated in oil or made of some composite material I can't identify; yucky paper towels; shaving cream cans and deodorant bottles; and the odd container that isn't returnable or recyclable. The recycling barn is open Thursdays and Saturdays. For us, a trip to the recycling barn has become a regular Saturday outing. This is where it all happens:
As an added bonus this summer and fall, we can stop at the town's farmers' market on our way home from the recycling barn. Yesterday we picked up corn and tomatoes. The week before it was kale, cucumbers, potatoes, and sausage. Two weeks ago we bought raspberries. Yummmy.
This is the grange where the farmers' market sets up each week:
Saturdays have turned into a productive day for our household ~ we get rid of all our trash and support local farms by buying their products. If nothing else of note happens all week-end, I feel like I have accomplished something after our regular Saturday outing.
As an added bonus this summer and fall, we can stop at the town's farmers' market on our way home from the recycling barn. Yesterday we picked up corn and tomatoes. The week before it was kale, cucumbers, potatoes, and sausage. Two weeks ago we bought raspberries. Yummmy.This is the grange where the farmers' market sets up each week:
Saturdays have turned into a productive day for our household ~ we get rid of all our trash and support local farms by buying their products. If nothing else of note happens all week-end, I feel like I have accomplished something after our regular Saturday outing.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Friday in Camden
A day in Camden is something we look forward to. This summer has seen more rain than sunshine, so it has been hard to find a free, sunny day to go to our favorite town on the coast. We lucked out yesterday - Ken had an unplanned Friday off, the sun was shining, and we had a reason to go. We have two antique clocks that have been in and out of the clockmaker's shop, near Camden, for two years. He got them running, but the chimes are still not right after return trips and months of waiting for them to be ready. This week things lined up, and Ken said, "Let's get those clocks back in the shop." The clockmaker is a hard guy to pin down, so I wasn't sure we'd catch him in. He was working all day! Just let me get my purse....
This is the scene that greeted us from the harbor. Someday I'm going to take a trip on a yacht.
We walked around behind the shops, where a waterfall carries a stream to the harbor.
Down on the wharf we could look out to the ocean,
and back toward the hills, where clouds topped Mt. Battie.
This is the scene that greeted us from the harbor. Someday I'm going to take a trip on a yacht.
and back toward the hills, where clouds topped Mt. Battie.
While I wanted to see the harbor and take photos, Ken wanted to take me to lunch. I chose Cappy's, a favorite standby, especially in the summer when the upstairs dining room is open. This was the view from our table, which is why the place is a favorite.
Ken and I thoroughly enjoyed the day. It was time spent in a familiar place with sights and sounds that we love, a break from the everyday routine.
This morning we were awakened by rain....
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The Road to Acceptance
A friend sent me a link to a short video of music, photos, and quotes of Eckhart Tolle. I watched it this morning and thought how like him it was - quiet, calm, and affirming. There was one quote in particular that spoke to me: "The longing for love that is in every child is the longing to be recognized, not on the level of form, but on the level of being." That is a hard thing to ask for and a hard thing to achieve. In thinking about why this is so important to me, I remembered when my quest for recognition started, three years ago.
In the summer of 2005 I had days when I could not stop crying. I went about my routine and never knew what might turn the waterworks on or how long the tears would flow. At times I sobbed, gasping for air. In early August I had a doctor's visit for something unrelated, or so I thought, and she recommended I talk to someone about how I was feeling. I didn't want to go down that road again, but she gave me a referral and strongly suggested I follow up.
I made an appointment with the counselor for the next week and cried for the entire hour. I could clearly point to one thing that was making me sad - my friend, Marie, was battling lung cancer. Marie and I spent hours talking about the important things in life, and relationships topped the list. I had mixed feelings about my children getting older; I celebrated their independence while I missed being a constant in their lives. This brought up feelings I had about my relationship with my mother; I had thought for years that as circumstances changed we would grow closer, but we actually saw less of each other with each passing year.
I saw the counselor every week for a month, bi-weekly for 2 months, and then once to wrap things up. It only took eight sessions for me to pinpoint what I needed to feel better: acceptance. Acceptance that my friend was dying of lung cancer. Acceptance that my children were growing up and into their own lives. Acceptance that my mother would decide for herself how much of her life she wanted to share with me. I could continue to wish things were different, or I could accept things as they were, which would allow me to more fully appreciate the time I did have with the people I love.
I didn't use the words Eckhart used in his quote, but the longing to be recognized has been at the heart of what I have wanted for three years. I want my mom to see who I am as her daughter, now myself the mother of adult children. Acceptance has been the path to peace. I accept who my mother is and what she is able to share of herself. I can now accept our relationship as it is and feel grateful for the time we have together.
In the summer of 2005 I had days when I could not stop crying. I went about my routine and never knew what might turn the waterworks on or how long the tears would flow. At times I sobbed, gasping for air. In early August I had a doctor's visit for something unrelated, or so I thought, and she recommended I talk to someone about how I was feeling. I didn't want to go down that road again, but she gave me a referral and strongly suggested I follow up.
I made an appointment with the counselor for the next week and cried for the entire hour. I could clearly point to one thing that was making me sad - my friend, Marie, was battling lung cancer. Marie and I spent hours talking about the important things in life, and relationships topped the list. I had mixed feelings about my children getting older; I celebrated their independence while I missed being a constant in their lives. This brought up feelings I had about my relationship with my mother; I had thought for years that as circumstances changed we would grow closer, but we actually saw less of each other with each passing year.
I saw the counselor every week for a month, bi-weekly for 2 months, and then once to wrap things up. It only took eight sessions for me to pinpoint what I needed to feel better: acceptance. Acceptance that my friend was dying of lung cancer. Acceptance that my children were growing up and into their own lives. Acceptance that my mother would decide for herself how much of her life she wanted to share with me. I could continue to wish things were different, or I could accept things as they were, which would allow me to more fully appreciate the time I did have with the people I love.
I didn't use the words Eckhart used in his quote, but the longing to be recognized has been at the heart of what I have wanted for three years. I want my mom to see who I am as her daughter, now myself the mother of adult children. Acceptance has been the path to peace. I accept who my mother is and what she is able to share of herself. I can now accept our relationship as it is and feel grateful for the time we have together.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Sometimes the World is Too Much with Me
In the words of William Wordsworth:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not....
The first part of this poem was going through my mind this morning when it felt like the world was out of sync. I needed calm and quiet. I needed the world to stop for a moment.
It started last night when I turned on the PBS NewsHour to get the news of the day. When Russian tanks were shown rolling into Georgia, I turned off the television. Enough was enough. I needed a break from countries at war, John Edwards' affair, political campaign rhetoric, the energy crisis, roads washed out in southern Maine due to a summer of rain, and all the other turmoil in the world.
If I couldn't get the world to stop, I could create my own cocoon of quiet. The television, computer, and stereo remained silent. When thoughts of what I could be doing surfaced, I gently pushed them aside. I needed a break. I wished I had someone to talk to about how I was feeling....
The phone rang. It was my husband calling to say he would be working very late tonight. Okay. I hoped that didn't count as the answer to my wish....
The phone rang again. This time it was my daughter. I forgot she had time off today to go to the dentist. On Sunday she was here for dinner, and she wanted to know if my family got off okay. I told her I was taking a break from the turmoil and negative energy that is swirling. There is little good news locally or nationally, and the Olympics are only a temporary diversion from the world situation. We talked about how the earth itself seems to be reacting to the chaos and violence with extreme weather. Each of us had decided this morning that we needed some quiet time.
Then the conversation turned to things that have gone right in the past few days: the time spent with family, a positive site visit for her residency, successful deliveries of healthy babies, connections with friends through phone calls and emails, and the appearance of the sun on a breezy day in August. Those positives are the "cream that rises to the top," the things we can focus on and hold onto.
There are countless things that I have no control over and cannot change. I am learning to gently lead my mind away from thinking about the "things that are not my business," as Oprah would say. I can find the positive energy within, and without, and focus on that. Then I find that my day heads in a different direction.
A little while after my conversation with my daughter, the phone rang again. I had applied for a part-time position a few weeks ago. The woman was calling to say that position had been filled, but there was another position that hadn't been advertised yet. It is a full-time, supervisory position. Is this anything I would be interested in? Yes. Yes, it is.
This may be evidence of positive thinking. Just in case, I am going to keep at it to see what else might happen.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not....
The first part of this poem was going through my mind this morning when it felt like the world was out of sync. I needed calm and quiet. I needed the world to stop for a moment.
It started last night when I turned on the PBS NewsHour to get the news of the day. When Russian tanks were shown rolling into Georgia, I turned off the television. Enough was enough. I needed a break from countries at war, John Edwards' affair, political campaign rhetoric, the energy crisis, roads washed out in southern Maine due to a summer of rain, and all the other turmoil in the world.
If I couldn't get the world to stop, I could create my own cocoon of quiet. The television, computer, and stereo remained silent. When thoughts of what I could be doing surfaced, I gently pushed them aside. I needed a break. I wished I had someone to talk to about how I was feeling....
The phone rang. It was my husband calling to say he would be working very late tonight. Okay. I hoped that didn't count as the answer to my wish....
The phone rang again. This time it was my daughter. I forgot she had time off today to go to the dentist. On Sunday she was here for dinner, and she wanted to know if my family got off okay. I told her I was taking a break from the turmoil and negative energy that is swirling. There is little good news locally or nationally, and the Olympics are only a temporary diversion from the world situation. We talked about how the earth itself seems to be reacting to the chaos and violence with extreme weather. Each of us had decided this morning that we needed some quiet time.
Then the conversation turned to things that have gone right in the past few days: the time spent with family, a positive site visit for her residency, successful deliveries of healthy babies, connections with friends through phone calls and emails, and the appearance of the sun on a breezy day in August. Those positives are the "cream that rises to the top," the things we can focus on and hold onto.
There are countless things that I have no control over and cannot change. I am learning to gently lead my mind away from thinking about the "things that are not my business," as Oprah would say. I can find the positive energy within, and without, and focus on that. Then I find that my day heads in a different direction.
A little while after my conversation with my daughter, the phone rang again. I had applied for a part-time position a few weeks ago. The woman was calling to say that position had been filled, but there was another position that hadn't been advertised yet. It is a full-time, supervisory position. Is this anything I would be interested in? Yes. Yes, it is.
This may be evidence of positive thinking. Just in case, I am going to keep at it to see what else might happen.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Company's Gone
My mother, sister, and sister-in-law left this morning at 8:00 in the pouring rain. They arrived Sunday afternoon, when the sun was actually shining. It was a short visit.
There was a need to plan around job schedules and my sister's move to Scotland. Her fiance has taken a job teaching and doing research at the University of Edinburgh. He is returning to Maryland later this month so they can elope (not the ladder-at-the-window type of elopement but a romantic get-away), get her visa in order, and put her house on the market. Despite all she still has to do, she wanted to make the trip to Maine.
The important thing was that we got to visit. Conversations started, changed direction, were interrupted, and started again. We talked while we prepared meals, while we ate, and while we cleaned up the kitchen. The day and a half revolved around food because it gave us something to do while we did what I really wanted to do - talk about where we are in our lives.
I enjoyed getting things ready before they came, I loved having them here, and I was glad to have chores to do after they left ~ I wanted to figure out why this visit was so important to me. I wanted my family to see our new house. I also wanted to share how I have changed in the time since our move. Thanks to what I have learned from Eckhart Tolle, I didn't need anyone's approval. I did want my family to see me...
...and while I was vacuuming this morning I realized why: there are more changes to come for me. I wanted to visit with family from the place I am now because I have no idea where I will be when next we meet. Although I don't know what's ahead, I know this time of transition is not over as the journey continues.
There was a need to plan around job schedules and my sister's move to Scotland. Her fiance has taken a job teaching and doing research at the University of Edinburgh. He is returning to Maryland later this month so they can elope (not the ladder-at-the-window type of elopement but a romantic get-away), get her visa in order, and put her house on the market. Despite all she still has to do, she wanted to make the trip to Maine.
The important thing was that we got to visit. Conversations started, changed direction, were interrupted, and started again. We talked while we prepared meals, while we ate, and while we cleaned up the kitchen. The day and a half revolved around food because it gave us something to do while we did what I really wanted to do - talk about where we are in our lives.
I enjoyed getting things ready before they came, I loved having them here, and I was glad to have chores to do after they left ~ I wanted to figure out why this visit was so important to me. I wanted my family to see our new house. I also wanted to share how I have changed in the time since our move. Thanks to what I have learned from Eckhart Tolle, I didn't need anyone's approval. I did want my family to see me...
...and while I was vacuuming this morning I realized why: there are more changes to come for me. I wanted to visit with family from the place I am now because I have no idea where I will be when next we meet. Although I don't know what's ahead, I know this time of transition is not over as the journey continues.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Family's Comin'
I have family coming to visit today. I am like a little kid with my nosed pressed against the window, waiting for them to arrive. This is a big deal.
The anticipated visitors are my mother, my sister, and my sister-in-law. I last saw my mom a year ago June, after she had a stroke and I went to see her. I intended to return last fall, but life got ahead of me and I couldn't get it together to plan or make the trip.
My sister is preparing to move to Scotland. Yep, across the ocean to begin a new life with someone, who by then will be her husband. [I don't have permission to share details, but if I get clearance I will reveal more soon.]
My sister-in-law, my brother's wife, was last here over a dozen years ago when my nephew was a little boy. She is the type of in-law who always seemed to belong in our family.
I don't see my family very often. Distance and schedules get in the way. The thing is that we have a good time when we get together. I am able to pick up where I left off with my brothers, sister, and mom. It doesn't matter how much time has passed since we last saw each other or talked on the phone.
We don't know the nitty gritty details of each other's lives, which may be a blessing. We know we won't have a lot of time together when we do see each other, so we hit the high spots, keep it real, and don't try to pull each other into the drama of everyday living. If something serious happens, we give a call and talk about what needs to happen next. Thankfully, those calls have been few and far between.
This visit is all about my family seeing my new home. The relatives get a road trip and I get to play hostess for a couple days. I'm looking forward to our time together.
The anticipated visitors are my mother, my sister, and my sister-in-law. I last saw my mom a year ago June, after she had a stroke and I went to see her. I intended to return last fall, but life got ahead of me and I couldn't get it together to plan or make the trip.
My sister is preparing to move to Scotland. Yep, across the ocean to begin a new life with someone, who by then will be her husband. [I don't have permission to share details, but if I get clearance I will reveal more soon.]
My sister-in-law, my brother's wife, was last here over a dozen years ago when my nephew was a little boy. She is the type of in-law who always seemed to belong in our family.
I don't see my family very often. Distance and schedules get in the way. The thing is that we have a good time when we get together. I am able to pick up where I left off with my brothers, sister, and mom. It doesn't matter how much time has passed since we last saw each other or talked on the phone.
We don't know the nitty gritty details of each other's lives, which may be a blessing. We know we won't have a lot of time together when we do see each other, so we hit the high spots, keep it real, and don't try to pull each other into the drama of everyday living. If something serious happens, we give a call and talk about what needs to happen next. Thankfully, those calls have been few and far between.
This visit is all about my family seeing my new home. The relatives get a road trip and I get to play hostess for a couple days. I'm looking forward to our time together.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Yes to Estrogen Cream
*Note: My latest post at 50-something moms blog is [a companion piece to my last post here] titled Life After Menopause.
This post is a little personal, but I think the information is important. What I'm hearing from women is that there's not much being written about what really happens during menopause. I'd like to change that, so here we go....
Monday night I started using estrogen cream again. I had a prescription filled over a year ago for Premarin and only used it once. I had previously tried a different brand and had a reaction, probably a sensitivity to some ingredient. The doctor then prescribed Premarin, I used it once, and things felt a little strange so I put it aside. Lately I've run out of ideas to try to make sex more comfortable, so I figured I would give the Premarin estrogen cream another go.
Yes! After three nights I noticed a difference and sex didn't hurt. This is a good thing.
In the beginning, again, things felt a little strange. If you've read this far, I guess I can share that 1 gram of the cream is applied to the area in question. There was an almost immediate change in feeling...that's hard to explain...but more sensitive? full? I decided to continue with the daily dosage for at least a week to see if it made a difference. I was at the point that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. By the second day I was used to the feeling and stayed with the plan to see it through.
I'm glad I gave the Premarin cream another chance. After this week, I will use it a couple times a week to see if I can maintain with that. My body is smart so it may figure out what it needs to do and take it from there, which has been known to happen for other women. I have a good feeling about this....
This post is a little personal, but I think the information is important. What I'm hearing from women is that there's not much being written about what really happens during menopause. I'd like to change that, so here we go....
Monday night I started using estrogen cream again. I had a prescription filled over a year ago for Premarin and only used it once. I had previously tried a different brand and had a reaction, probably a sensitivity to some ingredient. The doctor then prescribed Premarin, I used it once, and things felt a little strange so I put it aside. Lately I've run out of ideas to try to make sex more comfortable, so I figured I would give the Premarin estrogen cream another go.
Yes! After three nights I noticed a difference and sex didn't hurt. This is a good thing.
In the beginning, again, things felt a little strange. If you've read this far, I guess I can share that 1 gram of the cream is applied to the area in question. There was an almost immediate change in feeling...that's hard to explain...but more sensitive? full? I decided to continue with the daily dosage for at least a week to see if it made a difference. I was at the point that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. By the second day I was used to the feeling and stayed with the plan to see it through.
I'm glad I gave the Premarin cream another chance. After this week, I will use it a couple times a week to see if I can maintain with that. My body is smart so it may figure out what it needs to do and take it from there, which has been known to happen for other women. I have a good feeling about this....
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Perimeno, Meno, or Postmeno - It's All a Pause
Well, happy anniversary to me. August 6, four years ago, was the last day of the last period I would ever have. It's one of those things you realize afterwards - you don't know it's your last period until it has gone by, and you don't know you're in menopause until it's a year later. Perimenopause is the time of transition before your last period. Menopause is the year after your last period. Postmenopause is what the experts call the rest of your life, although according to some websites they are trying to come up with a better label for what is, for many women, the longest span of a woman's lifetime.
Call it what you will, by any name it is a pause in what had become the monthly womanly routine. I have had other women envy me when I tell them I am in menopause. I think they feel that way because they're not here yet, and they do not realize the changes that are ahead for them.
Once I had a pregnancy, and my hormones straightened out, I didn't mind having a period every month. It came, it went, life went on. My body felt like I wanted it to feel and did what I wanted it to do. I lost weight when I wanted to, and I could control the shape of my body with exercise. I could sleep when I wanted to, and when I wanted to fool around with my husband I was always able to accommodate the desire to do so.
Perimenopause was a time of transition: emotional, stressful, and tiring, with hot flashes and night sweats. It was also a time when I had bursts of energy, started working in the yard, and took on projects I had been thinking about for years. Ironically, sex was the best it ever had been. It's hard to say when perimenopause started because periods didn't change until the last year and a half, when they were no longer regular and were heavier than anything I had ever experienced. Whew! I wound up in the stirrups for a biopsy because things were so out of whack. It was nothing serious, just my body gearing up for menopause.
Menopause slid by because I didn't yet realize I was done. Aside from not having periods, my body acted pretty much like it had been through perimenopause. Sex was still good. I was able to keep my figure with little effort. I did feel better emotionally, which was a plus. My youngest child was in high school and able to be independent, so I took a job I wanted that meant I wasn't home every evening.
Then two years out the wheels started to come off the bus, so to speak. The changes happened slowly and I didn't realize that I was permanently in the "change of life" until my skin was flaky, my hair was dry, sex hurt, and I felt anxious 24/7. This has not been a fun time.
I learned that I had the potential for belly fat, which was a revelation to me. The only time I'd ever had a belly was when I was pregnant. Enter crunches and awareness of eating.
I discovered tiny lines and long, black facial hair. Enter a variety of Olay miracle creams and electrolysis.
I found myself avoiding sex because my body didn't feel familiar to me and didn't respond the way it used to. Enter lubricant, acupuncture, herbs, progesterone cream, and estrogen cream if I can find one I'm not allergic to. This whole area is still a work in progress. I'm not giving up, but it's a hard thing to talk about.
Which brings me to the point about how isolating this time of life is. When a girl starts her period, it's all "you're a woman now" and trips to the drug store. When a woman gets pregnant, it's all "congratulations" and preparation for the baby. When a woman enters menopause, it's hard to find someone in the same place: some women aren't there yet, some women are taking hormones, some women sailed right through, and some women don't want to talk about it. So you read the books, watch The Oprah Show, and check out websites.
And I wait, hoping that "this too shall pass." It has been a long four years. I wasn't ready for menopause at 48, and I'm not ready to throw in the towel at 52. I know this change and all the other changes in my life go hand in hand. Maybe when the rest of my life finds its center, my body will follow suit and I will begin to feel like "me" again.
Call it what you will, by any name it is a pause in what had become the monthly womanly routine. I have had other women envy me when I tell them I am in menopause. I think they feel that way because they're not here yet, and they do not realize the changes that are ahead for them.
Once I had a pregnancy, and my hormones straightened out, I didn't mind having a period every month. It came, it went, life went on. My body felt like I wanted it to feel and did what I wanted it to do. I lost weight when I wanted to, and I could control the shape of my body with exercise. I could sleep when I wanted to, and when I wanted to fool around with my husband I was always able to accommodate the desire to do so.
Perimenopause was a time of transition: emotional, stressful, and tiring, with hot flashes and night sweats. It was also a time when I had bursts of energy, started working in the yard, and took on projects I had been thinking about for years. Ironically, sex was the best it ever had been. It's hard to say when perimenopause started because periods didn't change until the last year and a half, when they were no longer regular and were heavier than anything I had ever experienced. Whew! I wound up in the stirrups for a biopsy because things were so out of whack. It was nothing serious, just my body gearing up for menopause.
Menopause slid by because I didn't yet realize I was done. Aside from not having periods, my body acted pretty much like it had been through perimenopause. Sex was still good. I was able to keep my figure with little effort. I did feel better emotionally, which was a plus. My youngest child was in high school and able to be independent, so I took a job I wanted that meant I wasn't home every evening.
Then two years out the wheels started to come off the bus, so to speak. The changes happened slowly and I didn't realize that I was permanently in the "change of life" until my skin was flaky, my hair was dry, sex hurt, and I felt anxious 24/7. This has not been a fun time.
I learned that I had the potential for belly fat, which was a revelation to me. The only time I'd ever had a belly was when I was pregnant. Enter crunches and awareness of eating.
I discovered tiny lines and long, black facial hair. Enter a variety of Olay miracle creams and electrolysis.
I found myself avoiding sex because my body didn't feel familiar to me and didn't respond the way it used to. Enter lubricant, acupuncture, herbs, progesterone cream, and estrogen cream if I can find one I'm not allergic to. This whole area is still a work in progress. I'm not giving up, but it's a hard thing to talk about.
Which brings me to the point about how isolating this time of life is. When a girl starts her period, it's all "you're a woman now" and trips to the drug store. When a woman gets pregnant, it's all "congratulations" and preparation for the baby. When a woman enters menopause, it's hard to find someone in the same place: some women aren't there yet, some women are taking hormones, some women sailed right through, and some women don't want to talk about it. So you read the books, watch The Oprah Show, and check out websites.
And I wait, hoping that "this too shall pass." It has been a long four years. I wasn't ready for menopause at 48, and I'm not ready to throw in the towel at 52. I know this change and all the other changes in my life go hand in hand. Maybe when the rest of my life finds its center, my body will follow suit and I will begin to feel like "me" again.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
On Having Faith with Anne Lamott
I am reading, for the third time, a book that helps when life feels out of kilter, Anne Lamott's Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. Anne shares her feelings of hopelessness about the devastation left in the wake of the Bush presidency, which is how I've been feeling lately. I just don't see any way out of the mess our country is in, and it scares me. Anne writes about how afraid she is. I can identify with that. She also writes about how she finds comfort in her faith. I wanted to be reminded that I am not alone. It's not that we choose to feel afraid; it is that the fear sneaks up on us when we're distracted, and once it's present we have to deal with it. My first line of defense is a good book by someone who has been where I am and artfully shares their struggle.
So each night before bed I read a few chapters of Plan B. I get reacquainted with Annie's church friends, the challenge of parenting a teen-ager, her difficult relationship with her mother, how she feels about her changing body, and what she does when she doesn't know what to do. I treasure her insights and adore her honesty. With each read something new captures my attention and answers a question I thought was unanswerable.
My problem is that I am filled with doubt about where I'm headed and what I'm supposed to be doing. I have tried to hang on and be patient and do the next right thing. I feel like I am getting nowhere. Time is passing and I'm spinning in circles.
Last night I read Anne's words, "I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me - that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty" (p. 256-57). I went back and read that again. I thought about how uncertain I've been feeling about everything and how afraid I feel sometimes.
Then Anne writes, "Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns. Faith also means reaching deeply within, for the sense one was born with, the sense, for example, to go for a walk" (p. 257). And then I smiled. My spontaneous walks and the impulse to do four loads of laundry are examples of my faith ~ faith that I will survive the moment, overcome the fear, and, at the very least, move my body for a half hour and have clean underwear.
And for a moment I felt better. Maybe that's the most I can hope for, to feel better one moment at a time.
So each night before bed I read a few chapters of Plan B. I get reacquainted with Annie's church friends, the challenge of parenting a teen-ager, her difficult relationship with her mother, how she feels about her changing body, and what she does when she doesn't know what to do. I treasure her insights and adore her honesty. With each read something new captures my attention and answers a question I thought was unanswerable.
My problem is that I am filled with doubt about where I'm headed and what I'm supposed to be doing. I have tried to hang on and be patient and do the next right thing. I feel like I am getting nowhere. Time is passing and I'm spinning in circles.
Last night I read Anne's words, "I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me - that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty" (p. 256-57). I went back and read that again. I thought about how uncertain I've been feeling about everything and how afraid I feel sometimes.
Then Anne writes, "Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns. Faith also means reaching deeply within, for the sense one was born with, the sense, for example, to go for a walk" (p. 257). And then I smiled. My spontaneous walks and the impulse to do four loads of laundry are examples of my faith ~ faith that I will survive the moment, overcome the fear, and, at the very least, move my body for a half hour and have clean underwear.
And for a moment I felt better. Maybe that's the most I can hope for, to feel better one moment at a time.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Making Pies
This is possibly the best fresh raspberry pie I have ever made. It could be because I bought the berries, which came with good karma, from the local farmer's market. Or it might be that I paid attention to how I prepared the berries for the pie. Whatever the reason, it is some good.
Before I share the recipe, let me share that making pies is my thing. For some reason I have always been able to make pie crust and turn out a delicious pie. I can make cookies, too, of the simple variety: chocolate chip, peanut butter, sugar, oatmeal. And while they taste good, my cookies vary in texture and size and taste from batch to batch. Cakes are another story altogether. As my family can verify, there is a 50-50 chance that a cake I bake will turn out the way it's supposed to. More often than not the cake tastes okay, but it rarely looks like the picture that accompanies the recipe. My husband has learned to ask for a birthday pie.
I started making pies as a teen-ager. I pulled out my mother's Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook and followed the directions for a basic pie crust. I don't remember what kind of pie I first made, but it was a success so I used that pie crust recipe from then on. I now cut back on the shortening, and the crust is just as good.
For a double crust, I measure two cups of flour and sift into a bowl; cut in 1/2 cup of no-trans-fat Crisco; stir in 7 Tbsp of cold water just until blended and dough forms a ball. Divide dough in half. Roll out half on floured board or counter to fit 9 or 10 inch pie plate. Fill with desired filling. Roll out other half of dough and place on top. Crimp the edges together. Cut slits to allow steam to escape. Bake as directed. *I almost always make this recipe, either for a double crust pie or for two single crust pies. If I need a single crust I cut this recipe in half.
Yesterday, when I bought the raspberries, I realized I was going to have to use them right away. We've had an abundance of rain, which has left berries almost overripe on the vine. Once home I put one pint at a time in a strainer and placed the strainer in cold water to gently wash and pick over the berries. Then I spread the washed berries out on paper towels to drain while I washed the next pint. I'm not usually this careful but I didn't want to waste any of the fruit, and the careful handling meant very few berries had to be discarded.
I had other projects going on in the kitchen so I did something else I rarely do - I layered the berries in a bowl with sugar: 1/4 cup sugar, one-half of the berries, 1/4 cup sugar, one-half of the berries, topped with 1/4 cup sugar. Then I covered the bowl and left it one the counter. It was over an hour before I got back to the raspberries, which had started making juice. In another container I mixed 6 Tbsp of flour with 3 Tbsp of sugar, and then I gently folded that into the berries. I turned the fruit into a prepared pie plate, dotted with 1 Tbsp of butter cut into several small pieces, and topped with the second crust. The pie was supposed to bake at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, and then at 350 for 20-30 minutes longer. My oven, a convection oven that I still am learning to use, was already on so temps and times got confused. Follow the recommended time at each temperature, and check at 20 minutes to see if the crust is brown. Berry pies are done when the crust is done, unlike an apple pie where it matters if the apples are done, too.
I let the pie sit for a couple hours, to cool and gel a bit. Later, Ken and I enjoyed pie and ice cream. It was one of those culinary experiences where you hope you've discovered a bottomless pie plate and can enjoy raspberry pie until you've had your fill. Or, when you run out of pie, you hope you can find two more pints of raspberries. Or blueberries....
Before I share the recipe, let me share that making pies is my thing. For some reason I have always been able to make pie crust and turn out a delicious pie. I can make cookies, too, of the simple variety: chocolate chip, peanut butter, sugar, oatmeal. And while they taste good, my cookies vary in texture and size and taste from batch to batch. Cakes are another story altogether. As my family can verify, there is a 50-50 chance that a cake I bake will turn out the way it's supposed to. More often than not the cake tastes okay, but it rarely looks like the picture that accompanies the recipe. My husband has learned to ask for a birthday pie.I started making pies as a teen-ager. I pulled out my mother's Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook and followed the directions for a basic pie crust. I don't remember what kind of pie I first made, but it was a success so I used that pie crust recipe from then on. I now cut back on the shortening, and the crust is just as good.
For a double crust, I measure two cups of flour and sift into a bowl; cut in 1/2 cup of no-trans-fat Crisco; stir in 7 Tbsp of cold water just until blended and dough forms a ball. Divide dough in half. Roll out half on floured board or counter to fit 9 or 10 inch pie plate. Fill with desired filling. Roll out other half of dough and place on top. Crimp the edges together. Cut slits to allow steam to escape. Bake as directed. *I almost always make this recipe, either for a double crust pie or for two single crust pies. If I need a single crust I cut this recipe in half.
Yesterday, when I bought the raspberries, I realized I was going to have to use them right away. We've had an abundance of rain, which has left berries almost overripe on the vine. Once home I put one pint at a time in a strainer and placed the strainer in cold water to gently wash and pick over the berries. Then I spread the washed berries out on paper towels to drain while I washed the next pint. I'm not usually this careful but I didn't want to waste any of the fruit, and the careful handling meant very few berries had to be discarded.
I had other projects going on in the kitchen so I did something else I rarely do - I layered the berries in a bowl with sugar: 1/4 cup sugar, one-half of the berries, 1/4 cup sugar, one-half of the berries, topped with 1/4 cup sugar. Then I covered the bowl and left it one the counter. It was over an hour before I got back to the raspberries, which had started making juice. In another container I mixed 6 Tbsp of flour with 3 Tbsp of sugar, and then I gently folded that into the berries. I turned the fruit into a prepared pie plate, dotted with 1 Tbsp of butter cut into several small pieces, and topped with the second crust. The pie was supposed to bake at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, and then at 350 for 20-30 minutes longer. My oven, a convection oven that I still am learning to use, was already on so temps and times got confused. Follow the recommended time at each temperature, and check at 20 minutes to see if the crust is brown. Berry pies are done when the crust is done, unlike an apple pie where it matters if the apples are done, too.
I let the pie sit for a couple hours, to cool and gel a bit. Later, Ken and I enjoyed pie and ice cream. It was one of those culinary experiences where you hope you've discovered a bottomless pie plate and can enjoy raspberry pie until you've had your fill. Or, when you run out of pie, you hope you can find two more pints of raspberries. Or blueberries....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
