A Stellarlife

Grey's Anatomy Izzy Back with Heigl Baby, All My Children

2012-01-27T10:59:00.000-08:00

It is just darn sad when a stupid TV show ya love starts to die. I made fun of soap opera fans of All My Children when that show was halted. Now, I feel like I am watching the slow death of my favorite TV show, Grey's Anatomy.

Izzy, played by Katherine Heigl, left her husband, Alex, to dwindle into a sorry bag of "boring story line." Alex is played by Justin Chambers. (that's him at front in photo above) I saw Chambers in something on TV recently that was about 20 years old and he looked JUST THE SAME! He is a talented actor, paid his dues, and he deserves a good script---he deserves Izzy back. They never made sense together, but they were drawn to each other from the start--much like many real-life relationships.

Now, the main characters, Meredith and Derek finally got the baby they wanted to adopt. In real life, Katherine Heigl has her adopted Korean baby girl. Heigl's real sister is an adopted Korean and Heigl says she wanted her own children to mirror the family she grew up in. Shooting movies is hard on raising kids. A TV show like Grey's that has a daycare for Ellen Pompeo's mixed race baby is a perfect fit. And here is a big reason I love Grey's---so many races, gay people, all mixed together without a big deal made about it. THIS is where our world is headed and I LOVE it.

Watching TV shows from the '60s, well, it just didn't exist. GAY people didn't exist back then. Adoption was still spoken of in whispers! So, here is my idea: Izzy comes back and she either has an adopted baby or she and Alex adopt one. Alex has gotten so into children this past season, that needs to proceed somewhere.

This show started with a bang (including a TERRIFIC theme song--BRING THAT BACK) and should respect its viewers by going out with a bang. It can still take home some Emmys if Shonda Rhimes, the head writer and creator of Grey's, pulls it together.

Yeah, I'm wasting time on a TV show, but somebody just royally pissed me off about his comment regarding my MS...sooo, it would have made a post that would have really made YOU folks mad too and I am trying to not do that today.

Old People are Not Stupid, But When They Insult?

2012-01-26T12:13:00.000-08:00

Somebody just asked me, "Does your blog turn words into sign language for deaf people?" (You can't make this up.)

AND, last week a guy was spouting off in dining room about how power chairs are Medicare scams, "...they just don't want to exercise."

Sigh, so much I could have said...these people are old, but I have know MANY "old" people and old does NOT equal STUPID.

Should I have chewed them out? Should I have responded calmly? I just ignored and kept eating, wasn't in the fighting mood. But...can't get it out of my mind.

Grey's Anatomy Needs Heigl, Izzy and Alex to Get Together

2012-01-24T02:19:00.000-08:00

Katherine Heigl has told the 'ladies of' " The "View" that she would go back to Grey's Anatomy if asked.

Three days ago a friend stopped by and asked if I had heard the rumor that Izzy was returning to Mercy Grace. So, it seems the line has been wormed and now we GA lovers must wait and see if the show's writers will write Izzy back into our life and Alex's.

The show has been floundering ever since the characters of George and Izzy left. George died. But, Izzy just left and if the writers want to keep this show alive and off life support, then BRING IZZY BACK!

SERIOUSLY!

Fighting About Graham Crackers and Lasting Love Advice

2012-01-23T00:02:00.000-08:00

Okay, so now that I have been in a happy relationship (one vote away from a possible marriage) for almost 33 years, I feel I can thrust some "happy married couple" wisdom, and/or anecdotes on others. I thought some of you might be curious about what we fight, IE, argue about.

Last night it was graham crackers. I requested a graham cracker cookie (I see the irony here, clearly they are not cookies, but to me they will always be cookies.) with peanut butter on one side and cream cheese on the other. Simple, no? (glad you agree with me so far)

The questions came back, "One or two?" I replied, a bit startled since why would I have two? I never have had two in 32 years! (uh-oh, lost my sentence...) "What? One. Why would you ask that?" (Ok, right there. Mistake. Never ask a partner why they ask something. Duh---because they want to KNOW. My bad.)

"Sometimes you want a quarter." (WTF? A quarter? Maybe she didn't hear me. I better start over and speak slower.) (EEERK! WRONG! Never repeat something slower, it comes off as condescending. My bad.)

"I want one cracker, tear in two, cream cheese on one side, peanut butter on other. Then, you know, put them together. What do you mean a QUARTER?" (Uh-oh, she is now stomping into the living room.)

Holding up a cookie, er, cracker, she says in her "you are in trouble, sister"--voice: "This is the cracker and it is in fours. You see?" (such a condescending voice)

"Well, yeah, if you hold it like that! Don't you see the middle line? So, you think it is eighths!?"

I'll stop here, it sounds silly now. But if you hold a Honey Made graham cracker, and look at it, you will see the pattern and one full length cookie is two together. Anyway, the fight went on for what seemed forever, at least fifteen minutes. Neither of us care much for math, 1/8s and so on, so it was very unpleasant. And yes, it eventually made us laugh hysterically, as our fights usually do.

We have an unspoken rule: We never fight in public. Never.

Maybe that is our 'secret' to lasting relationships---we are lovers and laughers, not fighters.

The Dog World of a Child Without Friends

2012-01-22T00:40:00.000-08:00

While I have mentioned before my imaginary friends and the whole Ken, Barbie, G.I. Joe love triangle dealy, all the great past times of kids without peers, I have never told you about my dog world. The time has come.

No trite admittal, nay, this is an insight into my childhood mind---a reflective journey I enjoy taking, unfortunately, whenever I attempt to explain it to others I can barely get three sentences in before breaking out in gut wrench, side busting, tear flowing laughter. Perhaps that is a flaw of some nature in me, but I crack myself up. In fact, I often wake myself or my partner in the night with my own laughter, while sound asleep. Okay, onward---the dogs.

They were about an inch high, plastic, single color, indented where fur belonged. A German Shepard (they had no names, which seems odd now...) who was very handsome and strong, fearless and always prepared to do battle. He was decent. He was a great defender of those less fortunate, like the small wiener dog, er, I mean, Dachshund. Whenever the Bulldog tried to bully the Dachshund, there was Shep (I just made that name up) to save him.

Aunt Violet bought me a new dog or two almost every time we visited the store that sold these small plastic dogs, all of which came in cute, small, boxes. I had an entire city of dogs.

The yellow Lab was quite a handsome dog, a lover not a fighter, though the bulldog never messed with Wiener in Lab's presence. Shep and Lab hung out, just talking about life and all was well in town until SHE came. The Collie. With beautiful, flowing blond head of hair, well, Shep and Lab were immediately interested. For all his bravado, Shep was a bit shy of the females. In fact, he and Poodle rarely spoke. Poodle wanted Shep bad, but Lab would have done, but he never paid her the slightest attention. When Collie came to town---all Heck broke lose.

Collie seemed to favor Lab. They liked to take walks together and both wanted puppies one day. Something must have snapped in Shep, because he started getting very passive-aggressive towards Lab. One day Shep saw Collie kiss Lab, their noses nudging again and again.

An anger grew in Shep. He began knocking Wiener over when they would pass. He tried to pick a fight with the St. Bernard. Shep even barked quite roughly to Terrier, for no reason at all. Finally he could stand himself no longer. He was in love with Collie and she would be his.

Lab was just sleeping when Shep attacked and Lab was hurt so bad that he had to be carried by St. B to the hospital. It was touch and go, no one knew who would do such a thing to easy-going Lab and Collie was in tears. She had fallen deeply in love with Lab. He just COULDN'T die now!

"You did it, I know you did, " Terrier said to Shep. Shep growled at him, but Terrier did not back down. "The truth will come out and Collie will NEVER want you now." Shep stepped back.

He knew it was true, plus, Lab had been his best friend. How could he ever make things right again? He sought out Boxer. Boxer was wise, he had served in the war, traveled the world.
"I am ashamed of you, Shep," Boxer said in a deep voice worn by age and too many beers with cigars, "the dogs respected you. You were our leader. What if we are attacked by the wolves now? Will they follow you into battle? You tried to kill your best friend over a COLLIE! "

Lab came too after a few days. Collie was by his side to lick his wounds back to health.

Well, there you have it. The story went on for years. Eventually Lab and Collie were married and had 5 puppies. Shep and Poodle tied the collar. The dogs beat off an attack by the wolves.

Is it strange that I remember their lives in such detail? (more detail than I can tell with laughing to death) Hmmmm

Chatty Cathy Where Did You Go? Told I'm Old

2012-01-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

Sitting here thinking about how old I am.

This must be what old people do. That's right, I said it. You think not? Check it out:

My body is decomposing before my eyes. There is starting to be more of me all around me than of me. Huh? My skin is coming off, little by little, hour by hour. My hair falls out and leaves bald spots. My eyes seep. My ears are spitting out some ear stuff. I use the toilet more, so my insides are leaving too. And the noises.

My body makes noises of an old bicycle. It creaks, it cracks, and it lets out these SIGHS whenever I sit or stand or reach or ___. S I G H OOMMPF UHHH

My face is growing things, stuff---bumps, patches, hair where I don't need hair.

And I want to start drinking hard liquor. I have the urge to do stuff I never did before. Tick tock, tick tock. The sands of time are running out, instead of me running on the sands.

My mail is from AARP, Medicare, Adult diaper salesmen. My magazine rack holds AARP Mag, The Guide to Medicare, The Vermont Country Store, and Adult diaper catalogs.

Not only do I not know who Snookie is, I don't care. Justin Timberlake looks like a little boy. Gunsmoke reruns are a staple and I keep saying, "Oh, darn, it's a repeat." ('cause it says "repeat" on the TV guide--DUH)

What? You are experiencing the same things? Come with me. For me, color TV was once an impossibility. Thirty minute 'TV Dinners' was Jetson FAST. And soooo delicious.

Chatty Cathy was 'high tech,' and a man on the moon was sci-fi. You stuck your hand in a candy jar in a store and no one thought a thing about it. There were no helmets or seat belts, unless you were in a tank. Sonic booms were a big thrill. HUGE.

Newspapers were a must have. Even poor people had them. And we didn't throw them away after reading. SO MUCH they were used for, especially wrapping food and if you ran out of toilet paper.

Every family had family in the war or just out. A WORLD WAR.

My favorite game was the Sears catalog. Close eyes, next player turns to a page, you must blindly let your finger drop on...A BRA!!! Many laughs!! OR, a puppy! YEA! Jackpot.

We didn't have Google, we had a thing called "Library." And our search engine was in the basement---boxes of old papers. No "cut and paste" it was "tear and hammer." OR, we relied heavily on a wonderful must-have: THE PENCIL.

Anyway...I'm just sitting here thinking about how old I am and why the skin UNDER my knees is wrinkling...

Solving Your Multiple Sclerosis Problems

2012-01-19T00:06:00.000-08:00

Of course there will be many problems that I can't cover in a short blog post, but I'll tackle a few that I read repeatedly on line.

"I just got my diagnosis of MS. Is that Jerry's Kid?" Seriously, I just read that recently. Now, over twenty years ago, I thought the same thing when I heard "MS." Just goes to show you the power of TV and disease awareness. How about that Montel hosting a marathon? I digress.

The problem here is with doctors who do not know enough about MS. If your doctor, and I hope your doctor who tells you that it is MS is a neurologist, does not offer enough information that you wonder about Jerry Lewis, you need a better doctor. You should leave the office with written documents explaining all about MS. (Especially if you go alone. Your mind may go blank after hearing you don't have a brain tumor--YAY--or hearing you have a disease with no cure.)

"How do I know when what I feel is a relapse or just a passing fancy?" This was very difficult for me. I had waited a few years longer than I should have to see a doctor about my foot drop, eye stars, numb body parts, blah blah; so, I was used to significant strange body malfunctions happening and then just going back to normal. Maybe I sat in the hot bath water too long. That can cause a pseudo-exacerbation. How do I know??

Simple solution: you deal with what might be causing your symptom and see if it goes away. Get out of the bath, splash cold water, take aspirin to lower your body temperature. Many of my symptoms in the beginning years were closely led or followed by the common cold symptoms. If dealing with the underlying condition does not resolve your issue---get thee to your doctor.

Unfortunately, it is not always so simple. Don't take this on by yourself. This is why God made doctors who specialize in MS. Call, email (My Dr., in the early years, emailed long before others began the practice and now I think fewer do so. Our loss., and it seems a growing trend to is let "MS Specialists" usually a nurse, drug company flunky,health care aide, or social worker handle all the worries of MS Newbies) or visit your doctor's office and let them figure it out. Truth be told, only a MRI keeping close tabs on you, could really say for sure. But I say---what does it matter?!

Anytime your body is not operating as it should, you must respond to it. I discovered that waiting a few days, or even a week, doesn't seem to matter. So, time will answer your question. I don't like them calling any acting up of MS "pseudo" because that implies fake or unimportant. WE know it is neither. If it is still an issue after a week, you are having a relapse. I am not a doctor, so YOUR doctor may have his/her own time frame---but the old "take two aspirin and call me in the morning" and "...if you make it through the night," well, notice how the common element is TIME. Some things are just not able to be judged without time. Get used to it. TIME is a huge part of everything MS-related. Patience is a virtue you must cultivate if you have MS.

"Should I tell my boss at my job?" There is a certain 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' when it comes to illnesses like MS (ones that can lead to disability and the ADA, Americans with Disabilities Act). That decision must be all yours, but I told everyone I knew. Why? Because MS is better handled with friends and family to back you up, lift you up in spirit and sometimes body. My co-workers were fantastic and you can't ask for ADA protection if you don't let your job know that you have a disease like MS. If you ever need to apply for Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI), there will be a form with a question about how you WERE compared to how you ARE. The sooner your job sees how you WERE in the beginning, the better they can compare how you now can not do your job. Oh, I hear some of you---I thought just like you: I am NOT, I CAN NOT lose my job! Yep, and thanks to the ADA I was able to work full time with MS for over fifteen years. YOU may never have to quit your job. Remember the 50/50 deal---50% of people who have MS will never need a wheelchair and they will lead very normal lives. Hooray! Your boss will think you are terrific, strong and the best thing since hot dog buns. And if you DO become too disabled to work, then you have started your documentation early. Hooray!

"No one will want to date me now!" Are you not watching Glee? Viva La Difference---being not normal is IN right now. Meredith Vieira (host of Today Show, The View, Millionaire, and originally a damn fine journalist) went on the first date with her husband of many years and he said within the first hour, "I have MS." She didn't care. That is the kind of person you want. Life is short. Take the leap. Meet people at MS support groups, the grocery, coffee shops, DOCTOR WAITING ROOMS---put yourself out there. dating has never been for the weak. Just never give up. I see 90-year olds hitting on people all the time, ok, I live in a retirement/assisted living home, but you get my point.

"My life is not what I want!" Uh-hem, SPOILER ALERT---few lives are what we planned. That is what makes them so precious. You should be thanking your lucky stars that you are alive. Life is a gift. Keep reminding yourself of that. Hang posters, cut out inspiration quotes, GET CONNECTED. Face Book is FULL of people with MS and all their many inspirational comments, photos---you name it. What a change from when I was DXed in 1990. Make a list of what you want to do with your life. Put on your Gumby and be flexible. There is NOTHING you can't do, just know that you may need to do it differently than you imagined.

Okay, follow my suggestions and maybe some of your problems can be solved. Look, you only get one life. EVERYBODY will have obstacles and unpleasantness tossed in their path. And you may have noticed that my solutions are true for many of life's bumps, twists, and turns. You are not alone. (Keep reading and searching on line for MS advice, tips, funny stories, blogs, hospitals, research centers, journals, articles, you have much to learn---I know I do!)

To conclude: Find a quality doctor.
Improve your overall health habits.
Be patient.
Don't go it alone.
Never give up on love.
Never give up on you.
Bend, but don't break.
Carry inspiration in your pocket.

In the words of Helen Keller, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

Multiple Sclerosis: The Perfect Crime

2012-01-17T09:04:00.000-08:00

There it sits in a dusty cardboard box, "MS." No dates, because no one is certain when the crime against so many people began.

Deaths, suffering, suicides, all somehow related to MS. But who done it? How? Why?

Many theories, but all the detectives are stumped, after one hundred years still stumped.

When new clues arise, off go the detectives, trying their best to enlist those on the inside. Cells, veins, gray matter, white matter, what it matter? Leads always end up back to same question: Who done it?

Suspects are plentiful. They are questioned over many years, but to no avail. Some are jailed, but released when new technologies prove them innocent. Perhaps there is a gang, working together to accomplish all the attacks. The authorities spread out their search across the world...still---case open.

Who? Why? When? Where? How? Still baffling us all. Still can't be stopped. The perfect crime.

Golden Globes Big Secret Seattle Reverses Aging

2012-01-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

Just when I think I've heard everything, which is of course, impossible, unless I lose my hearing, I happen along this: "Advertorial."

An "advertorial" is an advertisement in the written like an editorial. The term "advertorial" is a portmanteau of "advertisement" and "editorial." Yes, I guessed so, but had to look it up. Lo and Behold, it has been a word in Webster's since 1946. Oh, and a "portmanteau," well, like smog---smoke and fog morphed together. See, sounds freaky to imagine smoke all around our outdoors, smog sounds doable.

An advertorial is apparently "making the news in Seattle." (Why they picked Seattle, I haven't a clue. Probably in Boston, it is "making the news in Boston.") Seems a woman of 52 has found the secret to look 27 in a few weeks. There she is, before and after.

Ok, first of all, if I looked that wrinkled at 52 I would be seeing a doctor. Ridiculous. I look like the after and I'm 55. Second, don't say she is from Seattle. Nobody in Seattle looks like that at 52. Our mist, clean air, fresh foods, plentiful fish, Hot Yoga and sushi bars---wrong city to pick.
Maybe if she just moved here from Las Vegas, only living in a desert could wrinkle anyone up that much, plus lots of cigarette smoking, and too much food from the free casino buffets. Not Seattle.

Third, there are few women who look as wrinkled as the after photo at 27. And why 27? Does 26 or 28 look vastly different from 27? Insane.

Insane and yet I read it. I was curious. Oh yes, hurry, there is a "free" trial of some sort to sign up for. Those behind this product will no doubt make millions. Seriously, ethics in our world are so smothered that they are all but smead. Advertising is still full of silies. And suckerabies are still born every minute.

Case in point: I thought the Golden Globes were live and all winners a big secret, unlike the big fat commercial People's Choice Awards. Well, they slipped last night. At one of the last commercial breaks the announcer says, "...watch history be made in comedy..." (something to that effect) I said, "Hey, NYU film grad partner (something to that effect) , did you hear that?!! He just gave away the winner! It will be "The Artist," first French film...I bet, MY GAWD. They just TOLD the winner!!" (NYU grad didn't hear the announcer.) Indeed it was The Artist that won "Best Picture, Comedy." DOH!

Now I will always wonder how advertorial the Golden Globes show is.

***Smead=smothered plus dead
***Silies=silly plus lies
***Suckerabies=sucker plus babies

Love Song to Make Baby By, But Not To Live By

2012-01-11T12:16:00.000-08:00

My father left my mother the day I was born. (Even though he had a mistress for at least 3 years before, since his daughter with her was 2 years older than I.) I wondered what song was #1 during my conception. Here it is by Elvis, how ironic.

"Love me tender,
love me sweet,
never let me go.
You have made my life complete,
and I love you so.

Love me tender,
love me true,
all my dreams fulfill.
For my darlin' I love you,
and I always will.

Love me tender,
love me long,
take me to your heart.
For it's there that I belong,
and we'll never part.

Love me tender,
love me true,
all my dreams fulfill.
For my darlin' I love you,
and I always will.

Love me tender,
love me dear,
tell me you are mine.
I'll be yours through all the years,
till the end of time.

Love me tender,
love me true,
all my dreams fulfill.
For my darlin' I love you,
and I always will.

(When at last my dreams come true
Darling this I know
Happiness will follow you
Everywhere you go). '

How Your Heart Can Change Your Mind: Gay Marriage In Seattle

2012-01-07T08:24:00.000-08:00

After 32 years, I am afraid to hope. A roof top patio has been offered. I'm considering Skyping in our ceremony to a minister, maybe allowing a bunch of friends to Skype in...a new age. Maybe a live band...I know people and this IS Seattle. Oh dear, wedding planning stress is already pressing me. Partner got GREAT news yesterday about her recent health problem. Another story of mine is going to be published. Life is good; somebody pinch me.

Washington state's Governor Chris Gregoire announced that she not only supports gay and lesbians to marry, but will also propose legislation to legalize it.

She explains:

"It's right here [points to heart] that frees me up to do this. I have not liked where I've been for seven years. I have sorted it out in my head and in my heart. I have been on my own journey. I will admit that. It has been a battle for me with my religion. I have always been uncomfortable with the position that I have taken publicly. And then I came to realize the religions can decide what they want to do but it is not OK for the state to discriminate. When someone asks me about my marriage to Mike, I don't tell them I have a contract with legal rights. I don't even think about that. What I say is I love my husband. I'm in a 36-year committed relationship. … That's what marriage really means to human beings. They (gays and lesbians) have to have the same ability to say it's love, it's commitment, it's partnership, it's responsibility. It's not a contract. They want to be able to stand in front of their friends and express their love just like Mike and I did 36-plus years ago. To deny that equality is just wrong."

And My 2012 MS Journey Begins with ...

2011-12-31T06:41:00.000-08:00

Okay, I meant to post that last post today, end of the year positive send off and all. Now THIS happened. (fake frowny face)

This morning at 6:15AM, I walked (with my walker) three steps out and three steps back. I am over the moon!

Seriously, I don't "do it up" on New Years Eve, when I was younger, twenties, but no more. Always thought that was just the natural way of things, until I moved into a retirement home with a community of 70-103 year olds. Now THEY like to party! I'll have to take a photo of the recycle bin FULL of booze bottles. (Is wine booze? I don't drink.) My Aunt Violet, who lived to 103, used to have a shot of whiskey every night. I used to call my mom and Aunt Vi at midnight every year after I moved away from home. Now...eh. Maybe each year was always too full of some health crisis. In Jan. my partner begins anew her breast tumor journey. I guess I am in no hurry for all that. But, today I got a gift. I walked sturdy and strong.

During this week I also believe I may have found a publisher for a short story about my move into this retirement community. Very exciting stuff. Really, I am feeling over the moon! This is how one should feel on New Years Eve---full of hope and wanting to celebrate the wonderful possibilities that lie ahead.

While I am not into resolutions, I will share with you my big goals for 2012: Finish my book. Walk more and more. Stay strong through whatever health crisis arrive. Bring more friends over to visit. Re-elect Obama.

This will keep me very busy. I apologize now if I don't pay enough attention to my blog or yours. Believe me, I will be thinking of all of you. And I thank all of you who have supported me along my day's journeys. Peace and remember: NEVER GIVE UP.

Find Happiness with Chronic Illness and Disability

2011-12-31T00:07:00.000-08:00

Chronic illness, disability---powerful words that few use. Since I have a MS blog and a "Chronic Illness 100 List," I tend to read and use these words a lot. Believe, more than I ever dreamed I would.

By the end of our life's journey (and a shout-out to modern medical science, er, did anyone ever mention that quality might be more important than quantity?) most of us will use these words.

Perhaps it is just verbiage, just garbage, to describe the downs of life. Life is full of ups and downs. As I like to say, such is life. And while it is human nature to want to be happy, our instincts tell us that we must be well, not ill, to be happy. Perhaps. I am just too impatient for the rainbow to show me a pot of gold. I will be happy NOW.

How do we do that with illness lighting the way to a bleak outcome? First we must realize the final outcome fore everyone, man, woman, and animal alike, is death. Clearly you and I are not dead yet, so it appears we some time left to search for happiness and find it. Simple? Difficult? Only you can answer that. I choose happiness. Though I fight my fears, which are many, it just seems life without happiness is as worthless as a Newt Gingrich nickle.

See? That made me happy. Laughter makes me feel happy. I like to laugh at this crazy life-thing and I like to laugh at myself. Once I signed up for a stand-up comedy course. My cane joke flopped like a pissed off trout on the hook. NEXT.

"Next." Now that is one great word. It shows there is always something out there to try on your chosen happiness path. "I TOLD you I was sick." We have seen that on tombstones. Somebody got the last laugh. I love it.

There are so MANY healthy people out there. Some of the saddest people I know. Now, I do NOT believe "when you have your health you have everything," biggest lie on the planet, but it certainly can make a quest for happiness easier.

My hope is that this blog and my stories herein, have given you a laugh or two along the way. That thought makes me happy. NEXT!

MEN: Secret Revealed to the Woman QUESTION

2011-12-29T09:12:00.000-08:00

Yes, I said "win." You men know what I am talking about. (LGTBs can take note too.)

It is all about THE QUESTION, and your answer: "Do I look fat?"

Now, this may be slipped into another conversation, in the hope that it will be 'missed' for what it is. Women may also attempt to camouflage it with, "Do I look fat in this?" Or, the real time bomb, "Do I look like I'm gaining weight?"

The correct answer is NO. Always NO. Not sometimes, but always "no." And DO NOT hesitate, not for a second. Practice this if you have found the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with. It may be shot at you from close range or far away, so never let your guard down when you hear the question. Even after 30 years of marriage, one day...when you least expect it...BAM!

The incorrect response can never be taken back. And after you screw it up, there is no getting out. No matter if you had ear wax build up and missed the moment, no matter if she is as thin as the day you met her, no matter if you have gained much more weight than she has---NOTHING WILL MATTER. Logic and rational observations will go unheard. Don't try to explain that women were built to gain weight as time goes by. Don't bring up Venus or Raphael or how "during the 1600s" JUST DON'T. You have entered the zone of illogical. You have been femaly-busted.

Should you fail be swept into the, "But, you MUST tell me. You are my spouse, my best friend, who else can I ask!? Please, please, I WANT to know." Should you not follow my advice and order a dozen red roses the next day, then you see all is well again. Remember the theme music from Jaws? Da dum. Da dum. Da Dum DaDumDaDumDaDum---it WILL come out of the water again when you least expect it.

Just say, "no." Smooth, glance at her and say 'no' within the same second.

(If she is pregnant, it is okay to acknowledge her body changes, but only with many hugs and kisses.)

I Don't Like Holidays

2011-12-27T05:26:00.000-08:00

I just realized I don't like holidays much. I prefer the routine of day to day action.

Day After Christmas, Merry Men Beware

2011-12-26T00:01:00.000-08:00

Now Christmas Day is over. This is what we call our "Ahhh Day."

All the stuff from the holiday is put away. Our tree comes down (our tradition, calm down, it goes UP early in Nov. )

When else is the word "merry" used as much as on Christmas? I am merried out. How merry can one blogger be!? I am happy to be alive, that is good enough for me.

Our favorite gifts are received and let the play begin! CALENDARS! We both love to plan and organize. The movie of choice is "Rise," something about monkeys, ala, Planet of the Apes.

Ahhh...the big day is over. So quiet outside, so peaceful.

Ahhh

Christmas Eve Magic, Movies, Laughter, Memories

2011-12-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

So the Eve is upon us. Nothing says Christmas Eve life a good holiday movie. Tonight we shall watch "Prancer." If you have never seen it, you should. If you have kids, they will love it. If you get all woozy over hunka-hunka men, you'll love it. Sam Elliott's voice rivals them all. No, we're not poor! We have apples! Apple pie, apple jam, apple bread, angrier and angrier with each clip of an apple branch from his tree. Classic story about the magic of Christmas.

Or you can go old school with "It's a Wonderful Life." Whenever you feel down about yourself, when you have done your best and come up short---watch this movie.

I have had many years of family Christmas Eve's, ones that can NEVER be matched, for that I am very grateful. No matter where life takes me or I take it, those Christmas Eve's will never leave me. Good job, Mom; Well Done, Aunt Vi.

Christmas Eve: Magical, Exciting, Family, Friends, Joy, Laughter

We all can use more of all that!

Finding the Meaning and Seeking Happiness

2011-12-23T00:05:00.000-08:00

We had a 'flu bug' or something akin to that at in my retirement community abode this month. It is pretty much gone now, but when you are in your 90s, the effects can last long.

My term as president of the resident council here is over Jan.1; I am not unhappy. It was a good run and I enjoyed it very much, but it was a great responsibility and I'm ready to concentrate on my writing.

Last month a magazine bought one of my blog posts about MS. This was a surprise and quite humbling. I expected it to appear in the Jan. issue, but it was in the Dec. issue, so I didn't really get a chance to give it the proper promotion. The editor says there may be a next time, so I will be on the ball then. While I have been often, over the years, contacted by drug companies and medical devices to allow them to advertise on my blog, I have turned that down and will continue to do so. Big Pharma and I are not friends, in fact I told off one rep.big time, he said, "I read your blog often and..." so I had to counter that if he had IN FACT done so he would KNOW I would have no interest in his money for my blog space. I am very experienced in saying, "Go to Hell," in a nice way. (I must have some Southern Belle in me.)

Writing about MS has become a responsibility. But, I am, as they say, torn between two lovers, my blog and my book. Anything published before the book, is good for my street cred, so I must begin my balancing act. If my finger holds up, well, we shall see.

Christmas is a responsibility, the holidays, whichever you celebrate or if you celebrate none---a responsibility if taken seriously. Rip away the decorations, the symbols, the credit card debt, the greeting cards, the food, and somewhere in there is the true meaning (as Linus would tell you), which we all must find and emphasize. THAT is the goal of a happy holiday---finding its purpose, filling your life with its meaning and intent.

Reflection is more important to me than celebration. When crowds are cheering the end of a war, I am reflecting. There is responsibility in reflection, one must question, seek truth, act on the path ahead.

Many dicker about which holiday to speak of, which holiday will be theirs, exactly how others should act---I am a practicing inclusionist, and that is the greatest balancing act around. But have I something better to do? Am I so important that I can't take the time required to seek such balance? My answer is no. In fact, I believe it is my mission as a human being. We are a world of many different minds, thoughts, beliefs and I wouldn't want it any other way.

My wish is that everyone would slow down, seek truth, enjoy the journey with others, and in so doing will find where happiness lives. Then, proceed there as best you can.

Rite of Passage Santa Photos

2011-12-22T00:09:00.000-08:00

Here are photos of my partner with her older sister, and me for the absolutely necessary "photo with Santa." As you can see, neither of us gave a hoot's hoot about Santa.

Since neither of us have any other such photos, we can only presume this fulfilled our parent's desires.

My fancy attire makes me think that my great-aunt Violet was behind the Santa connection. That Ft. Wayne Santa was a hometown favorite. He was on the job for many years. My partner's looks like a Detroit auto worker looking for a few extra bucks. My Santa sat on a throne, hers...not so much. Plus, her pic looks like a quickie, no coats even removed. She remembers trying to walk away, Santa grabbing her tightly by the arm.

Neither of us feared those Santa's, just found them boring.

In future years I would stand far away and peer at my peers on Santa's lap. I just didn't get it. Of course my ornery older brothers blew away the Santa myth when I was very young, so it all was such a huge adult conspiracy that my mind could not wrap around. "Don't lie." Yet, there the grown-ups were, lie after lie. Flying deer, fat men down thin chimneys, etc., etc., but the baby JESUS---not that was the truth? I spent a lot of Christmas time looking at grown-ups and wondering if they were not from UFOs. (Which ALL agreed existed!)

Santa Claus, your North Pole digs,

Your flying deer, your many wigs,

How dare you put me on your lap?

What I WANT is to be done with this crap.

Ho Ho Ho

Gifts: Cry, Laugh, Tis The Season

2011-12-21T00:08:00.000-08:00

Above is a photo of a Christmas gift I gave to a friend. "Tired Old Ass Salts." Useful, yet whimsical, it mad for a good laugh in my retirement community!

Gifts are often just a potshot, you hit and sometimes you miss. When I was not yet 5 years old, Santa (my mom, older brothers blow such fibs pretty quickly and with great pleasure), left a HUGE box for me. What on earth could be inside? My mom seemed more excited about than I was, must be good!

I opened it up, needed mom's help in pulling it out, YAAAAAAA!! I started screaming bloody murder. I was terrified at what I could only describe as a witch! Frightening hair sticking straight up! My brothers started laughing, always fast to take pleasure in my fear, and mom had the most upset look on her face.

"Look," she began as she pulled IT out, "it's a dog! And see, you can comb its hair."

With tears rolling down my shaking face, all I could think was, "That is NO dog *I* have ever seen!" and "COMB IT? I can't even see any eyes! Where would I begin?!" It was meant to be a shaggy sheepdog with long brown hair, fun for a child to comb. Thus would begin my (according to the laughter and dismay that I know this post will bring from my partner) apparently difficult nature to buy a gift for that I don't think: What the Hell were they thinking?

Again, no point in my showing examples, gifts are all about the thought and all are given, well, 99% are, with the intent to please me...I'll leave it at that. The shaggy dog is not a good example because in that case it was all about the presentation. Once I found they eyes, it was fun to comb him.

My poor partner, so often she hears, "Have you EVER in ___years SEEN me wearing___?" I'm sure I am particularly hard on gift-givers because I consider myself especially adept at giving good gifts, presentation et al. No one will deny that. Aunt Vi taught me about finding the perfect gift and she was the Guru.

To wit: One year I ordered a very expensive perfume for partner. It arrived. I wrapped it beautifully. On Christmas morning she opened it, "THERE is the body wash I've been waiting for?!" Yep, I didn't know $2.99 soap from $199 perfume. (My order hadn't gone through and she had been waiting for her soap, er, body wash) (GIRLS. I can get soap for 99 CENTS---I digress)

Oh, oh, oh, and one year when Aunt Vi was in her 90s, I bought her a very fancy perfume in a very fancy container, a skater danced around, music played when opened...she didn't seem too thrilled. Many months later I would learn that neither she nor my mother could figure out how to use it, so it sat in its box. My brother finally got in working for her. Like I say, sometimes you hit, sometimes you miss.

Now that I have less money to spend: presentation, presentation, presentation.

Any funny gift experiences you've had?

The Christmas Cookie Fight

2011-12-20T00:09:00.000-08:00

My partner and I rarely, "fight," as a matter of fact when we DO, we remember. Such was our unforgettable "Christmas Cookie Fight."

Her family was coming to our apartment for the holiday visit. She was very excited. Me? Not so much. You see, her parents never liked me. Now, I can (and will, a few) give you some reasons why I know this, but some of you will feel I am biased or just too sensitive, so be it. The fact is they wanted me out of her life from the day they met me and every year after. When I was diagnosed with MS, they hoped that would soon end our "fling." (That was 11 years into our relationship.) After I was diagnosed with cancer, they could not hide their hopes for a final chance for their daughter's freedom. (That was 16 years in.) But, darn, if I didn't just keep hanging around as long as they lived.

When we first got together, they brought a surprise guest to our first meal out with them---a young man they thought had dated their daughter in the past and he would certainly remove my spell over her. They sat him between her and I. Diane was not pleased. Diane's family LOVED their daughter and within months we would move to MY state. They were not pleased, but message received. I would not tolerate such childish theatrics from two adult, liberal-minded (as long as it wasn't THEIR daughter, no, my FIL was cool, but the MIL lost all her hair after her daughter finally said the words, "I'm gay, Mom," and she then refused to speak to my partner for many months. Sigh. Over the years they would try other things to cause friction between us, but to no avail. They never gave up until their daughter became very ill and so did they---I was looking pretty good then. (25 years in)

And also making a rare appearance would be my partner's only sibling, her older sister, with her husband and two daughters. In a nutshell, the former hippie sister couldn't stand me either, but her issues were many and far beyond just me---she kept her girls from her parents and us. They were discouraged using psychological means, I still doubt the sister knew what she was doing, but it was a harsh blow to the grandparents and to us. Now they are far, far, away from us in spirit. The kids only know of us what they have heard, and those few holiday visits where one or both of us were ill. Back to the cookies.

We decided to bake cookies. I think *I* decided it, since I doubt my partner had baked cookies on her own in her life. Regardless, when it came time to decorate them, all hell broke loose.

Now, there is NO question that my partner is the artistic one. She is gifted at drawing, painting, graphic designing, and we, er, disagreed at how the cookies should be iced. We had them baked, cooled, laid out on our large table with all the production necessities about, very organized as we both are. It was an hour before the family was to arrive---what could go wrong?

Let me stop right here. One Christmas (20 years in), at the sister's house, the parents gave everyone a gift but me. Now, look, I couldn't care less about such childish slights, but what angered the heck out of me was their total ignorance about what such behaviour was doing to hurt their daughter! So MANY times I wanted to tell them just that--it is NOT me you are hurting, it is your daughter you profess to love so dearly! But I always kept my mouth shut and so did she. In fact, keeping her mouth shut, holding in her anger, is a trademark of my partner's.
She is the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever encountered, to a fault as *I* believe one must let it OUT. The only time I had ever seen her let out anger was over... popcorn. Yes, we were sitting after a movie had ended, reading every last credit as we do, when the cleaner-uppers start walking in front of our view. I said to the one moving in FRONT of my legs, "The movie has not ended yet. It would be nice if you would wait until we are out to..." He interrupted me with a smart aleck, "EXCUUUSE ME."

When we left, still holding my not quite finished popcorn, I asked to speak to the manager, a woman about 25 (as were we) and she acted rude. Holy 16MM! The next thing I knew my partner was FLYING over the counter at the mgr.! I had to haul all 110lbs of her flailing body off the counter, away from the frightened mgr., and out the door, PLUS she was shouting the entire time! SHOCKING. I loved it. My protector. That still makes us laugh hysterically, so not like her.

The NYU film school director in her came out 45 minutes before her family was to arrive and our love/joy/happy-happy faces had to go on---she did NOT like the way I was decorating the cookies; and my Irish Aries with Mars rising temper took great exception to her choice of where the sprinkles should go! We raised our voices, started yelling, slapping icing here and there (see end product above) and then it happened.

Only in movies and on the sidewalk to the home for the mentally ill on Capitol Hill in Seattle have I ever seen such a RED face. It looked like her entire head was about to explode! "Knock-Knock"
The family had arrived.

Well, the show must go on, we quickly pulled ourselves together and opened the door with the most jolly, "HI!" you would ever dream to hear. Just hysterical when we replay that moment now. And most of the cookies were eaten, no questions asked. But, seriously, just LOOK at those sorry-ass cookies. I'm pretty sure the cat was my doing.

The Christmas Tree Skirt

2011-12-19T06:45:00.000-08:00

Above is a photo of my Christmas tree skirt. Aunt Violet made that for me when she was in her 90s and almost blind. It took her many months and she wrapped in, then mailed it over 2,000 miles to get to me. Christmas will never be the same without her, of course that is always true---a day can never be the same, but for my cousins still left who celebrated Christmas with Aunt Vi, we all feel a special angel is gone.

Actually it was Christmas Eve when Aunt Vi held the big party. Relatives flew in, drove in and walked in, strangers arrived too, but Aunt Vi knew us all. I think anyone who showed up would have been and felt welcomed. So many people!

Aunt Vi and her longtime companion, Ivah, were baking, cooking, and wrapping presents for days in advance. Their large, entire top floor of their house was immaculate with holiday decorations everywhere, many made by their hands. I loved to watch them prepare for the Eve, and I loved to count all the wrapped presents kept in waiting on Aunt Vi's bed. To a child, it was truly a MOUNTAIN of presents. Nobody, even the surprise guest, would go away without at least one wrapped gift.

The food was absolutely perfect and another mountain! No stomach would not be filled. Fresh baked pies, cakes, cookies, along with a turkey or ham, mashed potatoes, and many choices of booze!

Santa often arrived. There were always kids. Laughter indeed FILLED the house. No fighting, no awkward relative meetings, just joy and fun. Before night's end, Aunt Vi would drive us downtown to watch the lighting of a big Santa and sleigh display above our biggest deptartment store! That was Christmas Eve with Aunt Vi.

Christmas day was spent with my family unit of Mom, two older brothers, and me. Mom's big day to cook, She made us each our own little cornish hen! It seemed like a miracle that I would have an entire hen to MYSELF! Then we opened presents from Mom. I knew that some years Aunt Vi was financially behind the gifts, but we all played along that THESE presents were from MOM. We kids gave Mom a gift too. (Aunt Vi made sure of that! Aunt Vi and Ivah worked in a large, for Ft. Wayne, department store, so gifts were easy to come by.)

Aunt Vi knew one day I would miss those wonderful times, and so she sewed by hand, by memory, a skirt for my tree that looks just like the one we gathered around each Christmas Eve.

Decorate Cheap and Feel Rich

2011-12-18T09:56:00.000-08:00

Most of the decorations on our tree are old Christmas cards. This is a great way to keep them, reuse them, and we just think they look great!

It is now the week of holidays, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and probably some I've forgotten. So, my blog for this week will be nothing but posts filled with joy, celebration , love, oh, and one big family gathering fight that I hope you find as hysterical as we do.

In other words, no politics, no gender debates, no financial woes, no health drama, just old-fashioned good-times! 'Tis the season!

Men Who Cheat and Woman Who Love Them. Hypocrites All.

2011-12-17T07:03:00.000-08:00

A friend with secondary progressive MS, like me, was chatting with me yesterday and she was very upset, angry really. (Women get upset, men get angry, right?) As my loyal readers know by now I am a liberal Democrat, born and bred, runs in my blood, though I never dismiss anyone, Lord knows I've fought my genes many times, but if I lean off course it is usually toward an independent, green party, or some socialist. I doubt I can lean to the right, but I am young (LOL, yep, I said it) and I keep my options open. Anyhoo, my friend was as mad as I've ever heard her--over husbands cheating and leaving their wives once disability steps into the picture.

She made the comment, "And they know we are too disabled to write about it!" (Yes, it has happened to her.) Well, somehow I have been blessed, er, lucky, to still be able to write about anything I want and especially appalling to me are stories about what I believe many WOULD write about, if they could. Living now in a retirement community, I am filling up with stories FAST. Back to my friend with MS.

Apparently Meghan McCain, daughter of Arizona Senator (and former presidential runner, Hanoi survivor, you know the guy) John McCain, is selling her latest book. Ms. McCain has been on many 'talk shows,' Fox News, blogger, writes for The Daily Beast--she has opinions and people are anxious to hear them. Sometimes she agrees with her father, sometimes not--people like that stuff. She strikes me as a mini-John McCain, trying to not be boxed in, labeled, just most of us. Again, however, it is the cloud that won't just disappear when she speaks of how great her father is: He married a swimsuit model who, after being disabled from a horrendous car crash, became no longer the sexy bombshell he married, but more of a drain on his desire to have sexy-bleached blonde young model sex. So, he started having affairs, until he married (well, I have no idea how many, if any, affairs he has had on current wife, wives always get too old at some point for such men it seems...) Cindy McCain, much younger wealthy heiress of a beer company.

Ross Peroit, according to reports, paid for much of the first Mrs. McCain's surgeries after the car accident (John was in Hanoi prison) and has said, "McCain is the classic opportunist. He's always reaching for attention and glory. After he came home, Carol walked with a limp, so he threw her over for a poster girl with big money from Arizona. And the rest is history."

Carol McCain sees it differently, "My marriage ended because John McCain didn't want to be 40, he wanted to be 25. You know that happens...it just does." John also agreed to pay for all Carol's medical bills for life. But 2+2=4 and when a wife becomes disabled, or gets cancer, AhhhnewtgingrichCHOOO, excuse me, other healthy, young women start to look much better than any marriage vow. You've heard that vow? "...in sickness and in health..."

That hypocrisy among GOP men who give their speeches about "morals" is enough to make Mother Teresa mad! And any woman who has been dumped for a younger model feels the sting of that hypocrisy, if she has any feelings. So, Meghan, when you speak of how great your dad is, remember your slip is showing if you imply he has strong morals. If you say you are his oldest daughter, remember that he had a daughter before you with that disabled former swimsuit model he dumped. OR, keep "morals" and "character" out of your political equation, because your father's math is, uh-hem, FUZZY.

Another close friend of mine who has MS, HER husband actually told her, in the car after leaving her neurologist's office and finding out that she had MS, that he wanted a divorce because he knew he couldn't handle it.

Before I end my post, my personal feeling is that this total disregard for marital vows of men (GOP or DEM, AAAAjohnedwardsCHOOO) whose wives become ill in some way and they in turn seek solace in the beds of young women IS so disgusting, cowardly, and plain filthy, that not ONE such man should dare bring up character or "God" or morals in any words out of their mouths. Any man who dares to accept awards for his "molding of young men," and is then found to be raping them should be FIRED, MIRED, and never HIRED anywhere but the prison laundry room. Any "Man of God" who is molesting children should be (see above PLUS) DE-ROBED.

And those who overlook such actions, forgive and forget? Unless you can somehow make all the harm you have done forgotten, wiped away from the universe, then don't EVER preach to anyone about what is right and what is wrong. That makes you a HYPOCRITE. And we are a better people than to be led in any way by YOU.

Too Old to be Cared For: Characters I Have Known

2011-12-16T07:39:00.000-08:00

Viv always wore purple. She was 99 years old. We sat next to each other in the dining room. Her two sons were very attentive, but like most adults who place their parents into a retirement/assisted living home, both had full-time jobs and were very busy.

When I met the one son my gadar was on high. He was very loving and visited often.

Viv didn't hear well, but well enough. What I remember best about her was that unlike the rest of us at our table, she ate EVERY BITE on her plate, EVERY DAY. The portions were often large and the meats were sometimes so tough I could barely chew them, but not Viv.

Every night after dinner, Viv went to the movie room and 'watched' a movie, actually (and she was the first to admit this) she went there to sleep in the over-sized, comfy, chairs.

One day I saw her sitting in the library. That was unusual. I asked her how she was and she said she had fallen. Then a caregiver appeared and told me Viv refused to let her call the medics and her sons couldn't be reached.

I rolled up close to Viv, "Viv, do you hurt?"
"Yes."
"Where?" She pointed to her hip.
"Viv, can you stand?"
"No. It hurts."
"Viv, you should let some medics check you out."
She frowned, "NO. I don't want my sons bothered."
"They won't be bothered."
"I'm afraid."
"What are you afraid of?" She looked away.
"My clothes are in the laundry machine."
"I'll take care of your clothes."
"What will they do to me?"
"They will poke you and listen to your heart, maybe take you to the hospital for an X-ray."
"An X-ray?"
"You might have broken or fractured a bone. Maybe you just pulled a muscle, but they need to be sure."
"I put my clothes to dry on a string across my balcony."
"I'll make sure that happens. If you can't stand then you can't go to the toilet. Will you let us call the medics. We will make sure your sons meet you there, ok?"
"Okay." The resident staff caregiver was standing there, I nodded to her and off she went, only to return moments later and she motioned me aside. Viv's son had been contacted and he said that his mother was overly sensitive to pain, so the medics would not be called. The hair on my neck went up. I phoned the front desk and the staffer there reiterated what the caregiver had said.

I said, "Okay, but this woman can't even stand. I will call YOU when she needs to go to the toilet and YOU will be held personally responsible for making the decision not to call a medic."

Over the years I have found that making someone aware that they will be responsible, that there is someone who bears witness and will speak up, usually gets them to make more sensible decisions. (CTA, cover thy ass)

The medics arrived, the staff CNA had left for the day (Viv was living as an independent at my facility), and Viv was all alone in the library when the medics arrived. My mother's voice was again in my brain saying with disgust, "This is none of your business." I moved away, but close enough to hear.

They tried to get her to stand but she cried out in pain. They poked her in her groin area, again she grimaced. Then I heard the one say to the other in a low voice, "She is almost 100." followed by, in that condescending 'I'm speaking to a 3 year-old tone,' "You sit here awhile and you'll feel better." They began packing their bags. THEY BEGAN PACKING THEIR BAGS!!

"What are you DOING?" I said as I moved in. "This woman can't stand! She was walking an hour ago, she fell, she is obvious pain!"

"Who are YOU?" the one tall, strong medic said.

Opening my cell phone, I said, "I'm someone who cares! Would you like to speak directly to her son?" (Yes, a bit of a bluff, though I didn't have his number, the front desk DID and I would get on the manager if I had to, but that wasn't necessary.)

The medic bent over to her, "Viv, we are going to get you to a hospital, for some tests, okay?"
"Yes," she said softly.

I never saw Viv again. She was moved to a nursing home. I did make sure her laundry was taken care of.

"She is almost 100..." Sigh.

Nature, Nurture, or Computer?

2011-12-14T06:49:00.000-08:00

Once debated up the wazoo, the old nature vs nurture issue regarding what molds us, now must add "vs computer." Children who are starting formal schooling at younger and younger ages are also introduced to the World Wide Web sooner than even Bill Gates or Steve Jobs ever imagined.

Parents used to feel safe believing that the school they chose for their little ones would only teach what THEY wanted taught. But we all know now that even the most private of schools can not keep computers out of their classrooms. Do so and hold children back in the middle ages compared to their peers.

Ask a child, "Where did you learn that from!?" and prepare to hear the name of the newest molder---the computer. As children mimic adult behaviours, watch them pretend to be talking on cell phone, fingering that laptop, and laughing at cat videos. The new McBabysitter just needs WiFi, not even a wall outlet.

In the next decade we will be looking at our young adult population and asking, "Was she born that way? Is she a reflection of her parents/village teachings? Which social media networked her?"

Can't Stop a Bully Alone

2011-12-11T08:24:00.000-08:00

With all the recent attempts to put an end to bullying in schools (and 'end'? never gonna happen), I thought I should write something about it. Here goes:

When I think about my years in school, I never think about ever being bullied. The only bullies I knew were my brothers, and they were only bullies to me, so they are in a special category, and certainly I never feared for my life, nor did they ever physically abuse me in any way.

Yes, I was a gay kid, but in school there are priorities and the visual rules---I was fat. In the early years I was able to counter balance that by being smart. But fat was most important to bullies. This is true because bullies look for mental weaknesses, kids with weak self-esteem, and most fat kids had little self-esteem. For some reason(s) my self-esteem was intact. I hated that I was fat, but I saw no way out. TODAY I would have been all over exercise and healthy eating, but in the early '60s such things were not even discussed in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. I was fat, my brother was fat---our beloved Aunt Violet saw to that. "You are just big-boned."

This doesn't mean there were not bullies in school. There were, and we all knew who they were. We tried to stay away from them. Through my elementary school years we stayed with our same group of kids every year. K-6. Not sure if that still happens and it certainly made going to a new school building with all new students quite dramatic. So, the bully was never in any of my classrooms, yet somehow he found the fat kid and began calling me names. I was good at ignoring, which infuriated him, so he began threatening...to kill me. He had a "gang" and he had a knife and yes, he took it into school. No one ever busted him. He was, of course, set back so many times that he was about 4 years older than the rest of us.

One week he scared me, though I hate to admit it, and his threat of getting me on my way home from school forced me to walk an unpredictable, very roundabout, long way home. I did that for months, telling no one. It seemed to work and eventually he gave up and found a new victim.

When I was about 9 years old, I was sitting at home looking out the window and saw the wide back garage door fly open, up into the air, then one of my brother's cars came out into the yard and quickly back through the broken door. WHAT WAS THAT?!

Yelling to my brothers, they ran out of the house and down the alley, catching the thief and his buddies in the car, which was 1/2 block away. Yes, it was that bully. Wow, did he look small next to my brothers, who were 16 and 17. That was the last I ever saw the bully in school. The cops were called and he went to jail. I never did tell my brothers or my mom that I knew anything about him. But, months later my mom told me, "If anyone ever picks on you, you tell your brothers. They will take care of it." Oh, sure, my brothers who tormented me all my life...right, Mom. Looking back, I do believe my younger brother would have, and I wish I had thought of it at the time.

The only other bully I can recall was my gym teacher, again, being fat made me an easy target. I hated gym class because of him, and having to undress around other girls. Once, when I could NOT jump over the (I just spent 15 minutes of my life I'll never get back, Google searching that gym thingy for a name---closest I can get is it looked like an Olympic high jump bar, but makes me feel good that I couldn't find it under gym class--have they removed that?) pole. Mr. Gimmer was so mad he lowered until it touched the floor and sure enough I tripped over it. Now, in my defense, he was telling us to jump it with a scissor motion in our legs and my legs just didn't scissor, I mean, OF COURSE I could have jumped over it so low, but I was trying to do it the way I was told, the way it looked like everyone else easily did it. Now, a beautiful thing happened that day.

One of the little boys in that class had a crush on me and he suddenly couldn't jump the bar either. After Mr. Gimmer punished me by making me sit against the wall, David also could not get over the bar when it was lying smacko on the floor. Mr. Gimmer (former military, which he told us often) was red faced, neck-vein popping FURIOUS and made David sit next to me. This was a treat for David and I felt a twinge of happy that David showed support.

When I traveled 2,500 miles home from Seattle to visit my mom and Aunt Vi, I drove over by Aunt Vi's childhood house that her dad built and sat in the car looking at it. It was less than a block over from the school (yes, Aunt Vi and I went to the SAME elementary school) and out of the rear view mirror---there he was: Mr. Gimmer. He looked much like I remembered him. I decided to stroll for a closer look.

He had that same (well, same type) whistle between his lips and kids were running around the block just like we used to have to do. There I was, er, I mean, there at the end, after all the other kids had headed into the building and Gimmer was out of sight, was a fat boy, huffing, sweating, about to collapse, all alone. I became furious. This was my moment. I was meant to see that and have it out with Mr. Gimmer. I would tell him that being an adult and able to make my own healthy food choices along with exercising by participating in activities of my choice that I have fun doing was how I lost weight and became healthy! I just stood and watched. I never confronted Mr. Gimmer. I wish I had.

If there were bullies in Jr. High, I didn't know them. Aunt Vi used to pick me up in her car sometimes, but I skipped so many classes--who knows? By high school I was in with the Drama kids, and they were cool. Then there were speech meets, more cool kids, smart kids---if there were any bullies, I didn't know them.

My partner was born with eczema and in school the kids called her a leper. She was beaten up so often that her parents finally put her in a Friend's School. She was a slight child and easy prey. She cries when she remembers.

It shocks me how parents and teachers allow bullies to 'get away with it' nowadays. Who ARE these bullies? Are children taught early that a bully is a small, scared, ugly person? Are they taught that a bully is MADE, not born that way? The bullies I knew started young---can't a teach catch that? Is it just too much trouble because we adults know the problem is at the bullie's home? I have so few answers to this issue. To say, "It gets better," or "it will pass," to think, "we all go through it," or "just a kid phase of life," these are cop-outs in my book.

"Research shows children who stand up to bullies do better in life," really? We had a place by my schools called, "Beechwood Circle," a street filled with 'rich people homes' (I just googled it because all I could remember was beach wood and Ft. Wayne is not known for any beach...those mansions I remember? I can AFFORD them RIGHT NOW. Mind-blowing.) and it had a hidden area where kids were called out to fight. One day a boy who was called out was scared to death. I saw this happening and I told him I would go fight the no-good dirt bags. (I have no idea what I was thinking other than I always saw myself as invincible and mighty. Besides, I knew the family the bully came from, about 5 bully brothers, all smaller in weight than me. Maybe I just couldn't take it anymore.) So the school was on alert. As the appointed time grew nearer, I began to doubt that it had been a good idea, but it was too late to turn back. Off we went, a group on my side that grew smaller the closer we got to the destination. I arrived. We waited, The bully showed up, yelled a few cuss words and left. He was afraid to even come near me. End of story. Sort of.

One small boy did bring his bully to my yard and I wrestled him down, threw him around until the bully left, defeated. Sounds so bizarre now. In my mind I still thought: soon I would be a man. Oh, well. But, the idea that my 'standing up to' bullies made me a better person is just hogwash. The person who runs in front of a bus to save another does not become in some way better. They were just more able than anyone else around during that given situation to 'stand up.'

Many of us recall the Andy Griffith TV show episode where Opie finally fights back his bully. He hits him and the bully leaves Opie alone. 1. That bully will just find another kid to steal milk money from and 2. Opie learns that hitting and retaliation solves problems.

One last thought: Where are kids supposed to turn for help? Oh, sure, "Tell an adult." Right, like a gay kid has words to tell his religious parents that he is gay. Like a girl is going to tell an adult she is called a 'lesbo,' when she think she probably is. Then the kid has to hear her parents verbally destroy the bully because of such a HORRIBLE thing to be accused of. Yeah, that's fun.
And TEACHERS? Some schools won't allow "Sara Has Two Daddies" in their school library, what teacher wants to step into that?! And (SPOILER ALERT) many teachers are LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) themselves, well closeted and not about to appear as an ally to that "choice."

Maybe, I HOPE, that thanks to the Internet, kids will have a place to go to ask for help. My partner would have LOVED to communicate with another kid who had a disease whom she could relate to. I would have loved to email a kid who shared my darkest thoughts. Together, maybe we wouldn't feel alone with out struggles. Feeling alone is the worst part of being bullied.

As adults, we must all do what we can. Unfortunately, quite a few adults hate in others what bullies hate in those they bully. So, remember to work on that too. I'm going to look into some ideas, to help. Here is just one site I found. Please add any ideas you have. This can't be solved alone.

Cohen, Vieira, Anderson, Talking MS and Betty White

2011-12-07T06:39:00.000-08:00

While I have always been fond on Anderson Cooper as a reporter who acts like a dignified, qualified, reporter, I was reticent about his hosting of a "talk show." But, I checked it out yesterday, and his guests made the show. (Meaning I hope Cooper sticks to reporting, but, oh well.)

Richard Cohen, who has had MS for many years (is legally blind, needs a cane) and lived through aggressive colon cancer, is my favorite MS spokesperson. A reluctant spokesperson, but being a writer by craft, it has allowed him to pen a couple fantastic books* about living with chronic illness. (*Blindsided and Strong at the Broken Places)

It was their usual interview as a couple, he and his TV celebrity-wife, Meredith Viera, telling the same stories I've heard a dozen times before. What I love about him is the fact that he is not selling anything. He is telling it straight about his MS. "...I am better than many."

That's right, if you see somebody walking and talking on a TV show I guarantee you, "they are better than many." As opposed to Montel Williams and his sob story, Cohen has spent time with many people living with chronic illness and he grew up with his father who also has MS. He has been a newspaper reporter for many years, and he has educated himself about MS.

His greatest involvement is with the Harvard NeuroDiscovery Center, where he devotes time as a council member. I had never heard of that and after reading about it, I too will help as I can. Their research is cutting edge and will help Huntington's, Alzheimer's and other diseases of the brain.

In the audience, two women asked questions. One of those women is a Face book friend of mine, so that was fun to see. In fact she told me about the show, or I would have missed it. (I would have told you sooner, had I known.) Bothersome was, once again, the "My MS went straight downhill." Uh, NO, it didn't or you would be bedridden right now. I read it on Face book every day, people confusing "progressing" with "progressive MS" and thereby confusing people who know little about MS. (And apparently confusing themselves!) One woman had been diagnosed just 3 years ago, and though she described terrible symptoms (none I haven't long ago gone through), there she stood, speaking clearly---what must people watching think? They think, hey, I have $20 to give to charity, I chose Lupus, people die from THAT! MS looks doable.

Sigh, and so again we shoot ourselves in the foot and wonder why we can't get more money for MS, why we can't find a cure for this debilitating disease. Just, sigh.

THEN, Cooper had Betty White on! What's not to love? Betty White and Richard Cohen, two great love stories. Richard and Meredith, their terrific kids, and Betty and Allen Ludden (he died in 1981 at age 63; they were married 18 years, he was a widower when they met) "...the love of my life." I have heard her say that many, many times. The best comedians have some deep pain, but when you listen to her speak, you just know he is with her always. Betty once said in an interview about Ludden's death from stomach cancer and how she carried on without him, "You just put one foot in front of the other and live moment to moment."

A motto both Cohen and White live by with great success.

MS Discussion on Anderson Cooper TV Show

2011-12-06T08:32:00.000-08:00

Check your local listings, today on "Anderson,"on NBC (opposite Dr. Oz here), there will be guests Richard Cohen and his wife Meredith, talking about multiple sclerosis.

This will be one not to miss!

Twisted Seattle Front Line Culture--Truth Will Reveal

2011-12-05T06:36:00.000-08:00

A big scandal brewing in Seattle over call center employees putting other's money on THEIR own accounts. With all the humility I can muster, let me say, if my long worked on book were ready for press (ready for digital?) tonight---it would be a best seller. THIS sick, twisted culture at the City of Seattle call center/front line employees, is what my story is all about.

Many times I have asked myself, "Why bother? No one will read this old story about sexual harassment and the culture it thrived in." Now...I am emboldened that this is relevant, timely, and the citizens of Seattle and other cities will want to KNOW. Employers should want to know and understand how to PREVENT such a culture.

Can you imagine a work place where a person does NOT ONE THING for at least a solid YEAR, and nobody knows or cares. Too much trouble, too much work for THEM.

Every time I read what I've written, I think the same thing: This is unbelievable.
(And that is why it is so important to add the court documents I have. The one-finger, MS writer, continues.)

STOP FIGHTING YOUR MS. Be a Lover.

2011-12-02T00:23:00.000-08:00

A reader asked me to write a post about what it means to "fight" MS. She said it is "...beating the crap out of her..."right now. The phrases "fight MS," "fight Cancer," "fight Hunger," are, in my mind, too overused. Simply put, it would mean to do something to try and stop whatever, from having the upper hand; don't crawl in a corner and say, "I give up. I just will die. This is more than I can do anything to stop." It also is used to imply a gathering of troops to do battle against an enemy. Note, however, that we don't say we will "fight bullying," no, that we say we will, "Stop." Again, stopping that which is hurting us. Why don't we have the slogan, "STOP MS?" or "Stop Cancer?"

The reason we don't use the word 'stop' is because we know that we can not stop those diseases. Only science and medicine can stop a disease. So, with MS, the only option contrary to crawling in a corner and suffering, is fighting. Well, I am a lover, not a fighter. My view is a bit different.

When you learn martial arts, you learn to move with the kick, punch, or throw, that comes your way. In acting class you learn it is the receiver of a slap who moves with the slap before it strikes, as it strikes, like a dance. In yoga, you learn to move INTO each pose, into the tightness, and relaxation will follow. I am not a "MS Fighter." I am a MS Lover. I move with my symptoms to lessen their blow. I look into the mirror and love who I see; if I hated who I see, how could I expect anyone else to love that person?

Within hours of hearing, "You have MS," I accepted that MS was now a part of me. I told my family, friends, and co-workers as soon as I could. If any of them couldn't accept me with MS, then they were not going to remain in my life. Maybe because I am gay and had spent too many years not being, in Oprah's words, my authentic self, this new aspect of me was not about to shove me back in a closet. That was that. It was never an issue. The positive response from my friends and co-workers was overwhelming. But, understand, I didn't need their support to fight MS, I needed their support to LIVE with MS.

Yes, your doctor can give you medicine to help and in some cases stop certain MS symptoms. But nothing stops MS and do you REALLY want to fight with yourself all your life? You think you are exhausted now?! EMBRACE. There is nothing you can't embrace that is a part of you. When MS slaps you, move with it. If it takes away your vision, get free books on tape. If it makes your hands unable to hold a book, grab a magazine. EDUCATE yourself about MS symptoms and make a plan. (My blindness took me off guard and I was scrambling in the dark --pun intended-- to find agencies that could offer ideas for continuing with my life. I learned about free phone services, free books on tape, many, many services as you can imagine. And chances are strong that YOUR MS blindness will go away. Just a punch you can embrace and move with instead of fighting. While legally blind, I continued to work, enjoy books, take walks, even care for my quite ill partner, oh, and BUY A CONDO!) I can't imagine wasted time "fighting" during those days. I had too much TO DO!

When I was too weak to lift a paperback book, I starting lifting a pencil as if it were a 10lb. weight---every day. How embarrassing would that be at work, if you had not embraced your MS? After awhile I could lift a pen, then a rebar chunk paperweight---get the idea? Now, I don't call that fighting MS, I call it learning ways to live with it. Every symptom MS threw my way, I thought up a way to improve what it took from me. Little by little, and all the while building my overall health in all areas. I start with lists. I am a lister. It helps keep me focused.

When you are so depressed about your lot in life, EMPOWER YOURSELF. How do we do that? By first accepting personal responsibility for our lot in life. Look at Christopher Reeves, wow, could there be a worse lot? He blamed no one, not even his horse! Once we stop blaming something else, we can use that energy to focus on how WE can help ourselves. Humans need water, air, and, in my opinion, laughter. We NEED to laugh. Find your inner laugh-a-thon and pursue that. If you can't laugh at yourself, now is the time to change that because MS can be damned hysterical. Going to feed the dog? NO you are not! You are going to KISS the floor! Hello floor, just wanted to touch base! First time I fell I thought it was the end of the world. The last time (so far) I fell I thought it was all over. I cursed the TV! (yeah, that's how bad I felt!) But, I reminded myself that what goes down must come up and that made me laugh. My own silliness made me laugh. One finger typing? SERIOUSLY? Hysterical! My typos are so funny, I often want to leave them!

A killer MS punch? My 'wedding ring' can no longer fit over my contractured ring finger. I just was so down over that for YEARS! Then I looked in the mirror and said, "Diane! Wake up! It is just a symbol." And I figured out I would wear it around my neck. Now, I can't believe I wasted so much of ME by feeling sad about such a simple to change symbol. CHANGE. MS is so changeable, unpredictable---so...since I have embraced it as being a part of me and since I want to love me, I now must love change. Not my natural personality, but wait---how much do you hate to hear, "That's just the way I am!" I always hated hearing that and swore I'd never say it. Well, now I must LIVE it as well. (Walk the talk or roll the goal, as we in wheelchairs say.)

Find a purpose. MS took my job from me. I felt so fulfilled at my job. What was I to do? So much fatigue, weakness, slurred speech, weakness, cognitive losses, fatigue, I KNOW, I'll try a blog. My readers won't know when I type one letter and have to nap or type a sentence then call my caregiver for a toilet break and maybe, just maybe, I can help others with my stories, my ideas, my silliness---and now I am a published author. My sense of purpose has returned. We all need that. Face book has given me a platform to address my political issues and to make new friends. The Internet is a friend of people with illness--no need to ever feel all alone. Make friends.

Fight MS? A waste of energy. Learn how to live with it. Embrace. Love. Educate. Plan. Execute. Laugh. Fall back with the punches, you will be amazed at how few fights your opponent wins!

WORLD AIDS DAY. Take a Moment.

2011-12-01T00:06:00.000-08:00

Take a moment today to remember all of the people you knew who died from AIDS. Do you remember the first time you heard that word? AIDS.

It was the gay disease and many just shrugged their shoulders with, "...made your bed now lie in it," until you heard of a child who had it, then heterosexuals, babies, people all over the world---no one was safe. Another ugly blemish on our history, when we turned away from those who were suffering, those who needed our compassion. I'll never forget those first years. Horrible.

Take a moment.

On The View: Richard Cohen MS Realist and Best Spokesperson

2011-11-29T06:38:00.000-08:00

The best spokesperson for multiple sclerosis is Richard Cohen. Yesterday he appeared on the TV show The View, with his wife Meredith Vieira. I am a big fan of his books about living with a chronic illness: "Blindsided: Lifting a Life Above Illness: A Reluctant Memoir," and "Strong at the Broken Places," which I have been greatly inspired by. (under label MS, you can read more about that from my blog)

When I become frustrated with people slobbering over Montel Williams as a "great spokesperson for MS," I calm myself by thinking about Richard Cohen.

Richard Cohen is the real deal. He has lived with MS over 40 years. He said yesterday that people seem to want to ignore the "progressive" nature of MS. He was unhappy with the fact that more is spent in the U.S. on our 'war' in Pakistan in 2-1/2 months than for illness in a year.
He noted how poorly the NIH (National Institutes of Health) is funded, how stem cell help for MS is far away. Maybe I like him so much because he agrees with me on this point: There have been no significant advances towards curing MS.

Many are afraid to speak the truth about MS. Many are afraid to hear it. Many doctors have lied to me because it made them feel better than if they had to speak the truth. Many people with MS latch onto the latest cure-craze (FDA be damned! I feel great now!) until it fails them. But if you live with MS long enough you will, with RARE exception, finally accept your diagnosis: You have MS, a chronic, progressive, disease without a cure.

Accepting those facts about MS, has allowed me to keep moving on with my life, allowed me to plan for the future, and allowed me to prepare my loved ones for what lies ahead. I don't waste time chasing rainbows for that pot of cure at the end. Like Richard, I have a LIFE to live!

Cane by his side, he still maneuvers the city streets and subways, while being legally blind. He also is a cancer survivor and I can relate to that as well. On Face book, so much depression over people's diagnosis of MS...I offer what advice I can, lend an ear, (( ))s, but I feel SOMEBODY needs to give them a reality check. MS may be only one health issue you will need to fight in your young life! I thought when I got MS, "Well, this will be my issue." I never dreamed ovarian cancer would be dropped on me within 5 years.

Richard Cohen survived his cancer as he does his MS, with a glorious sense of humor, a determination to keep a purpose beyond making money from his illness (You will NEVER find him selling blenders or giving lectures on how to 'beat MS.'), and his keen interest in learning about others. I always get the feeling that if he could, he would never speak about his MS. But, that is not an option for those who live with it.

A cane is almost like having a dog by your side, strangers use it to start a conversation, especially if you look, by all other standards, "good." Once you are using a wheel chair or power chair, here come the questions. If he were not married to a TV celebrity wife, he probably would be just another guy with MS. The ones we never hear about. The ones who have studied their disease and get on with living until they die. Like me, like all of us, we think we will be the ones who don't progress, who live long enough for a cure, who will NOT die WITH MS. Now, in 2011, I don't think that way anymore. I think I will indeed die with MS. But, I agree with Cohen on this thought of his too: " You know on every level that it is a one-way trip. You're never going to cross back over. I deny the certainty of possible outcomes. It really frees you up." Or as I have said many times, I think of my MS always and never.

If you want to be inspired, read his books and look for the current AARP magazine cover story about this amazing man who just happens to have MS.

Magazine Love

2011-11-28T06:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I picked up some magazines to read, from our library at my retirement community. I got Archaeology Magazine, Neurology Today, and W.

That's right, the average age here is 85. If you have never spent much time around our older generation, then you might be surprised how youth-FULL they are! I HAVE spent many years around people much older than I. Few surprises for me, but I must say that I was surprised to see that the W was subscribed to by our oldest resident. (100 years old, she LOOKS 68)

OH! And I got to read Architectural Digest with Ellen and Portia on the cover. If I win the lotto...I will subscribe to all these magazines!! (Oh, I found that I can get Neurology Today free, since I have MS, but also found it is one big Big Pharma ad machine. Well, I DO want them to continue R&D, research and development.)

I love magazines. Do you have favorites?

Big Dog, Billy Club, and Evening Excitement

2011-11-27T00:04:00.000-08:00

See that big dog? I'll call her Cassie. Cassie moved into my retirement home a few months ago. She is old and, er, overweight. Her owner says she has Rottweiler in her; I say she ATE a rottweiler, either way---a massive DOG. Mostly Cassie sits or goes flat. Sweetest dog I ever saw.

During a birthday party at her apt., Cassie knew she should greet me and I was sticking my hand out, but it was obvious she just wanted to stay, er, down. Nonetheless, Cassie shifted her massive body enough to sit up and in doing so her head pushed forward far enough to reach under my hand for a pat, before she slumped back down, smiling all the way.

One evening about a week ago I was hanging out in our lobby when the front desk lady got a frantic call that there was violent sounding yelling coming from the apt. next to Cassie's. The front desk lady called her macho husband on cell, but didn't get him right away. There had been trouble in the apt. before and apparently this was nothing new. "I'm afraid to go down there without my husband and I can't reach him."

Since I am disabled and in a wheelchair, of course I quickly said, "I'll go with you!" And I saw a billy club on the chair next to hers so I grabbed it before heading out. She talked as we went, and the yeller had done this in past, but settled down. When we arrived, the owner of Cassie (I'll call her Beth) was in the hall with Cassie, who had her tongue out and was huffing like she just ran a marathon. They had heard the commotion too.

So there we were: A 68 year old receptionist with a cell phone, a woman in a wheelchair with a billy club, and a woman with a dog bigger than all of us, who was huffing her heart out and looking toward the apt. door where the yelling had come from. I did used to be a security guard and I felt completely in control, well, until I noticed the receptionist had disappeared into the apt. of the yeller and shut the door!

Beth started talking and I put my finger to my lips, to indicate "shsss." When I did that, Cassie closed her mouth and held her breath, her eyes directed straight to the apt. door in question. Total silence.

Then the door opened, receptionist came out, and Cassie simultaneously let out her breath as she slumped in a fast PLUMP to the floor. I almost started laughing. Cassie knew what we were up to and she gave it her all.

The yelling man was sitting quietly in the dark watching TV. Macho husband came in from having walked his little dog and after I went home he got into it with the yeller, police were called and situation was dealt with.

It is at those times I think of, of course, YouTube, and if only I had taped we motley crew of four.

Good times.

(And, yes, I got in the doghouse when I returned home. Drat.)

After Thanksgiving: Never Seen TV Like This

2011-11-25T07:22:00.000-08:00

Went to dining room for the BLOW-OUT meal at my retirement home. Joe was there, sat next to me and in less than a minute the server moved my salad and my partner's salad to next table, rearranged the chairs, and I never looked at him. Partner and I had great time staring into each other's eyes and basically acting like it was our first date.

The food was ok. The pumpkin pie had NO WHIPPED CREAM, sacrilege. The time just flew by and while I had planned to go around saying "Hi" to all my friends here, almost all were gone!

Then home for a movie, like Thanksgivings of olden days---and look what we saw on TV!!! Good Grief! That was SUPPOSED to be Gunsmoke! Freaky.

We talked instead. (Home entertainment old school.) Partner 'thinks' in images. I think in words. I tell her there is always 'talking' in my head. She rolls her eyes. We both agree the other has a hellish mind.

In evening we watched "Super 8." WOW, great movie by J.J Abrams and Spielberg. Just, wow. It made for much more discussion about what we would have been like if we had been friends as kids. She the film director and me the LEAD actress. I told her I would give her as many takes as she wanted, no problem, but, I have little tolerance for my fellow actors who are not prepared. Just FYI.

This morning, "Black Friday," I am a bit depressed. Looking online at my favorite store, "The Vermont Country Store" I find that with 15% off and free shipping---still no gifts I can afford. Buggers! I watch the crowds rushing in store doors, wonder why they look so fat...and with all our unemployed---WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE who must have things? I hate to shop. I hate to spend money. I love giving gifts. I have no artist talents besides acting, and my MS has canned that since my 'tool' is my body. Gruff.

Had to explain "Black Friday" to my Kenyan caregiver. I ended with, "And THAT is why we wanted a president from Kenya."

The Perfect Turkey Stuffing

2011-11-24T00:05:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving my readers, peeps, friends, and family! (And your dogs & cats!)

Shooting Pool with Multiple Sclerosis Excuses

2011-11-23T06:49:00.000-08:00

Seriously? He said that to me last evening? "Stop making excuses! I can't do this, I can't do that, because I can't stand. YOU DON'T EVEN TRY!"

Me: "That's what you think of me, isn't it?! That I just sit here and WON'T try to do more." (My voice is now raised to almost match his angry, loud, tone.)

"YESSS," he snarls, as he slams a pool stick on the pool table.

Last evening after a pleasant dinner, my friend here, Mary, asked me if I wanted to play the board game 'Sequence' with her. Joe and I had wondered if there might be a bridge game, but no players, so I nodded and asked him if he wanted to play too. He said yes.

The three of us were playing our third game of Sequence, Mary had won one, I had won two, when Joe gets up and moves behind me, shouting, "Come here!" His voice tone was one I had heard before---he was angry about something. I didn't even try to guess what. He has blown up at various people during games and at dinner, during outings, and whenever. Mary said to me, "Is he quitting?"

Without moving to see what he was up to, I answered, "He just wants to make a point to me about something." I hoped if I ignored him, that he would come back and settle down. There was a table of four regulars playing a nice game of pinochle at a table across the room from us. Surely Joe would not make a commotion in front of witnesses. But, he did. So sure of his correctness.

Must tell you--it had been a terrific day up to that point. After my fall earlier this year, my right (good) arm was still on the mend. The visiting physical therapist warned it could take 6 months to feel 'right' again, SIX MONTHS! I rely on that arm for so MUCH! Oh well, steady goes the race and just yesterday morning I was able to do presses again, no pain, no after-pain--YEA!!

So, Joe won't come back to our table, Mary keeps asking me, "Are we stopping?" I finally roll over in my power chair to see what his issue is. He is at the pool table, holding a stick and he has racked the balls. He shoves the entire rack of balls towards with great force (anger) at me. They are inches from my face. (I have no idea at this point WHAT he wants me to do.)

"What do you want me to do, Joe?" He shoves the entire group of balls in the rack away and then back to me. I look at him. "I can't shove that rack up the table, Joe."

At that comment from me he goes ballistic. He throws a ball on the table, removes the rack and slams IT on the table. "You don't even TRRRY!" I pick up the white ball and tell him to rack 'em up. He does. I slid the ball as hard as I can, breaking the group, but clearly not to Joe's liking.
He growls, "OH." "Joe, I can't shoot pool anymore!" "WHHHHY Damn It!?" "Because I can't stand!' (I have covered my MS limitations with him so many times before. I am now FED UP. And for him to pull this stunt with Mary innocently waiting to play her board game...oh yeah, I was mad.)

"You can't stand, You can't stand, (he is using a mocking voice now) how long will you use that as an EXCUSE!?Oh, FORGET IT." He slams his cue stick and some balls on the tables. I turn to leave and he shouts out, "We'll just play Sequence." I turn my power chair around and facing him say, "I'm not playing with someone who insults me like you do." Then I say good-night to Mary and leave.

Poor Mary. I will call her today. I have warned her that Joe can blow up, but he had been so good lately. My bad.

I spent an hour before I went back to my apartment just chatting with other residents, it was fun, nice. But, yeah, hard not to let something like that accusation on my character ruin my day.

Oh, and as YOU can see, I have tried to shoot pool from my chair, can't get the right leverage. No big deal to me. But, I used to enjoy pool and often toss the balls at each other before bridge games. And that photo, Joe, that is from a national magazine for people with multiple sclerosis, and it is there to show people that I never stop trying what might seem impossible. It shows that maybe one can't shoot pool like they once did, but TRY and see what different kind of fun you might have, or what success you might have that will surprise you! In fact, Joe, my entire mission of my blog is to show people with MS, illness, and hardships in life, that giving up should never be an option. Who cares if you fail or fall? Get up and try again, try something you CAN succeed at and have fun---just as you are.

My 'awareness' attempts with you have not helped you, Joe. I feel sorry for you.

MS Head Trauma and Spacetime Parallel Universe

2011-11-21T00:07:00.000-08:00

Some things you just can't get out of your mind. After reading about quantum physics, multiverse, time warps, black holes, rifts in time, and Newton's apple falling on Einstein's head, no answer is satisfying my head trauma accident from a summer day in 1967 Indiana.

If you are aware of any of the theories mentioned above, keep them in mind as you read what happened, if you are not aware, then just scratch your head with me, pick your brain, noodle on the facts I'll present.

After my 10th birthday I was allowed to ride my bike alone to the park. The park was "Packard Park" and it was about 10 blocks from my home. On a perfectly normal summer day in Fort Wayne, Indiana, I put on my new yellow windbreaker (with a hood that rolled up and zipped shut to form a collar, plus a side arm pocket where I kept that dime my mother always told me to "keep in case you need to call home in an emergency"--I loved that windbreaker), hopped on my fairly new red Schwinn bike and headed off to the park. This was not my first trip there. It was a terrific park located across from an ice cream shop, a grocery store (Roger's), and it had the perfect basketball court. Usually I walked, bouncing my ball all the way, but not on that day.

I rode up to the one major street on my route. It ran between the ice cream shop, park, and the grocery. There was a gas station on my side of the street and I cut through. The distance between the entrance to the gas station and the curb was just a few feet. It was a quiet morning, no one up and about yet, no kids in the the park. It was still cool, that's why I wore my windbreaker. I got to the streets edge, the curb to my right, and looked both ways back and forth---absolutely nothing and no one as far as my eyes could see, which is very far down an Indiana, flat, city street. Off I went.

The next thing I remember was seeing an old, paint splattered, pick-up truck with a ladder on the side, coming to a stop about the middle of the block where the grocery was. Three high school aged boys were sitting on and jumping down from a yellow Goodwill dumpster at the corner nearest me in the empty grocery parking lot. The boys were shouting, "Stop!" and "Hey! You hit a kid!" Then I saw a thin man jump out of his pick-up on the driver's side, and look back at me.

The next thing I remember is walking next to my bike towards home and a man from the gas station came up to me. "Where are you going?" he asked nicely. "Home," I responded mater-of-factly. "Why don't you come and sit down for a minute, " he said as he gently put his arm on me and guided me inside the gas station where I sat down. The quiet of the morning seemed broken and I could hear sirens getting louder.

One of Ft. Wayne's largest hospitals was a block away and a police car pulled up near the door to the station. I heard the station attendant tell the policemen, "That guy hit her and just kept going. She said she was walking home." Then one of the policemen (and I LOVED policemen) asked me my name, while his buddy was speaking on his walkie talkie. "Diane Standiford. I was going to the park, but I think I should go home." "Will you come with us to the hospital first? Let's go this way." The nice policeman was leading me to his car. I thought, "Wow. I get to ride in a police car!?" Then I saw the face of the painter. He looked so scared. He looked shaken. I felt bad for him. "My bike..." The policeman said, "We'll get your bike. It's okay."

After I got in the car, it was starting to make sense. That painter must have hit me with his truck. But I felt fine. He looked so sad. Then the siren went on. JOY! But, wait, we were only a block from Lutheran Hospital. I pondered why that was necessary, but it sure was fun.

At the hospital the police and doctor types were huddled, while some nurses lifted me to a bed and TOOK MY WINDBREAKER. "I have a dime in there!" (I never saw the windbreaker, they pulled it off from behind.) They were nice enough to give me my dime, which I held tight in my hand...until I had returned home hours later.

They didn't want me to see that jacket because it was drenched in blood. I never saw a drop of blood, but my mom did and I guess it was every where on my backside. I take that back: There was blood spots on my smashed bike and on the curb, or what was left of the curb, my head had taken off a good chunk of cement. After we got home, there was still some caked blood in my hair. My mom was called, surgery to stitch my cut was done, the painter never paid anything, though he offered to. In later years my mom would be criticized for not taking money from him, but she would say that she felt sorry for him. (And I felt the same, except I thought I should have gotten a new bike. Aunt Vi probably bought me one.)

Here is the black hole, parallel universes, spacetime, part: NOBODY saw me or the painter until moments after the impact. I looked both ways, no trees, nothing to block my view, so clear and LONG was the area that there is no way imaginable a pick-up could have been upon me. Since my left side of body didn't even have a scratch, it would seem my bike hit his pick-up, tossing me back.

The gas station attendant saw nothing, yet he told police he had been looking out the window. The three boys saw nothing until a bright yellow jacket on a bright red bike fell down hard as a pick-up passed by. They would report that they never saw me coming and never saw the pick-up approaching, yet they were facing that very direction!

The painter also said he never saw me at all. He was not speeding, in fact, he couldn't have been going very fast, and he reported his speed as "about 20 MPH." (This was the first time since my birth announcement that my name would be in our local newspaper!)

This accident might have been a blip on my life screen had I not started seeing 'stars' whenever the injured part of my head was touched with any force. (Like tumbling in gym class, which a doctor wrote off as my not wanting to go to gym.) A blip, had my leg not moved during a walk home from school around age 11.

And the all-time Blip killer: Multiple sclerosis symptoms non-stop from age 20 through now. (age 54) Once I saw my MRI in 1990 and right under the scar on my head from that 'blip'---well there it was, a huge MS plaque, size of my palm.

Now, here is my question: What was the constant? Me? The teen boys? The gas station man? The painter's pick-up? The ice cream shop? We all saw the ice cream shop. That is about the only thing we all saw from our vantage points. But like the wind, we all felt the same breeze, saw the leaves waving, yet, like the wind, it can't really be seen.

First I thought *I* wasn't there before. Nobody saw me. But then I thought it was the painter, since nobody saw him either. (Oh, and the gas station attendant and teen boys saw each other before the event.) Soooo...the painter and I met in an instant. A moment so brief that it could not even be seen.

Did the universe split for an instant? Is there another Diane who made it to the park? And if so, what made the split? Is it just the fact that so many people were looking right at the split that makes it so questionably? Might these happen often and go 'unnoticed'? I mean, many things happen to us when no one is around. The painter would have said, as we have all heard before, "I never saw her." And I would have been dismissed as a kid who didn't look both ways and a vehicle hit me. End of stories.

But this? Because of this I will continue to read about time warps, spacetime, in relativistic theories and hypothetical meta-universe conversations. Something that can not be explained happened to all of us at the scene that day in Indiana. Something that would turn my life upside down, down, down, forever. (Or, until another split turns me up.)

Sex on Glee. Too Heavy for Teens?

2011-11-20T09:51:00.000-08:00

Somebody somewhere (My God, this is how far I've sunk? I don't even know where I hear things from anymore??) was complaining about the sex on the TV show "Glee." Being a commenter on pop culture, I had to watch the show in question.

It was about two teen couples, one heterosexual and one homosexual, who are thinking about having sex for the first time. (We must overlook that these actors are about 25 or more.)
So...I waited and waited for these big, offensive sex scenes. Finally with less than two minutes left of the show, both couples are shown in mostly darkness, in bed, still. End of show.

Now, no teen was upset by this episode, unless they hoped to see more real sex. (Like a kiss!)
But certain uptight, eyes closed, adults had a hissy fit. (I wonder if they actually watched it?)
I have blushed at some scenes I caught on soap operas. Trust me, teens have seen and done much more than "Glee" showed them. RIGHT NOW.

Any adult has the option of watching the show with their kids and then TALKING about it. Might even be a GOOD IDEA. SPOILER ALERT AHEAD

If your child is in school, then they already know more about sex than you think. The more you are uptight about sex, the less they will tell you how much they already know. In the majority of cultures, over the majority of history, a boy becomes a man at 13 and a girl becomes a woman when she begins menstruation. It sickens me how we have infantilized our young people. We do it with sex, money, jobs, responsibility, and life in general. Any adult who believes they are doing their kids a favor are so brainwashed by the media that they can't even see what poor parents they are.

Emphysema Drunk Neighbor with Yorkies: Characters I Have Known

2011-11-18T00:03:00.000-08:00

No, this will not end in someone's death. That is where it starts. My neighbor (yes, whose name escapes me...maybe by story's end...) used to walk home from a bar every night. He carried his oxygen tank behind him and he was bent over more each night. Finally he died from emphysema/heart/liver problems.

He had lived with his wife and their small Yorkies. His wife just loved those dogs. I think they had three.

They also had a small garden in the rear of their small yard. They shared extra vegetables with my mom and I used to sneak in from the alley to eat raw rhubarb. My brother used to talk with Mr. over the fence. I heard him ask Mr. if married life was good. I was all ears.

Mr. kept his usual frowny, solemn countenance as he spoke through his thin, nearly white lips. "Marry her if you love her...I suppose." Certainly no rousing confirmation. That made me think how sad a man he always seemed, how I never heard him laugh or saw him smile.

After he died his widow rarely came outside anymore. I wondered about the dogs. It sounded like their bark occasionally, over at the house that sat with its blinds closed. No one went in. No one went out. The yard was not mowed. The garden went to seed and weed.

Finally my great-aunt Vi decided to pay a visit to...I want to say Minnie. She took her partner, Ivah, along, and my mom and I couldn't wait to see what they found. Well, according to them, the house was "an unholy mess," so they took it upon themselves to help her clean it up.

After they carried out some bags of dead dogs and dog feces, I was allowed inside. Aunt Vi was cleaning the floors and walls like a mad woman. I was about 11, and I wondered off to an area that smelled slightly fresh. There was a short hallway and a closed door at the end. I slowly walked to the door and ever so gently opened it.

Inside was a small room. I walked to the only lamp in the room and turned it on. The walls were covered with old, yellowed, newspaper clippings. I peered...they were stories about a circus and a clown. There it was: Mr's name. He was once a clown! I couldn't imagine it!

As I continued looking around I saw a plastic box with a big, red, clown nose in it. And under the small lamp was a small desk covered with tiny, colorful pieces of plastic. It looked like he had been putting together a model car, no, it was a model circus wagon. Then I saw tiny elephants, lions, horses, all on top of the desk, on shelves along the walls, a glue jar and tiny paint brushes. If not for some dust, one would suspect the builder had just stepped out for a minute.

Suddenly his widow was at the door, "Take some if you want. I won't be wanting them." I took a couple animals. Aunt Vi took some of the circus wagons. They were all very brightly colored. I remembered my quiet neighbor after watching the movie "Water for Elephants," last week. The minute I saw those wagons it all came rushing back.

Those clippings wrote about him as if he were a famous clown in his day. Aunt Vi contacted his widow's daughter and the clown's house soon went up for sale. The daughter lived in Florida and the widow starting writing to Aunt Vi---often. Aunt Vi sent me a few of her letters, they would be twenty pages long each! Aunt Vi told me to write to her, so I did, for many months, but never got a reply until one day a letter came from her son (or son-in-law?) telling me that his mother had passed away. He included the funeral card and wrote, "I don't know who you are, but my mother died months ago." I felt like a fool.

My neighbor, the famous clown. You just never know.

Gardens, Candy for Kids, Lovers: Characters I Have Known

2011-11-14T12:06:00.000-08:00

Hearing stories lately about what kids did on Halloween, made me think of the Wilsons*. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, they lived in a perfect little white house at the end of my block. They had a perfect lawn and both liked to tend to their house, yard, and garden.

Their garden was grand for the small plot they had. Many vegetables grew thanks to their loving hands. You couldn't walk by without an offer of a delicious fresh vegetable or fruit.

For Halloween they passed out caramel apples. The scent of cooked caramel hit you before you git their porch. We wouldn't dream of not biting right in. Even after a razor blade scare in the media, neighbors would not hesitate to send their little ones to The Wilson's for a fresh candy apple. My mom always got one too!

Almost every day I walked past their house, both were either working in their yard or sitting, smiling together on their daily-swept porch. They must have been in their seventies. No children of their own, but all the neighborhood kids were certainly theirs!

My mom gasped as she read the newspaper: "Elderly couple die in sleep from gas leak."
Just that quick, The Wilson's were gone. Their furnace or stove killed them.

I walked down to their house. It looked so...quiet. A few weeks later it looked awful. The yard was horribly overgrown, the smell of rotting food was thick in the still air. I have no memory of the yard ever looking mowed again. I only remember it looking like weeds.

When I think of The Wilsons, I will smell candied apples and popcorn balls (I just remembered the popcorn balls!), and a happy couple who grew old together with sweet dreams.

*I can't recall their names.

Old Photos Like Gems or Germs?

2011-11-12T08:06:00.000-08:00

One of the many photos in Aunt Vi's "box." Aunt Vi wrote on it, "Age 17, isn't she beautiful?" and "My friend ___"

Should I try and search for relatives of all these people in her many photos? It is amazing to me how little some people care...I found the daughter of one person, sent her about 6 photos...no thank you, no reply, I emailed and all she said was "I got them."

To me, these are like diamonds. Am I just too old?

Is An Apology Too Much to Expect?

2011-11-09T18:01:00.000-08:00

Today was election day. I contacted my elections office to be sure MY vote had been counted.
They had sent notices telling me that they would NOT count my votes because my signature "did not match what we have on file..." I was told that yes. indeed, my votes were counted.

I want proof. I want proof of this huge discrepancy in my signature since the fellow I spoke with said they compared to the last time I voted. I want an apology and I want them to admit that they made a mistake.

If I see that it is clearly questionable, then I will immediately apologize to THEM.

And while I'm on red tape and apologies: Did any of you hear an apology from our government about the big deal emergency broadcast test that was to happen today? Nope, as much as I like Gaga, hearing her singing is not apology enough.

The Telephone Man and His Savings Bonds: Characters I Have Known

2011-11-08T00:09:00.000-08:00

Andy Rooney's recent passing made me think of this character from my job at Bethlehem Steel.

This man was a telephone repairman. I worked on the company switchboard. No, I can't think of his name right now, but it was an ordinary name for an ordinary looking man with an ordinary life.

Every weekday he would make his rounds, first checking in at his office in the headquarters main building, then looking at any equipment that needed looking at in the phone room, then he plunked himself down on the chair next to my desk. He would sit there for hours. We enjoyed each others company. I'll call him John. John loved to talk about his wife, their dog, and their plans for retirement.

I was 27 at the time and saving for retirement was on my mind even then. He was a wealth of info on how to go about it. He had stayed with same major phone company since he was 25, and his 30th anniversary was coming---he was retiring and they had all their trips planned for years. "I'm taking my wife to all the places in the world that she ever wanted to see! Plus, our house will be paid off next month. It is all about planning, Diane. And for the past 30 years I have been buying U.S savings bonds with every paycheck! Now I am cashing them in!"

He was so happy and I was so happy for him. In fact, as soon as I got my next job with the City of Seattle, I began the deductions for U.S savings bonds out of every paycheck like VERN. His name was Vern! (See how the memory upstairs works.)

The gang at our main Bethlehem office had a small party for him. The day he left I shook his hand. All his hard years of working and saving were about to end and play time awaited! He died a week later of a sudden heart attack.

My savings bonds have already been cashed in and reinvested. But, the bigger lesson Vern taught me was to always look for a balance between what you WILL do in life and what you MUST just do now for no other reason than it would be fun.

Studies have shown an unusual amount of people die soon after retiring from their jobs. I look at such studies and say, "OK, but which came first the chicken or the egg? Maybe they RETIRED because they didn't feel well enough to keep working." But, Vern, he was so happy to start his new life. I'll never forget him.

Andy Rooney had a "minor surgery" a few weeks after he retired and died from complications. I can almost hear his commentary on that one. "The only thing shocking to ME is how all the complications in life don't kill us sooner!"

R.I.P. Andy
R.I.P Vern (Yep, I just remembered his last name.)

Family of Card Players. This is Euchre!

2011-11-07T00:04:00.000-08:00

This photo didn't scan well. I hope you can enlarge it. This SCENE was a nightly event of card playing at my great-aunt Violet's house. Let me introduce you:
The lady with red hair (Aunt Vi swore it was dyed, but Jo denied it to, and IN, her coffin. Haha) is Jo a close friend of Beulah's, both friends of Aunt Vi.

Beulah is sitting across from Jo in the pink dress. They always had to play as partners and Aunt Vi often accused them (after she drove them home) of cheating. Beulah was a widow who lived in a huge house. She rented out a room to a man. Neither she nor Jo had any kids that I recall.

Aunt Vi's older brother, Arthur is to the right of Jo. He is turned, looking at my camera. See those thick glasses that make his eyes look so big? Aunt Vi SWORE that she would NEVER wear glasses like that! In her last decades she had to wear the same type of thick lens glasses.

Uncle Arthur's partner is my cousin, Les Evans. Les married my cousin Virginia Boveine who was Art and Vi's older brother's daughter.

Next table: Young woman on the front left is my mom, Roselyn. Mom wasn't crazy about cards, but she played. Mom's partner across from her was cousin Virginia. Aunt Vi is at the front of the table in a colorful dress and her longtime companion, Ivah, is her partner. (I THINK that's Ivah...now I can't quite make it out. See why keeping actual photos is important?)

They were playing Euchre (pronounced You-Cur, cur as in curtain.) We played every night for many years. When I moved away from Indiana, no one had ever heard of it, even now, no one has heard of it. When in Rome...I play bridge now.

Those card tables had so many good memories that at least one is still around, being lovingly kept by a cousin. I can smell them and feel them. Good times.

Broadway, Bagels, Poets, and No ADA Door : Characters I Have Known

2011-11-06T00:02:00.000-07:00

Ok, for those who are interested, here is another character from my life. It started in my old neighborhood, Capitol Hill, in Seattle. Cap Hill is the most densely populated neighborhood in Seattle and was once a gay mecca, home of "The Only Gay Mall in America," which I lived next to in the mixed retail building I called home for 16 years. It had a main drag called Broadway, where the bus stops were, along with many store fronts. I liked to go out on Broadway at about 5AM every day of the week. I liked to just hang out there in the cubby holes and stairways of the buildings. (This was years before our mayor pushed the University area druggies to Cap Hill, and it still felt safe.) Noah's New York Bagels opened around 6AM, so I often went there on my scooter to get a 50 cent bagel. The problem was the door, not accessible. So I would push my scooter into it and shove my way in.

Yes, there were usually a few patrons sitting at small tables inside, no they didn't jump up to let me in. Fine, cool, whatever, but when it was raining and 35' outside---not cool. Anyway, one day the new store manager (the cashier and serving line were maybe 24 ft. from the door; they could see me, but chose not to look) told me not to push the door, that I would break it. I countered with, then make it accessible, ADA and all. She said, "I'll be sure to let you in." Right. (Like you have done so many times, er, NEVER, before.)

The next day I rode up, drenched in rain, and this street type person who had a sign I couldn't read and a long, worn, overcoat, no hat, stepped up to open the door for me. Neither of us looked like we had a dollar to our names. (A necessary look if you are a disabled woman alone in the dark on Broadway at 5AM and in fact I only carried enough change, exact change, for a bagel and a mocha that I would get later, back at the Broadway Market--the building I lived in.) Drat! Would he expect a tip?

"Thanks, Man," was always enough and he stood in front of Noah's Bagels for at least a year, always opening the door for me. One day our newspaper told his story: He was a published poet who sold his poems on the street now, having fallen on hard times. I think it said he had overcome addiction and divorce problems, but remained unemployed.

In other words, he was a somebody, though by all appearances just another street beggar nobody---except to a woman in a scooter who couldn't open a bagel store door.

After I read about him, I wanted to buy one of his poems. He never showed up again. The bagel store manager never let me in, even when I banged loudly with my fists on the window, bothering the customers until they had no option but to let me in, and THEY looked at me like *I* was the 'bad guy.' When I complained again to the manager, she just rolled her eyes and I just rolled out, never to return.

When I think of Noah's Bagels, it is not the door, bagels, or nasty mgr., that I recall, but the gentleman poet, who preferred to remain just another man on Broadway.

Blogged Out and Boring Myself

2011-11-05T07:18:00.000-07:00

I really feel blogged out. Since my blog began I have told my readers about my childhood, my adulthood, pop culture, basically my take on everything. I have a mistress though---my book, my story, that I am still trying to finish. It consumes most of my days, unless I take a break.

Playing card games used to be my break, watching TV, now it has become Face book and that requires more use of my finger, my book writing finger. Not good. I stopped my blog once, just hit the "delete" button and that was that. Then all Hell broke loose in my liberal world: a woman and black man were running for president of the U.S.---back to blogging.

There was an episode of the TV show House this week where a writer needs a brain aneurysm removed, but she insists on putting it off for her reader's sake. She just HAS to finish the story she is on. Now, when I started this blog I doubted anyone would read or care about my musings, but you surprised me. Now, I too feel a duty to my readers. However, there is a story bigger than this blog to be told.

For those of you who have not heard about 'my story," (I once published a draft on this blog but have since removed it, an thanks to those who gave me feedback.) it is about a true sexual harassment incident at my job with the city of Seattle. I will name names. People will be angry. If I do it right, the story might open some minds and hearts, and of course that is my goal.

Once I was so close to being FINISHED, then I ordered court documents from the trial and wow, learned a lot I never knew or could have imagined---it changed everything and a new story was necessary. So since then (that was around 2008 right before all Hell broke loose with my health) I have over 100 pages of COURT DOCUMENTS (and if you are at all familiar with them---they are a pain in the as*) that I need to edit and incorporated into my story.

Do I ever say, "If only I didn't have MS!" YES! haven't all of us with MS or some health problem said or thought that? Alas, I do, and so my one finger and I will move slowly along until I expire or I forget what I'm writing about.

Well, here we are. I am writing about writing. Interesting as watching a slug take its last breath. Don't want to pull an Andy Rooney and mean good bye, when I say good bye, but soon the time will come. I am boring MYSELF with my musings and that is a bad thing. New blogs are cropping (cropping?) up all the time. I don't have time to even read my daily favorites anymore!

See, how boring was this? I do promise you that any book I get published will NOT be boring. In fact, no matter how often I read my story about my job and the 'incident' it is never boring to me.

Sun is rising, beautiful red, another gorgeous Seattle day. Cheers!

Ellen, Portia, Spago and a Gutsy Fan

2011-11-03T00:08:00.000-07:00

Found this on Face book, that girl just walked up to Ellen in front of Spago in California., asked for a picture, and Portia took the photo. Is Ellen a sweetheart or what!? And PORTIA, poor Portia, TV star in her own right, but she is just 'that woman with Ellen." (Not a bad gig. Ha!)

In Greece a mob of tourists ran over to PORTIA, all excited, Portia puffed up, alas, they were screaming, "Where is Ellen?!" Hahahaha

On her show yesterday Ellen looked tired, stiff, as if she may have hurt her back again. I hope she feels better soon. She has really gotten into our hearts.

Stealth MS Symptom Can Prevent Voting

2011-11-01T04:03:00.000-07:00

Cast my vote the other day by absentee ballot. There are several important issues I want to vote on. Reeled in a letter from my voter's office. They tell me my vote won't be allowed because my signature doesn't match what they have on file. I have been voting by absentee ballot for a decade, at least.

So, I had to check their boxes, return their request, sign my name again, and I wrote on the side margin that I have multiple sclerosis, my fingers are not working normally, my signature varies from year to year, day to day, hour to hour.

This used to worry me when cashiers used to actually care to check my credit card signature, but no one ever said a word---it rarely looked a thing like my driver's license signature. I first noticed my signature was changing about eight years before my MS diagnosis. Funny, all my life my signature had looked exactly like my mother's! Strange, huh?

Do you think this might be an issue due to how I voted? Raising car tabs to cover bus service is a hot issue around here...should I start using an X? But then I will need two "witnesses." Grrr
Today, MS: 1 Diane: 0

Crystal Ball Seer at Retirement Home. MS Not a Problem.

2011-10-31T09:32:00.000-07:00

My retirement joint had a Halloween party last Friday. No idea why it was on Friday, but I offered up my services as a seer. I had to wait for Aunt Vi's crystal ball to arrive back from Indiana, so my time at the party was short, squeezed in 30 minutes (though I was active for an hour) after the scheduled magician. No idea what a magician has to do with an adult Halloween party, and don't forget these adults average age 85.

The magician (I waited my turn with partner in the lobby and bistro areas...hee hee fun to scare the manager there by hiding and reaching my hand around the corner onto his office window---slowly scraping at the glass!) left the social room a mess with large confetti everywhere. Gees, can't a magic man make his mess disappear? Hmmm Then I began my ball readings.

This ball was given to my very psychic great Aunt Violet by her very psychic sister's daughter. Aunt Vi never had much luck with it, her best show was with cards and calling spirits into objects, like tables, that could communicate in some physical way. I used it once, saw something bad, put it away until last year when I mailed from Seattle to Indiana---to the initial buyers granddaughter. She in turn sent it to our cousin who is more into ESP stuff than either of we are.

The ball still was not doing much, so my expectations were low, but after great-aunt Vi's death at the age of 103 (a year ago?!), I had a feeling recently that I wanted to try the ball. Wow, was I surprised! In a very noisy, too crowded (the people are out of lens shot in photo, but the room was pretty full) room, that darn ball started showing stuff within minutes. Really, I am still amazed. My MS was not in the way at all and the energy among the seniors was powerful.

Without being specific for the sake of those who I read for, there were deep emotional sights, tears, joy at the possible discovery of a lost item, and some deep pain. It all made me remember why I quit reading the ball, and I am ready to mail it back on its way to who knows where. Too intense for me.

Surprisingly, (to ME anyway), everyone chose the crystal ball over cards which can tell fortunes and advise on wishes. One person stayed until everyone else left so she could have her fortune told by the cards too. All were satisfied, all knew what they were being told.

Yes, I allowed two young women to attire me in what one called, "Gypsy," to which I had to keep saying, "My family had no gypsy in it!" Oh, well, Halloween and all.

Enjoy!

Top Ten Misunderstandings About MS

2011-10-27T07:17:00.000-07:00

1.) You look perfectly fine, so you are just lazy.

2.) I can do it, so you can too.

3.) If you baby yourself with a cane, then you will just get worse.

4.) MS is a death sentence.

5.) If it's on the Internet, then it must be true, don't need a doctor.

6.) The main goal of The MS Associations is to find a cure.

7.) Nobody will leave me just because I have MS.

8.) Wheelchairs are for wimps.

9.) Anyone with MS will understand all I am dealing with.

10.) MS is no big deal, lots of people have MS and are perfectly fine.

Can you add some more?

In Our Wheelchairs We Dream

2011-10-25T00:05:00.000-07:00

Doing Nothing is the Best Medicine

2011-10-24T07:26:00.000-07:00

Last night I skipped dining room meal drama and sat in the lobby. It felt GREAT! Just watching people, looking at my surroundings, chatting with some passersby---so relaxing. We don't value doing nothing enough. Too bad.

Scare a Person with a Cane. It's Easy. Fakers.

2011-10-23T07:21:00.000-07:00

While I'm thinking of cruel things people say to people with disabilities, and let me clarify something---I did not lose my legs in an accident, and no shark bit off my arms, so please don't compare me to healthy people who are disabled. I am sick. I have a disease so horrible that it has left me disabled and still I am sick. Okay? I am so tired of 1.) People looking down on me because I don't try skiing (for example)---I am SICK. You call in sick when you get a cold? I went to work 40+ hours a week for 18 years--SICK, multiple sclerosis---LOOK IT UP, so, yes, your judging me as weak or just not willing is offensive to me. And 2.) Just because I am sitting in a power chair, that doesn't mean I am all okey-dokey; I AM SICK. (What does she have to be tired about? She just sits around all day!)

My 2nd best friend, a co-worker, and I used to go to Starbuck's for breaks everyday.

The hills of Seattle are straight DOWN, and the sidewalks on a few of those streets are steep with a capital S. When we first moved here, I loved walking up and down the steepest ones. Being an Indiana gal, well, you just don't see too many hills there. (I laugh now at what we used to call a steep street. HA! <---see----) The walk from my office building to Starbuck's was down a somewhat steep hill. As my MS progressed, it became difficult to go downhill, I had to step a bit sideways and use a cane.

One day my 2nd best friend, says, "Let's hurry up."
I say, "I'm going as fast as I can."
She says, "*I* bet I can make you go faster!" and she motions as if she will give me a push.
Not cool. In fact, I never looked at her the same again. She scared me that day. She often made snide remarks about me faking it, but I laughed and excused them as friendly kidding. This was different and plain insensitive, cruel.

Come to think of it, I don't think I ever went on a break with my former 2nd best friend again and all the ugliness I had seen over the years of working with her suddenly came into view with great clarity.

Again, I can't IMAGINE saying such a thing to anyone.

EARN Your Respect, Elders. Cruel Words to Disabled

2011-10-22T06:47:00.000-07:00

My caregivers here, at my assisted living home, are many, and vary in experience, understanding of English, and attitude. I'm sure that would be the same in any job. Three I have had since I moved here in 2008. Today one of those was with me when I moved my non-cooperative left leg. Her back was to me, so she missed it, and I was totally not expecting anything so wonderful since I got about three hours of sleep last night.

"I just moved my LEG!" I shouted.

"Huh?" she replied.

"I moved my left leg, my foot moved!"

She looked at me without expression, "Is that special?" (IS THAT SPECIAL???!!!)

The first time it happened my caregiver hoisted my walker (photo is on my blog) with glee!

"You don't know that I can't move my left leg?"

She does a sort of laugh, "No." (I was dumbfounded. She has lifted me daily, was called when I fell and medics came, has been here since day one.)

"Why do you think I can't walk with this walker?" I ask her.

Again the snide laugh, "I don't know."

"You don't know."

"Nope." She walks away.

I sit there saying over and over, "Unbelievable." I say nothing further to her the rest of the hour but "Bye."

What I really wanted to ask was: Am I that common here, you have so many other clients, that my health issues are completely unimportant to you and extremely forgettable? Sigh.

Besides my personal strides (no pun intended) (well, maybe) as of late, my partner has been walking with her walker down to our dining room (a far trip for us)!! She has been doing her own exercises and walking a little longer each day, as is possible. We were sooo excited!

What did a resident here say to her? "I see you are walking. I knew you were faking it."

SERIOUSLY?? Look, I have not always had MS and I have not always been disabled even with MS, and I would NEVER dream of saying such a thing to anyone! What kind of mind thinks like that? This came from what I thought was a sweet 70-80ish old lady, who rarely says a word to us. When I heard that I wanted to drive down with my cane and give her a free colonoscopy.

Adding to this, people here are still confusing me with my partner and vice versa. (We all look alike, you know, gay, wheelchairs, under 65...) and one day when she stood from her chair to get our mail out of the box a fellow resident says, "So you CAN stand up." He had met me a month before and I explained my MS; he has had a stroke. Ever since he saw my partner stand, he gives me a dirty look. SERIOUSLY??

I will never understand what motivates people who must question another's physical limitations. It is none of their business, they are not the health patrol, and have they no empathy?

Oh, the things I would like to say to these people and their failing bodies and minds. (They see themselves as perfectly fit. Uh, you have told me that same thing every day for 6 months now. Why exactly are YOU here again? But no, I have MANNERS.) These people are old enough to know better!

Now, I was used to getting stupid comments at my job from young, healthy people. "Why the gimp stick?" "That scooter looks like fun! Can I try it?" Fortunately, I was around them long enough to see Karma grab them by the, well, grab them. The "gimp stick" commenter ended up on crutches after a skiing accident and what a cry baby! "I'm sorry. Now I know how YOU feel." Really? I don't think so, here is how I feel: I will still be needing a cane long after your leg has healed and you will be the same assh, er, jerk, that you will probably always be.

Ha ha, excuse me, I shouldn't laugh, but the scooter comment guy broke BOTH legs in a car accident and HE apologized, was so nice to me, until he healed and then he was a bigger jerk than before---why? Well, of course, because look at HIM! He suffered and beat his problem while *I* still baby myself with a cane.

Why I thought older, more experienced people would treat us differently is beyond me now. I have dealt with all this for 20 years, my partner does not have callouses yet. Good thing I respect my elders, but I am beginning to wonder why I should.

Advice for Gay Teens

2011-10-21T02:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I feel really bad that nobody told me about "Spirit Day" yesterday. I was supposed to wear purple to show support for gay teens and in memory of a gay teen who committed suicide.

Really, I had no idea that life around the states was still so bad for teens. It makes me furious and I DO want to help. It's just that there are so MANY "Days" and "colors"---I thought purple was for Alzheimer's.

So I was watching Ellen about 4PMish and a knock at my door. It was a staff member here with a package. Ellen was just talking about Spirit Day and as my partner of 32 years answers the door, the staff member says, "You aren't wearing purple! Happy Spirit Day!" Partner just smiles, "Same to you," thinking it is some sporting event thing. Then the staff member tells her "Diane will know about it, she posted it on Face book." (No, she didn't.)

How am I supposed to keep up with all this? I'm not on a Gay Agenda List and as I've mentioned before, my gay friends are few. (Like one, plus his partner) I didn't get on Face book until after 6PM; I'm sure they are all over it there.

AND I just posted about how good luck on it getting better, kids. Okay, so, about turn and let me give some old LGBT person advice to all you teens reading my blog (right): Move to a big city. Seek a job in a gay friendly place. Search for true love, never give up, and if you don't want that search for another who wants what you do. Make life an adventure. Make a list of what makes you happy and start heading that way. Watch Ellen, LOGO channel, Lady Gaga, google gay authors, gay books, study YOU, love YOU, know that the world is not always going to spin your way, but that is true for everyone. And here is something I never knew as a teen---there are MANY of us! You are not alone. (Seriously, move to a big city and I don't mean Salt Lake.)

One last thing: Don't kill yourself. You deserve your life. Most of us have thought about doing it, and you are too important to not be around because when that wonderful moment happens, trust me, you will want to be there. If you feel like killing yourself, call a crisis line--I used to work at one, so many people wish they were 'not'---it is a normal feeling, like wanting to eat gallons of ice cream or win the lottery, just come back to you and to me and to all the thousands of LGBT people who stayed around and are glad they did. As my mother told me many times, "Don't kill yourself." (How did she know??)

And look at how Ellen was treated when she came out---TERRIBLE, but after awhile people came around. Hang tough until you are 18, then come out or move out. And the rest? You will find a way to make it up as you go.

Mistake of Nature Here. I Should Not Have Been.

2011-10-20T07:49:00.000-07:00

Flabbergasted, that's what I am. I feel like I am writing crap and people keep reading...is it the everyone poops theme? Okay, so I will continue to explore my shitty life.

As I have said before, my opinion is that I should never have been born. I am a freak of nature, a male trapped inside a female body, my brain forever screwed up. No one used to speak of this, but lately it is getting more attention, thanks to Cher. Yep, I said it. Sorry, Chaz.

While I am happy for Chaz's happiness, the truth is medical science has not figured out how to "fix" us yet; much like my MS. And for most people like me, there will be no "trans" for our gender, due to age, money, and the onset of other pressing health issues. Most of us live in silence, playing spy into the world of the opposite sex. (Funny, I STILL don't understand why women do what they do...) Like that baby born without a brain, maybe that baby gives growth opportunities to others, but if *I* were that baby I would be P-Oed (I can say shitty but not pissed, go figure) that selfish adults were using me. I wonder what the right to lifers think about this? They won't accept me for what I am, but insist I live. A riddle some mind greater than mine must answer.

Then there is the multiple sclerosis. The hits just keep coming! A chronic, progressive disease without a cure and no fix for MY nerve damage in sight. Fun times. Chuck my dreams of being an actress, being a psychologist, being a police officer (you heard me), running a marathon, nope, down the drain without any Draino required.

Oh, well, at least the worst is, oops, throw in cancer---more fun than I can handle! By age 40 I was on a roll. (straight down Mt. Everest) Cancer is a curious thing. There are many people living with cancer, with cancer removed and in remission, but if you have never HAD cancer I will tell you---IT NEVER LEAVES. You know just one itsy bitsy cell can, and statistically one day will, make more cancer in your body. Soooo...like having the wrong body, having MS, having cancer just becomes who you are. Oh, oh, oh, spin it, go ahead--"I may have MS, but MS doesn't have me!" Seriously? Just saying that contradicts the meaning. "I BEAT my cancer!" You BEAT it? Really? Define beat, "To have victory in contest," oh, oh, oh, the cancer was just a contest, I win because I am alive, like a gold medal at the Olympics---but just remember the Olympics come around every 4 years, new contests, and rare that victors repeat again and again, age pretty much stops all that glory. I'm just saying, cancer hangs around, whether in your mind or your yearly doctor appts. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Meanwhile, Bruce Jenner goes on to Botox, riches from endorsements (*I* never got on a box of Wheaties!), so, OK, if you want to spin it, OK, you beat cancer. Sure.

Then there is the love of my life. People feel forced to "cheer" (?) me up with that reminder that I am not in my life alone. Seriously, cash your reality check, she gets a physically screwed up partner, SHE suffers (and I'm not kidding, she SUFFERS) from her OWN diseases, her own DES Daughter, preemie, head-on car crash screwed up body too. Double the fun. Hit the SHARE button. We DO love each other so much that we WISH we didn't have to add our own crap on top of the already crappy pile that neither of us can do anything to change.

The cherry on my sundae is my family and friends. My family unit is dissolved. My mother is lonely in a nursing home 2,500 miles away with Alzheimer's. My closest friends are health compromised too. I live in a retirement home where somebody dies almost weekly. The sirens go right past my window, signalling another neighbor/friend is down for the count. Good times. I am 54, living in a place where the average age is 85, and my money for this luxury establishment (NO, Medicare does NOT pay for these places until I am broke, which looks to be coming way too soon.) is shrinking faster than the U.S. dollar. Yahoo.

So, yes, my life is a mess since the day I was born. Don't cry for me, Brazil, somebody had to get this slice of pie. I could be a starving child in Africa, as my mother would be fast to remind me. Well, MOM, their life sucks. I just happen to state that my life does as well. This COULDN'T have been meant to be. And what comes next? Don't tell me it can't get worse. I have heard that before. HA! Good times.

When Does it Get Better?

2011-10-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

The whole "It Gets Better" campaign, aimed at, I believe, gay kids and/or bullied kids, though it is a fine slogan for kids in general since few get out of childhood unscathed by the cruelty of society. I can't recall when I first felt this way, but it was early on, and I just remember all my life WAITING to become an adult. I KNEW my life would get way better once I was free of childhood trappings. I Catcher in the Rye never felt I fit in anywhere. I To Kill a Mocking Bird always wondered how people could be so cruel to one another. And I The Miracle Worker knew one day I would overcome all obstacles.

But if I had to be honest to a kid, I would have to say, "Some things will get better and some things will get worse, probably." I would have to add, "You may never fit in, but that's okay, just be your best you," and "Some obstacles will knock you down, but there are worse places to be than alive on the floor."

Once I phoned my mother and wanted to cry about my lot in life. That is not who I am and my mother is not up to hearing such sadness, but I gave it a shot. She told me, and I'll never forget it (unless I get Alzheimer's, and frankly if I LIVE long enough to get Alzheimer's I will be content that I made it that far, except that I won't know how old I am---vicious circle) "Things will get better."

Well, things only got worse. Had Mom told me that when I was 13, she would have been correct, at least for 5 years. Some people just get more breaks than others. I am happy to be alive and loved. I am happy to live in America and have a roof over my head, clothes, and plenty of food and water. So, while, granted, this post sounds very woe-is-me, I KNOW I should just shut up and sing. But, let's get real, some things will get better and some will get worse. That is called life and it is all we have. (Wow, I'm still bummed out about something, aren't I?)

Really Tired, Bored, and Don't Care

2011-10-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

I'm really tired. I'm just dog tired. Too tired to even google why we say "dog tired." (I'm sure I've googled that before.) I'm bored, really bored. I'm really bored and tired. Too tired to read other blogs or post on my own, too tired to get wrapped up in Facebook (only a young Red Bull drinking computer geek could come up with that---and that kind of person would never be my friend.) Too tired to think about where the dang period goes in that previous sentence. Too tired to notice or care that there is no noun in THAT previous sentence. I;m really, really t i r e d.

And I don't care. I really don't care about what Obama does or who Romney prays to or what Cain has been smokin'. I don't care who all is 99 percenting or where in the world is Waldo. Don't care whats for lunch or dinner or who won the football game. Don't care who is sick or from what or what the nuts who said racing big cars at 225MPH around an old, too small track was a good idea for FUN.

I'm tired, bored, and don't care a damn.

Tents in Seattle, Riots in Greece, 99% NOT FOOLS

2011-10-15T18:05:00.000-07:00

I just love how the media and wall street pundits wrote off the Occupy Wall Street, 99%, as fools, junkies, and morons; yet now are faced with missing one of the biggest stories and global movements of decades!

I just love how they made it a point to seek out those who were not able to speak eloquently or were a few volts short of 9, to explain what they were doing there; only to later have the air waves filled with the voices of university graduates and those with IQs far above the clouds.

I just love how the 99% were drummed for not having a plan of action immediately, while our own politicians freely run around like chickens with their heads cut off...and they are STILL re-elected! And now within a week, the 99% are not only organized, closing their big bank accounts, flooding credit unions, calling corporations, seeking out "Made in America," but they have gone GLOBAL with more support than I have seen since right after 9-11.

I just love that scene from the movie Network: " All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, God damn it! My life has value!' So I want you to get up now. I want you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open them and stick your head out and yell-'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Things have got to change. But first you've got to get mad!"

99% of us are as mad as hell AND WE ARE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE!
CAN YOU HEAR US NOW? DO YOU GET OUR POINT NOW?!

Multiple Sclerosis and Its Effect on ESP or WHERE DID the SPIRITS GO?

2011-10-14T07:50:00.000-07:00

Halloween is fast approaching. I agreed to do some ESP readings and spirit callings, here at my retirement home. Am I crazy? Yes, most likely, but my family has a long history of holding seances (look under "Family" label for more posts about my interesting family) and reading fortunes.

Here is the thing, since I was ordained (?) with multiple sclerosis, my psychic abilities have gone downhill. In fact, I seem to have holes in that area, leading me to conclude it really IS all in my head. I used to see spirits weekly, thought no more of them then one might of a piece of dust floating by. Now---not so much.

Every time new research comes out about the brain, I take heed. For some MS-reason my psychic ability has been compromised by this disease. Maybe the MS stops the message from beyond from getting through.

What do you think?

New MS Blog. Get Creative!

2011-10-14T02:02:00.000-07:00

I read many new MS blogs every month. Ha ha, when I started blogging there were not so many! Now it is a good thing to have so many to choose from, seeing how everyone's MS is unique, yet somewhere another has gone through just what YOU have. All the same, all different---anyway I just must share this new blog with you because it is exactly what I espouse about living with MS and it is so inviting! I think it will be around a long time.

multiplesclerosisjournalit.blogspot.com

If you express yourself through art, then you will enjoy the look-see!

Bad Things Kids Do. Lipstick Temptation

2011-10-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

Really, I was a good kid. There were however, two bad things I did, both of which I carry in my brain to this day.

I suppose technically stealing a penny tootsie roll was the worst. I don't think I ever told anyone before...maybe I'll tell my mom tomorrow. It was Fall and I had a jacket on. I walked to the small drugstore, ice cream counter and all, stood in front of the candy rack, looked at the busy clerk, stuffed a roll in my pocket and walked calmly home.

That roll just glared at me with my mom's eyes. Finally the guilt was too much and with much trepidation I returned the roll to its bin and swiftly left. I was 5 years old.

To MY way of thinking the next fall from grace happened when I was about 8. It seems worse to me because it shows lack of character and plain desire to be mean. I was mad at my brothers. I took my mom's lipstick and sneaked next to our neighbor's always pretty white house. There I ran the bright red lipstick across the white wall as far as I could until my body hit open space.

It was a big deal. The neighbor lady was upset and her husband, a city comptroller or such, swore to find and punish the criminal. I was scared, but played it cool. It blew over and as far as I know I was never suspected. Whew! Got THAT off my chest.

Any kid crimes you need to confess to?

MS Info Surfing, Wear a Vest. Blog? Facebook?

2011-10-09T00:05:00.000-07:00

Yes, it has been shown how people are using the Internet more to diagnose their health problems. But, I see a disturbing trend among people with (perhaps) multiple sclerosis--in blogs, on Face book, Twitter, they seem to be self-diagnosing their disease, their stage, their therapy and even their prognosis!

They go on and on about what symptom they have and so many say they are "progressive." Yet, when I ask how long they have had MS or when they were diagnosed, it usually has only been a year or two. SOME do not even have a medical diagnosis, in fact some have not yet seen a neurologist!

So, I have begun keeping track of them and when they remit or their symptoms go away, they say their diet fixed the MS. And even those with an MRI official diagnosis, will attribute a remitting symptom to something other than the disease itself just doing what it does.

Now they KNOW what they are doing because they try to never mention when they were diagnosed. It would be funny, if it were not so sad for meaningful MS research. One person wrote of having progressive MS (FYI: ALL MS is progressive, that is different from the MS STAGE of PMS which is rare and does not waste time.) then suddenly went to a all but cured state and now has symptoms on/off. Sigh.

The misinformation about MS is now exploding all over the Internet. What started as a helpful tool for people with MS, has become a dagger of deception. I'm begging you---see a neurologist, read people's experiences with a grain (or TWO) of salt, and stay close to well known sites like Johns Hopkins or Mayo Clinic or The National MS Society. I am no advocate for their intentions, but their medical info should be based on well researched FACTS.

Just surf the Internet with caution. Brass and Ivory is one of the most MS info-rich blogs I know. Take the rest like mine (at least until you know them well) as what they are---one person's experience. Now, GO! Surf! And watch out for sharks.

Media Doesn't Understand Protesters, Oh REALLY

2011-10-08T18:47:00.000-07:00

If I hear another media reporter say the current "Wall St." protesters don't have a unified reason for gathering I think I will burst. Seriously? REALLY?

I suppose it is like the old saying, "If I have to EXPLAIN the joke..."

Let me sum it all up (yeah, the media wants the protesters to have a plan, exit plan, ideas, resolutions, but the give POLITICIANS and CORPORATIONS a pass)---

THE RICH ARE GETTING TOO RICH and THE POOR ARE GETTING TOO POOR and there is no one left in the middle.

Big Dick Menefee and the Tiny Teacher

2011-10-07T00:04:00.000-07:00

In middle school (what we used to call in the '70s Junior High) there was a big, tall, blond, handsome, bully named Dick Menefee. I knew him from elementary school, where his reputation as a ner-do-well mean kid proceeded him, but he was not in any of my classes. He was a scary presence and my sense was that low grades or not, the elementary teachers were intent on getting him out of their school. He showed up in my Home Room in 9th grade.

Dick was just a ball of mean. I never saw him without a scowl. I never saw him not looking like he was looking to beat somebody up. He arrived when he felt like it, sat where he wanted, said what he wanted or said nothing at all. It was much discussed that his own father beat him and agreed that prison would be his stop after school. I think he may have felt that way because he certainly made no attempt to learn anything---never read assignments, "F" was his grade of choice, and if he could bother the class in a mean way he would. I felt sorry for him. What horrible things must have been done to him? I just stayed away from him.

This story of Dick, I have been thinking about for some time now, but I couldn't remember one person's name. I thought if I let my brain work on it in its unconscious sleep state, maybe it would grab it, alas, unless it throws it out during this writing, I'll make up a name. That will be sad, because she deserves her due.

One day Dick was screwing around at the back of the class. He was about six feet tall by now, our teacher was about five feet tall...on her tip toes. She was a gray-haired, stick-to-the-rules teacher, for some reason I think her actual class was Latin, but in Home Room (the first check-in class of the day) you got whoever was available. She called out Dick's name, but he didn't answer.

There were snickers from his boys, but the rest of us dared not make a sound. Again she called, again he refused to answer and made a nasty remark aimed at her. Then it happened---the unthinkable.

Miss Hillman put a scowl on HER face and called him up to the front of the class. Well, of course he just laughed and didn't budge.

She stood, all almost four feet and 90lbs. of her, next to her desk and looked right at him. "Come here!" she said, pointing to the floor next to her.

Dick shuffled his large body around, still seated at a desk, his long legs hanging into the isle. "No," he said as cool as snow. The tension in the room was thicker than molasses, and it ran over each of us, putting us all in a mess.

"COME HERE!" (Miss Hilman! Give it up! Save us all!) She crossed her arms. Silence.

There was an audible gasp as Dick rose and slowly moved to the front of the room, where he locked eyes with Miss Hickman and stood next to her.

It was a site I will never forget. Well muscled, tall, Mr. Mean vs. tiny Miss Old Lady, and she wasn't backing down, even though she had to crane her neck to look up and meet his eyes.
"Mr. Menefee, you are expected IN YOUR CHAIR by 8AM. Do you understand?"

I was certain he was going to hit her. I had heard he had struck teachers before, spent time in Juvy Hall even, had a gun, knives...."DO YOU UN DER STAND, MR. MEN E FEE?" she said, but was trembling just a bit.

The sweat was dripping off me when finally he spoke. "Yes."

Still locked in a stare she said, "Now take your seat and don't forget."

The bell, thankfully rang, and we all left the room, off to repeat to our schoolmates what had just happened. The next morning at 8AM, Dick was in his seat. Something shifted in that standoff the day before. For one thing my respect for Miss Hillman grew tenfold, and my respect for Dick Menefee was just beginning. He was like a changed young man. Had no one ever stood up to him before? Was he also impressed by little old lady Miss Hillman's courage? I'll never know for sure, but something happened beyond that moment.

Dick Menefee got noticed by the football coach. He started playing football---very well! That led to his handsome good looks being noticed by the pretty cheerleaders, and then by one of the brightest, shyest, SWEETEST girl in school. They started dating and Dick started smiling. His grades went up and he became one of the nicest guys you would ever want to know. He became popular.

I don't know how his story ended or continued, but I know when a tiny old teacher stood up to him and refused to accept that he was not worth the attempt to talk to. Could she imagine all that she taught us that day? I know it made ME feel more powerful, brave, and most importantly it showed that Dick Menefee was a human being, not a monster.

Maybe it showed him that too.

Secondary Progressive MS, When MS Retires

2011-10-05T07:53:00.000-07:00

I used to think secondary progressive MS was the worst thing that could happen to me. I mean, after all, if you start at relapsing remitting, the progression to secondary is the end of the line---all downhill from there. Well, that may be true, but I'm not living it yet. In fact, I feel better than I used to.

Back in 1990, after my initial diagnosis, my hopes were on being that 50% who never would rely on a wheel chair. It seemed, for 15 years, that I had made it! But, alas, here I sit, power chair at my side---always. Oh well, you takes your chances. I refuse to accept the whole "secondary progressive now you are just a downhill headed snowball" thing. Um, I don't roll like that.

In truth, some functions have come back that I thought were gone forever. Plus, there is a certain tranquillity with not waking up each day and finding a relapse starting. As my neurologist asked me 5 years ago, "When was your last relapse?" I couldn't remember, in fact, without all the blog and Face book reading I do, I'd probably have to really think hard to recall what they were like. Much of the uncertainty of MS is now gone. Here I am. Being 54 leaves me with more health issues to worry about than MS.

Like cancer. Had it once, don't want it again. Liver problems. Had them once, don't want them again. Diabetes runs in my mom and a brother (both of whom I look just like), don't want that.
Then there is mom's Alzheimer's---like a shadow that I see every so often, hanging around...certainly don't want that. My point is that MS has crept lower on my health concerns list. Secondary progressive can do that for ya. It has shown certain limitations, but I will always continue to try and erase those. Bottom line: there is so much more I CAN do than I can't do. My focus is clear for the goal of quality of life.

Back in the '90s, I was working at a job I loved, walking hills of Seattle every day, driving, but my quality of life was pretty sucky. I would never have admitted that then, because who KNEW where I might be in 10 years, but now I can say---it was really difficult.

I feel bad for people diagnosed with MS so early now, I do. Those years BEFORE my diagnosis, almost 8, where today a MRI would have pegged me, were terrible and scary. But they passed and newly diagnosed people now seem so freaked out! (As I would have been. I would never have gotten my job with the city that afforded me such great health benefits. I might even have headed back to UGH Indiana. So MANY things I never would have felt able to do, chances I would never have taken.) Without a CURE, early diagnosis just seems more of a trouble maker.

If I found out today that I will get Alzheimer's---what good will it do me? NONE. I already play all the brain strengthening games, eat the healthy foods, exercise; not a future I'm worrying about.

Secondary progressive MS. SPMS. There are worse things to have.

JonBenet Ramsey, Amanda Knox, Giles Corey, OJ, Casey Anthony, Galileo, Jack Ripper, and Human Justice

2011-10-04T03:52:00.000-07:00

Another murder comes and goes and we read or watch in amazement. Who done it? Let the game of Clue begin. Innocent? Not guilty? Let's debate if those are the same thing.

Can we arrest a man for his thoughts? Did we get the Salem witch trials right?

How did cavemen dispense justice? How did they decide "who done it"?

Do animals or birds murder, then try to hide the fact?

With our never-ending search for the who, what, when, where, and why of life, unless we hand it all over to a God---the TRUTH is that we may just never know. The coming generations may one day know, but not us.

To me, some of the cases seem pretty easy to figure. I think if an accused person starts lying, well, if nothing else they are liars or mentally challenged. If friends of theirs go along with the lies, then they are just liars, and liars have something to hide.

Casey Anthony was such a blatant liar that her case was open and closed, right? Not so fast, she got off free from harming her little girl in any way. Who done it?

Amanda Knox said she did it, but later had reasons why that was a lie which should be ignored. She did or didn't lie? Oh right, that was in Galileo country and they just must not know how to find the truth. Who done it?

No one knew much about DNA back in the OJ Simpson days, so if an old glove didn't fit that big hand of an athlete, then we must acquit. Who done it?

Galileo never lied. But he did say things the rulers of the day did not want to hear. He done it. Guity as charged.

Giles Corey never lied. He refused to say anything at his Salem trial, so the powers that be chose to pile stones on him until they "pushed the truth out of him." Corey never said a word. He was crushed to death. Guilty as charged.

Yes, human justice is strange indeed. Too often more ice than just. Our prisons hold innocent people and our streets house the guilty. Perhaps we have a brain that has an area for making a wrong right within ourselves. That area sits in line with empathy, passes by the fear zone, ends with many synapses firing off and bouncing into each other, searching for the perfect fit.

It may be that there is no perfect fit, since that would require our own brain connecting with a suspect's brain, ah, the stuff of science fiction. The fear in our brain is that if we do not capture and stop these wrong-doers, than they will keep doing the bad deed. We certainly have plenty of proof of that. Yet, even that has a flip side---what other child did JonBenet's killer kill?

If O.J. did it, he didn't did it again. Michael Jackson's "doctor" is headed down the road to be busted for at the very least, assisting in Jackson's death, but if he is freed...anyone think he won't help others sleep by any means necessary for the right amount of money?

Our human justice, however screwed up it is, makes us feel we are safer for it. Do you feel safer?

Seattle Park After Horsetail Cutting. Bat Swamp Land

2011-10-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, here are photos of the "neighborhood park" after my Tweets and general complaining about what a mess it was. Before noon on Thursday, you couldn't even SEE the wood steps up the hill. That sidewalk on the street front was also covered with grit, stones, and weeds.

See the "Leash Your Dog. Scoop Law" sign? That went up the day after I called to complain about the poop smell and loose dogs at the park. My resident neighbors had been complaining about that for months---why didn't they call the Parks Dept.? Seattle has excellent Parks and Streets Depts.

At my previous apt. complex there was a large crack in front of our building, right across from a public library. After many months it grew to a sink hole and yes, Diane gets tired of always being "a complainer." It was HUGE and I actually was afraid it might encroach upon my building. I told the building Mgr.--nothing. I doubted he cared. Due to construction, large semi-trucks were diverted down my street and made the hole deeper by the day.

Finally I called the "pothole" number and within 24hrs it was completely repaired.

And there is the WIDE "ADA compliant" (well, yeah, trucks need to drive through---I'm SO sure people with disabilities was what the designer had in mind, right.) entrance in the 2nd photo.

That huge building in the first photo is the retirement community, and that shows about half of it. I wonder how many seniors were on the advisory board for the park design...oh, right---NONE!

In my mind this is no park at all. It is a stab at art. And even at that it fails because of the uncontrollable Horsetails that came with the soil that was delivered there. Oh well, those horsetails won't bother the bats and birds which have been encouraged to nest at this park. That's right, bats.

Next I'll take photos of the "pond," located in the center of the "park." Seriously, WHO thought this was a good use of citizen money?

No Equality in Seattle City Park. Mayor Says That's OK

2011-09-29T00:17:00.000-07:00

This is an update regarding a new "community" park which was made next to the large retirement community I live in. Several people have fallen there, you can see the gritty path, and here is part of the Mayor of Seattle's response to my complaint about this park not being user-friendly.

"The park's lower bowl and pathway were designed to allow legal ADA access and use. The right hand entry path is ADA -compliant and allows for access to the semi-circle lower walking path, which also is ADA compliant. The surfacing material used on the lower -bowel pathways and ramps is ADA compliant. This surfacing was inspected before the park's opening to ensure that it complied with all local, state, and federal regulations."

(WAIT FOR IT-----) "The park's upper trails were never intended to be fully accessible. To make the upper trails fully accessible would have far exceeded our available funding. The trails are built to meet our design standards. The trail timber box stair standards do not call for railings, and no funding is available to provide railings now." (Emphasis is mine.)

Sincerely,
Mayor Mike McGinn

What do you think? Do I have a case? Tax payer money built this small community park.

Gypsy Optician in the Retirement Community

2011-09-28T00:11:00.000-07:00

When you become disabled, move into a retirement community, can't drive and finding a lift anywhere is practically impossible, NO WORRIES---Welcome to 2012, really back to the future, because foot specialists, notaries, eye doctors, dentists, opticians, heck, they will come to YOU!

Above is my mobile optician, Cynthia, holding some eye testing thingy. Her business is appropriately named, Gypsy Specs "Traveling Optician," 425-941-7790. If you are in the Seattle area. We had a fun time.

First I made her guess my age. She had said, "You look too young to be living here." Game on.
Her guess was "61." (I'm 54) This led to my teasing her about hurting my feelings. (Good times. Oh, and this was the FIRST time someone guessed me older than I am...probably not a good sign. Not that I CARE about age...just sayin', uh-hem.)

Then a screw came loose from a pair of glasses I asked her to clean for me and I got yardage out of that. "You've been here 5 minutes and already called me old and broke my glasses. HOW long have you been doing this?" (She has actually been doing this great traveling gig for FIFTEEN years. And I'm excited about getting my new glasses!)

So I am learning how to get around arranging expensive taxi and van rides that take up half my day. COME TO DIANE. I highly recommend these home services. The cost is so much less than a drive to them. One day maybe doctors will make house calls again, but until then, every little bit helps. I got new nose clips, my frames get new digital lens, and all loose screws were tightened.

Well, all but me.

When Were You First Called Ma'am or Sir?

2011-09-24T00:04:00.000-07:00

My first time was at Starbuck's. A late teens barista-dude nailed me. I was about 35.
I was also called Sir once at a camera store. I was about 24. Hmmm

You? How did it make you feel? I'm 54 and rarely get called anything anymore. Though I USE those titles often.

Ukulele Birthday with Greased Pole Stories

2011-09-23T00:02:00.000-07:00

Last night after dinner I went to a birthday party for one of our new residents. That's me, attempting to play something that sounds like Happy Birthday. I do love my uke, but mostly strum to my own beat, pausing, hitting the base, anything to make some bit of music.

I rolled to a neighbors door and practiced first. They were both out, so I wasn't bothering anyone or embarrassing myself. I picked a string. WAIT. What was that echo I heard? I listened...nothing. I hit another string, there it was again.

The noise was coming from the pooch inside that apartment! He had perfect pitch. "Ewok, Ewok, " I called. And he whimpered. I forgot about their adorable dog. Ewok and I are buds.

The party was great fun. My favorite part was listening to old stories. One guy told his earliest memory was at age 3. He was at a fair and older boys were attempting to climb a greased pole. Later at home, he watched his dad cut down a tree and he was certain that a pole was going to be made just for him! He remembers his disappointment vividly.

Another recalled his paper routes. It all reminded me of hearing my Aunt Vi's old stories. Her paper route story was when she saw the paper boy running and shouting. She wondered what the fuss was about, as he got closer she heard, "The Titanic Sinks!"

There is nothing better than sitting around sharing stories.

The Art of Being Still: Use Caution

2011-09-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

Thought of one more closet story. On my "honeymoon," I hid in our closet and after partner arrived from being out, I just stayed there, behind the clothes. I stayed there, barely breathing for over 30 minutes, finally she opened the door, reached in for a hanger, and I slowly reached out and grabbed her arm.

She screamed bloody murder then froze. (Yes, same person with whom our first date was at ER for heart condition. Okay, not my greatest idea.) I kept saying over and over, "It's ok, it's just me..." She froze, eyes wide open. I thought I'd killed her.

After she came around I was in the doghouse and I will NEVER do anything like that again.

Growing Up Around Lesbians in Indiana

2011-09-22T00:02:00.000-07:00

This is a photo of Aunt Vi and her longtime companion's (Ivah) mom, Lane. Don't let the photo fool you, they didn't get along well. (Remember they are both looking at Ivah, who is taking the pic.) What I love is Aunt Violet's sassy pose. Lane was a good Christian woman, her father a minister. I think this was dated the early 1930's.

Lane helped raise me. Babysat when my mom was at work. Read books to me, including her Bible. I called her Laney and loved her very much, until I saw how she treated my aunt. I never understood why, as a child, but of course now I do. Aunt Vi was a loose cannon. And she held her daughter's heart. She felt Aunt Vi and Ivah were a bad influence on me.

Hiding in Closet Circa 1960

2011-09-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

This poor excuse for a blog. Thanks for still reading.

At first I thought I had too little to say, but my post writing time has been spent on Facebook posting/reading, keying/reading court documents for my book, reading kindle books and watching old TV shows; all of which have led me to many thoughts---too many thoughts, and my poor brain wants to connect them all together. I would love a PET scan all night long on my brain.

So many new people I've "met" on Facebook. I had no idea how much gay Americans are still afraid, still discriminated against, still in the closet. Living in Seattle has insulated me from reality. It breaks my heart. They were me, about 50 years ago. Never thought when I was 54 that gay people would be living such lives. I think JFK really made me believe we were better than who we became.

Back to my brain connecting things. When I was 3 years old, my brothers played hide and seek with me. They were 10 and 11 and basically wanted me out of their hair for a bit. I found a great spot in a closet. It was a tight fit, but I crawled under some boxes and blankets and didn't make a peep. This story is legend, or was legend in my family (when I still had all my family who cared about little Diane, namely my mom and Aunt Vi). After mom wanted us kids, I wouldn't reveal myself. I stayed hunkered down for HOURS. My mom was frantic.

Yes, I heard her say it was all over, but I didn't believe her. The boys put her up to it. I wasn't about to let them win! Poor Mom, she was almost in tears when I finally came out. I got a lecture too, and so did the boys. No more hid and seek for us.

My point is: That was the first time I "officially" came out of the closet. My brain wonders, if 100 years from now people will have to search the Internet to find out why gay people used the phrase "coming out." Then will they wonder why a closet? My brain wonders it now.

Okay, Aunt Vi finally stopped by a few days ago and I'll tell you all about it next time.

Coping with Life One Door at a Time

2011-09-14T00:02:00.000-07:00

How Teletubbies Helped My Multiple Sclerosis

2011-09-13T00:08:00.000-07:00

Around 1999 my MS really kicked into high gear. My daily routine of walking with walker up and down my apartment complex's hallway (it was an entire city block long) was becoming more difficult each week. The IV Solumedrol was starting to be useless. My legs were failing.

My partner was having similar difficulties and our physical outlet was the PBS TV show, The Teletubbies. We watched it daily, taped it, bought special tapes, and danced our hearts out.

Yes, it was just a silly kids show, but the movements it encouraged were all we were up to. The music and cute characters kept our spirits up. We made it a happy time, a happy memory in the midst of one of the lowest health times of our lives.

Thank you, Teletubbies! You helped two ailing people stay active, laugh, and have a feeling of accomplishment.

Eye Exam, MS, Cataracts, Lenscrafters.

2011-09-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, after years of kvetching on my blog about my not having "new glasses," I finally got into an optometric physician's office last week. I know you are all relieved to stop hearing my hard luck story about the Dr. who said he was able to give me the exam while I stayed seated in my power chair, only to arrive, find out that was not true, got a one dollar exam that gave me an inaccurate prescription, that got nasty with me threatening to sue, then connecting transportation with appointments went array, then I found one place in Seattle where I could stay in my power chair, but by that time my insurance no longer covered them.

My great-aunt Vi suffered in her final decade (probably longer) because she didn't heed the advice of her eye doctor--she was all but blind at the end. My mother had cataracts, so did Aunt Vi; I had severe optic neuritis, courtesy of MS in my first year, sooo, a good eye exam is important. Plus, I AM A WRITER. My quality of life was decreasing. I found out that arrogant eye doctor who did me wrong was covered under my insurance. $315 for the exam. THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN! Now, when I was working, that would have been no big deal. In fact, I got the best lens money could buy. But now...I am a Social Security survivor who needs lots of money thanks to MS. "Cheap" is my middle name. No complaints, I had my day in the money sun. Never took it for granted. I am now in the, "I'll look for a lower price," game.

Lenscrafters fit the bill, $125 for a full exam. It is nearby, at the mall. I'd call a cab. My private caregiver said she could make the date. It was ON!

First I had to get past the taxi dispatchers. I am NOT a crier. I am NOT a "moody" woman. But, I almost gave up and cried after talking to one very rude dispatcher. She needed the address, she couldn't fine the address (my pressing that it was THE MALL, made no difference), she couldn't find the phone number, I was wrong, she was right, period. "Give me the name of a business next to it."

"I haven't been to the mall in a decade. I have no idea." I felt defeated and angry at myself for feeling that way. Dealing with call center people was my forte! Buck up, Diane!

I called back, got another nasty dispatcher, asked to speak to a supervisor---I pulled myself together and made it to the Lenscrafters (When I phoned Lenscrafters for info to give the taxi co., I was told that taxis drop people off every day and I was just being jerked around. Hearing that comforted me, my God, am I becoming needy? Ugh.) although I was ten minutes late, but the employees there were so nice about it.

The first difficult part was getting close enough to the glaucoma testing machine. My caregiver had to hold me up AND push my head into the machine. She is truly remarkable.

Then she had to transfer me into the exam chair in tight quarters, a chair with arms like a tyrannosaurus rex---tiny. We were both so proud that we did it, even after my foot got stuck, mid-transfer, into the wheel of my power chair!

Dr. Nevett was terrific, very thorough, and he was the first eye doctor who didn't freak out by my pale ON (optic neuritis) footprint on my eye. In fact he said my eyes were in great health. YEA! "Are you sure I don't have cataracts?"

He laughed. You see, a woman here at my retirement joint just had cataract surgery and nowadays you can get an implant that makes it so you no longer need glasses!!

"People used to beg me to wait on the surgery, now they beg me to do it right away," he chuckled as we shared our stories about the new advances.

Sooo, after less than 30 minutes and a $5 co-pay, I now have all the prescriptions I need. I'm using my own frames and in about ten days I'll be seeing again! Woo Hoo

What fun to see all my typos. the bald spot on my head (which I swear Copaxone gave me), and oh the dust in my apt.!! YEA!!!!

Disabilities, Skyscrapers, and the Courage it Takes

2011-09-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Heroes: People who must use wheelchairs, yet go to work every day in tall buildings.

John Abruzzo worked in One World Trade Tower, 69th floor.

Ed Beyea worked on the 27th floor and died on 9-11

The tragedy of 9-11 brought these people into our lives. Many more heroes in wheelchairs, walkers, and canes we will never know, but they wear badges of courage working in tall buildings. We all live with fears, it is how we proceed into life that allows us to live with courage.

Fear and Courage are Often Together

2011-09-10T18:13:00.000-07:00

My Friendship Dilemma. Multitasking with Packers

2011-09-09T00:06:00.000-07:00

Here is my dilenna: I am writing a true story about a situation that involves a person who contacted me recently for a visit. This person very much likes a person in my story who turns out to be not the hero we saw him as. I don't believe in putting MY feelings about a person onto another person. Ya know? But the basis of my story involves the great depth of villainous deception that existed and I can't pretend I don't know the truth. (The truth in HIS words via court documents. I MYSELF was fooled until I paid for the court copies.)

**For those of you wondering what I am talking about, I have written often about the book I am working on. It is about the social workplace dynamics of a sexual harassment suit at my job with the city of Seattle.**

My way of dealing with this so far has been to avoid the person, though that person was/is a friend of mine...a "C" list friend, haven't seen each other in over a decade. Now, I must explain that this person has made NO attempt to call or visit me in over a decade either, never returned my calls---I pretty much wrote the person off. Now...what do I do? This person is an innocent as far as the story, clueless about any of it. In fact, I was writing about "him" when the person called out of the blue, and brought "him" up! Coincidence? (Side note: Right after the call, I discussed it with partner then we watched Gunsmoke and its lead character had same unusual name as my friend!) (No, Diane is not stoned. Yes, this is the post.)

While I'm writing this I'm watching the Green Bay Packers beating by a touchdown, New Orleans. Maybe I multi-task too much...wait you guys have already told me that. I may have ATM syndrome. Addiction to Multitasking.

I meant to, and should be writing about my adventure going to get new glasses today!! Gawd, my sentences are horrible. The Packers won. To bed I go. Been a long day.

Obama Take us Back. Time to Get Busy.

2011-09-07T19:32:00.000-07:00

Thursday our president gives one of the most important speeches of his life. He says he will present his plan for putting Americans back to work. Here is my three cents:

We the people need to take some responsibility for the broken country we are in. It is wrong to blame one man or 1,000---we all share the responsibility and we all need to fix our nation together.

Remember how life was after WWII? We were happy as larks. After the Cold War ended--party time! We decided to celebrate. After all, we were the greatest nation ON EARTH! So, we stopped saving and investing. It was time to spend, buy houses, and if we were short on cash, CHARGE IT! Education? High school "was good enough for MY old man..." and in fact good paying jobs for those without a college degree or special training were plentiful. All those bridges, roads, train tracks that we built are in a disastrous state---put people to work fixing out infrastructure. That is our foundation.

Then the Baby Boomers started wanting. Their parents gave all they had. An entire generation was hanging out drinking Coke Cola's and smoking cigs, driving zooped-up cars and finding ways to make money that often had nothing to do with hard work. Technology was running the show, jobs that fed the Boomers were disappearing, and we all just watched.

Man on the moon? Cure for Polio? A computer in every home? Am I the only one who feels we are drowning in cell phones and iPads? Can't we think bigger? The telephone was huge in its day, as was television. Vaccines were flying out of mankind's brains. "Giant Leap" for us, really? Or the beginning of the end?

Educate and train our population to keep up and surpass current technology. Tax the wealthiest more--DO IT. Get motivated to advance your well-being. Demand quality food, air, and water. If that means big corporations will lose some money, tough tooties! Our nation will save in health care costs. Rebuild America one brick at a time. Bring home our troops. Secure Social Security and Medicare, now and into the future. Legalize marijuana, prostitution, and tax those babies. Legalize gay marriage in every state---add up all that money spent on weddings, all the jobs.

I'll stop. Over 3 cents. But Mr. President, MOTIVATE us tomorrow to recapture our power as a people who can conquer our problems whether from floods, terrorists, loss of jobs, WE want to be that great nation our forefathers and grandparents died for.

Blogger's Block: Who Stole My Ideas?

2011-09-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

Maybe writing on three books at once is not the best idea. Maybe joining Face Book was a dud of a deal, but now a book is coming out of it, so how can I leave? Maybe I need to retire from leading meetings, like the council one at my retirement joint. Perhaps I shouldn't be reading two books and several magazines/newsletters at a time, plus blogs galore. Perhaps I need to go off grid for the rest of the year. Nancy Grace is on Dancing with the Stars, a program I have seen once, but now for some strange reason am looking forward to it. Could be I need to stop working on my financial ledger EVERY DAY. I just am sick of writing about me, MS, my family, this joint, celebrities--BORING.

Will my finger wear out? If it DOES, how will I press the button to turn on my fan? Going up to 90' this week. Really, after reading SO MANY ideas on Face Book, there is little new under the sun. YaaaaWWWnnn, excuse me. I think I'll take a nap now.

Chaz Bono, Venus Williams, Sjogren's in Your Face!

2011-09-01T18:01:00.000-07:00

Well this has been an interesting week. Two major invisible facts of many people's lives are coming to a TV screen near you--in that big celebrity way only a celebrity can. Who brought AIDS into American households? Rock Hudson. Every difference, every misunderstood aspect of the human condition needs a celebrity to really shine a spotlight of awareness on it.

Transgenders everywhere will be standing a bit taller when Chaz Bono, Cher's son, dances with the stars. (The star here is actually Cher, and all eyes will watch for a glimpse of her, but the gay community will watch for a glimpse of freedom.)

Those sufferers of Sjogren's, like my partner, will cheer that people the world over will BELIEVE their physical problems are NOT in their head. PLUS, people may even learn to pronounce it!

Yes, it has been a good day for celebrity awareness and acceptance, or at least another step in the right direction. To transgenders and Sjogren's sufferers everywhere---party tonight!

Overweight Loner, Small Bird on Inside: Characters I Have Known

2011-08-31T00:08:00.000-07:00

She was what most would call "a big-boned woman," and she dressed in what women tend to call "comfortable shoes." She worked in the credit/collections dept. at my job with Seattle City Light. The only place I ran into her was our elevator or lunchroom, where she sat all by herself, eating daintily like a small bird. To tell you the truth, I never paid any attention to her with the exception of the elevator smile and nod.

All the other credit dept. representatives seemed to have friends, a group they hung with, but not Val. Val was a loner. Val was a forced loner, more commonly known as an outcast. Val was a male.

People would whisper when she passed, giggle---I thought it was about her almost ankle length dress and flat heel shoes, her 6 foot-something body and probably 200 plus pounds, but no, it was that Val was going through a sex change, male to female.

I have considered what I would look like as a man, and I would look "off." My hands are small, my fingers are thin, I am I fear too "pretty." Val's hands were too big, her feet and legs too large, her voice too deep (mine is way-sky too high), to make a successful trans candidate in the 1980s.
Back then the abilities of surgeons were limited. Society wasn't into "I love my big self! Accept me or shut up." Val made an awkward-looking woman. She looked nothing more than a man in woman's clothes.

When I found out the truth I wanted to really look at her. I also wanted to befriend her, because how she was being treated was just wrong. One day a memo went around telling us not to be mean to the man in woman's clothing on the first floor. Wow, talk about a crude and stupid memo. Then we heard she had been attacked by co-workers for using the women's restroom.

Most of the out-gay employees tried to be friends with her after that, and some straight co-workers too. She was depressed. No one accepted her, not her family or previous friends, and working was becoming a daily nightmare. I saw the words of hate someone wrote on the restroom mirror with red lipstick.

As years passed, Val made a couple good heterosexual female friends at work, but her appearance was only made worse by further botched surgeries. Her money was running out. She came to a "Gay Employee" group that we tried to start, but she was too shy to step inside.
Was she gay? Was she straight? There was only G, then GL, then GLB...the T for transgender came years later. Ts have a hard time fitting in the other worlds, now and then.

Val was a sweet, kind person who just wanted to live her life like anyone else...she killed herself shortly before I retired. I will always remember seeing her one day in the elevator, stockings torn, scraps on her cheeks and tears slowly running her mascara down her face. Stoic on the outside, dying alone and sad on the inside.

Floods, Ft Wayne, Cousins, Sand and Pizza

2011-08-29T00:06:00.000-07:00

My brothers were not worth much to me, and this is where cousins come in. Cousins are the sisters and brothers you never had. My cousin, Rich, and I used to have a great time together. We were 4 years apart, so it took us later in our teens to get close. Then we would call each other up, "Wanna cop a pizza?" at any hour of the night and off we went.

We did a few cemetery raids, that means we walked among the buried and communicated when we could. We caught a few drive-in movies, across from the cemetery.

And lately, watching the floods around the states, I am reminded of the night we got together and drove out to a truck site where sandbags were being filled and loaded onto a truck. We put on big boots and jumped in to help however we could.

Fort Wayne, Indiana has the nickname, "Three Rivers," with "Three Rivers Festivals" and so on; because it is surrounded by three rivers, making Ft. Wayne quite a hub of commerce in its day. And also ripe for floods. Flooding of at least one of the rivers happens almost every year, at least it did when I lived there some 30 years ago.

So, Rich and I filled bags, loaded trucks, occasionally lost each other, and I found myself headed towards the river's ready to overflow edge, next to a small house. Very hard to see in the darkness where the river ended and land began. I just kept tossing the bags. Now, mind you, I can't swim, nope, not a lick. But when you are young, full of energy, full of the desire to help others as Rich and I always were, well---nothing to worry about.

I had to keep wiping sweat from my eyes, when I saw a person near me. It was a little old lady, thin as a rail, in a thin summer nightgown, she looked in my eyes. If the moonlight hadn't hit just right, I never could have seen her. Her squeaky voice was a whisper even when she shouted, "Thank-you so much, young man." (WOOT)

Well, we finished up at dawn, drove home for a big breakfast from our ever-cooking Aunt Vi, and we both were dog-tired, wet, and feeling like a million bucks. Yes sir, cousins are a gift. I miss my spontaneous calls for adventure and I hold them close to my heart.

Cousins are the best! And if YOU every feel the urge for an adventure into helping others, just call your nearest Red Cross, the volunteers there are incredible people who save lives every day. Now, if you want to cop a pizza, text your cuz.

When Your Brain Talks Too Much

2011-08-27T00:11:00.000-07:00

For at least a year I never mentioned my partner's name on my blog. In fact, I started this blog in part to have an outlet for my rants and thoughts, so that I didn't bog her down with this verbal person's constant desire to...talk. But, oh no, my readers wanted to know---who WAS this "partner?" And at my blogs start, she was at work all day, so she rarely had time to sit and read my blog. It became my private place. UNTIL, you other bloggers and commenters intrigued me so, that I'd keep saying, "You have GOT to read this!" and "Zoomdoggies said..." "Zoom who? what?" Yes, I started talking ABOUT my blogging. I guess a verbal person finds a way...

I've asked my mom when did I first talk? She says she doesn't remember, "...but it was too soon." The little pink baby book my mom kept for me, notes that I said, "Ma Ma" by 6 months. By a year it was full speed ahead. And Aunt Vi, a verbal person herself, had several stories of my non-stop conversations. Apparently many were with myself, since my mom loved to tell the story of coming home from work to hear me talking with some people in my room, scaring her at first, until she discovered I was all alone with my imaginary friends. (And I had quite a few stuffed animals, or as my Canadian readers say, "plushies," which sounds much more humane, that also carried on conversations with me.)

My poor shy, mother, my poor "silent type" older brothers---many will say I was born this way, but I think far more important was the constant barrage of conversations around me in a two-story house full of relatives day and night. My quieter mom raised my brothers, but when I came along my sperm donor left and mom had to get a job; I was left with many other people. (Not to mention I had two dopey brothers that THEY didn't have, PLUS I had TV. )

There is also a non-stop conversation going on in my brain. (The very thought of this drives my partner crazy. SEE PHOTO ABOVE) Ask me what I'm thinking and you better pull up a chair, grab some strong coffee, if you really want to know. Funny, in elementary school I rarely spoke. Much like my new life here, among the retirement home natives, it is just so fascinating to listen and watch THEM!

Maybe this is why when MS slurred my speech, well, it perturbed me. Though, I did find it quite interesting and humorous, from an actor's point of view. To this day I find myself sometimes looking down at my mouth (never being able to see it, hmmm) and saying aloud, "What did I just say?" When partner tells me, I reply, "Fascinating." Very Spock like.

And now I've rambled on, forgetting what I meant to write this post about. Oh, yes, talking too much and the blog helping give my partner a break. Yeah, that worked for a couple months.

Got MS? GET OUT! Reclaim YOU. (Caution: Unsolicited advice to follow)

2011-08-26T00:17:00.000-07:00

What was the first thought that crossed your mind after you heard you had MS? (I mean after:THANK GOD! It's not a brain tumor!) Something like, "What is going to happen to me?"

That is the one question that no doctor or test can answer. With MS, at time of diagnosis, we just don't know. So, let me offer a better question, every time that other question pops into your head, "What am I going to make happen to me?"

Although when cold feels hot and hot feels cold, when your hands stop working and your eyeballs aren't making it over home plate, it sure is easy to feel like you are no longer in control of YOU, in fact you are still in control of most of you. And that is where you begin making your future happen.

Oh, you have that other option, you can let MS make all the decisions, or your spouse, or your doctor, yes, you can do that, but I am suggesting that option is a poor one, especially if you want to live a happy life.

Nobody wants a cure more than me. Nobody wants some association to always "be there" for me more than I do. But I cashed my reality check many years ago. My life is in MY hands. Whether that glass is half empty or half full is MY decision. I suggest you choose wisely, what with the "only getting one life" and all.

The hardest thing to do is to get out of yourself. Let's face it, we all can get boring sometimes. And MYself includes MY family, i.e. my spousal equivalent---get OUT. Meet new people, start helping a stranger, not a big cause, just one person. Writing a check is too darn easy and takes just a minute. Get wholly involved in another person's troubles. Amazing how helping others always makes us feel good about us.

Start thinking about such actions, stop thinking about MS so much. MS is YOU and You are MS (contrary to what you may want to believe---"I am not my MS!" Who IS your MS? You do HAVE MS, right? "But MS doesn't have me!" Oh, ok, when you are picking out a cane...how's that workin' for ya?" Please, just embrace that you have a chronic progressive (in most cases) disease, and GET OUT OF YOURSELF. (While I agree MS should NOT define you, it sure helps explain you!) I am on Face Book, there is NOTHING on my Face Book page that says "MS." (As opposed to many others who have MS ribbons or sayings all around, some proclaiming, "MS doesn't have me!" Really? )

Best advice I ever got was from a book about MS that I purchased right after my diagnosis: "Sharpen your emotional tools." -Pepper Schwartz (I think that was the author...been 20 years ago...sounds like a detective on TV though...) You will need them to dig deep and find all the self esteem, love, compassion for yourself and others, that exists within you.

MS may not be a virus, but your whole family will be a part of your MS journey. Do INCLUDE them. Don't see this as a burden to them, see it as the gift of an opportunity for THEM to get out of themselves.

Now, go have a fantastical day, my MS readers, and same to everyone who took the time to read this missive. It really applies to all of us.

Patience is a Virtue. Just Leave a Message at the Tone.

2011-08-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

Marathon Not Sprint of MS Awareness

2011-08-24T00:07:00.000-07:00

As I have aged (like fine wine, uh-hem), My need to make people aware of multiple sclerosis has increased. Funny, but I expected the opposite. As my own knowledge and experience grew, MS became a bigger unknown to my worlds.

There was my work world. I was only in my thirties and full of energy! I started a disability group for employees (not ONE member had MS). I explained about MS while riding my scooter to city council meetings, to jury duty, on buses, in Starbuck's across Seattle! Then I moved to an enclosed community in gay-Seattle and began my awareness quest there. My struggle to get around with my cane was epic, and it led to many discussions about MS. I fought to make the public restrooms of my mixed retail apartment building accessible, I wrote letters to the theater chain asking for isle rails, I met with city sidewalk engineers to fix broken ramps and install new ones where needed. MS, MS, MS

By my fifties I moved to a retirement community, average age 85, and my energy for all this awareness making has run flat. Not a day goes by when eyes do not look at me in my power chair and wonder, "WHY is SHE here? In THAT?" I have considered a hand-out, the book with one of my short stories about MS located in the library here apparently is not sufficient. (Though the first one I donated was stolen, causing a bit of a brouhaha, so some residents actually wanted to read it...)

Shocking to me how many of this age group are so unfamiliar with MS. Keeps me wondering who is doing any MS Awareness for us? A once a year walk just isn't enough, and what does that do? It shows people laughing, walking, maybe a power chair here and there. But mostly a party atmosphere---how are people learning about MS from these events? (Sponsored quite often my at least one drug company.) I remember the one I went to. Finding transportation there was a joke, and the volunteers tossed me a T-shirt, "You can put this on over your shirt."

When I said I couldn't lift my arms up, they looked at me like I was an alien. Good grief. I ended up leaving after they couldn't find a place for me to sit and were having so much fun laughing among themselves about a movie they had seen...well, I just zoomed as fast as I could in hopes of catching the ne'er-do-well Access Van service before it left.

So, it seems I will be spending the rest of my life supplying MS Awareness. Fifty years ago, I am sure some other woman with MS spent her life doing the same thing. Though, when I was five years old I was hearing about MS from TV ads, magazine ads, radio, "MS. The crippling disease of young adults." A few more of those ads would make my task a lot easier.

Chonric Illness of Lovers and Happy Birthday

2011-08-23T00:06:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, oh ye partner of 32 years! I honestly must admit that I never thought you would live this long. Remember our first "date?" It was in an ER and I stole the red tape label "Cardiology" from a drawer in the room I was nervously waiting. I was not comfortable in hospitals, but after that night I had a feeling I had better get used to them.

Maybe it wasn't romantic, exactly, but we were falling so deeply in love that a dark well would have looked bright to us. I will also admit that I prayed right there, again, not my usual occupation. "God, if I take this on and all that comes with it, then will you promise to never take her from me too soon? Give me a sign. Send her out okay."

She came out okay and the rest is history. I never knew anything about chronic illness. Funerals were my forte, but those people were not ill for years. I had much to learn, but a deal is a deal. And there's all that gushy stuff---I loved her and she loved me, we really were made for each other if such a making is possible. We both had big dreams, a love of films, acting, writing, arts, revolution, big dogs---what more is there?

Then you, my love, would be stuck with a chronically ill person--POOF! No warning, completely out of the blue--multiple sclerosis. All I'd promised you went POOF too. Talk about a switcheroo---I know you are not the praying type either, but any port in a storm, right?

And so here you are--55! Wow, you have lived with progressive, chronic illnesses all your life and with great grace and dignity. Your spirit is always high and ready to burst out. Thank God I found you. Thank the universe, Goddess, Dial Soap, whatever, whoever---I am just so thankful you are here, next to me, celebrating 55 very difficult years. You amaze me. You inspire me. You deserve all the years you can get. Happy Birthday, Karenlee.

You, MS, and BM

2011-08-22T19:31:00.000-07:00

Was just visiting blogs and had to share this "code" before I could post comment:
MSUBM

hahahhahahahhaha I agree!

Sex and Maggie Hit Discovery. Why am I Laughing?

2011-08-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Maggie Gyllenhall is hosting a show on The Discovery Channel about why sex is fun. "...all the latest research..." I'm sorry (Notice how often people don't mean that? You just KNOW I am not sorry for what I am thinking or I wouldn't say it aloud. Hmmm, is a blog post "aloud" thoughts? If nobody reads this, is it heard? Oh NOOOO, my brain is talking to itself again.) but (and here it comes) this just tickles my (clean your dirty minds---did the word "sex" just send your brain that direction?") funny bone!

Well, I know MY kids are sitting down for this show!

Mother and Daughter Talk Alzheimer's

2011-08-20T18:06:00.000-07:00

"Mother!"
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"Oh, fine, how are you?"
"Pretty good. I fell down a while back, but I'm ok now."
"That's good."
"Do you know who this is?"
"Diane!" (How dare I ask such a stupid question?!)
I laugh. "Yes, what did you do today?"
Pause...then with attitude, "Why do you ask?"
I am surprised at her suspicious tone. "Just making conversation, Mom."
"Oh."
"So, what DID you do today?"
"Nothing."
"What a coincidence! That's what I did too!" (We both laugh.)
"Where are you?" (Here we go again. I think I should start with this.)
"I live in Seattle."
"SEATTLE? Since when?"
"I moved here 30 years ago. You visited a few times. You flew on a plane!"
"I did? That must have been nice."
"You liked the seagulls."
"Oh." (I feel I am boring her.)
"Do you still read those paperbacks?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?" (Again, an unfamiliar tone from my mom, verging on paranoid.)
"I thought I'd send you some if I can." (This was one of her favorite gifts.)
"That would be great. And write to me." (She has said that before and I do, but she always says she never received anything. Hmmm)
"Sure. Well, that's all I got." We laugh.
"Thanks for calling."
"Ok, bye, I love you, Mom."
"Bye." CLICK

First time I recall such paranoia in her voice. My cousin visited her a few days ago and said she seemed to be doing very well, though she asked several times where he was from. Interesting.
Always interesting where her thoughts go. Some places I know well. Some she never revealed.
I am watching some residents at my retirement home go through dementia and Alzheimer's...the emotional pain is short-lived, in the early stages. Hard to miss what you never had. I am so glad I had many conversations with my mother in those early stages, the big A talk. That is the best we can do, those of us left behind. Hearing her voice still comforts me. I hope that goes both ways.

I TOOK TWO NORMAL STEPS!!!

2011-08-16T11:06:00.000-07:00

I just had to tell my faithful blogees (?) first! I just took TWO full (that's four, out and back!) steps BY MYSELF!! (partner stood by and watched) MORE ABOUT THIS LATER....

MS WORD OF THE DAY: MSer

2011-08-16T00:29:00.000-07:00

Do you dislike the label: MSer? I like it.

How about a handicapped stall? I like it. Matter of fact I like the word handicapped. It reminds me of golf and why shouldn't I get a break on my tally? I AM handicapped. I need a few breaks to do all the things a person with a body that functions properly can do.

I don't like "gimp," because of the tone of people who use it. And "lame" is too harsh a word for a person. Though I am okay knowing a horse is lame.

Any words you don't like or think are okay for people with multiple sclerosis?

When a Broken Heart Bleeds

2011-08-15T00:02:00.000-07:00

You drew me in. I fell hard. But I could see no good outcome, so I held back.

You asked me to kiss you. But I walked to your bedroom window and gazed out, knowing that if I proceeded, my life would never be the same. I had a gut feeling you would leave me too soon.

With the kiss, I looked into your eyes, your soul, and told you, "NO one will ever love you as much as I will." We made 15 year old love.

You made promises. You wrote love letters. You spent many nights with me. We spent hours on the phone. You took me to horse shows, you took me in your mother's house, your employee's van, wherever you wanted to go I made sure you got there safely.

Did I ever tell you I never cried before I met you? First in front of my mom when I asked her for money for YOU, for that VW bug you wanted...I had never asked my mother for money like that. Did you pay her back? Did I? Your hard luck step dad story got my mom and me. She knew how my heart ached to see you happy. Since you dumped me I cry a lot.

You cried in jealous anger about another girl, an old friend of mine. I reassured you, but there was a moment that night that I thought of leaving you...I could feel the end was near.

My dresser drawer was filled with love letters from you. I kept them because I knew one day you would lie. How did I know? I knew you.

Then without reason you turned cold to me. I kept asking why? You said nothing.

You rode off from my bedroom to my older brother's waiting motorcycle. You were gone for hours. I cried and screamed at you, my mom in the next room, when you finally returned. You said it was nothing. but he was a me in men's attire---perfect hiding place for you, perfect transition away from me and you took it. I was 18, had the apt. we planned for after high school all ready--you picked out the couch. It ended up with you and him in the apt. below me.

At that point on, you showed me no mercy. You joined him at our family holiday gatherings. My mother knew what game you were playing. I will never tell you what she said about women like you. But she promised ME that he would never marry you. She was right.

When I found another, after years of your cutting away at my heart, you asked me to sit in your shiny new Firebird. "Keep in touch," you said. Looking straight ahead, I asked, "Why?"

"Don't you think people can change?" you said. "Sure they can," I replied, "after trauma, after they lose their father or are hurt in a car crash." That was all we said. Did you think of my words when your father died within the next 6 months and you almost died in a car crash? DID YOU change?

Whatever happened to you, you predictably erased me, us, from your memory. You rewrote our years together. I knew you would. When and where did truth begin and end with you? You broke up with my brother a few weeks after I moved out of state. It never would have worked, you both were too immature and selfish. How many husbands did you have after?

You told me you were ugly. I only saw beauty. Even with each dagger you twisted in me. I TOLD you no one would ever love you more. As the song goes: You were the best thing that never happened to me. -Beyounce

Yes, I dodged a bullet with you. I bet you are not mature enough even now to care for and about a person with a disability like me.

To say I wish I'd never met you would be a lie. You opened my heart. I just wish you hadn't left it bleeding. But battle scars form and we were not meant to be a team. You chose and I respect that. I do resent that you lied so much to so many about us. It just makes you look silly, they all knew.

Everyone knew but you.

Greek Spunky Courageous Friend--Characters I Have Known

2011-08-14T00:03:00.000-07:00

Short and pudgy, with graying hair and glasses, she always wore a dress with sensible shoes. Her name was Selena. A plain looking person, the kind who would easily disappears in a crowd. But to me she always stood out at work. For one thing, she arrived early, like I did, a rarity at my job with the city call center. And secondly she had a deep accent. I was embarrassed to ask what it was, but I would come to find out that few people knew.

Even citizen callers would ask to, "...speak to an American!" which, of course made Selena furious. Most of our callers in the early 1990's were white, older, and unfazed by insulting anyone that didn't sound like they were all white and all American. Their beloved Seattle had grown up and away before their eyes, for some reason the city call center for utility problems took much of their rage. In fact, many callers were calling in a rage to begin with---after all, they had some problem that they were certain we had caused. I had been called every name in the sailor's handbook, but attacking a person's ethnic identity was going too far. Hard to believe in the 1990's, but people still were refusing to talk with our African American employees and our women. "Let me speak to a MAN." Seems funny now.

So, Selena was not one to just transfer those callers away,no, she would give them a talking to! I loved it. I loved sitting near enough to hear her calls. "I am NOT Spanish!" she would shout. Finally I got up the courage to display my horrid American ignorance and ask what she WAS.

Selena was Greek. She came to America in her late teens and worked her way into college. She sent money home often, a practice she continued until all her Greek relatives had died in the last few years. Her sister joined her, married a man of means, they had two children, got divorced, Selena adored her niece and nephew, but Selena never married.

One day, when Selena was working as a bank teller, a wealthy man told her that she should get into the stock market. Oh, no, Selena replied, since she knew nothing about such things. He insisted, telling her how to buy 5 shares of a stock. Well, she did, and lost every penny. The man returned and told her to try again. Oh, no, said frugal Selena, but he insisted, even offering to give her the money to but the shares. Selena refused his money, but she gave in and bought the stocks. She made a little money. So, when Selena started telling me to buy stocks, I said, "Oh, no, I don't know enough about it." (Which is a touchy subject with me, since my brothers were given "the talk" from my rich uncle, but not a talk for a girl like me. THOUGH, being a girl like me, I listened around hallway corners as best I could. At age 8, it was not enough for me to understand more than the fact that IBM dividends were what some people lived off of and a poor man works for money while a rich man has his money work for him.)

My stupidity didn't bother Selena, she whipped out her bank teller story and brought up stocks every work day. I pointed out that she still drove an older model car, still had to work overtime, still ate at McDonalds. "It takes TIME," she would tell me in that Greek accent I learned to love.

A brokerage firm happened to be across the street. Almost every day she wandered over there on her breaks. It was right next to my bus stop. I would look in the windows--boring. Then, I would lean AGAINST the window. Then I went inside. Old men were sitting on fold-up chairs, their eyes glued to the ceiling that had a row of lights, constantly moving around with letters and numbers. They looked like pathetic, lonely, old men with nothing better to do. A few would be reading a folded newspaper and bobbing their heads up and down while penciling on the page. INSANE.

"Buy some of this company," Selena said. "I've never heard of it," I replied. She got that disgusted tone to her voice, "Look! It is on your computer!" We had just gotten new computers at our job and I was focused on the screens I used to correct billing problems, but sure enough, there it was: Microsoft. "What do they do?" I asked. Again, Selena sighed, it doesn't matter! They are on every computer. Do you think computers are going away!?" That made sense. But $30 for ONE share? I had been buying U.S. savings bonds for years...I'd have to cash them in...seemed awfully risky to me. Selena persisted.

"Diane. Buy some of this stock. It is just starting a company." Again, I had never heard of it. Starbuck's. Oh, yes, I had a memory of going into a cramped store near the Pike Place Market...it sold coffee. But, stock in them? That little store? I gave in and walked into the brokerage firm. I bought 100 shares of Microsoft. It had skyrocketed to almost $100 and Selena was CERTAIN it would go much higher. Two weeks later I was diagnosed with MS and then a large tumor in my uterus. OH NO. I had bought the stocks, using much of my savings (my savings bonds), in my name only, not my partners. I had to sell before I was unable to get to the brokerage firm.

That bus ride downtown was excruciating, each bump made me cringe in pain and hold my stomach. I kept thinking what a fool I'd been.

About two years later, a hysterectomy, a benign fibroid tumor removed and my partner's hysterectomy for severe endometriosis, MS letting me get by with just the occasional cane, Selena told me Starbuck's was "going IPO." I would learn by reading on line, that meant initial price offering of a company's stock. STARBUCK'S?? That cramped coffee shop down by Pike Place Market? Come on, Selena. She told me it would be huge and everyone would want it.
Seeing "Microsoft Hits $100 a Share" on the front page of our Seattle Times, did give me pause. If only I could have kept it...my partner was not doing well, her hysterectomy seemed to make matters worse. I decided it was time to buy a condo that would serve as our last home. I didn't see how she could keep working much longer. I put money down on a new two story condo. Then I went blind.

With the help of a friend, I swiftly got out of the condo deal and into a contract for a smaller one with no stairs and a large "handicapped" bathroom. But Selena, as much as she agreed real estate was important, thought I should get Starbuck's instead. I was at a financial crossroads. My goal was our financial security. I had a sum of money, all my savings bonds---I chose the condo.

Starbuck's went through the roof, as did Microsoft, splitting and splitting and splitting---my eyesight returned, my partner was getting stronger, I had made the wrong choice.

I say I don't believe in stress, but being the president of that condo board was as close as I've come to being a believer. Our condo sold in 24hrs. We made a few thousand dollars profit. I bought stocks again.

Selena went on her lunch breaks and bought more Microsoft, sometimes just 10 shares. I tried to tell her she was losing money on commissions, but she disagreed and insisted I but more. I told her I had no more money, she told me to take out a loan! What! She did it and paid it back, she told me. Now, Selena knew very, VERY little about the actual stock market---a big laugher for us both. We had been told at our jobs to "explore and play" on our computers, in the hopes we would feel more comfortable with them. Selena and I toggled back and forth to watch every stock tick, all day long. Up, up, up; split split split. I should have taken out those loans.

One day she suggested another new company, it would sell books off the computer. Oh, now GIMME A BREAK--that will NEVER fly! Amazon.com, and I missed it again. But, not Selena.

Needless to say, Selena became a Seattle millionaire, one of many ordinary people who did, during those years. I was so happy for her. This was a woman who TIPPED at McDonald's, bought extra burgers to give to panhandlers standing outside, baked hundreds of Greek pastries for her church and the needy. She eventually bought a new house, but not a new car. Her old clothes were just fine, but she paid off her mother's house in Greece. She retired a happy woman. I missed her dearly at work, It was never the same.

Many Seattle new, young, millionaires blew their money, but not Selena. She kept that old car until just the last few years. She still wears the coat she had decades ago and no one would ever suspect her means. Oh, and she still tells me to buy stocks. She still bakes those many pastries and buys nuts for the squirrels in her yard. She is a real American success story about hard work, determination, positive attitude and generosity. I learned so many lessons from her.