Miracle on Costco Street

No kidding, I seriously met Mr. Claus at Costco the other day! The meeting was so charming, I just had to tell you.

I was reaching into a bin of rolled-up, all-weather rugs when I realized I had no hope of hoisting one them out of there. I looked up, and there was a man with a white beard and shall we say, a respectable girth passing by me. He came near when I asked for help and I saw the name "John Claus" on his Costco employee badge. "Is your name seriously Mr. Claus, or are you just having some fun with the holidays?"

He bowed slightly, and with a voice soaked in kindness he replied, "I, John Nicholas Claus the Second, am at your service, my little angel."

Well, too bad I didn't have my black patent leather mary janes on, I would have curtsied. "Pleasure to meet you, Santa."

The Roar of Agony

Luckily, I've only heard it twice since we've moved into this house 3+ years ago. It's a guttural sound that James makes when he wants me to believe that I have mortally wounded him. It's not necessarily loud, but I call it a roar because it's powerful. He gets his message across.

The first roar of agony was prompted by a horrific odor that greeted James once as he entered the house through the garage. Even though I had opened the sliding glass door and turned on the fans, I could not get rid of the smell of burnt garage door remote control that I had accidentally melted in the microwave. (I can explain! But I won't right now.) Before the door shut behind him, he roared, "WHAT'S THAT SMELL?!!" and the real fun ensued as I tried to answer amidst his expressions of excruciating revulsion, disgust, and disbelief.

So recently we were having our ongoing love/hate discussion about This American Life as it came on the radio. James has this uncanny timing such that he invariably misses the hysterically funny episodes and tunes in attentively when something dark and tragic is broadcast. Consequently, we always argue about listening to this show. Two weekends ago, I insisted and James acquiesced. A moment later, someone on the radio related a story about watching his mother struggle to breathe after she had been removed from a respirator used during her bladder cancer surgery.

In a fit of a PTSD flashback from a similar experience of our own, James screamed, "LIIIIISSAAAAAAAH!" - a Ricky Ricardo-type verbal explosion that nearly blasted me out of my power chair.

"Ok, Okay! I won't ask you again to have your fingernails pulled out one by one, but I happen to like that show."

"...all piety and no sense."

Isn't that the perfect description of Sarah Palin? It's part of one of my favorite passages from The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. The passage goes on to describe how an irrational woman causes unnecessary and cruel terror in children with her inflammatory remarks as they prepare to be separated from their parents. The heroine of the novel responds like this:

"...she got a look on her that would turn the devil to stone, and then she slapped Adelaide right across the face - nice and sharp, so her head wobbled on her shoulders - and hauled her over to the door, shoved her out, and locked it."

Amen.

If You Like Storytelling...

Well, let me tell you something....it's my new favorite source of entertainment. So favorite, in fact, I can't stop asking James, "Honey, do ya wanna listen to The Moth podcast?"

I don't know why this usually makes him groan, because he always likes it when he does give in and listen. If you like storytelling and storylistening, You'll love The Moth, too.

It was on Ira Glass' This American Life, that I first heard a Moth story so hilarious I had to track it down to learn more. Yes, I said something was "hilarious" on This American Life. (James and I both quite frequently find that program more than just a little dysphoric. The topics are often very somber and even tragic, yet, I find it more and more compelling, much to James' consternation.) (Nice segue to the Moth, Lisa!)

Founded in New York City, the Moth was created by a member of group of folks who used to gather on someone's screened porch somewhere in the South to tell stories. A hole in the screen provided entry to a moth. The storytellers thought the characters of their stories were drawn to adventure, or certain people, or whatever the theme like a moth to flame. Hence, the name. If you're a friend of mine, you're probably going to find out about it the next time I give you a gift CD, otherwise, you can find out more about it on their website, which offers free subscription to podcasts.

Check it out and tell me what you think.

Come to the Garden, I Want the Flowers to Meet You

 

Taking a stroll with the dog recently, I came upon this unexpected patch of wildflowers on a favorite path. Momentary disorientation seized me. Wait a minute here, is it fall or spring? This isn't the season for brightly colored blooms in the desert. Look at this one, posed at wheelchair height just to smack me in the face with its surprising beauty. What a gift for me, that I could look straight into the face of this flower.

What is the message here? That this neighborhood spends a lot of money landscaping the common areas? Way more than that - money doesn't make flowers grow. My mind and shoulders were heavy with the weight of fear - of my physical and financial health, and the future of both seemed so foreboding. Loved ones near and far face challenges that seem unfair and even cruel. Friendships recently strained or even broken added sorrow to the mix of worries. Yet, natural forces were at work in the universe to create this happy floral scene. Trust in the mystery of natural forces to create beauty and to work things out. Everything will be alright.

 

A couple days after these photos were snapped, the temperature plummeted almost as harshly as the stock market and it snowed. We're not talking the softly-falling, snow-globe type scene, but real wintery, horizontal, blizzardy type snow. The kind that made me wish I had donned the ski goggles before I walked the dog in the neighborhood. Probably not the happiest day for these flowers that live across town....but a sure sign that soon, we will ski again and everything will be right with world.

Bad to the Bone

Yes, as the title suggests, this story is about my dog, Burgess. He's earned the title many times before, but there won't be any photos this time, and other names are omitted to protect the innocent.

Since I last wrote, I started a tutoring business out of my home. Yes, I actually like helping kids with homework and learning struggles, but if that idea makes a root canal sound good to you, I'll address your disbelief in another post.

When a tutoring session is over, I reward the students by letting them play with my dog. Yesterday, a young student was throwing the ball and chasing the dog around the back yard. Quite an idyllic scene was created. I smiled as I looked out, anticipating the parent's pleasure at this sight when she arrived to pick up her child.

Instead of amusement, I saw the mother's eyes grow very large as she looked into the yard. "Uh-oh," I thought to myself, as I turned to look through the sliding glass door. There was Burgess, my "fixed" golden retriever, humping the heck out of the little kid, who was face down on his knees. My turn for the eyeball enlargement.

Luckily, the mother has a very good sense of humor and like most people, is generally charmed by Burgess's usually sweet demeanor and good looks. She just chuckled and shook her head.

Several weeks prior, I had Burgess demonstrate to this student and his mother that he can give a hug when a person pats his/her own chest and tells him "Up!" So, when the child and the dog came bounding in the door together yesterday, the kid said, all smiles, "Mom! This time Burgess hugged me from behind!"

Driving While Disabled

Has anybody out there driving with a disability had a good (meaning nondiscriminatory, yet appropriate screening for safety) experience getting a license or getting one renewed? Licensing disabled drivers is a gnarly issue, and I don't pretend to know the answers, so I'm glad I'm not in charge. Yesterday, I got my license renewed easily, and I should be happy, but I'm alarmed.

Based on my first experience getting licensed here in Nevada four years ago, I went yesterday with the expectation of hassle and discrimination. My anger over what happened in 2004 really hasn't dissipated, so I'll admit to packing my trusty can of whoop-ass for this return visit.

When I arrived here with a valid driver's license from the state of Georgia and a completely clean record, I was asked to submit a medical affadavit as to my limitations and ability to drive. That in hand, the DMV informed me four years ago that I would have to take a road test.

"No, able-bodied (AB)drivers with valid licenses from other states don't have to do this," I was told. Five people up the hierarchy later, no one but me could see the discrimination in this policy. Not wanting to drive around with an expired license, I was forced to comply. "We need to assess your skills," was all they could say. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, for the DMV examiner had no training in vehicle modifications or disability. I expected she would be looking at my feet to make sure I could use the floor pedals properly and that she would watch how capably I used the steering wheel.

Clip-board in hand, she sat next to me, instructing me where to turn and what to do. I was more concerned about what she thought of me as a disabled driver and trying to discern what she was doing than being a meticulous driver. At the end of the test, she said she couldn't give me my license because I failed to parallel park to her satisfaction, I drove forward to get out of a parking space when she thought I should have used reverse, and at a stop sign where I couldn't see oncoming traffic around a curve, I stopped in front of the white line and not behind it to improve my view without getting into the intersection.

I was humiliated and furious. She told me nothing I did was illegal, nor would get me a ticket, and that she never felt unsafe as my passenger, but because I made three mistakes, I would have to try again another day. The next day I passed the test.

I'll cop to being a sloppy driver, and not performing perfectly on the exam the first time. My problem is that this test is only applied to disabled drivers. I bet many unsuspecting ABs who haven't had a road test since they were 16 years old would have a similar result. But no, they are allowed to walk in and walk out, licensed and nobody knows how they parallel park.

So fast forward to yesterday, 9/11/08. Internally, I'm wound up, and I'm not missing the somber, explosive associations to this day. I roll up to the desk with my form that indicates muscular dystrophy is the disability that might affect my driving. The charming, lovely clerk looks at the form and struggles to pronounce MD. When I help her with that, she says, kind of whispering, hunching, like it's just between us girls, "Oh, but you're alright, aren't you? You don't have any seizures or anything?" It reminded me of first-graders talking about cooties. When I respond in the negative, she takes my money and directs me to the picture-taking area of the DMV.

So, four years later into a progressive neuromuscular disease, I get a driver's license renewal with no medical affadavit and no road test. This is disconcerting. So, of course I left the building with my chair tires burning rubber.

The state apparently trusts me to figure this out on my own, and maybe that's the ultimate equality we've been fighting for all this time.

The Sweetness of Getting Older

"So how old are you going to be on your birthday this year, Sweetheart?" said my boyfriend of let's just say, umpteen years.

"Forty-six!" I said, trying to make it sound absolutely fabulous.

"Good God, you're an old maid!" he said. I had to giggle. Apparently, it's the sarcasm that makes this relationship work.

So yes, I am marking another year on the calendar, and eventhough I'm going to take a nap as soon as I'm done writing this, I feel pretty good. Young at heart, even. The cards and birthday wishes are pouring in, even from friends I have sadly neglected recently. I'm super lucky to be loved, and I give thanks for that everyday. My friend Suzy, knowing I am a lover of music and lyrics, has sent me a different music card every day this week. How original!

From the package my parents sent, I pulled a package of blueberry scones, just as I was wandering about what special thing I could enjoy for breakfast tomorrow. Tonight, James and one of my best girls, Kris will dine at La Vecchia to celebrate. Tomorrow, it's off to Squaw Valley for the Art Bark Fest, including dock jumping and and wine tasting with dogs and friends crowded all around. My other best girl, Mechele, is off with her daughters swimming with the dolphins in Puerto Vallarta, and that's present enough right there. What a blast. I am a lucky, lucky girl.

'Twas 17 days After

 

This is what my face looks like 17 days after the Mohs surgery. The picture helped me to see the little white stitch the doctor's office said I could remove myself if it "popped up." I'm not stressing to re-photograph without it - you'll just have to have faith in my medical skill.

Magic carpet ride, anyone?

 

At last, Burgess flies again! Summer's injuries are healed and the hips are rehabilitated enough that we gave it a try. My boy looks good, doesn't he? At the annual Splashdogs event at the Nevada State Fair last weekend, Burgess had his first jump since the World Championship last November 2007. We tried sending him down the ramp (as opposed to jumping off the dock) but he started launching himself and lost his footing on the slippery ramp. It seemed safer to jump off the dock at that point. So we tried it with some baby tosses and he jumped beyond the throw everytime - no apparent problems and no pain behaviors the next day, either. My arm is quite rusty after a summer off the docks, so my performance was nothing to write about. But what a weight off my shoulders to see my boy jumping again.

I'm Still Here

Dear Loyal and Not-So-Numerous Readership,
Sorry 'bout the unplanned and prolonged hiatus. Have not forgotten you, but life has been going faster than I can keep up lately. I'll return tomorrow with new and interesting photos and follow-ups.

Just wanted you to know I've missed you.

Fondly,
Your Sassiness

'Twas the Day After

'Twas the day after my skin cancer surgery, and this is how my wound looked. Luckily, only one layer had to be removed to be cancer free upon microscopic inspection. Still, I was there 4 hours - most of that waiting for the tissue sample to freeze. Recheck every three months, but cure rate is 97%. However, now that I've had one basal cell carcinoma, my risk of getting another somewhere else is 40% greater.

"I'm going to put the incision in one of your existing lines (wrinkles), so it won't be too noticeable." Well, that's kind. As long as my smile can still circumnavigate my head while i'm skiing, who cares?

'Twas the Night Before

'Twas the night before my skin cancer surgery, and this is what my basal cell carcincoma looked like (small red patch.)
"Look, this is where there will be a scar," said the dermatologist as she thrust a mirror into my hand. Hopefully there won't be a giant spiderweb of skin cancer under this spot and it won't be too bad. And if there is, I guess you can look for me to star in the next Batman movie.

I'm having the Mohs procedure at 11am tomorrow. Just wanted to document what my face looked like before and after and how long it takes to heal and all that.

Can We Talk Quinoa?

Why not? Everyone else is. The super nutrient-loaded grain from South America that's actually a seed and comes in 2 or 3 colors. People in the know have been eating it for centuries. People out of the know are just getting started, and that would be me and mine. My chef friend, Gerard is going to make quinoa patties the new burger and yes, you can have fries with that, too. This tasty delight even satisfies a girl from the midwest who was raised on burgers.

Now, on to the quinoa salad. Can I get a witness? We got a protein power punch vegan feast here with heirloom black beans from Rancho Gordo, fresh corn off the cob, chopped yellow pepper, avocado, green onion, cilantro and cumin. The coolest thing about this salad is that practically anything goes in it - we made it progressive style - my friend Minh got it started, then I came along and added a few things, and Gerard finished it with the dressing. So invite your friends over, tell 'em to bring a couple things from the fridge and throw one together yourself. Your mouth and your body will thank you.

Speaking of having friends over, it looked like this when Gerard and Linda invited a few very lucky people. Looks like Tuscany under the grapevines, doesn't it? Maybe that's why they call it Reno Envy, baby. Check out Minh's photo album for more mouth-watering views.

Left wheelchair, saw mountaintop, skied down

 

You've heard of the 6-word biography, haven't you? (I'll provide the links later when I update this) - anyway, this morning I was reading the six-word slam in a blog about women's fitness. Yes, I was reading about fitness, go ahead and tee-hee, I did. Irony really tickles me pink. Anyway, women were asked to write something that "encompasses all that fitness is and does for us." After reading many a cool response, like "hotter at 37 than at 17," I was inspired to write something about being outside, moving, and what makes my heart sing. So, you're surprised that I, Miss-Wordy-Thing could actually say it in six? Yeah, me, too. You know it wouldn't hurt ya to give it a try yourself. Right here on my blog would be nice,....I dare ya...leave a 6-word comment about how you like to get out there and move it!

Sweet Moment of the Week

Kim and Dave: "Lisa, we're heading to the Galena Forest with a picnic and wine, would love for you to join us....but no pressure." (Read, "We know you're having a rough time, and we'd like to help, if that doesn't push you over the edge!)

A nice easy invitation to a beautiful and peaceful place with good friends - just what I needed to remove the crusty layer from my "it's been one of those weeks" mood.

My friends found a new spot in this park that I consider part of my backyard. A hilltop clearing in the woods with a big spread of lawn and a few picnic tables. All in easy wheelchair access, too, how 'bout that?!

Sorry, no picture, I was too tightly wound to do anything more than get myself and my dog out the door. Too bad, the late afternoon sun filtered through the pine trees lighting and shading the world in my favorite way.

Vote for Burgess!

 

Now, there's a good-looking dog, wouldn't you say? Go ahead, say it by voting for him at my vet's website alpine vet reno, click on the contest, and then give Burgess a big mambo number 5. Be sure to click "Vote" after making your selection. To advance the pictures, you'll have to vote on each dog until you get to this picture.

What's his beauty secret? Steal a yummy sandwich and then lick your lips!

This message was approved by Burgess.

Smoke Came Out of Our Ears

 
This raspberry sorbet made by Gerard with berries from his own garden looks sweet and innocent and oh-so refreshing on a hot summer day, doesn't it? Just wait til the black peppercorns hit your palate! Imagine the sound of the 5 o'clock whistle blowing on the Flintstones, then visualize the smoke coming out of our ears. Who knew what adventures awaited in sorbet?

And I Don't Look Much Better!

 

Isn't this depressing? This is Burgess status post his second suture repair of a deep cut between the toes. Yes, all the stitches from last time were ripped out somehow. We were 4 or 5 days into the two-week period of recuperation (read "confinement") - laying really low and each of us losing our mind from lack of contact with the woods, then BAM! Start all over again. I'd post my picture too, but as an English lady I once knew used to say, "I don't want to frighten the horses!" Lip curl could be permanent this time.

Sunday At Gerard's

 

 

Doesn't get more locally grown than the backyard of our neighbor and good friend, Gerard. Did I mention that Gerard is a retired and accomplished chef? French, of course, i.e., he's from France. We picked these lovely berries and had them in a fabulous mesclun salad (also from his garden), along with fingerling potatoes and steak au poivre. James was mildly aghast at how much I ate. Couldn't help it - steak au poivre is my favorite thing. Besides, I worked up an appetite on the Rubicon Trail yesterday.

The Rubicon Report

Meet George, my wonderful driver and guide for the Cisco Grove/Rubicon Trail Trip co-sponsored by Sierra Treasure Hunters Club and Disabled Sports USA-Far West.

First off, I'm happy to say that none of my fears previously noted (see post 7/4) came true. I had no hypoxia and I was very comfortable in the seat - note regular seat belt, not 5-point restraint. Later, I would really wish for more secure attachment to the seat, but George was confident that all was good. Still, I had some visions about granite meeting skin and bone....

I had the time of my life on Saturday. The Sierra Treasure Hunters Club flung open the door to the summer playground and we all got to go out and play. How I have longed to be in the mountains in summer. My eyes were filled with vistas of creeks,waterfalls and lakes, trees and wildflowers, birds and butterflies, deep canyons and steep terrain, and of course, granite.

All the drivers had such skill in negotiating places your mind says a vehicle just cannot go. How exhilarating to overcome barriers like granite boulders and just keep going to see what else was out there. Lesser obstacles than those bring the life of a disabled person to a halt, and I felt completely set free the whole day.

The only thing that rivals all that freedom and natural beauty is that it was all made possible by the generosity of strangers. The Sierra Treasure Hunters Club went way out of their way to make this possible for us. It is because of their immeasurable kindness that I am no longer in the dark about the back country. I weep when I think my life could have passed me by without knowing their compassion and seeing the beauty of an alpine summer. Such a reward for simply saying "yes" to the offer!

Lip Curl Moments of the Week

1. I got the dirty dog blues x 2 - after visiting the swimming hole for hip rehab, my golden did his best imitation of a pig and rolled in the dirt until he was unrecognizably coated in black grit. This was not surprising, but a real pain when I was down on my charms to cajole him back to the water for a rinse off. Of course this happened while the housekeeper was cleaning - so no taking him into the house. Good neighbors Gerard and Linda came to the emotional rescue when I was at wits end and rinsed him off. Lip uncurled for now....
2. Dermatologist called. "You know that mole we took off your face 3 weeks ago? Yeah, its basal cell carcinoma. Please come back next month so we can dig around near your eye and get the rest out." Lip curl plus growl like a dog, swear and cry, geez this makes me mad.
3. ADA nightmare - 102 deg F, hot town, back of my neck all dirty and gritty, can't get into the salon for my 1pm highlights and haircut, because the office that provides wheelchair access is closed until 1:45pm! One beer and one crappy pizza later, I return, that much hotter, that much more tired, and get my hair done. A pretty new hair-do sure can uncurl your lip until you can call the ADA compliance dude.

Disabled Sports 2008 Fundraiser

STEEPEST GROOMED RUN IN THE COUNTRY 3/07

Bi-ski March 2007

February 2007 - 1st ski of the season

4 Wheel Drive on the Rubicon Trail

Muscular Dystrophy. I've got it, always have, always will. That's why I'm lucky - I get to participate in a program called Disabled Sports USA - Far West. I'll open up the skiing files soon and talk about that in another spot on this blog. For now, it's summer, and next weekend (7/12) I'm going with my boyfriend (spousal equivalent !), and one of my best girls, Kris, on a 4 WD trip on the Rubicon Trail. It's a day trip, and I'm excited and scared.

When I say scared, I mean stomach all knotted up type stuff. The jeep will be crawling all over granite boulders for the better part of the day. Now when I ski, I try to avoid bumpy impacts that cause severe pain. So, this plan does seem one of my nuttier ones. However, I was emboldened by the encouragement of Haakon, the program director (title ?) of DSUSA-FW at the end of last ski season. "It's not that bumpy at all, Lisa. They go really slow, and you're in 5-point restraints, and there's a roll bar, too." Roll bar? Well, now that's comforting.

I'm scared I'll get really uncomfortable all pinned down for safety. Sometimes I get panicky when I can't move, or make some adjustment to my position. And if I get hypoxic - then I might have a full blown hissy fit. Geez, that would be awfully distressing and embarassing at the same time. I really just want to avoid having a failure of that variety. It'll be ok even if it turns out not to be my cup of tea, I just hope I can complete the adventure. I want to put this new notch in my belt of adventures.


What really turned me on was when Haakon spoke of how much these 4WD folks love sharing their sport with newbies. And honestly, that anyone would go to such lengths to accommodate me and my disability, well I just have to take the offer so generously outstretched to me. We really are all in this together. Sweet!

I'm excited cuz I'm trying something new, and rugged and something not many people can say they've done. Now that I'm becoming more nature-girl instead of city chick, I might even think that motorized vehicles are sort of anathema to the outdoor experience. Since these jeeps are providing me access to the wilderness, I'm going to remain open and boldly go.

This Doesn't Suck

Hilltop Galena Forest
Fishpond overlook
Cushiony thick green velvet lawn
Cool shade of the pine trees
Percussion stream running downhill feeds the pond
Blue sky above the smokey haze covering the valley below
Belly full of yummy sandwich made by loving caregiver
Tom Petty sings into my ear that
I belong among the wildflowers
Dog sleeps beside me
After hiking in the forest