On the Mend and Cooking

It’s the last day of February and I feel like I am finally on the mend. I have high, but probably delusional , hopes for an early Spring. If the turnout at the Farmer’s Market at Cole Gardens in Concord yesterday was any indication, I am not the only one. I bought a beautiful succulent to add to my growing collection of plants. They are so important in the winter to help clean and humidify the air.

I hate that it took so much down time to get over this last bug that hit me. Is this part of getting older or was this just a really bad virus? A lot people that I know were hit hard and I hope I didn’t contribute to the spread of the germs. I tried hard to keep them to myself. I sat in a meeting the other morning and had two boxes of tissues, a large bottle of hand sanitizer, and a plastic bag tied to my chair. I would blow my nose, put the tissue in the bag and then clean my hands before passing out papers. By the end of the meeting my nose was bright red, the bag was full and I had gone through almost a whole box of tissues.

Enough of that, I am done with it. I am moving on.

It really wasn’t a waste. I read a lot. I finished Chris Bohjalian’s new book , Secrets of Eden. It was typical Bohjalian – some good research and a twist at the end. It was about a fictional murder/suicide in Vermont and the impact of the incident on the town.

The other book I have started is A Burning Desire by Kevin Griffin. He takes the concept of the Higher Power in the 12 Step programs and applies it to Buddhist teachings. I am finding the book fascinating and consider it a real find for my recovery and my spiritual path. I may write more about it after I finish reading it.

Last night I spent some time thinking about what are the things that contribute the most to my well being and

health. Number one is music. I have talked about that before in another blog so I won’t wax poetic on the riffs of the blues (which I am listening to right now) or the beauty of cello and oboe. The other things are nature and the joy of a walk in the woods, a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer before bedtime, a heating pad on my stomach, hugs from grandchildren, yoga, massage, and a happy cat. Sometimes the yoga and happy cat go together. This morning I had to include some new yoga moves – Rubbing Boo’s Belly, Scratching Boo’s Ear, and resting in Savasana while getting fingers licked.

Yesterday I also engaged in one of my other great joys. Cooking. I made a great soup for dinner and combined that with some wonderful onion dill rolls I bought at the farmer’s market. I found the recipe in a soup cookbook but once I started chopping I ignored the measurements and just went for it. Here is what I ended up doing.

I heated approx. a tablespoon of olive oil in my mother’s old cast iron soup pot. I love this pot. I remember her using it while I was growing up and I am glad to have it now. It is perfect for cooking soup.

Using my favorite kitchen tool, the Pampered Chef chopper, I diced 2 large onions, 3 large carrots (yes – carrots – I know some of you may be surprised by this) and three large celery stalks. Those all went into the soup pot and I cooked them on medium heat for about five minutes until the onion was translucent. Then I added about 2 tsps or more of curry powder (the recipe called for one tsp and I thought that was incredibly stingy so I just went for it) and four very large cloves of garlic that I had minced (again, the recipe called for two cloves and I thought that was just plain crazy). I let that cook on medium heat for about a minute or so before I added a half a pound of rinsed red lentils, a cup of V8 juice and a quart and a half of vegetable broth. That was all brought to a boil and then covered and simmered for about a half hour or when I couldn’t stand it anymore and wanted to eat. I also seasoned with fresh ground pepper and salt to my personal taste. Along with the rolls, it was a perfect winter meal. There is plenty left for two or three more meals. The recipe said it could be garnished with some sour cream or plain yogurt but I was saving the fat component of the meal for the butter on the rolls. The apartment still smells like onions, garlic and curry.

I am looking forward to getting back to work. My week is structured so that I have a preparation and planning day tomorrow, two days of travel and trainings, a tele-training for the Virginia Coalition on Thursday and then I will be spending Friday and Saturday at a Trauma and Addictions seminar in Boston at Harvard University. As long as the weather cooperates it should be an excellent week.

Rolling My Eyes at the Medical Community

I think it is quite amusing that I was planning on writing a rant on my blog this morning about being sick, taking time off of work and the unresponsiveness of the medical community, but after doing my morning yoga and meditation I have lost the edge and have mellowed out enough to be a little more rational.
I am on my fourth week of feeling ill due to one virus or another. I am not amused. I wasn’t feeling well last fall due to something they were never able to define and now I seem to have had at least three bouts of viral infections. Part of my frustration is that I have been sick since I made a new commitment to wellness and healthy living at the beginning of the year. My friend, Barbara, says that how I am currently feeling may be a result of my healthier lifestyle. She says I should see my runny nose and tiredness as my body’s way of releasing all the old toxins and preparing to be healthier. Sort of “out with the old and in with the new.” Well, I must have had a lot of sludge that needed to be cleaned out because I am currently surrounded by piles of used tissues that are higher than the snow outside.
I am going to go with Barbara’s theory, though. Because it is one of hope and right now I need to have some way of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I took three days off of work this week to rest, recuperate and tend to my inner and physical self. I just need to balance it all. There is this fierce warrior inside of me that is trying to control the whole situation. I see her. She is dressed like Xena and slinging her whip around and saying “let’s move on. You have three days to feel better. Drink that water. Do that yoga. Meditate. Come on.” The mere fact that I have that voice telling me that I have a timeline to be 100% better informs me there are some deep seated control issues going on in me that I was previously only faintly aware existed. I need to remind myself to take everything in moderation and I will be better soon.
Going to the doctor on Monday morning was an experience. I was scheduled for my annual physical so the fact that I was also going in with an upper respiratory infection was a bonus. The nurse took one look at me and said “I wasn’t expecting a cough.” I found myself apologizing for bringing it with me. I didn’t think I needed to cancel a doctor appointment because I was sick. Just didn’t seem right. But the nurse seemed a little upset that I was not the “annual exam” she thought I would be. I guess I didn’t have a name. I was just an “annual” or a “cough”.
Then the ARNP managed to push a few buttons. She focused on my depression rather than the fact I have felt ill for most of the past few months. She encouraged counseling. I rolled my eyes. I flat out told her that I was depressed because I didn’t feel well. She asked me if I realized how many good things I had in my life. She reminded me I was lucky to have a job in this economy. That voice inside my head starting screaming – “Yes, and I love my job. And I would love to be able to do it full time, with energy and not having to deal with being sick all the frikkin’ time!!” As a trauma specialist I should give her due for asking me questions about my life and past trauma but I have been in therapy for those things and if I went to a counselor right now all I would need to talk about is the fact that no matter how I try to advocate for myself with the medical community they do not listen to me. (Oops, there is the rant I thought I was going to be able to avoid.) I have a really good life right now but do not feel physically able to enjoy it. She is not understanding that.
I have left a message for her to call me today so that I can do two things. 1) Apologize for rolling my eyes at her - that was juvenile. 2) Let her know that I don’t feel she is listening to me and appears to have some preconceived notions based on my history. She probably won’t call until the results of my blood work are in and by then I will have calmed down and won’t really want to deal with her.
I do have an appointment with a naturopath medical doctor. I made that appointment last October and it isn’t until May. I am on a list if there is a cancellation. I hope someone cancels soon. I am really ready to try something different. Traditional western medicine does not seem to be the answer.
I have to give credit to my chiropractor and my yoga instructor. I feel better structurally and I have lost a few pounds. I have less back pain, no knee pain and I feel that as soon as I can breathe again I would be able to enjoy a good walk. I would even like to get a bicycle. And I think that the yoga, the adjustments and the physical therapy all helped with the issues I was having last fall. I am hoping the naturopath has some other suggestions. I am willing to try acupuncture, hyperbaric treatments, and any other sort of non-invasive treatment that could help. I want to be the busy, active person I was five years ago when I was hiking parts of Mt. Monadnock every weekend. Spring is coming. I am going to Santa Fe in April and would like to enjoy it.
I guess the bottom line is that I am a little frustrated. I am doing all I can here (except cutting out chocolate and we know that isn’t going to happen) and I don’t feel the medical community is willing to be a partner with me in managing my health. I am also frustrated that medical insurance does not see the value in complementary treatments and that I would have to pay for acupuncture or other treatments out of my own pocket.
Here are my goals for this week. Take everything in moderation. Do what I know works – yoga, meditation and short walks and laughing and talking with friends.
Note: Just as I was finishing writing this I got a call from the ARNP’s office. It was the nurse. She wanted to know what I wanted to talk to the ARNP about. I told her I had hoped to talk to the ARNP personally because I wanted to apologize for something and to also talk to her about a couple of things. I was told I would have to make an appointment as the “doctors” don’t usually make phone calls to patients. I said I would pass and that I would discuss it the next time I was in to see her for something. I guess I will continue to feel as if I am not being heard by my medical professionals. I guess I need to meditate again. I already had some laughter therapy by calling my friend, Barbara, and letting her know about the latest. A little short walk will probably do me good, too. Oh – and I no longer feel the need to apologize for rolling my eyes.

Spring Fever and Sunday Afternoons

I have a cold and Spring Fever. Not a good combination. It has me in a brain fog that does not bode well for writing or knitting. Everything I have needed to do this morning from making my bed and brushing my hair to folding laundry has had to be done mindfully and deliberately or it would need to be done again. Every room has a dwindling box of tissues and I have opened my bedroom window in order to feel a slight breeze and breathe the fresh air.

It is really too early for spring fever. Even though we in New Hampshire have had less snow than other parts of the country, there is still plenty of time for a couple more big snows. We have brown patches and dirty piles of ice but it is still too soon to hope for a quick mud season and an early spring. Being able to open windows and air out the apartment has been helpful in relieving some of the winter blues. I also had a plant blooming in my bedroom this morning. That encouraged some of the spring fever.

When I lived in Virginia we would have teaser days in January and February. These were days when it would warm up to 60 or 70 degrees and I could go for a walk in the Norfolk Botanical Gardens in shorts and a tee shirt. I would find a bench in the direct sunlight and let the sun bathe my body while I watched the ducks and geese prepare for the hatchlings that would soon be arriving. However, within a week of that teaser day there would be a bout of cold and icy weather that would be a reminder that it was too early to hope.

It almost seems the same way here in New England this year. We are getting teaser days where the breeze carries the scent of fresh grass or deep brown dirt that has been overturned for a garden. The breeze feels like a “come on” when the calendar says there is still a month until the Vernal Equinox and another two months until the scent of lilacs fills the New Hampshire air. The thought of May and June are what get me through the winters here. New England gardeners must have deep green thumbs. Their gardens come alive in May and June and the view of country gardens against stone walls can be breath taking. Spring – hurry!!!

Having been under the weather for most of the winter has not helped my mood either. I feel as if there is a large piece missing in my self care plan and that is walking. These cold winds do not bode well for me when I have an upper respiratory infection so I just stick to yoga and hope for warmer days and gentle breezes.

I am doing fairly well on my New Year plan for health and wellness. As long as I feel fairly well I am able to do my yoga and I have taken some short walks in the past couple of weeks. I am still avoiding meat. I woke up this morning to a craving for grapefruit and was glad that I had bought a couple of sweet red ones this past Friday. Chocolate cravings hit hard on some days but there are other days when I will realize that I haven’t had chocolate at all and haven’t looked for it. If I don’t have it in the house I will very rarely go out especially to get chocolate. I find it funny, though, that I can check out a full cart of healthy fruits and veggies and still need to buy three Lindor truffles at the checkout line. I seek out the line that has the truffles even when I know I could go through a line that does not have the candy. However, I feel that having had the ability to move past the cookie and chips aisles and the ice cream freezers, the three little Lindor truffles are my reward for a job well done.

Sunday afternoon, however, is when all resistance flies out the window. It is my time for fun and decadence in the form of my knitting group and a large chocolate triple trio or javanilla shake at the bookstore where we meet for two hours. This is where I get my laughter and chocolate therapy once a week. This weekly gathering of women has convinced me that when my ancestors went to stay in the menstrual hut with other women that they did so gladly and with a skip in their step. The men must have wondered why there was so much laughter coming from the place to which they had been banished. I wonder if some woman overstayed their time or if they even lied about how often they were having their period. The joy of being with other women sharing stories of joy and pain can be a healing force that I doubt men can experience in their sports bars and locker rooms. We are very blessed that we have these opportunities and the depth to be able to share our lives in such a way while creating beautiful knitted items. It is a feast of chocolate, laughter and wool on a cold afternoon that helps keep the winter blues at bay.

Music and My Soul

I seem to have almost fully recovered from the nasty virus I had over the past couple of weeks so it is time to sit down again and write. I also am energized from my writing group meeting yesterday. Now I just need discipline and a lack of distractions. I often wonder how much of the novel would get written if I found a cabin in the woods with no internet or television, stocked up on tea, bread and peanut butter and just stuck with it for about a week or two. Would I go crazy or would I actually get it written? These characters are all living in my head. I know them fairly intimately. At times they demand to get out - usually at 11:00 at night when I am trying to get to sleep.
Feeling physically better means I am back on track with my health plan. I shopped for good food yesterday and have done my yoga and meditation for the past few days. The cello has also seen the light of day and is sounding fairly good. These are all signs that I am on the mend.
However, today I feel a little tender. Not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I was finishing my yoga routine and resting quietly with my legs up the wall when Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata started playing on my CD. It was so moving and sweet that tears came to my eyes and I lost my breath. It was overwhelming and I have no idea where that emotion came from. I am often moved by beautiful music but this seemed to have gone to a soul level and I am still feeling the effects. I am now listening to Yo Yo Ma’s Appassionato CD and find myself stopping to listen to musical phrases and imagining the movement of the bow across the strings. Music has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life, both listening and playing.
I wanted to play music from the time I knew what a piano was. However, my parents both said that they weren’t going to pay for something I would probably play for a few months and then drop. I think they realized I was serious when I started playing the trumpet in fourth grade and even after two months of barely being able to get anything besides the sound of percussive farts out of the instrument I hung in there until I was placing first in music competitions in junior high band. I started playing piano when I was 12 or 13 and fell in love.
My piano teacher was like a character out of a strange novel. Her name was Betty and she was very eccentric, lived with her parents and was of an unknown age. She dressed like a gypsy in flowery dresses and skirts over crinoline and peek-a-boo toe high heels. She had long black hair that hung over her shoulders and her features were somewhat exotic under layers of blue eye shadow. Betty also had very long fingernails that were painted fire engine red. When I imagine her I can almost hear the sound of the nails clicking on the piano keys while she played.
Betty was also one of the brightest characters of my childhood and adolescence. I think her loveliness and eccentricity played a large part in my growing love of music. One day she stopped me while I was playing a Chopin nocturne and asked me if I saw auras. I replied that I had no clue what she was talking about. Then she told me that when I played Chopin my grey eyes turned brown. She said it was my passion for the music that caused this change. For some reason, I believed her. I knew that I loved Chopin and I would not have been surprised if deep cellular changes occurred when I heard his music.
I continued to play piano on and off over the years. My trumpet, unfortunately, went into its case after high school graduation and appeared very rarely after that. It was eventually sold during one of those periods of my life when a few dollars was more necessary than a battered instrument.
I love hearing music played. I have always loved hearing symphony orchestras and pianists. And I love playing music. When I turned fifty I needed a new challenge. I had reached my thirty year goal of visiting the Himalayas and had even managing to have a border skirmish with the Chinese, but needed a new challenge. I had always wanted to play a string instrument. I assessed the situation and decided that a violin would be too hard on my hands and neck so I went with the cello. I have not regretted it since. I am not a prodigy by any means, but I have managed to learn to play well enough that I can enjoy a good hour of playing on my own. I have had a couple of wonderful teachers but neither have the eccentricity of Betty. I wish she was around to hear me now.
When I listen to classical music I am particularly struck by the mellow sounds of the cello but I also love the oboe. When I think about it, the oboe’s lower notes sound very similar to the cello. I think they are often interchanged in some orchestras. I wish one of my grandchildren would play it. Katie plays clarinet and Molly plays flute. Caleb will probably play drums or a brass instrument. Maybe Lizzie will play oboe or a string instrument.
When I went to the Boston Symphony a few weeks ago to see and hear Yo Yo Ma I was seated where I had a direct view of the lead oboe player. Since the director was blocking my view of Yo Yo, I watched the oboist instead. He moved with the music, levitating slightly with the higher notes and dipping down in front of the music stand with the lower notes, swaying gently while counting measures when he wasn’t playing. I think his eyes were changing colors when he played.
Music brings out tenderness and awe. It moves me in ways I really don’t understand but I am willing to ride out that vulnerability and be in the moment that each note is played. If it makes me sad, so be it. If it makes me want to dance, so much the better. I can’t imagine life without it.