Linda and the Brain

This week I had a cognitive functioning test. Dr. Jane and I decided to do this after I had a couple of memory scares. The worst scare was when I noticed a plant was missing. It was a small plant that had not been doing all that well but it was very disturbing to realize it was gone. Since my cat, Boo, is the only other being in this apartment I was a little freaked out. Why would someone come in and take a weak plant and nothing else? Had Boo knocked it over while I was on vacation and the cat sitter cleaned it up? No. This had me pretty upset for about four days until I found a bowl in the cupboard. Not just any bowl. It was the one blue fiesta ware bowl that I had been using to catch excess water underneath the missing plant. It was obvious that I had at some point thrown out the plant and cleaned the bowl.

I don’t know if there are other things I have forgotten because I live alone with Boo. Boo only gets upset when I forget to feed her. She doesn’t care about anything else.

I realized a while ago that I have FOA – fear of Alzheimer’s disease. My fear is not based on anything other than the fear of losing my brain. There is no history of Alzheimer’s in my family. I am just very attached to my brain.

I know this is as common fear, but I have become somewhat hyper vigilant, maybe even a little obsessive.

This is all due to the fact that I have long felt that my brain was the only thing I really had going for me. Thanks to genetics I am a large woman with a propensity to use food to manage my emotions. I grew up tall and heavy with curly hair during an era when skinny women with long straight hair were considered the beauty standard. Think Marcia Brady and you will have a good portion of the girls with whom I went to high school.

It was apparent pretty early that my brains were the only thing that I had to count on. I have had to count on my brains when my looks/weight/gap teeth/scars all got in my way. When I interviewed for a company where I eventually worked for thirteen years, I was not hired until I showed my business school grades. The manager who was interviewing almost did not hire me because of my size. She had the notion that large people were lazy.

I did have about fifteen minutes in the mid to late 80s when I was pretty cute. Some may even say I was hot. I had lost a ton of weight and was working out to the point of exercise anorexia. It was at this point in my life that it became apparent that my intelligence far outweighed my common sense and I behaved pretty badly for a while. I really don’t regret any of it. Hell, I relished every moment of all the attention I got, but that lasted for a short while and I am very glad that I didn’t lose too many brain cells in the process. However, those years may have done some damage as evidenced in my current memory problems.

In the way that some women worry about losing their looks and resort to plastic surgery and botox, I worry about my brain. I understand their need to hang on to their looks, because society and the media have led them to believe that without their looks they do not have anything to offer. In the same way, society and the media led me to believe that since I didn’t have the looks, I had better find another way to survive. This is not to say that beauty and brains do not go together. They do. But as superficial as the world can be, beauty is what attracts and intelligence can be intimidating. But intelligence is all I have. Please don’t send me emails or make comments about how you find me pretty or whatever. Anyone who really knows and loves me has gotten to the point that they can see who I am. The world at large, though, tends to judge based on looks so I have worked hard to make sure that I have the intelligence to compensate.

Hence, that is why I fear losing my brain. The test showed some areas where I am doing quite well and other areas where I am at a deficit. It pretty much verified what I have known all along. My brain does not remember what I was doing one minute ago so I tend to lose myself in knitting patterns. I can’t memorize music for the life of me and can’t improvise because I can’t remember what I just did. I walk into rooms and wonder why I am there. I forget someone’s name within moments of hearing it. It’s not attention deficit disorder. I can maintain attention. I just can’t remember shit from one minute to the next. Hell, when I turned fifty, whatever part of my brain knew my right from my left threw that information out and I am constantly looking at other people in yoga class to figure out which way I am supposed to turn. When someone is in the car with me and giving directions, it is best if they point rather than tell me to turn right or left. It just doesn’t compute otherwise.

The good news is that I am not losing my mind. I am pretty much still intact even though I am sure that twenty years of alcohol abuse did do some damage. I now have a baseline to compare against in the future. It was worth it to have the test done. It eased my anxiety a bit and I can go on my merry way and continue to forget things. Too bad they don’t have botox for the brain, though. I would jump on that in a heartbeat.

My Favorite Poem by Rumi for a Sunday Morning

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

(The Essential Rumi, versions by Coleman Barks - whom I have a little crush on)

Reflections on my Saturday Morning Bike Ride

I found out today that it is easier to roll out of bed at 6:30 a.m. when I tell myself that after my bike ride and massage I can nap or knit while watching three episodes of True Blood. I also realized that underneath my fat and loose skin, I actually have Michelle Obama arms! There are some really nice biceps under there. I guess the downward dogs from yoga have done their magic on my upper body.

Early morning after a thunderstorm is a great time to ride. It is still cool and as the sun came up and a breeze moved through the trees next to the river, I was sprinkled with the remains of last night’s rain falling from the trees. It was a gift from the trees and it made me giggle.

Everything smells very good first thing in the morning.

Bikes and horses are very similar in that when they are in sight of the barn, they start to head in that direction even if the rider has other plans. I made sure that I stayed at least a mile away from home until I knew I was done.

Shifting gears, as in life, is critical when going up and down hills, or pedaling against the wind.

Early morning rides are best because all of the pasty faced, beer bellied, cigarette smokin' red necks that like to yell obscenities at bicyclists are still sleeping off their hangover.

The saddle sores hurt less after ten miles because the bum has gone numb and can’t feel anything.

The tan that I have from bicycling is more gratifying that a tan I would get from lying on a beach. It may not be even; it may stop right above my knees; I may have raccoon eyes from my sunglasses, but I love a tan that was earned with sweat.

First Sunday in July Musing

I didn’t get up as early as I would have liked this morning. I think I was having good dreams and still enjoying the relaxation I felt as I sat in Kristen’s back yard with her, her partner, her two year old, and my friend, Darcy. Kristen lives in the countryside of Peterborough, NH in with a wonderful view of the region. She also has a groundhog living in her stone fence. She came out and eyed the garden for a bit and then went back underground. She may have decided to wait for an early breakfast.

I love watching two year olds think. Augustine had spent most of the morning yardsaling with his father and had come home with a handcrafted toddler kitchen set and a ton of Matchbox cars. He spent a lot of time zooming the cars off the end of a lawn chair and then cooking rocks in his kitchen. He is a beautiful child with large brown eyes and long lashes, and a head full of luscious curls. He would make a good spokeschild for healthy, country living.

This morning I had an itch to go for a short bike ride. There is a forecast of thunderstorms for the rest of the day and I just needed to get out for a bit. I headed over towards River Road and enjoyed watching the activity as I rode by. There were fish jumping and catching skimmer bugs leaving ever widening circles on the otherwise mirror surface of the water. A group of kids were swimming on the far shore, swinging from a rope over the river and sliding down a slide into the water. Another child was paddling around in an inner tube. They must have put on their swimsuits as soon as they woke this morning.

As I got to the end of the road and came upon a bridge I saw a pontoon boat coming down the river. It was covered in some sort of drapes and someone was playing Middle Eastern dance music. The kind I used to belly dance to (yes, I have belly danced and am thinking of taking it up again when I have less belly). I imagined the inside of the boat decked out with cushions and someone dressed as Cleopatra lying back eating fresh strawberries and drinking mimosas. I waved and saw a hand come out and someone whistled. It was a nice morning on the river.

My only complaint was the garbage. I do not understand why people throw their McDonald’s bags and beer cans on the side of the road. I consider it violence against our Mother and wonder about the mindset of such folks. I don’t know how we will ever have a sustainable planet when we can’t even do the smallest thing. Please, if you use it put it away and, if it is your garbage, throw it away. Our Mother is not able to pick up after us. It is our responsibility.

Namaste!

A Gift for This Cynic

I spent two days with my friends, Joyce and Roland, at their wonderful home on a mountain in Maine. I was encouraged to spend my time in any way that helped me to relax, so I spent a lot of time reading, knitting, and drawing and talking to Joyce. I also ate very well and had a great foot massage by their dog, Maisie. I was nourished in body and spirit by friendship and nature. I was able to rest with no expectations.

The one thing that had the greatest impact on me, though, had nothing to do with the gold finches and hummingbirds, the wonderful soup and garden veggies, the conversations, sunsets, and watching a summer shower move in over the Mount Washington Valley. It had to do with witnessing a marriage that truly works and realizing that there is more to being a couple than pain and heartache.

Given my history and the work that I do, I have developed a cynicism towards marriage. I have seen and heard the worse. I have known men who cheated, who lied, who hurt their wives physically and emotionally, and left their children with emotional scars that last long into adulthood. I have heard stories of women who beat their children and dared them to cry, who left them with neighbors and never returned. I tend to see too much of the dark side.

I was given a gift yesterday that broke through my cynicism and is helping me to see the world in a different way.

Longfellow, Joyce and Roland’s dog, has been taking prednisone for a couple of weeks due to a problem with one of his ears. The prednisone has been working like a diuretic and made it critical that he be taken out at regular intervals. However, yesterday afternoon, after Joyce and I had done a little shopping and Roland had finished putting in a beautiful rose garden, there had been a delay in getting Longfellow out to do his business. Joyce discovered wet spots on two rugs and the bare floor.

It is important to understand that I have vivid memories of my two poodles being hit and screamed at by my father when they had chewed on the corner of the television set. I was crying, my sister was crying, the dogs were whining, and the dogs were sent back to the aunt who had given them to me within a few days. I also remember my ex-husband kicking our dog, Joey, on more than one occasion. I have a history of being frightened by men’s anger and I am easily triggered when there is a possibility that this may occur.

So when I heard that Longfellow had wet the floor, I had a small surge of adrenalin. Now I have to say that Roland has never given me any sign that there is a bad temper lurking beneath his calm Lutheran pastor exterior. I have never seen anything but serenity and peace in that man. However, I felt myself tense up. Then I saw a wonderful thing happen. Both Joyce and Roland treated Longfellow with love, apologized for failing to meet his needs, and they worked as a team to promptly clean up the mess without blaming each other for the incident.

Joyce had told me earlier that day that the reason that she married Roland forty-four years ago this coming month was because she knew that this was a man with whom she would always feel safe. I believe that he has fulfilled that promise each day since then. I also am reminded that there are indeed men who do not need to use anger to exert control, who share responsibility, and who cherish those people, animals, and gardens that are in their care.

Thank you, my friends, for the gift of seeing another way of being and healing a piece of my spirit.

Last Sunday in June Musings

I just finished cleaning the apartment. It took longer than usual. I rate cleaning at three levels: 1) Boo and I are happy and I can find everything I need; 2) company clean, and 3) OMG! My mother is coming clean. I almost made it to number three today. No chance that mom is going to stop by in the flesh, but I can pretty much hear her chuckling at the state of my oven. That is the one thing that I didn’t do that would have given me the full #3 rating. I did, however, clean out the tray under the toaster and since the refrigerator is a self-defroster, I didn’t need to worry about that. In the past, my mother was known for asking me if she could defrost the freezer as she couldn’t sleep until it was done. Another time, while we were playing cribbage, she asked me if I ever cleaned out the tray on the toaster. I let her know that if it was bothering her she could have at it.

Since I have real problems being told what to do (#1 reason I am still single), I have been known to leave things undone just because I was told to do them. My ex-husband and I used to do this passive-aggressive thing to see how high the garbage would get before one of us took it out. He didn’t realize that I had twenty years of defiance (including taking off on my own twice during the summer I was two) behind me when he married me and I usually lasted longer than he did, but he got nastier about it. This explains a lot about my son’s teen years, but I won’t go into that right now for the sake of his privacy and to maintain what is a pretty great relationship.

In addition to actually picking up and dusting knick knacks and moving furniture to dust, I went at my closet like a woman on a mission. Everything that was too big has been bagged and will be handed over to a shelter program or Planet Aid. I found two pairs of slacks that still had tags on them that I had purchased on line. They were too small when I got them and I may actually fit into them now. I also got rid of some things I just didn’t like. Now I have enough hangers for some things that have just been tossed on the shelf. I have clothes that fit now, will fit before fall, and some clothes that should be okay for next spring or summer. I may need some new winter clothes when the time comes around. Very cool. I feel very good about that!

I am hoping to get out on my bike today, but the weather continues to look iffy. It is only seven weeks until the MS Ride on the Seacoast when I will need to do 25 miles. I have done half that with no problem but am not sure about the full 25. I need to work on hills. I don’t want to spend too much time walking my bike up hills and I am unsure how many there are.

After increasing my blog posts this past week, writing some haikus, and the Misplaced Modifiers meeting yesterday, I am feeling like I can get back to my novel over the next week. I am setting a goal of finishing it by the end of the year. I think that is do-able as long as I actually sit down and write. I will keep you posted.