New years resolutions

It is that dreadful time of year when we have to pause and reflect on our year’s accomplishments and failures.  Like the ancient carpet makers of the Middle East who intentionally introduced an error into their weaving of each carpet, I believe that only God is perfect and so I intentionally create resolutions that are guaranteed to fail. Losing 50 pounds is my favorite. Far be it from me to offend the heavens by becoming slender and curvaceous.  Once again last year, I managed to maintain my humility and my fat.

I will of course resolve again this year to lose those famous 50 pounds.  Yesterday I tried on a purple belt that was supposed to secure a purple shawl around my waist in a sophisticated Parisian fashion.  I looked like one of those guys at Home Depot wearing a hernia belt — a 2 inch expanse of purple leather circumnavigating my girth was a pretty devastating sight! I hope God will not be offended if I lose 49 pounds.

2008 is going to be the year in which I recover my fitness and my health.  I will have to find a workable schedule of going to the gym.  Despite the fact that I am a “morning person,” it is not realistic for me to think I will actually get out of bed and go at 5:30 a.m. every morning. Nor is it realistic to think that I will go at the end of the day.  I can barely function after three o’clock and the thought of sweating away on the equipment makes me want to take a nap.  If I do my tai chi lesson and my tennis lesson that will cover two days of exercise.  That leaves three days — I’ll try for one morning and two afternoons.

I have other New Year’s resolutions as well — one of them is to set aside time for reading.  It is ridiculous that I who love books so much devote so little time to the pleasure of reading.  I received so many good books for Christmas, delicious books about history and science and murder mysteries.  Instead of wasting my time on television I will read in 2008.  I’d also like to resolve to help others — I need to spend some time thinking about what kind of volunteer activities I can do that will be both satisfying to me and that will actually make a difference to others.

Oh, I guess I had better resolve to inform myself about the presidential election issues.  I get so irate when I listen to the politicians and the pundits talk.  It is so difficult to weed through the rhetoric and figure out who believes in what — I want an 8.5 x 11 fact sheet from each candidate.  Something unambiguous.  Dream on!

Keep fit, no fat, enjoy my books, do good, be informed… I guess that is sufficient to yield at least one resolution to be kept without hubris.

Happy New Year to you all! Please resolve to visit me often in 2008!

Come fantastico! Il bubblegum americano…

My dear friend Susan chews the foulest form of bubblegum — it has a yucky texture and reeks of artificial sweetener.  However, being a good friend, when she offers me a piece I accept.  We always have a good laugh when about 30 seconds later I spit it out in disgust.  Just yesterday we went through the same routine and it brought back a memory from 45 years ago.

My family was traveling by car through the Italian Alps.  The only signs of human habitation were the sightings of an occasional shepherd with his flock precariously ambling along the side of the road or an occasional cottage — yes, just like Heidi’s.  There were no McDonald’s or Pizza Hut’s, not even a little grocery store.  Just sheep, goats, and the wreckage of many cars which failed to negotiate the hairpin turns along the way.  My brother and I were getting a little bored with the car games such as “count the green cars that passed by us” or “first one to spot a horse wins a nickel”.  And we were getting hungry.  My parents had a keen eye out for a tavern or some other luncheon spot where we could get a sausage and they could get beer.  My brother spotted up ahead s fruit and vegetable stand and we begged my parents to stop.

Being good parents and wanting to keep us entertained and quiet they obliged.  While they picked out some fruit and a homemade cheese, brother and I noticed immediately the small table with Swiss chocolate, Italian nougat, and, of all things, American bubblegum! In the middle of nowhere, 3000 feet above sea level, with nothing but mountains and grazing animals as far as the eye can see, we found a stash of Bazooka!  There were probably 12 or 15 rolls of bubblegum on the table and we scooped them all up – practically dancing in excitement.  We crammed as much of the sugary gum into our mouths as would fit.

That night at the hotel I wrote out a postcard to my best friend and told her about the fantastic discovery — it had been such a long time since I had had American food (since I chewed more bubblegum than anything on the food pyramid, I think it is fair to classify bubblegum as food).  I knew she would share my joy.  My brother and I made the bubblegum last a very long time — who knew when we would have another opportunity to get a flavor of home.

The confections and foods of our European holiday were delectable.  But when you are 10, and far from home, finding Bazooka at the top of the Alps is better than any weiner schnitzel or pasta dish on earth!

Voice recognition software

Because of my Parkinson’s, it has become almost impossible for me to type, use the mouse, and otherwise navigate my computer.  This is, of course, quite distressing — since I am a computer professional and am dependent on the skills for my livelihood.  Santa to the rescue!  In my stocking was a box containing Dragon Naturally Speaking.  This software is a godsend!  I have not yet even completed the tutorial, and yet I am able to dictate this post quite successfully.

It will be an interesting journey to learn the many sophisticated and complex commands that are now at my disposal.  So far I have sent an e-mail, post it on a message board, and created this post — all without using my hands at all except to turn on the microphone.  In fact, the hardest part of the whole process was learning how to attach my microphone headset to my laptop since the color coding was described as pink and brown and my headset as pink and orange of course!  If you have experience using the software and have any special tips and tricks you want to share a love to hear from you.

Thank you Santa for your thoughtfulness and love in making it possible for me to continue to do the things I enjoy!  This is a very special gift

The Parkinson’s Manicure

In the glory of my youth I was (oh so briefly) a hand and foot model — as a result it was very important that my manicure and pedicure be impeccible. I learned to do them myself and have managed to get to age 58 with pretty snazzy looking digits. But alas, I do have Parkinson’s and as we all know, Parkinson’s means tremor and tremor means nail polish on the knuckles. Sigh. I am not quite sufficiently charismatic to start a fashion trend in which blobs of nail varnish randomly flecked about the hands is to be considered “the thing”.  No. I must come up with a strategy to prolong my self-nail-care for just a bit longer.

The same tremor problem applies to applying eyeliner and to a lesser extent to lipstick. I am in the horrible Jackson Pollock stage of beauty routine. I am willing to cease using eye liner but the nails are another matter. The hands reflect the soul and my soul is not ragged and chipped — it is a smooth and glossy and a nice neutral corally beige soul. I find that for the first hour after I wake up my tremor is at its most diminished state of the day. I will plan early morning manis. I will do all the prep work the night before — removing old varnish, shaping, pushing back cuticles, and I will even apply the colorless basecoat since if that gets messy it will not show. All that will be left is the application of color.

I will approach my desk casually in the morning (before coffee) and just “happen to notice” the bottle of nail polish there. I will toy with it a moment and then ZAM! The brush will fly as I use my decades of experience to slap on the polish before my damaged brain says “Hey WTH!” Will I manage to do both hands? 2008 holds so many interesting challenges — I am willing to admit defeat for de feet and get pedicures, but my fingers are mine! Still mine.

Twas the Sunday Before Christmas: To Do List

• Wrap six presents (doable)
• Find perfect gift for brother (not doable — he will once again receive something odd)
• Find pefect gift for Bob and Dolores (I don’t think they liked last year’s vegetable cutter)
• Bake three batches cookies and take to brother (barely doable)
• Get two gift certificates at Newbury Comics for nephews (doable)
• Plan Christmas Eve dinner and buy ingredients (grumble doable)
• Plan appetizer and side dish to take to Bob and Dolores’ for Christmas dinner and buy ingredients and make (I guess this can be done Christmas day)
• Wash and iron table linens (um…how wrinkled are they?)
• Send my love and best wishes to all my readers for a safe, happy holiday and a wonderful New Year! (very doable!)

Gift Panic

Every year at Christmas I blow my budget because of Doubt. The hours that I have spent finding just the right gifts are wasted as I plunge into the despair of feeling that my gifts are inadequate, miss the mark, will be scorned, or worse, will be regifted by Christmas dinner. What was once a happy and controlled situation spirals out of control and UPS calls up its auxilliary staff — “Man your stations — Linshaolin has entered panic buying mode”.

 The three-volume Life of Picasso and the imported French pastels are certainly a stupid choice for my artist husband. Why did I think those would make him happy? I should never have  paid attention to the hints  he dropped or the list he gave me. I am sure what he really wants is that heated ice scraper and the green argyle cashmere sweater. Too bad I am so late shopping — they only have it in his size in dark mauve. I think I remember he likes dark mauve. . .

My friend now has six presents because each one I buy just does not measure up once I get it home. My daughter will be getting a power-washer — a last minute addition that will make Christmas perfect. My sister-in-law will be getting a briefcase (in case she decides to rejoin the workforce) and my brother will get the yard-long toffee collection. I am so  glad there is another ten days or so before Christmas — I still have time to find the perfect things.

Despite my status as “in recovery” from lung surgery I did brave the mall this week. I returned a key chain and browsed many stores and bought nothing. After 58 years it is clear to me that my family has everything. Well, we do not have a miniature working farm or a home theatre, but I think we can exist without those. But that does not help with the dilemma of Christmas eve when we traditionally open our gifts — I want there to be something new and delightful for each of my friends and loved ones. Perhaps this year I should lower my expectations a tad   — I’ll put a bow on myself and say “surprise and Merry Christmas! You lucky people — you get me!” Then I’ll hand out some boxes of Godivas just in case the gang had enough of me in 2007.

Snow

Last night we were blessed with about a foot of  snow — it is the soft fluffy kind that is easy to shovel and looks fantastic during Christmas season (at least for a few days). It is the first real snow of the winter and, as always, sends my thoughts back to my childhood when snow was a cherished gift, a “snow day” off from school and an exciting adventure for the neighborhood kids.

The neighborhood kids were under the complete control of my brother, who had, to put it mildly, a strong personality. Things were done his way and his way always meant an Ice Fortress construction project worthy of the pharohs. It did not matter that within an hour we had tunneled our way to the top of a hill — we were enslaved and that meant we stoppped only when big brother said we were done. We loved it — everyone except for little Billy who did not like the cold and whined miserably.

When we were called in for lunch, our Mom would pry off the frozen, sodden mittens and peel our numb fingers apart and then press them around mugs of hot cocoa. I would sit unmoving waiting for the pain of frozen fingers to subside, and as I sat I watched my cocoa as small clumps of undissovled chocolate bubbled up and then formed a slick across the surface like some miniature Valdez disaster. Mom would plunk a single marshmallow in our cups like depositing a glacier amidst the environmental carnage — the cocoa slick sloshed up the sides of the once pristine landscape leaving a muddy rim.

Lunch was almost always tuna fish salad or peanut butter sandwiches with carrot sticks. Once we had pita bread stuffed with pickled herring to which my brother responded with a loud “Thwack”. Billy had been invited over that day and he wasted no time in reporting to his mom that we were eating “foreign” food and were probably Communists.

After lunch we were sent back outside, donning  our cold wet snowsuits without protest. Back in those days snow boots were made of rubber that was hard and rubbed against the back of the legs. All kids were divided into those who tucked their snow pants into their boots or those that wore them on the outside. You could tell by who had raw, painful boot burn on their calfs. I was a boot burn  victim and ended every afternoon having my Mom put handlotion on my legs — it smelled like almonds and it was a big treat.

The neighborhood kids all had plastic saucers for sledding and our backyard was sufficiently sloped that it made the best local place for riding. We would go up and down the slope hundreds of times in an afternoon and only stop when it was dark. Before we disbanded we would plan the next day — it we got another snow day we would meet at the park with our ice skates. If it was a school day then we would just have to wait until after school — such was the burden of youth during winter in my part of town.

At Home Recovering with Linshaolin

Modern medicine is truly miraculous. One week ago I was undergoing five-hour thoracic surgery to remove the lower lobe of my right lung to rid me of lung cancer. Six days later I was battling the holiday shopping crowds at LL Bean, enjoying the frenzy, happy to be well and (with the help of painkillers) feeling fine! Part of my fast recovery is my inner zest for living, but a large part is due to advances in surgical techniques in the hands of an excellent surgeon followed by the finest nursing care. And my personal prescription for recovery includes large does of home shopping, Chinese take out, and lots of friends dropping by for chats and hugs.

I am not a very religious person but I have been transformed by the power of love that my friends and family have shown me — I think they had the world’s largest prayer circle going for me! No wonder I came out of the recovery room singing “zippety do dah”. My friends prayed, one beloved friend gave me a St. Peregrin medal (patron saint of cancer victims) which I in turn shared with my roommate when it was clear she needed comforting. I also gave her Kwan Yin (compassion) believing as I do that the more saints the merrier.

I received lots of flowers and was voted “most popular patient” by the nursing staff. I cried when they pulled out some tubes and that got me not only the attention and comforting of my own two nurses but at least six more — my snuffly, sorry little self was being soothed, petted, and hand-held. The doctor barely had space to breathe. He ordered up a little pill for me and I went deeply to sleep with the sound of sweet nurses like a lullabye.

I was awoken one night by my nurse as she tried to take by blood pressure without disturbing me — we chatted a bit and  then  I went back to sleep only to be awoken by the noise of another nurse. The room was darkened and the other nurse was startled when I said hello. She told me she was there to take my vitals. I questioned her since my regular nurse had just taken them. This nurse appeared irritated and quickly left. Later I asked my nurse what was going on and she said that several patients had mentioned a night nurse but no such person was scheduled to be working. The Phantom Nurse. The   hubbub was that this person was actually a thief trying to steal things from the patients and when I questioned her she ran off.

Upon discharge from the hospital I set myself up in the living room and spent 90% of my time sleeping and the rest watching James Bond movies. The surgical pain was pretty bad but nothing compared to Day 3 in which Nerve Pain set in. Back to the hospital I went for xrays and a check up — nothing to do but take more pain killers and grit my teeth. I felt I would never live a normal life again. But today I have a glimmer of hope. I am up to 2000 on my spirometer (goal was 1000) — I am highly motivated to play tennis again!

My thoughts are occupied now by trying to visualize just how this surgery was performed. The biggest incision is right  under my breast. Did some surgical assistant get the assignment to stand for five hours holding my boob out of the way? Or was it taped up in some gauze and suture sling? Was I covered with sheets to preserve my modesty or was everyone subjected to looking at my tummy flab? When I see the doctor for my follow-up is he going to say “Good God woman, get thee to the health club! When one is under anesthesia one is so vulnerable!

I tire easily and I still need to manage pain, but I was able to help decorate the tree, make a batch of cookies, wrap presents, go out for coffee. Modern medicine is wonderful. I feel great. I can’t wait for Christmas and rock’n 2008!

Linshaolin the Lobeless is Checking In

A quick hello to let you know I survived the lung surgery and am now back home. Just to put modern medicine in perspective — I had a lobe of my lung removed on Friday. Last night I went to an art show and out to dinner. Yes, it is true that I am crazy but it is also true that modern surgical techniques allow for speedy recovery. Oh, and maxing out on percocet helps. I will resume posting tomorrow.