Comfort in our SKIN

 My good friend H. and I  were discussing  the changing world around us  and both noticed  much to our notable surprise and amusement, we are no longer the youngest of the herd of people at work.  I am sure this happened over night.. The same as I fully believe that Ittie went from 3 months to 6 years in a blink of an eye.



"When did this happen ? "   we both say. In my mind I believe " another one of my mother's phrases" has slipped out of my lips only to seal the deal that I am a woman "of that certain age". You know the age of when you sneeze you must cross your legs.   The age where gravity has  taken  the back of your arm and when the wind blows your tri -ceps seem to wave to the world.  The age that things have started to pop, creek  and ache a bit.  The age were every day you wake up open your eyes you appreciate that you have another day to have an apprehensive sneeze, ache or waving triceps and mutter one of mom or grandmother's catch phrases.



We discuss and pause almost afraid to say the words that we are now in the LATE 30's / 40 something crowd.  My mind rushes and with a flood of pictures  as  I realize  my biology teacher in 7th grade was this age when she met me.  Mrs. Ruhl, Berry, Gaumer. Miller, Klotz's , Gretchen ball coach, Mrs Bender. . all were in the 30 somethings and 40's crowd.   AHHHH... OH GOD kids look at me that way.



But wait a minute .  Hold on ,  I really liked these individuals.  I admired them for  their   take on life and knew they were adults that I wanted to be like. They were past the zealousness and  had settled into a passion for life and authenticity.  They picked their battles and laughed  much .   They seemed to have that secret to life. The anxiety settles a bit. 



I ponder if my pillars pondered also.  If at 37, 38 .. 40 they had these moment of stark reality.  When they looked around at their working cohort , the faces populat ing the space around them  that were much younger and  too thought -  When did that happen?



When they heard the anxiety of the 20 somethings in their vigor, did they shake their heads smile and nod.  Go oh the energy and view they have.  Were they thankful for the knowledge that not everything is a battle or something that needs all that much attention.. 



I am enjoying 37 .    It  is  a good age for me.  It agrees with me ,  or maybe I finally decided to accept and be who I am.  Is that the years.. the person or a bit of both ?   It's a peaceful experience even in a year that we have had much stress and non-peaceful events. 



I have noticed a few grey hairs here and there. My hands I believe look more like my mother's and aunt ' s as I remember from my childhood.   I sing in the car or hum to myself without really caring about the social implications of my slightly (understated) off tune voice.   I wear plaid shirts over my tshirts, my farm jeans, work boots  into town and don't think about what I look like as we go into the eating establishment because I am paying for the meal at the restaurant just like everyone else   (thank you grandpa).   There is not alot of fretting that goes on. 



This is what I notice about my  f riends of  our Late 30's and 40's ,  we are comfortable in our skin.  We accept each other as we are and know the journey's that we have each taken to get here.  It is peaceful.  It is joyous and humorous.  We have the ability to share the ups and downs with each other without the entanglement of making it our own.  Our laughter is loud ,  our smiles are broad ,  our love and care for each other is true and deep.   The strength and fortitude that each individual carries on a daily basis amazes me. Their humility and dignity is noble. 



So while we are not the youngest ,  we have a few more aches and trials of life , we handle them with grace and dignity.  It did happen in a flash.  The last 10 years. I know ,  it only goes faster and the faces around will continue to get younger. Except for the Ittie Bit who isn't so Ittie any more and before I know it will be in high school.. college.. and beyond and I will be blogging.. How did I get to 50 ?  I was just 37 and comfortable in my skin...

Humor its not in the punch line..

"Why did the Flower talk?"  spouts the voice from the back seat with a hint of anticipation.. "I don't know Ittie.. Why did the flower talk"    " Because there was a walnut behind the TREEEEE.. "burst from her mouth filling the whole van with giggles afterward.   Very pleased with her joke , she then asks me to practice it so I can share with Harriet.  Giggling each time, because she has invented her own piece of humor.    While the punch line may be a bit off.. the idea and the fantastic bit of imagination that is before me as Ittie develops and tries out humor is amazing.

My family at the Sunday meal had to sit through many a joke like this.  My subject was usually alligators. Why did the alligator smile? .. Why Mert (my nickname from my grandmother) because  he had big claws... And I awaited the applause and laughter that all great jokes had the power of creating.  My family lacked a bit of the enthusiastic laughter of the intended humor.  But I did get polite smiles and a pat on the back.  This would not detour me.  I would get the laughs.. So another alligator joke.. another bad punch line and more smiles and nods. 

For Ittie, I crack up.  Her punch line may be off but the light in her eye, the energy and enthusiasm in her voice.  The smile  that just lights up anyone's soul that she meets can't help but make you at least snicker. 

I come back with .. Ittie.. "What creatures do Spys like.".  What mama.. "SPYders"...  (thank you Bazooka Joe) I snicker.. She pauses putting it together.. Then tells me a joke about a dog that barked along the same lines as the flower joke above.   So I come back. Paula Gaumer posted it the other day its new: . "Ittie"..    "What do you call an Alligator Detective?"   "An investiGator."  . Drum role....  Thinking I will have the 6 year old rolling on this one.. again pause and silence.  My jokes are going over as well with her as my original alligator jokes with my family.  ....

OK here is a good one.. its a horse joke ..my thought she will have to love it..  "Ittie .. Why couldn't the Pony sing.". Why momma??   "Because he was a little horse".. Badumdaaa...cymbal roll in my head.. She snickers a little bit .. then says.. "Momma .. why did the little horse say ow".. I say why Ittie.. "Because she bumped her knee"..  Avery giggles..

We have these humor exchanges often.  Lots of knock knock jokes. I remember this is the age that I fell in love with the Muppet's, bugs bunny and the road runner.  I still love a good knee slapper.  They are easy, fun, creative and usually innocent.   If Tom and Jerry is on or the old Looney Tunes we will sit on the couch and laugh together.  This comedy creates a belly laugh in her that I can hear from the other room while I pull out laundry.  I smile.. Its a lovely sound.   Even thinking about her giggle, snicker and laughter while I type brings a gleam to my eye and warmth to my soul, I am instantly happy.

We have our own made up song about a chicken that won't lay eggs.. We sing it at the top of our voices. With a dialect that is somewhere between a sick dog howl and a yodel. At first Harriet looked at the two of us as if we had lost our minds and were being a adverse tactical team to her ears.  However, I caught Harriet smirking as the two of us broke out to the chicken song in the van as we drove one day.  Yep its contagious the innocent humor that means the people you love are having fun..

So why did the flower talk.? Where is Ittie's punch line, the humor?.  It is in the moment she imagines a daisy looking up at you to tell you about the walnut that is behind the tree; The funny pink princess laughing the entire time .. It is in the beautiful way she sees the world and the giggle you know that is coming because she just shared a piece of it with you... That walnut behind the tree. makes me giggle each time.

The Strong Constant

I must be a traditionalist.  While I am enjoying the unseasonably warm weather it makes me nervous.  80 degree days in March.  I like my "normal" Indiana climate:  The one 60 degree week in February that gives the much needed break to the "grey slumber" and then the week of icy revenge in March that reminds us that nature truly does have its tricks and its rules.   The guessing in April are we truly done with the last frost or big snow.. "can I truly start my garden" Is the question that lingers in my mind as I watch birds building nests. 

But this year.. I feel like I am being lulled into a false promise.  80 degrees in March.  I just don't trust it.  I have to admit I feel like the small town girl that noticed the stranger in the grandma's greasy spoon.  All dressed nice and fancy,  selling his wears with a smile and a flirt. His bill of goods seem to good to be true.  I never did trust that guy.  I grew up with my grandfather and father.  

Handshake/ your word meant a promise a contract.   My grandfather wore the same jeans, blue shirt, brown boots and hat to work for years.  He chewed his cigars and was covered in grease by the end of the day.    He smelled like tobacco, dirt, motor grease, sweat, manure, and pumice soap.  I loved that smell. I loved the leather earthiness about him.  He was authentic and true to me.  He could walk outside smell the air, feel the wind and know if in climate weather was coming. 

There is something about the familiar and constant that feels safe and true.  Something in that authenticity and right timing that rings within the soul that says this is the way things are suppose to be.  Much like the perfect old blanket or pair of shoes.  Everyone has these things, these symbols.  Yet all things change over time, the snug blanket wears down, the soles on the shoes get thin.  These changes always make things not as comfy or familiar as they once were.  This could be a passing phase, a shift to be note worthy.  Maybe it doesn't mean anything.  Maybe it does.  

Truth be told I know I have no power over it.. Just the wondering of thoughts and questions of is this a fake salesman.. or just inevitable change.. So I keep looking and balance my skepticism with the enjoyment of what I have before me.

I look for the robins to return every year and feel a sense of peace when I see the first one, hear their song.   The bird that has returned to build his nest in our soffit and temp my cats with his close proximity to the roof and tree  is being very industrial in his approach to building a safe and secure nest.  The volume of sound in the morning and evening has went up a few decimals with the songs of various feathered parties, that are on a lay over or deciding if this is their summer home by the water.

The pond is calling to have  a line tossed in with a lure.  I can hear it say just for a few minutes come sit by my bank.  A fish will bite.. or the bobber will bounce and then the game begins.  I cuss at the small bluegill that steal my bait, yet enjoy the sport and the excuse to go for another bigger fish.. This one will be it I tell myself.  The pond accepting my company as if someone has awoke and is glad to have a peaceful companion.  The glass top reflecting the saplings, cattails that are beginning to grow again and the sky from above.  

Tonight I may choose another course for the pond.. not a peaceful existence but that of a jubliant 3 year old Great Dane Lab.. Splash.. muck muck.. shake is the rhythm to his pond walks.. Kiernan tramples in.. and his grin become bigger as he swooshes around.  The pond graciously welcomes him also.. the red wing blackbirds aren't as happy about his disruptive ways and chatter about .. I believe saying "if we knew we were going to have this type of disruption in our neighborhood"  .."Whatever will the Martin's think.."

The garden needs to be marked and tilled.  I have extra straw bales to make a cold frame just in case I am being lured into a false security by the current weather.  So hopefully by the weekend the lettuce and spinach will be in the ground in a small raised bed surrounded by straw bales.    peas will be planted in in circles around trellises to climb.  The fruit trees will be pruned.   And then my focus goes to the grape arbor..

Our snow birds sing on.. The grass continues to green, the flowers bloom,  The ornamental tree out front of the house is in full blossom.  The sun rise and sunsets are long and beautiful.  Each night you can hear a sigh as we look around.  It's a long breathe of tranquility and harmony,  So while the weather may not be normal.  The internal life on the farm is.  Yay for the strong constant.

..

You did what.. Yes we sexed the bunny.

I looked the bunny in his eyes.  His expression seemed to say.  And Exactly what do you think you are doing.  I was holding each of his back legs, spread apart a hand on each foot.  Harriet had the top of him securing him. 

"You got him" Harriet asked anxiously.   Yes in a solemn voice was my reply.. Trying to note the seriousness of the act we were about to do. 

Harriet and I looked at each other hesitantly.  Feeling as if we were about to do some major violation of the poor animal but we needed to know .. Male or Female. 

I am not sure how most farmers got their start or if in ancient times, when the cave man move from hunter gatherer to an age of agriculture that they understood the dilemma that would face the future civilizations that would sprout from their humble beggings.  But I do know this.. To get more bunnies to eat; minus the need to expend energy chasing them through the briers, plus saving the times in the explicative cave man grunts that had to be heard as the thorns pierced the skin.  Someone went .. Boy Bunny and Girl Bunny in same area .. has an outcome of more bunnies and less running, less briers = Good.

Harriet and I are novices. Truly novices:  We have bought books, googled, You tubed Sexing bunnies..talked about talked to those who have had some knowledge or bunny rabbits. There is a bunch of head scratching and thinking.  We have the notion of raising bunnies for pets, meat and show.  The current clutch of bunnies that we have are all from Rural King and while they can not be used for show is a great base for pet bunnies or meat bunnies. 

I know I sound evil bringing the entire idea of raising such snugly  fluffy cute adorable little creatures for nourishment and that word "meat."  However, with both of us being a bit more round then we use to be.  We need a change in the menu as well as lifestyle. Harriet's cardiac issues and well my families health history  having a source of meat that per capita seems to support both of our consumption needs is a good thing. 

We are meat eaters.. right wrong, indifferent.We do like it and for that we are trying to be as responsible as we can in our choices of and where we choose to buy meat.  We are trying to be more locally focused.   How more local can we get if source of what is on our table comes from our farm. I have even coined our Bunny Line at the farm: GBASH B4 Bunnies.  (FYI IttieBittie  is advocating for all bunnies to be sold as pets.. ) 

If you are wondering what is driving out idea of utilizing
http://www.livestrong.com/article/342037-nutrition-in-rabbit-meat/

From http://www.threelittleladiesrabbitry.com/blog2/2011/01/20/nutritional-value-of-rabbit-meat/
is the graph below which matches up with other web sites when googling Rabbit meat nutritional value.

 



"OK" .. Harriet says.. pauses.. "You have to feel right here then stimulate the area..."  What is the look on my face and then the out.. of "I have his feet.. YOU do it.. " is my quick reply. Harriet feels around and the motion worked..  "Oh hey its a boy.. yep something is poking out at me." This is more familiar then I ever thought I would be with a bunny much less any other animal..  "Lets put him back now.."   

Harriet put Fury .. the big white "male" with black trim back in the hutch and proceed the routine with the Black bunny Black Fur.. (I did not name these bunnies .. Her mighty Pink Princess did) Confirmed Black Fur is a male also.  

Harriet has done most of the research on how to tell bunny sexes apart.  What are the better breeds.  She proceed to educate me on the outer signs of what may also tell Male VS Female bunnies.. Females tend to have double chins when the males don't.. (I believe its because they can handle it).  Tomorrow night its the brown bunnies turn.  They both have double chins .. So we are guessing females.. OK Harriet said females most likely and I am apt to believe her. 

If you are wondering if we are going to eat Black Fur and Fury .. no they have a reprieve.  Papa, my dad,  bought them for Ittie Bit.  So they will be our BUCKS.. sounds like an important job.  They get to eat, have nights out in the girls apartments.. um hutch and come home to no responsibility but to lounge around until their next engagement.  What a life for a couple bachelors.








    

Just Breathe....

I am often heard saying Breathe.   Breathe to calm down.  Breathe.. to exercise and reset my brain.  Breathe while I write and put down these thoughts to type.  Just the word seems to lengthen in my my thought and I can feel the air flow into my nasal passageways down into my chest cavity my lung expands full and then it flows out slowly from between my lips with the word.. Breathe

Breathing is a unique intake of air.. As I say to her mighty pink princess.... "IN with the Good out with Bad."  IE .. in with the O2 and out with the CO2.  In my case some of the bad just likes to hang out.  I have a problem exhaling all the CO2 from my lungs on a normal day I am around a 75 to 80 percent efficiency.  

My pulse oxygen level will read high when I am having an attack. While this has its benefits of more time to get things like medicine.  It is a tricky conundrum.   I may present perfectly OK to the machine, internally I am shutting down.  My tubes are closing up rapidly, I am coughing up enough phlegm in which to drown.  This experience definitely has made me ponder about a myriad of things. Eventually my asthma has taught me about my life and reminded me of some very valuable lessons.

Slow down:   when I can't take in enough breathes to match my speed my body tends to slow down to get in sync with my breathing or I just have to stop.  So I go slow.. My brain still works a million miles and hour but the rest of me is more on an ISH type of schedule. What I have discovered is when I go slow I notice more.  I see things that were a blur before. 

Endurance is key..  The turtle didn't win the race because of speed but because he endured.  I may not be as fast or in the peak of health.  But I hold on.  I move more slowly but I continue to move.  I endure. through I am making progress toward goals.

Prevention .. Watch for triggers.. Avoid the triggers when I can.  Take my med.  Try to lesson stress.  All of these things keep the really Bad at Bay.

Help is not a bad thing .  I have learned to call and rely on others.  My support network is amazing on several nights taken shifts to come sit with me during very bad asthma episodes to help with Avery or just sit with me to make sure that I exist for the next few hours.  It is a humbling existence to put my life in their hands.  A constant reminder that in this life we are not alone, nor were we meant to be alone.

Simple things make all the difference;  Breathing is simple. We adults over the age of 18 take  12–20 breaths per minute. (wikipedia)  Most of the time we don't think about it.  Its simple.  Yet it makes all the difference.  Breathing is always going on .. It is mechanical, supports us.. Sets up an critical exchange for goods in our bodies.  Isn't this true with so many other simple things. 

While some of the "negative" and bad may linger inside it doesn't have to control me.  I like many adults have ghosts and regrets.  I have not always done the right thing.  But just because there are scripts and memories that linger it does not control or ruin my life.  The CO2 that stays in my body some days makes it a bit more difficult to function but it does not stop me.  I may not be able to do what I want all the time but I do/will do what I can in the present.

All this is not to say that having asthma doesn't scare me.  Of course knowing that I have a disease that can kill me quickly or as I like to think of it  being  "hyper active defense response that attacks me along with the body invaders" at times is stunning.. (hm there is probably a personality parallel in that to.. save it for another day) . In the moments when I am weak and coughing, can't catch my breathe I feel the fear wretch up from within and start to spread.  It takes an inner strength or at least some will to hold that back and think rationally calmly  .. . "inhaler find it.. get the spacer.. two puffs.. spread them out.. count to ten.  Wait.. short breathes are better then no breathes.. Just breathe."  ...."Be close to someone.". "where is Harriet" .

I then secure myself in a comfort of a snuggle or good lean.. Look at Ittie.. hold her.  It's a scary event for all of us.. The emergency plan goes through everyone's mind.  How far is the hospital.  Do we have a plan for Ittie if I have to go in? So the holding and the hugs mean all the world in securing us, calming us down.  Making the world safe again because for a few moments it was truly frightening.

But then there are many frightening things in life:   Dogs that bark and run at you, that near bus miss.  Grabbing a child before they launch themselves into peril.   Poisonous Spiders and other things that bite and cause major damage, Viruses and what not. Life is what it is and it can be risky. As for my life, I live with part of my peril inside of me.. But then again don't we all.....

Motherhood 2..My mom.. True Dichotomy

It's the coming of spring.. The smell of wet earth.  Return of the robin's something my mother and I looked forward to every year.  It is a sign an awakening, The beginning of life, the release from hibernation and the chill.  Change.  Mushrooming, visiting the river to find crawdads and minnows. Freedom..

My mom was a creative guide to learning and adventure.  Constructing mini adventures, walks to parks, and playgrounds, and fostering independence when I was young.  She was an amazing advocate at school. An active member of the PTO, the arts, band, berry boosters, fundraiser, and cookie baker extraordinaire. 

A teacher in her own right, everything was a lesson in the wonder of the world.  Mom made the grand things with minimal resources. Her ideas were creative, unique, and inventive.  She went beyond her comfort to have parties for me and my friends.  A perfect example:  put cokes with ice in the washing machine instead of the refrigerators for after-game parties. It saved on energy and teenagers opening the fridge door a million times. The other big hit and loved memory is themed holiday dinners for giggly middle-schoolers where mom would actively plan a menu in which part of the menu was your silverware.  All are coded and named appropriately for the holiday. Devil's pitchfork=fork  straw man's stack= noodles..

She was a pillar of kindness and warmth for so many. If you came to my house as a kid, you did not leave hungry there was always an extra person at the table. If you came without gloves or hats on cold winter days we had extra to spare.  Most of my friends called her mom when they walked in the door.  They gave her hugs openly and freely. Mom truly did give the best hugs. Perfect amount of squeeze with a snuggle.  These memories bring warmth to my soul.

Yet in the darkness, she struggled (s) with her own anxiety, fears, ideals of social appropriateness, and depression  This led to bitterness and things not being quite good enough.  

Her value of herself has been so tied to her external roles that when my father finally left, she turned to me. "You're exactly like your father."  In my teenage years, it became more critical... Mom's personal battle lead to one mother's day she tried to take her life by overdosing. I was 15 she stated I didn't need her anymore so why live. (She would choose to celebrate this holiday in this manner for the next 5 years.)   While I knew and knew that this was her choice, her issue, and her behavior.  I can say that was the breaking point for me.  I would never see her in the same light again.  When I left home her anger slowly turned to the family and the community at large which had supported her for so long.

It is hard watching your hero fall and at the same time be a target of their blame. It is hard trying to help and have that hand slapped away. My bias: it is harder when that person is your mother.  Many people can't deal with the dichotomies of their souls or the people around them.  That the good and bad live together.  The yin and yang.  We want to label people good or bad.. evil or angelic.  My mom is both.

For me the loss of the light in my mother has left a vacancy: I have a yearning .. a hole of sorts in my heart.  Literally, it aches from time to time.  As the mother of my childhood. And in spring that ache, like most old wounds,  flares up a bit with the changing in the season and weather.

Over the years it has been healthier to step back from my relationship with my mom.  She continues to blame and be angry.  She refuses to seek help professionally because people may judge her as crazy. So further into darkness, she falls.  While I love my mom, I find it necessary to protect myself and my family from unhealthiness that is damaging.  I honor her by being the best person and now best mother that I can be. 

I consider myself blessed.  My mother could have chosen to live in the darkness her entire life and not share any of her wonderful gifts.   My mom has struggled with this dichotomy for years.  She gave so much of herself early in my life this gift gave me the foundation to survive what would later come.   Love you mom .. Gretch

Pink.. Irony at its best..

I am not truly against the color pink.. It makes some of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen. As a blush wine it has frequented my palette and can say that I have picked out and planted my fair share of pink flowers on my own before Ittie came into the picture.

I can say that pink as a color is not a color that frequents my wardrobe.  I have had a couple shirts here and there but it is nowhere near a staple.  It really hasn't been something I have associated with my personality or being.

While her royal Majesty developed and came to be within my cocoon of a belly;  I was heard saying really lets not do the pink thing.  If she is a girl lets not genderize her from the very beginning.  I heard the retort.. "but what if someone thinks she is a boy".  I may have faked being aghast and then mockingly retorted.  "Do you think she is really going to know that as a baby?"  

 From the get go with Ittie I really haven't been about others' preconceived notions or comfortableness.  It has been about her and the environment in which I am raising her.  IF someone was uncomfortable because they said he and she is a she.. It was a moment of growth and grace for both of us.  I truly don't believe we should have to color code our children so the masses feel comfortable identifying what sex they are.  I also wasn't going to go to the other extreme of dress her is all "unisex" colors of blacks and whites and greys and khakis.  The world is full of diversity in the shades and tones and Ittie had a right to be bathed in that from the beginning.

Some close friends even understanding this took amusement in whenever they could find pink or I happen to dress her in pink attire.  I saw the smiles.  Heard the comments "I thought you were avoiding this". " I thought you hated pink.". It provided much amusement.  I don't believe because Avery was in the pink but I actually was surrounded, carrying bathed in the color of pink

As life tends to be ironic Ittie gravitated to pink  She loves it. She wants pink ponies, dinosaurs.  Avery had imaginary pink birds that went TWEET TWEET.   It is bright and warm much like her personality.  When she dawns on a pink garment, she really does seem to come a bit more alive with it and her smile grows broader. 

I don't know if she will migrate away from pink as her staple color.  I have never truly migrated away from Blue.  She has included some purples and light blues.  She now says her second favorite color is the rainbow.   But I really don't care.  If Pink is what she likes then GO PINK..

So today as she dawned her long sleeve pink shirt that had silvery writing of the Word LOVE and a big silver butterfly.  The pink fluffy skirt with white and silvery butterfly prints.  Black leggings and her pink cowboy boots , with light pink Cinderella socks underneath.  A tie dye pink headband to boot.. I looked at her then at myself dressed in mustard brown khakis, black v neck, Doc Martins,..grey sweater and laughed.  What a pair we are. 

She literally fluttered as she ran out the door to catch the bus this morning with her Light PINK jacket and pastel rainbow backpack.   "I love you Mama"....I hear as she flies toward the bus.  I love you too Ittie I  respond.  Pink may become my favorite color yet...