33

Saturday, July 7, 2012

"At 17, had a better dream. Now I'm 33, and it isn't me."

--Counting Crows, "All My Friends"

via Disney
When you're 17, you dream all sorts of wild dreams. When I was 17, I was imagining that I could be a singer on Broadway despite the fact that I couldn't carry a tune in a 20-gallon bucket. I was imagining that I might meet Adam Duritz - who wrote the song I quoted -  and inspire him to write a song with my name in it. I did meet him at 19, but to-date, my name has not appeared in a Counting Crows song. I imagined I might be famous for writing the modern great American novel. So far, the best I can say is that I've exchanged tweets with Steven Weber. And DSW.  And have a book in one library in America.

It's difficult to let go of those adolescent visions of oneself. To forgive shortcomings even when the initial expectations are so far beyond the realm of possibility. I can't help it - I'm so disappointed that I'll never perform on the stage at the Fox Theatre in a Broadway medley or a rock band. And I'll likely never hear a Counting Crows song inspired by me.

There are other suppositions in those teenage years - marriage, children, and all the trimmings. And those haven't come to pass either. Despite notions to the contrary and the 29 dimensions of compatability touted by Dr. Neil Clark Warren that make you feel like if you just apply yourself and put yourself out there, the magic will happen, it's not that simple. In some ways, making that happen on a certain timeline is just as outrageous as expecting rockstardom and fame. And yet, they're so much easier to feel discouraged over for having failed to attain them.

I write these things not to illicit pity or advice or assurances that the "right one" will come along at the "right time." I've heard those words enough that they're tattooed on the inside of my brain. I write them because I feel like wanting those things has eclipsed a lot of other things.

I've been waiting to travel, anticipating some great European tour with my husband. And in saving that experience for that mythical future person, I'm denying myself the experience I deserve to have as an individual. I will, with this blog as my witness, get my passport this year. And perhaps 2013 will be the year I finally make it across the pond to London.

And there's writing...whether or not I'm ever famous for it, I should do it. It's my God-given talent, and I ought to figure out something to do with it. For you readers out there, that may mean more frequent posts from me. But it also means that I've told my dad that I want to take him up to Lookout Mountain one day soon and talk about all the old legends and stories he told me growing up. Because I'm enamored with them, and there's something there that I should pursue. Whether it becomes a book or some sketched out stories that live in Microsoft Word in perpetuity, it's something more than I've been doing.

Here's to 33. My wish is for it to be the year of doing and not waiting. Of really making things that I want happen. Perhaps I'm not who I thought I'd be when I was 17. Perhaps those dreams weren't really the right ones. But perhaps at 33, I'll find the ones that are.

Running Against the Wind: Behind the Scenes of 5K Training

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Pavement pounders
In another lifetime known as high school, I was an athlete or at least masqueraded as one on occasion. I played varsity basketball, by which I mean I practiced with the team and warmed the bench. A nine-year stretch of softball came to an end with a broken nose during freshman year P.E. And though I took up track for two years, staking a preposterous claim as a 100M hurdler and mid-distance runner, it's rather laughable now to think any track team actually took me.

When my friend Nikki encouraged me to join her in Couch to 5K training for next week's Children's Healthcare of Atlanta Color Run, I figured that I'd take another turn at pretending to be an athlete. We've been running since January. Our first training session, we ran in intervals of 90 seconds at a time; today, we ran 32.5 minutes. Next Saturday, we'll attempt the 3.1-mile course in Piedmont Park.

Our trek from a minute-and-a-half intervals to half-hour runs hasn't been without lessons. So here they are:

Running solo
1) While many runners have assured me I'd get "the bug" and become a runner, so far, the only bugs I've gotten have been the occasional flying insect dive-bombing me while stretching.

2) Without a running partner, I'd be sunk. I'm too paranoid to run with headphones on because I'm certain I will be captured from behind and loaded into a windowless kidnap van.The few times we've had to train separately, I've hated every. single. boring. painful. step.

3) If you're going to run on Milledge, be prepared for the college students to lap you. And give yourself permission to call them "show offs" after they pass by.

Coldest training day of the year
4) Campus is not flat. Not at all. Which makes it particularly vexing on the coldest, windiest training day we had. Also, hills make me curse roundly.

5) Running in the rain to demonstrate dedication to training results in a chest-thumping sense of accomplishment and a chest-congesting case of bronchitis.

6) Passersby may be startled when you yell "walking man" at the crosswalk in hopes of not having to stop.

7) The difference between how fast we run, how far we run, and how much weight I'm losing in my mind is vastly different from reality. So far, I'm quite certain we appear to be nearly geriatric in our pace, haven't hit the 3.1-mile mark, and I've gained two pounds.

Lest you think I'm all cons and no pros, I am proud of what we've accomplished. Three months ago, I wasn't sure I could run 30 seconds much less 30 minutes. We've stuck to it and supported each other through the particularly painful milestones. I'm in better shape - despite those extra pounds - and can tell a difference in how I feel. And next week, I know I'll be covered in paint and smiling as we cross the finish line - whether we're running, walking or crawling.

And then, I might just go back to the couch. At least for a few days.

This is Spinal Tap: My Sister has Multiple Sclerosis

Monday, February 13, 2012

It started around Halloween with dizzy spells that drove my sister Anna to the doctor because she couldn't stomach feeling suddenly light-headed and unsteady. She took two Z-packs to clear up what the doctor guessed was an inner-ear infection lingering after a sinus infection. But the wobbliness continued. Then there were the water pills to draw the fluid out of her ears. Perhaps those helped a little bit, but she still felt slightly off kilter. And while we were feeling optimistic that she was less likely to fall down (or up) the stairs, another symptom snuck in the side door. This time the loss of control was in her right arm, a sense of tingling and decreased muscle control. No inner ear infection symptom.

Sharing a peanut butter chocolate cookie with Dillon
That's when we began the journey in earnest to uncover the problem. Anna had an MRI ordered by her primary care physician. When the results came back, they told us simply that there were "abnormalities on the brain." For a week, we waited until the neurologist could see her. We waited with the possibility of tumors and cancer and unknown but devastating possibilities. When the neurologist finally saw her, we learned that Anna had a lesion on her brain most likely resulting from an autoimmune disorder. While multiple sclerosis (MS) was the primary suspect, additional testing would be needed to rule out other autoimmune disorders, namely lupus.

Back to the MRI she went for a THREE-HOUR stint in the tube for imaging of her brain, neck and spine. She endured quality time with a phlebotomist who drew 28 vials of blood for tests ranging from the possible culprits to the potential of bubonic plague. And then we waited.

It was the week after Christmas when the results came back. In addition to the primary lesion seen in the first MRI, Anna's neck and spine were peppered with smaller lesions. Her blood work showed a deficiency in B12 and folic acid. A subsequent blood test would reveal her Vitamin D levels were significantly below the norm. The lesions are indicative of an autoimmune response wherein the body attacks the myelin lining that protects the nerves. The missing vitamins are those that work together to repair the nervous system. And while most of the signposts in this round of tests pointed again to MS, her blood tested positive for lupus. To be definitive with a diagnosis, she would have to have a spinal tap. In the meantime, she was prescribed B12 shots, prescription strength Vitamin D and folic acid.

The spinal tap is the godfather of diagnostic tests. Also called a lumbar puncture it involves using a sizable, scary needle to poke a hole in your spinal cord and draw out some of the cerebral spinal fluid (CSF). Apparently, CSF is the Rosetta stone of autoimmune disorders. Anna, as you might imagine, was none too thrilled to be voluntarily allowing someone to root around in her nervous system.

This summer, we were chaise aunties.
And as fate would have it, the spinal tap did not go well. Anna experienced a rare side effect called a spinal headache because the hole didn't close properly and therefore, she spent four days leaking spinal fluid and incapacitated by excruciating pain. A secondary procedure was required to set her to rights.While it can be summarized in a paragraph, in reality it was a thoroughly awful and uncertain few days.

After that, guess what we did? We waited. And waited. For almost a month, we waited.

Week before last, the doctor's office called and confirmed a diagnosis of Relapsing-Remitting Multiple Sclerosis (RRMS). It is a relatively controllable form of the disease marked by periods of symptoms followed by a time of inactivity. This past week, with her return visit to the neurologist, she found out her treatment regimen. Anna will be taking Copaxane, a self-injected medication that has been shown to prevent relapses and shorten the period of relapse and the severity of the symptoms. So far, self-injection has been a little challenging to acclimate to, but she knows at this point that the stomach is the easiest place to inject. She will continue with the "vitamin cocktail" - the boost in vitamin helps her body to repair itself.

She requested a referral to The Shepherd Spine Center. While she has been really pleased with her neurologist, Shepherd is actively doing research on MS and may have additional insight in how to manage it.  It could be several months before the referral comes through.

Love this picture of me and my sis
So how is Anna doing? She is handling this with grace and a sense of humor that sometimes trends toward the dark side. She has, after all, been made into human Swiss cheese with all the needle sticks she's endured in the past couple of months. She's still working, still walking her dogs, still doting on our nieces and nephews. Anna is, after all, a survivor. And we have all been buoyed up by the prayers and support of our family and so many dear friends. We are deeply grateful for your love and concern.

Anna is one of the bravest people I know. She always has been. I mean, she's my big sister, and she's always made big footsteps to follow in. This time, though, I get to walk beside her and be someone to lean on, laugh with, complain to, and maybe, if necessary, a hand to squeeze during one of those needle sticks.

the end of my fur-lough

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Lulabelle in front, Clementine behind.
More than a year and a half ago, I lost Kudzu. For a time, it seemed that I would never recover, that the hole in my heart would go on forever as a painful void. But gradually, oh so gradually, I started thinking that perhaps some new feline friends could ease the void. Taking steps toward getting new feline friends was another thing entirely.

It wasn't that I didn't know where to go; on the contrary, I know our vet Dr. Geren runs the Magi-Cat Adoption Network. For a long time, I lurked on their site, watching kittens and cats get posted and subsequently adopted. My friend Elizabeth is on the Athens Area Humane Society Board, and I surfed their available cats and kittens, too. But I could never work up the courage to make the call.

Clementine
And so, lucky for me, the cats called me. Dr. Geren lost my email address in a computer snafu over the summer and contacted me so that she could update her records. When I let her know that I was shopping for cats, she said she had the perfect pair - two tabby sisters named Thelma and Louise. Before I knew what was happening, I was picking the sisters up for a trial adoption period.

About three days into the trial, I knew I had new family members. Yesterday, I made it official, adopting Thelma - now Lullabelle - and Louise who is now Clementine. These two sweet sisters have quickly adapted to their new home, romping down the hall, "helping" me check email, and snuggling with my toes at bedtime. Born April 7, 2011, these kittens are 9 months old and 9-pounders already. I'm going to have to get used to sharing the bed.

Clementine

Lulabelle
I still miss Kudzu. I really do. New love is growing for the girls, but that does not entirely diminish the ache in my heart for my lost love. However, Lulabelle and Clementine have given me a reason to come home at night and anticipation for being enthusiastically greeted by two gray furballs. And they do love to be loved and pur accordingly. They make me smile with their love of empty toilet paper rolls and drive me mad in their obsession with the laptop. And I am convinced that we will, the three of us, be a happy little family for years to come.

Lulabelle

Clementine

MLK to 5K: A SingleServe Love Story

Friday, January 13, 2012

Whenever I tell someone about SingleServe, one of the questions I inevitably get asked is whether or not the volunteering has led to matchmaking. Although it wasn't really my vision for SingleServe to be a do-gooder's Match.com, the query always comes up, and I always just smile and say no. But the truth is, maybe I should start saying yes.

See, about four years ago, when SingleServe started, I met Nikki Smith. She came to one of the first meetings when we were trying to figure out exactly what we were doing. Lucky for me, even though we didn't quite figure anything out, she kept showing up - to our first project at the MLK Day of Service and then to Bike Athens and the Classic City Roller Girls and ushering at the Morton Theater.

Photo by Buck Sharp
Before long, we were hanging out in between SingleServe events. Becoming part of each other's lives over dinners and happy hours and fro-yo. So much so that Nikki Smith came to my family's Thanksgiving this year. And she was my date to the company Christmas party. This picture is from my 32nd birthday party this summer. Now, the two of us are training for a 5K because exercise is really only tolerable with the best of friends by your side.

When I think about it, what I really hoped for when I started SingleServe - aside for doing great things for the community - was friendship. Finding people who were around my age, facing similar situations in life, who were just generally great people. Meeting while volunteering and becoming more than people who stood side by side pulling privet. I can honestly say, as I look toward our fourth MLK Day of Service on Monday, that whether or not SingleServe ever leads to a date for our volunteers, it's already led to true love.

Here's to friends who didn't know what each other looked like without work gloves and with makeup for almost a year. Here's to SingleServing.

Join us on Monday by registering here. You just might find a friend for life while you're planting a tree.

Frollick-tober and Go-vember

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

When I was a kid and we had a super awesome Apple II GS, we used the big giant 8" floppy disk to play Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?. It came with a world almanac - like, a book made of paper. Paper! And you had to look up which countries used rupees to determine where that wily Carmen had gone to and nab her on behalf of Interpol. There was no currency exchanged (unless you count trading cookies for hugs) and no embassies had to be applied to, but I did make some tracks the last couple of months.

I was spotted at Mountain Day in early October way up in the hills of Georgia at my alma mater, Berry College. The local cuisine included fried chicken, Dillon-baked chocolate chip cookies and homemade barbecue. Accomplices included several below-three-foot individuals, included those pictured below. Clearly the hat is an attempt at a disguise - but you can't hide that cuteness.


I was then seen heading west into the mountains of North Carolina for the Valle Crucis Fair. It was the kind of crowd you could blend into. Unless, of course, your party included more than one 6-foot-plus man, two toddlers in matching orange coats and a set of twins dressed as pink and blue fuzzy bears. So much for incognito. Traces of the local flora might've been found in my wake since I romped through the hills taking photos.



And then I headed to the eastern part of North Carolina, back to Wilmington, a place I was known to frequent. Spotted at all my old haunts - Grace Street, Deluxe, Wrightsville Beach - I might've been easy to track down. Except, in this case, I actually did pull off a disguise - Shirley Manson for my friend Scott's 40th birthday party.
This old house used to be my house.

This Stupid Girl is Only Happy When it Rains

Still on my tail? You could've found it right where you might most - or least - expect it depending on how well you know me. You might expect that any good Athenian would be found cheering on the hairy dawgs on any given Saturday in October. But the truth is, it was only my second tailgate. With a morning mimosa and a blissfully sunny day in the company of some glamorous cohorts, I relaxed and could've been easily nabbed lolling in the quad beside Memorial Hall.

The incomparable Joneser and Schubert
I didn't stay put long. Back on the road and down (way, way down) I-16 to Savannah. I was on a mission. Transferring some goods at the behest of a client. And while I wasn't to be found on gadding about town, I did manage a clandestine meeting with a good friend who might've been willing to divulge my whereabouts in a little diner on Skidaway Island.

The goods
I was closing in on the end of the great Frollick-tober/Go-vember caper. And what better way to end it than where I started - in the mountains of northwest Georgia with my small accomplices? This time, we were at my sister's house for Thanksgiving. I spoke the language of the natives - giggles. You might've spied me stuffing with stuffing and turkey and sweet potato casserole and deviled eggs. And lest you think I was working alone, I was definitely working under the orders of a tiny dictator - he calls the shots.
Little Napolean
I think she knows the authorities are closing in.
Now I'm relegated back to the couch and my newly acquired Twilight DVD collection (thanks, Target Black Friday Doorbuster!). Me and my tiny henchman and array of colorful accomplices are resting up. But don't worry - this ringleader will be at it again before long, deck the halls and fa-la-la-la and ho ho ho. Christmas capers coming soon.

Overcoming My Slothly Ways

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Lest you think that on every weekend, I'm as industrious as I was on this one, let me update you on today's productivity.

* Finished Ready Player One, a book that, if you grew up in the '80s and have any affinity for the video games of yore, you must read.

* Updated my GoodReads accordingly and demanded that my best friend and at least three others finish and or read it poste haste.

* Browsed the library book sale and scored 30-plus books and a few movies  for a mere $20.

* Successfully avoided gameday traffic.

* Added all new books - and there are quite a few from the recent carnage at Borders - to the shelves in the stubrary. Alphabetized and everything.

* In the process, identified at least four books that can be donated to next year's library sale. Including my copy of Sophie's Choice. The. worst. book. ever. (Okay, so maybe Heart of Darkness is the worst, but I've already gotten rid of that one.)

* Assembled my brand new vacuum cleaner, my very first non-hand-me-down model. And, yes, it's only been riding around in the back of the Rav for a week. Details, details.

* Used said vacuum cleaner to clear away the growing colony of dust bunnies in the corners of my room

* Also used vacuum with hose not properly attached, whirling aforementioned dust bunnies into the air.

* Cleaned both bathrooms, which I'm sorry to say, gave me great concern over the amount of hair I seem to shed.

* Emptied the dishwasher. Loaded the dishwasher. Emptied the dishwasher. I sense a theme here...

* Did four loads of laundry which equals no less than eight trips up and down the basement stairs

* Listened to newly procured Adele's 21 album. So late to the party on that one, but it's a masterpiece.

* Changed the sheets on both beds, meaning tonight's sleep will be Snuggle-rific.

* And speaking of sleep...