Off The Grid

Wasted Worry

I’m going to come clean. I’m a worrier. I always have been. My recent unfounded worries were that Frankie would get us kicked out of my new apartment for barking and that he would be exposed as an illegitimate service dog and asked to leave some store and never come back. Of course, neither has happened. In fact, Frankie proves every day just how legitimate and well-behaved a service dog he really is. Turns out, I’m the only person who needed convincing. But how well Frankie’s adjusting to urban life is the subject of another post.

In the spirit of going with the flow, I’m putting that topic on hold in the event someone out there needs to hear what I’ve decided about worry. It’s pointless. I’m fully aware that saying and understanding that is the easy part. Being able to practice that concept, on the other hand, takes, well … practice. Feel free to borrow what works for me. th4

First, credit goes out to my mom, who’s been reminding me how futile my worry is ever since I can remember. And I’ve learned, with her help, that the best antidote to worry (or troublesome, negative thinking of any kind) is gratitude. Get in the habit, as she is, of writing down what you’re thankful for at the end of each day. It changes your mindset.

th1 Staying in the present helps me when I fall into a ‘what if’ state of mind. For what is worry if not obsessive future thinking? And no one knows the future. So again, what’s the point? It’s a fine line, however, between staying in the present and not planning for the future or making goals. I like setting goals and daydreaming about how great my future’s going to be. I can usually sense when the scales begin to tip, though. Like when I’m so busy making a to-do list on my phone that I forget to look up and appreciate that Frankie and I are in the park on a beautiful sunny day. As I said, it’s a fine line.

Or you can always fall back on my last resort solution to constant worry. To stop going over and over some problem in my mind, I’ve taken to humming the tune from Frozen. You know, let it go, let it go. But in song. Hey, I said it was a last resort. But it works. It’s just silly enough to snap your brain out of it.

If nothing else works, keep this in mind. In the weeks that led up to my brain hemorrhage, I was close to depression, consumed with worry. Not about the mass in my head (which I knew about,) but as crazy as it sounds, with financial woes and silly romantic problems. Sound familiar? I mean, how ridiculous is that? Here I was, 36-years-old, on top of the world, only I didn’t know it. I couldn’t even fathom feeling grateful in my situation. But guess what? I was about to have real problems. Whatever you perceive your problems to be – they could get worse too. Or better. Maybe you’re about to win the lottery. Who knows? So why spend your time stressing over money and ruining tonight? Of course I wish I’d spent more evenings walking on the beach instead of worrying on my couch in front of the TV – heck, I can do that now! But, I don’t. Or try not to. So, take it from someone who’s gained a little perspective in life. Stop worrying, go walk the beach and buy a lottery ticket. Tomorrow could be your lucky day.

March 4, 2016 9

Out of the Zone

Apparently, I’m in need of some comfort. Like the big vat of macaroni and cheese kind. Everyone knows moving is stressful. I guess I just underestimated how stressful. As a friend commented, I kind of leapt off the edge of a tall cliff and just naturally expected to fly. (Well, yeah.)

As is the way, things didn’t go exactly as planned. Mom is still back at the beach until the house sells. And I’ve realized – I haven’t lived farther away than down the street from her in close to ten years. Sure, she drives me crazy, but now I miss her. And I haven’t lived away from the beach in about 23 years. That’s a long time to be a part of a community. Now I’m part of a new community. I’ve almost forgotten how to do this. Almost.

You see, I’m out of my comfort zone. And I did it to myself. Deliberately. I wanted to shake things up. Well, if you’ll pardon the grammar – they’re shook.

So, I’m taking comfort where I can and deciding I’m okay with that. Food is a big one. I didn’t realize how big until one of two friends in the building (another huge comfort) drove me to Fresh Market. I’m not a fan of the Publix right across the street. It’s small, the aisles are narrow and they don’t carry all the things I’m used to. But, Fresh Market? Hello comfort! Ready-made meals galore! Perfect for me. It wasn’t until I’d consumed an entire container of coconut macaroons and salad the size of a large pizza that I thought maybe food wasn’t the healthiest comfort.

Routine is a comfort. And Frankie makes sure I’m comfortable in that. He’s adjusting to living in an apartment. Training his bladder if you will. We go down around 7:00, 12:00, 4:00 and 9:00 and two of those are walks around Memorial Park. We’re getting to know the locals. Just the other day a woman introduced herself and said she always sees us walking. Dogs are fantastic ice breakers.

I’ve also found comfort in unusual places. Like towels. I’ve had Mom bring the mismatched, broken-in ones from home instead of the plush new ones that actually match my bathroom but just seem to push water around instead of absorb it.

And who knew regular old body wash worked like a familiar security blanket? Trying to be more natural and green, I’d switched to one without a particularly lathering, potentially toxic ingredient. Now I sit in the shower feeling all responsible and moral while I could be luxuriating in moisturizing bubbles that smell like a fresh mountain spring. I’m switching back. I want my bubbles. Plus, I’m pretty sure I can smell myself at the end of a day. There will be plenty of time to make the eco-friendly choice later. And make my bathroom pretty. And say no to cookies. For now, I’m flapping my arms as fast as I can.

January 26, 2016 14

Moving: Live and Learn

IMG_20151213_162220 Make no mistake about it: Mom and I are in the thick of a traumatic event. They say never to purchase a house you don’t plan to be in for at least five years. Well, they obviously aren’t an aging woman and her handicapped daughter. We’re moving to Riverside.

I don’t think it’s a secret. I’m not real keen on Mom’s neighborhood. What with the speeding cars and basically taking my life in my hands every time I walk Frankie, it’s not exactly pedestrian friendly. There are very few sidewalks here and where there are, a car usually sits in the driveway, blocking my path.

Always on the lookout for a way to further improve my (and my mom’s) quality of life, a friend and I were talking about her recent move to Riverside. Then I took a scouting trip there, via JTA, to make sure I could get to places in my power chair. Publix and Starbucks were right across the street from my friend’s apartment building. Groceries and a latte? On my own?

Unless you don’t drive, it’s impossible to convey just how huge this is. And I mean HUGE.

To my surprise, Mom was open to the idea. She’d always wanted to live in Riverside, but my life was at the beach. I’m ready to correct that statement. My able-bodied life was at the beach. I moved here when I was 23. But that was back when I could drive. Or actually go to the beach. As in swim. I’ve lived in this community for almost 23 years. And people think going to Mexico was brave? This feels bigger. Much bigger. Home base is everything.

So now, in addition to the normal holiday stress, we have added living among boxes, preparing a house for the market and having a garage sale stress. Mom and I vacillate between biting each others heads off and feeling nostalgic about breaking up our little two-person, three-animal family.

But it’s time. I need to be able to get somewhere without bumming a ride and Mom needs to not worry about a yard, a pool, the roof (heck – a light bulb!) We’re moving into separate apartments in the same building. And as for that whole five year homeowner’s plan? Well, live and learn.

December 16, 2015 7

All In

It’s funny how you can hear something repeated over and over, even preach it yourself, but never get it until you really get it. And then, all at once it hits you. Ohhh.

Be Present.

I do yoga. I meditate. I’ve even spent time in a Buddhist center. But how do you do that – really?

I think the answer came to me during a single week filled with several a-ha moments. First, there was the true appreciation of the moment – in my case, the shower. My mind was wandering, as it always does in there, and I thought back to my earlier showers, when I’d just returned home from the hospital. I couldn’t be alone in there. Imagine showering with your mother helping and looking on, and you begin to realize just how delicious a straightforward shower by yourself can be. I was able to look upon my current shower with real gratitude for the simple gift that it is.

Next, I was watching TV and a commercial came on for some cable company or other advertising how with their service you could watch multiple channels at the same time. There on the screen was one basketball game, and up in the right-hand corner were other little players running around – mini feed from a whole other game! Seriously? Why? Just pick one! But the world encourages multi-tasking. Our phones do it. Our computers do it. And we do it. We should seriously cut it out.

“Never do more than one thing at a time. Ever.” Words from Anna, my yoga teacher. And I’m taking her advice, although multi-tasking kind of became impossible for me after the brain hemorrhage anyway. Seriously. I can’t even take in the scenery in the power chair without running into something. It’s 100% focus, all the time, or there’s trouble.

So, if you’re going to watch a game, grab a big bowl of popcorn, open a beer and just watch one. Along the same lines, if you’re going to take a shower, take a shower. Don’t busy up your brain thinking of all the things you have to do that day. Be where you are. Profound, isn’t it? Take in the suds, the steam, the sensations. You know that moment after you’ve turned the water up a little hotter, right when the goosebumps hit your flesh but before your skin gets used to the new temperature and the goosebumps fade? Experience that. Be in that moment.

It does take practice. As a writer, some of my best ideas come to me in the shower. I don’t want to give that up. So I’ve designated the last ten minutes or so to letting my mind wander and make up sentences to my heart’s content.

Anna posed some interesting questions recently. When was the last time you were “all in?” Had all five senses fully engaged? Had the world shrink around you until you could only see, hear, smell, taste and feel whatever you were involved in?

Umm … okay, I’ll say it. I can’t be the only person who was thinking about sex here, right? And I don’t want to get all in your personal business, but for me? Let’s just say it would be particularly sad if that were the last time I was “all in.”

In fact, I like to compensate by being all in, all the time. I’ve taken to adopting that little saying to everything I do. Eating a chocolate, I think, “If you’re going to eat a chocolate, eat a chocolate.” And that reminds me to take it in, to savor it. If you’re going to eat dinner, eat dinner. And I turn off the TV. And my favorite and by far the easiest: if you’re going to walk the dog, walk the dog. I do love walking Frankie. I’ve decided never to complain about being too busy again. I like being outside, the nice weather, seeing neighbors, squirrels, Frankie looking happy laying in the grass. My next book should be called Zen and the Art of Dog-walking. I do have the advantage of always having a seat with me, so we can stop anywhere the mood strikes us or his little legs give out. But frequent places with benches. Hit the park. Make it enjoyable, not one more chore. Heck, sit in the grass! I’m sure Fido will be happy for the company down on his level.

Last week, Frankie and I were stopped in the shade. It was one of those pretty, mackerel skies that I love. I was leaning back feeling the breeze on my face, while he was sniffing and kicking in the grass. A woman in a jogging suit and one of those serious fast walking paces went by, phone ear pieces jiggling from her head. She looked extremely jealous. In fact, she said as much. “How nice! Look at you two relaxing. I wish!” she laughed. Well, I ask you – what was stopping her? She was out for a walk the same half-hour that I was. What made my walk more relaxing was that I was in it. Not on my phone. Not planning my day. Not exercising. And not all at the same time. Nothing is stopping you either. Go all in.

September 27, 2015 5

Techie Troubles

Sorry it’s been awhile since my last post, but I have a really good excuse. My computer died. Well, it didn’t so much die as it was murdered. In cold blood. By a vengeful Mac-hating PC guy posing as a computer technician.

Perhaps I should explain. My mom and I began having problems with both our Macs immediately after a U-verse rep came out to install a new modem. (That should’ve been my first clue right there.) After exhausting all the brilliant minds at the cable company and desperate to get to the bottom of the problem, I called in outside help from an “expert.”

The assassin from Devine Technology Solutions seemed innocent and knowledgeable enough. (Killers usually are charming.) I don’t hesitate to use the actual name of the company here because my letter expressing my dissatisfaction has gone unanswered. (Beware the power of the pen, people!) It was the tech’s, I dare say somewhat biased opinion that both Macintosh computers, being over five years old, had died simultaneously (second clue). They did appear dead. After a few hours of the rainbow wheel, they wouldn’t even load. Still, that’s a huge coincidence, is it not?

To make a very long story somewhat shorter, I made the rather rash decision to let him rip out the harddrive of my “dead” Mac and load it onto my Windows laptop all while he extolled on the dangers of owning a Macintosh. (PC propaganda no doubt.). Meanwhile my mom, being in less of a hurry, got a second opinion from a fellow Mac owner who said the whole thing sounded fishy and that she should take it to the Genius Bar at the mall. And guess what? Her computer is fine. U-verse sent out a new modem to replace the faulty one causing all the problems to begin with and everything’s working great. The second U-verse rep instilled more confidence too, despite our initial conversation. Me: I hope you know Macs. Him: I’m sorry, I don’t think I know him.

I feel bad. My computer suffered a death that’s the stuff of my worst nightmares. It was buried alive. Or more like, it had open heart surgery without anesthetic. Sent six feet under while it was merely unconscious. But how was I to know? I trusted the doctors! Computers are not my expertise.

My guilt is doubled when I look at the shiny new (refurbished) Mac on which I write this. Tripled, when I joyfully think of the hordes of to-do lists I lost in the shuffle. It was liberating actually, to be unshackled from the weight of all those things left undone. During my computer-less time (well, I always had the Windows laptop but can I declare myself to be a Mac girl without sparking too much debate?) if I couldn’t remember something it was just … well … gone! It ceased to exist. I didn’t stress about all the things I had to do because I didn’t know I had to do them! It must be how more normal, less organized people feel all the time. It’s very freeing.

But the reality of living in the age of technology came calling when I turned on my new Apple and began exploring. There, sitting in Apple Mail was every to-do list I thought was gone, along with every email message I ever sent since 2011.

I’ve learned several important lessons in all this, not the least of which is this: you can always make life easier. Just hit delete.

August 31, 2015 3

Powering Down

New rule. I will spend no more than four hours a day staring at a screen of any kind. That’s television screen, smart phone, e-reader or computer. You don’t realize how much eye strain you’re causing till you’ve had eye surgery and are trying to recover. I underwent a procedure last month to straighten the eyes (successful) and alleviate the double vision (not), and since then I’ve become very conscious of my screen time.

For a while, my body let me know it didn’t like how I was choosing to pass the time by giving me a massive headache whenever I logged in somewhere. Even for 15 minutes. It was like reliving the 90s. My smart phone got dumb – it became (gasp – imagine!) just a device for making calls. And I picked up for everyone, even unknown numbers, because I couldn’t see the screen well enough to make out who was calling. A telemarketer’s delight. Even television became a problem. I was fine for a while focusing on the screen. The difficulty came in trying to look anywhere else, particularly at a different distance. Looking at the remote in my hand to change channels, for example, caused a shooting pain. Some decent show would end and I’d find myself watching a fishing show or some true crime drama, like Southern Fried Homicide. (No lie. It’s a real show.) Eventually, I gave up and closed my eyes. I now incorporate a midday nap into my schedule. (You should change it up too. Even if you work full-time on a computer – take breaks. Look away.)

It’s been a slow recovery. but I’m finally logging more screen time than 15 minutes. I’m back on the computer, playing Words with Friends and starting a book on my Kindle. But the memory of that pain is serving me well. Just because I can spend more time in front of a screen, doesn’t mean I should.

Besides, think of what all that reliance on technology is doing to our brains. When you were a kid you probably knew everyone’s number by heart. Heck, I can still recite numbers I learned in childhood. On the other hand, if my phone went dead today, I’d be hard-pressed to be able to reach a single relative. And what if we actually had to use our minds to find or remember how to get somewhere in our cars instead of just blindly following a computerized voice that politely tells us when to turn right or left? In an Atlantic Monthly article, writer Nicolas Carr proposes the Internet just might be making us dumb, that is to say biologically changing our brains – how we read and gather information and shortening our attention spans.

Now, maybe it’s just me getting older, but I’m tempted to say, “Kids these days …” and shake my head when I look at the following picture.

I’m a little worried. Sure, there’s a definite upside to all this technology. But let’s not forget how to be human. To actually look and converse with the person sitting across from you, appreciate the work of art or read an old fashioned book or newspaper – not just the online versions. A little less Facebook isn’t going to kill anyone. It’ll probably be good for you. And remember, it’s easier on the eyes, too.

July 12, 2015 7

Find Your Magic

Yoga is working its magic again. To be fair, my improved self-esteem could be attributed to several factors. I’m working out at a “regular” (able-bodied) gym and getting stronger. There’s the almost daily meditation keeping me centered. And I’ve been eating healthier (for the most part). Still, there’s no denying it — yoga works wonders for me.

I had an epiphany last week. For the first time in eight years, I didn’t want to be in anyone’s body but my own. Truly. Not that I spend a lot of time wishing I had more physical capabilities than I have — I don’t. At least I think I don’t. I have spent a lot of time comparing. Comparing my body and its abilities with other disabled bodies. (It’s not even close to a fair fight to compare myself to able bodies, so I don’t.) But if comparing is the same thing as wishing, than I confess, I’m guilty of wishing I was disabled in a different way.

For eight years now, I’ve been trying different adaptive sports through Brooks: wheelchair tennis, handcycling, water-skiing, power soccer, rock climbing and horseback riding, just to name a few. The thing about adaptive sports is that they can be adapted to suit most any disability. This doesn’t mean, however, that just anyone can excel at them. For me, with my poor coordination, attempting almost any sport becomes laughable. Good for my spirited sense of humor. Not so good for my confidence.

My bad eyesight and double vision didn’t help matters. But it did help to explain my poor performance. “So you see two balls coming at you?” the manager of the adaptive program asked me on the tennis court.

“Yes,” I replied.

“So how do you know which one to hit?” My problem exactly.

At most sports, particularly those involving a ball, it seemed everyone was better than me. The grass was always greener. The way I saw it, amputees often didn’t have to be in a wheelchair and paraplegics had perfect upper body control. But me? Take my spastic movements, garbled speech and chameleon eyes and it’s not hard to see why I felt like Goofy on the pity-party train to the Magic Kingdom.

Enter Adaptive Yoga, where volunteers help guide our limbs into stretches. Now this I can do! My muscles remember the poses and with a little help, I can still get there. No ball involved. And I don’t feel goofy. Not even a little bit. Yoga teaches me to treasure me. I relish the fact that I can move everything and still have everything. I’m reminded to be grateful that I’m not in pain and don’t need to take medication. Yoga fertilizes my lawn till it looks just as green. Right where I am.

The intention, of course, is not to make anyone feel bad about their own abilities or lack thereof. It’s to remind you that regardless, there’s something out there for you that supports you where you are right now. That makes you feel good about yourself, too. Maybe for you, it’s basketball, or an adaptive sport. Maybe it’s not a sport at all. Maybe you’re a mean knitter. Maybe it’s your mind or your voice and you have some story to tell. It took me eight years, but I’ve found my thing and I’m celebrating it. Find your thing, too.

March 15, 2015 7

St. Kindness Day

It’s a holiday rerun! This is my original post from February, 2012. Or check out a Valentine’s excerpt from my book here. Happy reading. And Happy Valentine’s Day.

Original Post: Happy Kind and Thoughtful Day

Being able-bodied and single for so many years, I have to say that Valentine’s Day used to cause me a lot of angst. If I didn’t have a boyfriend, that fact was made painfully obvious. And if I did, there was the constant worry over what he would or wouldn’t do and the terrible disappointment of not having my expectations met. Either way, I lost.

Now, I actually enjoy the holiday. Without troubling over whether I’m alone or just with someone who makes me feel like I am, I can really get into it. I usually buy valentines for family and friends alike and Mom and I trade red cellophane hearts stuffed with chocolate and gifts so tacky they’re cute, like last year’s plush bumblebee that sang Be My Baby.

I think everyone (who doesn’t have the perfect gift-giving spouse or significant other) should know this joy without becoming disabled. That’s why I’m suggesting that every February 14th become a day of benevolence and general consideration to everyone, even strangers. You know, like the whole random acts of kindness thing, except more concentrated. Make it a day less about romantic love and partners and more about just being nice.

One of the big perks of disability is getting to see lots of human kindness. My mom jokes she likes to take me out cause we might get our bill paid. Seriously! It’s happened at two different restaurants. Some kind stranger has picked up our tab. Another time, a friend and I went shopping at a consignment store. In recounting the total, we figured I got the “wheelchair discount.” It was cheap in there, but not that cheap! And I can’t count the number of times I’ve been walking Frankie and someone has offered to pick up his poop. Can you imagine?

I think that kind of generosity should extend to everyone, not just the handicapped. And if it’s done on Valentine’s Day (or the entire month of February,) a lot of people can avoid a lot of holiday-fueled anxiety. Now, I’m not suggesting you start picking up after some stranger’s dog, but here are a few ideas to get you started:

♥ Open doors for people behind you.

♥ Let someone with just a few items in front of you at the checkout.

♥ Send e-cards to friends.

♥ Don’t forget your “thank you” wave.

♥ Give a carnation to your co-workers — all of them.

♥ Be nice to someone you don’t like.

♥ Call someone you haven’t talked to in a while.

♥ Bring treats to work (or for the health-conscious — fresh fruit.)

♥ Pay the tab of the person behind you in the drive-thru at Starbucks.

And don’t forget — in the event my idea doesn’t take off, be kind to yourself. In my office days, I wasn’t above sending flowers to myself. From a secret admirer, of course. The person at the flower shop is the only one who’ll know. And I’m sure they get it all the time.

February 8, 2015 1

The New You

You can be anything you want to be. These must have been words I heard often growing up because, back then, the possibilities seemed endless. And it still comes as a shock that physically I can’t do anything I want. I have to remind myself that I can’t compete on The Amazing Race or be America’s Next Top Model. Not only is America not ready for lots of 45-year-old exposed flesh, but I’m thinking I might have a little trouble with the catwalk. Fortunately, I settled on writing. It’s one of the few things I can actually still do with any measure of competence. Some people might call that lucky. I call it meant to be.

So, once again the new year is upon us. As many of you know, I love this holiday. I have my list of resolutions ready to go well before the first champagne bottle pops. And I’m not talking about some last minute thing. These resolutions aren’t done mentally as the ball begins to drop. They are carefully considered, written-down plans for the future me. A new me. Me, only better.

Sure, a lot of resolutions have been listed a time or two before. There are the usual about eating right and exercising. I really do want to meditate daily. (And no, the ten minutes spent zoning out on the couch thinking, “I really should get up” don’t count.) Plus, there’s weight to lose. Gee, where have you heard that before?

But hey! At least I’m putting it out there! I’m making myself accountable to my blog readers. I mean, how many times can I write about losing weight before someone comments, “Oh for chrissakes, just do it already!” I mean, enough is enough. It’s embarrassing.

This year, I’m finally taking my writing teacher’s advice and checking out future me.org . It’s right up my alley. Want to be held accountable more often than once a year? Write yourself any number of letters that you’ll never see again until the date you’ve chosen. These letters are great reminders of the things you wanted for yourself back when you were feeling motivated at the beginning of the year, i.e. now. Plus, as I’ve preached before — there is power in writing these things down. Really. Don’t knock it until you try it. One of my planned letters, due to come back to me in February, will simply say, Are you writing every day? Because I really should be. And meditating. And exercising. And eating right. I realize that’s an awful lot of shoulds. I should probably work on that, too.

The point is, it’s never too late to reinvent yourself. And don’t worry if your list looks like mine, with lots of repeats. I’m all about the try try again, clean slates and do-overs. I think that’s why the holiday appeals to me so much. Besides, even if you don’t get it right the first time, you really will make progress. Take my sweet tooth, for example. I’ve fallen off the wagon plenty of times, but this year I dusted myself off and climbed back on a lot quicker. I was just sick of eating holiday junk. I usually give myself until the beginning of January. But look, it’s December 28th and I’m writing this with carrots and hummus at my desk. Progress. Celebrate the small victories. Maybe in a few more years, I’ll be one of those people that sneak kale chips into the movie theater instead of buying overpriced, greasy snacks. For now at least, I order my popcorn without the butter. I’m getting there.

As you’re thinking about the new you, remember — some old dreams are better left unvisited. Or revisited for amusement’s sake only. But some could be important. Particularly, if they keep coming back up. Is there something you wanted to be that you’re not? Is there some way you can incorporate this into the current version of yourself? It doesn’t have to be huge, just some small way. And you know, it’s okay if you don’t succeed on the first go around. After all, you’re a work in progress.

Why are the 80s so much fun to poke fun of?

December 28, 2014 8

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