Archive for December, 2008

Lupus vs Fibromyalgia Symptoms?

December 28, 2008

You know, from what I’ve read, there is much similarity in symptoms of lupus and fibro flares.  I’ve been diagnosed with both, so I find it confusing to know which is which when I’m flaring. My doctor, quite honestly and to his integrity, I might add, also finds it to be confusing.

Would you mind  identifying your diagnosis and symptoms? I will then compile them and make a front page, unifying post out of your comments. Then you, me, and everyone else who suffers from these diseases can benefit from your input.

Thank you.

Writer’s Block? Why?

December 28, 2008

concrete_block1I’ve been laying on my bed with my laptop for the last 20 minutes, which have felt like an hour..I want to write a post today, but my mind keeps going blank..I tried to write yesterday but the same thing happened. Part of it, I guess, is I keep wanting to doze…a lupus flare, of course, after the holiday fun/chaos at our house this year…everything I think of writing about seems too much…too heavy…or I keep editing it before anything ever gets written..so i’m just going to do stream of consciousness and see what happens…

My mother… 78 years old…for once I enjoyed her, felt the bond, it was as it should be all the time, wish it could be so, too much bad history, too much inner conflict for me…the kids, with their whole lives ahead of them, most of mine behind me, one newly married, the other newly engaged, the next generation getting ready to take center stage in our family life…well good, I hope somebody gets a bigger house because ours was too small to hold everyone comfortably this year, i remember when my parents did it all, way back when…and all of us young adults went to their house for the most wonderful Christmas Eve…my dad cooking the linguini with clams, and then the lobster tails, the traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner…afterwards the extravagant exchange of presents,  each of us opening one at a time, my father reserving the right to open all of his last, then he died of cancer at age 52, diagnosed and told on his last Christmas Eve, a tragedy i cannot write about even 25 years later, but i do, i must, because how can i not wonder how different our lives would all be now, my mother over the years became a recluse, my son would have been in business with him, making lots of money,  rather than struggling to keep his head above water now…oh my, the head is falling forward again, the need to doze so apparent to me now for what it is, a block to painful feelings still locked away, to things i don’t want to think about…

And so I’ll stop writing now, because I don’t want to think about my dad anymore,  because it hurts, and I miss him so…

Is this what all writer’s block is about? A block to exactly what  needs to be thought about, felt, written about? 

We are all writers here. What do you think?

Psychscribe (Christmas) Quote # 48

December 23, 2008

ERMA BOMBECK:

“There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”

Would You Want to Know Your Therapist Has Lupus?

December 21, 2008

I struggle with this one since so often I have to cancel people out because I’m flaring.  I advise them that I have a chronic medical condition which unfortunately knocks me out. But I think it also sends the message to patients that my needs are more important than theirs. People are really great about it, but it bothers me that I cannot offer the consistency and dependability people need when they go to therapy. 

For example, I was flaring last week and told people I’d be calling them today, Sunday, to hopefully reschedule tomorrow. Well as it turns out I now have a cold and still need to stay at home.  It sounds so…flaky… and the STRESS of the uncertainty only makes me feel worse .  One thing about lupus is you need to really baby your body when anything comes on because your immune system cannot  defend the body against invading viruses, bacteria, etc.

Therapists are trained to only self disclose for the benefit of the patient.  I’m thinking that if they knew exactly what the medical condition is, they would understand why I have to frequently cancel and the uncertainty of when I can reschedule. But I’m not sure if I’m considering telling them for my benefit, so they won’t think badly of me, or theirs, so they won’t feel blown off and therefore feel badly about themselves. And then I’m afraid that if they understand the seriousness of my condition, it might scare them off…

So I’d really appreciate your input on this, especially if you’ve ever been a therapy patient. Would you want to know its lupus? How do you think this would make you feel? How might you respond?  Or is that way too much information?  Do you think the “chronic medical condition” is enough of an explanation?

Thanks for any help you can offer me here.

The Gift of the Magi- By O’Henry

December 20, 2008

This is another lovely story about the true meaning of Christmas.

 

The Gift of the Magi

By O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.” The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.     

She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling–something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.Where she stopped the sign read: “Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.” “Will you buy my hair?” asked Della. “I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it. “Down rippled the brown cascade. “Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. “Give it to me quick,” said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation–as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value–the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends–a mammoth task.Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. “If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do–oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?” At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please God, make him think I am still pretty.

“The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two–and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. “Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again–you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice– what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.””You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. “Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?” Jim looked about the room curiously. “You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy. “You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you–sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year–what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. “Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs–the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims–just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!” And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!” Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. “Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.” Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. “Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.

“The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

December 20, 2008

20050922-1

 

Its always nice to read this famous letter- to remind us of the magic of Christmas and what its all about. I am touched every time I read it. Hope you will be too.

 

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

“Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

 

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. 

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. 

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. 

 

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!! 


If I Were To Die Today (Part 3- Relationship with Self))

December 19, 2008

65331781thb

Image copyright Jupiter Images 2008

Myself? I’m happy with who I am and what I’ve done in this life.  It took me a long time to grow up. Very long. Through one marriage and into the second, where I finally, finally grew my wings. (Thank to the snuggy, supportive nest my Alph made for me.)

I went back to college  pregnant with my second child and delivered her between semesters. Twenty five years later that child became my colleague and partner in our  psychotherapy practice. Imagine that?!! The joy I feel from this is beyond measure or description.  But more than that, I love that we are able to give our services to those who cannot afford it.  Kind of like Robin Hood. We get the max from our affluent clients and give it back, time wise, to our less fortunate ones.

I’ve learned to enjoy fun. I never played at all until a few years ago when I looked at some application which asked me to list my hobbies. I didn’t have any. For me, an A type, learning, seminars, learning, work were all I ever wanted to do.  (Tightly held secret: we shrinks rarely apply to ourselves the very things we try to teach our clients.)  It so bothered me that I thought: what have I always wanted to try? For me?  That turned out to be decoupage. Hours and hours of learning how to do it, but playing, enjoying the process, the creativity. Creativity had always been what sustains me, but I’d put it aside in my quest for achievement. Now I’m making jewelry. Another joy in the process. If my efforts produce lovely results, great! If not, I still had fun.  I’m also  waiting for my new camera to arrive (thank you, Amber, for putting the bug in me!) because I’m longing to express myself by capturing the other love of my life: nature.

If I should die today, my career goals would have been accomplished. I would die knowing  that I became the therapist I always wanted to be, who  helped a lot of people. The ones whose heartfelt thanks cannot begin to be measured and who I will never, ever forget. The ones who trusted me with their pain and their wounds, who inspired me with their courage, and who taught me so much. 

Have I become the woman I wanted to be? Well that, too, was an evolving process.  First I wanted to be a homemaker and stay at home mom. When that changed and I wanted to get an education and a career, the trouble started in my first marriage. That’s not what he signed on for. And in all fairness, that’s not what I’d originally agreed to.  We were so young. We just couldn’t navigate these choppy waters. We were only 21 when we married for goodness sake! Babies! What did we know about relationships? Giving?Flexibility? Growth and change? Nothing. Nothing at all.

It was a very painful divorce. Volatile, yet so sad. But as Carol Burnett once said, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. 

My onset of lupus and subsequent stroke have actually been blessings too. Not a life lesson I would  have chosen, but they were not exactly electives in the school of my life.  I’ve had to learn to rely on others which has been a humbling experience. A giver all my life (parentified child) it has been hard to learn to receive. Also…very nice…and quite beautiful.  And, of course, having come so close to death, I’ve learned to appreciate every moment of every day, and to thank God for the gift of my life. 

I read somewhere once that we’re bound by our fate only as long as we accept the values that determine it. I never forgot that. In fact, reading that, and getting it, is probably what changed my life. I got rid of my culturally imposed role of what a woman should be, and I learned to define myself. My self. MY self.  

I learned that personal authenticity is my primary value, and always will be. 

So if I should die today, I would die happy with my journey. Happy that I died as ME.

Cranky Question

December 18, 2008

images

 

Does anyone LIKE that annoying SnapShots thing that appears when your mouse scrolls over links??? And then covers up the link?  Do you know you can disable it on your dashboard? If I did it, anyone can!!!

(Cranky woman image shamelessly borrowed from Can I Stay A Bit Longer. I hope she doesn’t get pissed but if she does….bring it on!!!!)

If I Were to Die Today (Part 2 – Relationship With Family)

December 18, 2008

Well, I’m still here…stroke symptoms morphed into a lupus flare…ok, I can deal with that, not so scary. Bed and tea and my laptop…small price to pay for some aches and pain!

Yesterday I focused on the spiritual aspects of death…and my not being prepared in that regard.  But today I want to talk about my loved ones. Most of all my husband and children.

I can only write from a selfish point of view on this, so here goes: I don’t want to miss watching my children’s lives further unfold. I have no grandchildren yet. I want to know them. I want them to remember me. Yes…I want to live on a few years longer by having a place in their minds…. I want to see what they look like! Since both my kids are pretty much clones of their father, maybe some recessive gene somewhere would reincarnate my physical characteristics… Narcissistic, certainly. But truthfully, don’t most of us long for a genetic  replica when we, or our kids, are pregnant?

Not so selfishly, I worry about them handling their grief. Oh I know, of course, that we all manage to do it.  But…loss is not a strong point for any of us in this family.  It takes us a long, long time….and I so wish I could spare them what God has decreed to be necessary…(There I go again. God certainly seems to be talking to me…however discreetly…)

My husband? Oh…this is a man who does not know who he is if he doesn’t have someone to give his whole heart and devotion to. He cannot stand to be alone. He would have to, HAVE to, find someone else to spend the remainder of his life with…to give that to… I’ve told him I would want that for him. But just between us….I don’t!!! I can’t STAND the thought of another woman having what was mine…his love, him….the thought of him holding and hugging someone else…I feel sick as I write this…but I also know he would NEED that….its not about ME anymore….but I’m just being truthful..we can all say what sounds like the right thing…but truthfully it makes me feel slightly ill….

Well, I comfort myself with the thought that if I were to die today, I would pass on to paradise, to the place where dreams are made…and later, my husband and kids would follow, and however they’ve gotten through their journey without me, none of it would matter in the WAY BIGGER scheme of things.

Well, I’m realizing that in both these posts I’ve pondered dying in terms of my relationship with others.  Not a word about my relationship with myself. Guess there will be a part 3 coming….

Am I Dead?

December 18, 2008

How weird is this? I just wrote a post today pondering if this might be the last day of my life. Then I went to comment on someone’s post to me, and my avatar was gone! Vanished! Here one moment and gone the next. All that represents me now is that ghostly, anonymous figure that I hate on others’ blogs.  Booooo!

Anyway, I don’t have the image of the rose I used for the last year or so that I’ve been blogging, so I uploaded the image from my header. 

Amazing how attached you can get to your avatar, our blogger  identity.

If I Were to Die Today (Part 1 – Relationship with God)

December 17, 2008


20070315093644_stranger_fog

 Copyright Jupiter Images 2008

 

What if today is the last day of my life?

These are the kinds of things you think of when you’ve had a stroke. I’m having symptoms which are scaring me, but I’ve spoken to my internist, and my rheumatologist’s nurse. Neither thinks its an emergency. She’s comfortable waiting for the rhuematologist to get to the office in a couple of hours to run my symptoms by him.

But I’m thinking it might be an emergency. For that matter, anything in life might be. A car accident. A heart attack.  Getting struck by lightening. I got struck by my stroke four years ago this month, actually. You don’t exactly expect these things.  But once you’ve had a stroke, and you read the statistics for recurrence, you become acutely aware of your physical vulnerability and of course your own mortality.  

Most days I remember to thank God that I’m alive and alert and have no noticeable loss of physical function, from which He miraculously spared me.I thank him for my family, and my work, and for every beautiful aspect of the four seasons as I experience them, day by day.

Of the legions of doctors I’ve met with for my various health issues, no one can believe that the perfectly normal looking, active professional woman sitting before them matches the carnage of a brain in the MRI also sitting before them.

But today I’m more focused on wondering if today is the last day of my life. No one, of course, knows the date of their death. Yet every living creature, on one particular point in the line of time, wakes up one morning… and no longer exists the next. 

Think about that. Wakes up one morning and no longer exists the next.

So feeling as I am this morning, I have to ask myself…what if? And what comes to mind, first, is that I have not managed to get into a personal relationship with God. With Christ.  Other Christians talk about it but I don’t know what that means. (If my sister is reading this I’m in deep trouble!)  

A personal relationship with the Almighty????  I picture the Almighty Presence, that gorgeous glow in the sunshine, spilling through the tree leaves and the clouds. I feel Him, and I see Him, in the wind. I pray to him and to His son. I thank Them. I beseech Them. I acknowledge them. But..it doesn’t feel personal…. more like wonder from afar…

The Christians I hang out with “walk closely” with the Lord.  I go to bible study with them but truthfully it feels like The Emperor’s new clothes when they talk of their relationship with the Lord, of their experiences of deep connection with Him. I myself have felt a deep connection to nature, His creation, since I was a child. ..But that’s not what they’re talking about…. So if today is the last day of my life, and I go to meet my Maker, will He welcome me? Will he know me?

I have no doubt of heaven. None. I know. I’ve had signs. I feel it in my soul  to be true that I will be going home again. And my earthly family members who have passed before me will be waiting there to welcome me…with much rejoicing, to use a biblical word.

Then there are my husband and kids.   But I’m getting tired now, and that’s another whole post. (There will be a Part 2 to this post not long from now.)

And since I started writing this, I got a message from my doctor not to worry. No emergency.  Thank you God that its not my time today.

At least I think not.

Psychscribe Quote # 48

December 16, 2008

 

Image from www.globalcollage.com

rain

 

“Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.” Author unknown.

Obama: the first “black” president

December 12, 2008

barack-obama-mother

OBAMA AND HIS MOTHER

 

There has been so much joy in this country to see a black man finally elected to the presidency. And I share that joy…I never thought I would see such progress in our society in my  lifetime… all the talk about unity and one people in this country as represented by Obama. The only thing is, the fact that he’s half white is pretty much ignored, as I see it. Why???? Wouldn’t it be even MORE unifying to acknowledge the mix of BOTH races in our president elect???

I know from my studies that people of mixed race tend to identify with the minority half. I don’t know why. I just know its so. And I don’t get that.  It seems like a disowning of half of who you are. Kind of a reverse racism of your own identity. 

Talk to me somebody…Help me understand this….

Psychscribe Quote # 47

December 11, 2008

images-41
” One approaches the journey’s end. But the end is a goal, not a catastrophe. ” George Sand

Stand by Me: A Song from Around the World

December 11, 2008

How BEAUTIFUL is this?

 

OJ Didn’t Mean It

December 10, 2008

Yeah right. The judge in this case is on record as saying that she’s not here for paybacks…But from a non legalese standpoint, paybacks are a bitch. 🙂

Checkin’ In

December 9, 2008

Hi All,

Just want you to know that I have not vanished into cyberspace. The season has suddenly got me running in circles planning gifts, Christmas dinner and other festivities…well…you all know…but the best gifts are the ones I’m making myself – jewelry for the women in the family – it feels so good to MAKE rather than BUY gifts….it feels so good to have gotten to the point where what I make looks nice enough to give  to anyone…I am a self taught jewelry artisan at this point..even went to my first bead expo over the weekend… (the word “artisan” sound so much cooler than “beader” or “crafter”, doesn’t it?)

Hope all of you are well, back to you soon,

Psychscribe

Psychscribe Quote # 46

December 5, 2008

soul20song20glowing20person

 

“Imagination is more important than knowledge”….A. Einstein


P.S. I don’t know who is the artist of this awesome image. I found it in my huge selection of saved photos.  If I downloaded something from your blog, please tell me and I will give proper credit. Thx.

 

Well it turns out that this image was downloaded from the site of one of my best buddies, AmberMoon, LOL! So anyway, if you want creativity or inspiration, you really should visit her site.


Mental Health Day: True Confession

December 4, 2008

social_living-dead

 

 

I’m taking one today. I mean, everyone else gets them. Why shouldn’t I? Even shrinks need mental health days once in a while. I need to relax and not HAVE to get in my car and go anywhere, be anywhere. No pressure…Mmmm…..

So lets see….I think I will dust today since I have an allergy to the stuff and its a real pain to walk around choking all the time….and do more Christmas shopping ONLINE (I don’t do malls anymore)..and finalize my choice of photos from the wedding for my “parent album”…oh…and i guess it would be a good idea to search again for my very expensive, lost wedding rings, I know they’re in this house someplace…and i need to get started on the jewelry I’m making for Christmas gifts….and call my mother which is never, ever less than a one hour conversation (that’s another whole post  in itself)…and I have several, repeat SEVERAL baskets of ironing that I’ve been avoiding like the bubonic plague…and for that matter there’s probably at least the same amount of  wash to be done…

Ok, so this is not what I’d advise a client to do on a mental health day. I would suggest to a client that she do something fun, relaxing, no chores allowed! But then again, for some people, getting chores done on a day when they would be going to work  is good for their mental health because all that stuff is no longer waiting for them…hovering.stalking them…

I guess I should call this my housework health day.

Tell us the truth. What do YOU do on your mental health days?

Even White Girls Get the Blues

December 3, 2008

That title has nothing to do with my post. Its just a play on words of an old book called Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. I don’t know…that’s just where my brain went… Anyway, what I really wanted to mention as a P.S. to the Calling All Racial Minorities post about needing more money for lupus research is this:

 I specified minorities because that’s the majority of people who get it. But not all. I, for one, am Italian American.  My neighbor who has it is a platinum haired Norwegian American.  Just want to say that all the rest of us need to be heard too.

The end.

CALLING ALL RACIAL MINORITIES! No New Lupus Drug in HALF A CENTURY???!!!!!

December 3, 2008

What does “No New Lupus Drug in 50 Years” mean to you? Do you have lupus? Do you love someone with it? Did you love someone you lost to lupus?  What can you do?

And WHY has there been such a shameful lack of research??? Interesting that the majority of victims are minority women…blacks, Asians, Hispanics…. I can’t help wondering how much faster they’d be moving if the majority of victims were white, upper class men… The YouTube I’ve inserted here talks all about the difficulties of research due to the complexity of the disease and the genetic variations of the patients. But still…you have to wonder…

The Lupus Foundation of America invites you to share your story with Congress. FIGHT for more money for research!

Share photos, personal stories, put faces and details on the stats they don’t even have.

God helps those who help themselves. LET’S ALL DO IT! LET’S FIGHT FOR OURSELVES! Go to the LFA  website (link below) for details on how to make your voice be heard in Congress.

I know I will.  C’mon guys. We are all we have. Lets stick together and do this together. Look what Rosa Parks, one woman, was able to accomplish with a single act.

From the LFA Website:

November 20, 2008 marked the 50th anniversary of the last time the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approved a treatment for lupus. Lupus Foundation of America (LFA) Medical Director Dr. Joan Merrill and LFA Medical-Scientific Advisory Council Chair Dr. Gary Gilkeson discuss this urgent issue and what LFA has been doing to bring down barriers to lupus drug development.

World Aids Day Today- Who did YOU lose?

December 1, 2008

aids_day_en

I am so ashamed to report that  until I read VanessaLeigh‘s post today, I had no idea…

I lost three family members to AIDS.  My Uncle Joe died in his 40’s. He was a handsome, brilliant professional actor and singer who never did make it to the big time.  He never had the time. Also, in those days, he “passed”…but not enough… God what a guy magnet he was! I remember he visited my husband and I when we lived in Italy and we practically had to barricade the doors to protect him! Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit, but you get the idea.  He was also one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, my mother’s dearest friend, wild, witty, best known for his role as one of the original four cabaret singers in Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris.  When he died, they had a tribute to him that I will never forget at The Village Gate in Manhattan, where the show ran for years. I was so proud to be his niece. I was always a bit in awe of him and so I loved him from afar.  Uncle Joe, I pray that you’re alive and well and living in Paradise with my father and yours.

Lenny and Joe,  my own age and my cousins on the other side of the family, will be harder to write about, because I loved them more. They were  my age and we grew up together. They started drugs at the age of twelve which ultimately led to them dying of AIDS,  also in their 40’s. Lenny was the proverbial chick magnet. He was a swaggering, gorgeous, macho early Sly Stallone look alike. He was bitingly sarcastic (anyone who reads my blog knows I hate sarcasm) but I could read him…I knew him…I saw his facade…his emptiness and no clear sense of his own identity. The same emptiness drove his identical twin brother.  Joe was the less aggressive one. A goofier sense of humor. A one girl kind of guy. Rough around the edges, both of them. Street smart but no interest in academics, ever.   Their twinship, rather then feed a closeness, seemed to drain both of them of their psychological life’s blood. Almost as if there weren’t enough for both of them. God I miss them. My roots. We were the first three kids in a huge Italian extended family. We all lived together in a 3 family house until I was about 6. There was a built in pool which of course  needed  adult supervision in order for us to jump in. So we would start the garden hose and put drops of water on our foreheads in order to get someone to take pity on our overheated bodies.  On Christmas Eve we listened in awe as reindeer and bells clattered across the roof of our house, courtesy of our ingenious uncles.

I started life with two older “brothers”, and now they’re both gone. There but for the grace of God went I.

Lenny and Joe, I will always, always miss you. I will always be grateful for the love and the roots and the FUN we had as kids, before the drugs and the plague took you. And I will ALWAYS associate the magic of Christmas with you, and remember the sound of those bells on the roof.

Most of all, I pray that, like my Uncle Joe, you’re in Paradise with my father and yours.

And so, my friends….who would you like to memorialize here?

I Caught Amber’s Cold

December 1, 2008

 

Sniffle, sniffle, SNEEZE…..Sniffle, sniffle, SNEEZE 😦

We don’t live in the same cage, but somehow I managed to catch it…. Good thing I love ya, Amber.