The 2020 Resolution Report Card (So you can feel good about yourself!)

Good morning all!

I'm running a bit late on this, but here we go:  The 2020 New Year's Resolution Report Card!

This won't be pretty.

1)  Less focus on steps, more focus on active minutes.

So last year I wanted to up my daily steps to 12,000.  And I wound up tearing a tendon in my foot.  So this year, it's going to be less about getting steps every day and more about being active. And no, I don't mean I'm just going to spend an hour shaking my left wrist so I get active minutes while I'm sitting in a chair.  (I've done that.  You really feel dirty the first couple times you do it.  Also, your left arms starts to ache a lot.)  This year, yes, I will still have a step goal of 10,000 a day, but I'm also going to look at alternative exercises.  It won't just be about the treadmill. I've got Wii Fit. I've got a punching bag and free weights. Let's get some upper body work done!  Less stress on the feet.

2020 Reality:  I did some of this, but ultimately I'm still about the steps and that hasn't helped me much.  So...yeah.  Gotta figure something else out.  Grade:  C-

2) Less bread all around!

One of the things I did last year was give up bread and any bread products (anything I would spread butter on) up for Lent.  That actually had a really good effect on a number of blood tests I had done this year.  But, in the last few months, I find myself eating more bread and crackers and the like.  Now, I'm not positive it's the bread, it might be the butter as well, but either way, for 2020 my goal is the really make eating bread a rare thing as opposed to something I do every day.

2020 Reality:  BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHA  Grade: F

3) Accept the gift 

One of the things I put on my birthday/Christmas wish list to my family was that they get me a cleaning service so that I had time and energy to write more.  Well, hubby didn't hire anyone, he took on many of the household chores himself.  (He already did all the vacuuming and made sure we have clean sheets.)  I, however, have a difficult time accepting this gift and taking time to write. Instead, I still allow household chores to suck up my energy.  I need, in 2020, to make writing a real priority and accept that I've married a prince who is being super helpful!

2020 Reality:  It actually took me until my birthday in November this year, when I took a week off of work to write and just let Hubby take over many of the household duties, but I did it.  The end result is that I managed to get the first draft of a new novel done and I'm going to be releasing my 16th book at some point in the summer.    Grade: B

4)  Stop using the credit cards!

This is a big one. My entire adult life I've struggled with credit card debt.  It's shocking, really, how normal I seem until you see my balances. But this year, while I'm not going to get them all paid off, my goal is to stop using them until I get them under control!  If I'm successful, this will have a profound effect on my weight as well, since I probably won't be eating nearly as much.  This is probably going to be the hardest one to keep, especially at first, since I'm in that nasty cycle of using credit to pay for stuff because I don't have cash because I'm paying credit card bills. 

2020 Reality:  I was actually doing really well...until I started Christmas shopping...in July.  Not going to stores (you know, because COVID) I spent entirely too much time online shopping.  So yeah...not an entire success.  Grade: C

5) Let go. Let God.

The past year or two I've had a real spiritual crisis.  Those of you who know me well know where I struggle, especially when it comes to family.  I inherited my mother's ability to worry myself into sickness.  (Not her great metabolism, no. Her ability to worry, that I get.) Now, as we close out 2019, I feel like some of the issues contributing to my lack of or dormant faith are lifting. I see some major changes in that direction in 2020.  It's my hope that I learn to stop stressing and let God work in His time.  (Last year I resolved to be more patient.  That didn't quite work. So we're going with "let's worry less."  Maybe if I'm less worried I'll be less cranky.) This will be a struggle because I've been a "fixer" in addition to being a worrier.  I've found there are some things I simply cannot fix, and I'm pretty sure it's because God, in His infinite sense of humor, decided it was time for me to learn that lesson.  So, more prayer.  

2020 Reality:  Believe it or not, this actually happened to some extent.  Thanks in very large part to a change in churches and a massive breakthrough in therapy, I was able to rediscover the peacefulness of prayer.  Thanks in large part to COVID, I was also able to rediscover the pure joy of helping others in super practical ways.  I still worry. I'm still impatient.  But in 2020 my faith in God's power in all things 

woke up.  Grade: A-

So there you go. 2020 was not a complete failure, but it was hardly my best year.  What will 2021 bring?  No one really knows for certain.  What will my resolutions be?

Stay tuned!

It's Christmas Eve: Here's my Gift to you!

Hello and Merry Christmas to all! The following is a true story that happened the week of Christmas, 1999. Many of you remember that Y2K year, when we stockpiled TP, water, and people built shelters and bought guns because they thought the world would end. (Not completely unlike this year, but I digress.) I love this story, in part because 21 years later it's funny, but also because it reminds me that there are good people in this world and angels show up when you need them most. In this case, I needed an angel named Roman on a frigid, icy day in 1999. So, without further ado, here's my Christmas gift to you:

It was December 20 of 1999. The whole planet was in a fevered pitch over the Y2K virus that was going to take down civilization at the stroke of midnight on the 1st of January. I was a mom of a newly turned 6 year old and a not quite 3 year old and I was running late. See, Skippy had forgotten his snow pants (For those of you who don't know what snow pants are, they are big puffy pants we make our children wear in the winter because it's really, really, really cold here but the children like to play in the snow. Snow pants are not stylish, but they do keep the little guys warm and dry.) in his father's car, which was parked at his father's work. So, I drove to Hubby's work, got the snow pants, and then drove across town to school. Yes, I was running late. And yes, I was probably going a touch too fast for conditions, especially since conditions were COLD (about the coldest day on record for the last few years) and icy (black ice...ice you can't really see until you're on it, is a special on the roads here in Wisconsin.) About halfway to school, I hit a patch of ice, and spun the Pontiac 6000 twice. It was a smooth spin because I, like most adults who live in the Upper Midwest, know how to handle ice without big panic. The kids loved it. "DO IT AGAIN MOM!" They both shouted. "Well," says I, "We were very fortunate we didn't hit anyone or anything, and Skippy is going to be late for school, so let's just drive, okay?" Three blocks later, I hit another patch of ice and spun. In the middle of the spin, because even though it happens very quickly, it's like slow motion, I realized I was either going to hit a car stopped at the stop light, or a parked car. I opted for the parked car.

Obviously, we're not talking about high speeds here. I think I was moving at all of about 12 miles per hour, which is fast enough to do some damage on the icy roads. Again, the kids were cheering, but this time around I wasn't so calm. I hate getting into accidents. It completely slows down the whole day. My first call was to Hubby. He had to come and get Skippy to school because, though I was almost within site of the school, I knew I was going to have to wait for the police. The next call was to the police. (The non emergency number, of course, because no one was hurt. The other driver didn't even know he'd been in an accident yet.) The police told me it was going to be a wait because, after all, there were a lot of accidents up and down that stretch of road. By this time, the owner of the parked car was outside his house and looking at me with not too fond an expression. I walked him over to his car, and explained, very apologetically, what had happened, and we examined the damage to his car. (There wasn't much.) I learned later that he didn't speak a word of English and had no idea what I was saying. (Waukesha has a very high population of Hispanic immigrants.) Now, just so we have the logistics laid out...My car is parked at the curb, and the car I hit is parked at the curb. The damage to the car I hit is on the driver's side...so when the owner and I were looking at the car, we were, yes, STANDING IN THE STREET. This is not uncommon, but it's not terribly smart, given the fact that a massive patch of black ice lay there, waiting for another victim. The ice didn't have to wait long. We were still looking at the car when another vehicle came over the small rise in the road, hit that patch of ice, spun around and smacked, like I did, into the same spot on the car. Only, she didn't hit the car. Because I was standing between her and the car. So she hit me. I don't actually remember much of that part of it. I remember trying to explain to the owner what I had done, then I remember lying face down on the pavement between the cars, with the hood of my Green Bay Packer Winter coat (A must have for everyone in Wisconsin) flopped over my head.

All I could hear at that point was a woman shrieking and crying. And apparently a crowd gathered quickly because I could hear an angry man shouting that someone should sue the city for not salting the roads earlier in the day. The only thing I could think of was, "If I don't get up, they're going to take me to the hospital and my kids will go into protective custody because Hubby isn't here yet and I'll never see my kids again." So I tried to get up. And I fell back to the pavement immediately. It wasn't like I was in pain, my legs simply weren't there. This renewed the woman's shrieking. I guess the site of me, flat down on the pavement, is good theater because no one in the crowd reached down to help me up. Again, I pictured my children 1) Seeing this, because I knew by this time Skippy had unbuckled himself and was watching everything and 2) sitting in some Dickensian Orphanage. It was almost Christmas! I tried getting up again, and this time someone put a hand out to steady me. "Are the kids okay?" "THERE ARE KIDS?????????" The woman who apparently hit me was now on some level of panic I don't recognize as human. "Yes. Are they okay?" I pointed to my car, and I saw Skippy looking at me, his dark eyes huge. No one seemed to be able to tell me, so I opened up the car door. Skippy handed me my cell phone. "It's time to call 911 Mama." I knew he would have called 911, too, if I hadn't gotten up. Good kid! "Mama bleeding!" Peaches announced. Only then did I realize that I had blood on my face. I felt okay, nothing too bad, except for my left knee and my mouth. I guess I landed on those two points. Did I mention it was cold? It was at least a -10 Fahrenheit, and that was without the wind chill. I didn't want to scare anyone, because I had no idea what my face looked like, so I popped my hood back up while I again called the police, and said that we now had multiple cars and an injury at my location. (Johnny Gage would have been proud.) A man walked up to me and said, "Sarah, the children can sit in my house while you wait." I looked up and didn't immediately recognize the younger Hispanic gent in front of me. "Sarah, It's Roman."

ROMAN! I'd worked with Roman a year earlier at the cleaning company. He was part of a very large family. I'd worked with almost everyone in his family and I liked them all. It was like an angel sent from Heaven. "Okay kids," I unbuckled Peaches. "You're going to go to Roman's house and wait for Dad." "Do you have Cartoon Network?" Skippy wanted to know. "I do." Roman took Peaches and Skippy two doors up to his duplex. The police arrived..just in time to watch car #3 come up over the rise, hit that patch of ice, spin, and hit the parked car. And this time he hit the back of the parked car. Complete count: Four damaged cars, fifteen or so people milling around, one hysterical banshee of a woman, and me. I got into my car, because it was cold and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. Ewww.....my mouth was bloody, I'd cut my lip inside someplace. I was going to have a bruise on my face. Other that, I seemed okay. Multiple cop cars closed off the area. One officer talked to car #3, one came over and talked to me. "How did you cut yourself?" "A car hit me." Another rolled Hysterical woman around the corner because, as it turned out, the one vehicle that hit me was the only UNINSURED VEHICLE in this little scene. Of course. So the damage to me and the damage to my car was not going to get paid for. Lovely. Hubby got there and said, "How did you hurt yourself?" "A car hit me." "What you hit your head on the dash or the steering wheel?" "No man," Angry guy stepped in. "That car hit her man! She popped up and bam, landed on her face! Somebody needs to sue the city! Where are the salt trucks?" The cop suddenly looks really worried. "The car hit you?" "Yes. I said, a car hit me." "I thought you just meant you hit the steering wheel." At this point my knee is really starting to hurt. (Get used to that phrase from me...for like the next forever years.) And Hubby is giving me that look, you know the one, like you've lost your mind. "Where are the kids?" "I told you, at Roman's." "WHO IS ROMAN?"

I look around and realize that my cop is now very interested in what shrieking, uninsured woman has to say,so he's no longer standing next to me. I walk Hubby up two doors to Roman's duplex. there, in the blessed warmth, are my two kiddies, sitting in front of the TV, which is situation under THE LARGEST PICTURE OF JESUS I've ever seen. Seriously, I've seen a lot of pictures of Jesus, this one was MASSIVE. Hubby got them both into their winter gear again, amid protests, of course, and hauled Skippy to school. Skippy's Kindergarten teacher later told me that he told a very long story for about ten minutes and yes, he saw everything. That's a chapter in his book I guess. A few minutes later, Hubby returned to collect me and take me to the doctor to get my face looked at. We dropped Peaches at a friend's house and headed for the clinic. At the doctor's I finally got to see the extent of the mess that was my face. I had blood all over my Johnny Gage/Roy De Soto "Happy Holidays" sweatshirt. All I kept saying was, "I got blood on my guys."

Five stitches in my mouth and a series of x-rays that showed no damage to my knee (Yeah, right) later, I was on the couch nursing a lot of aches and pains with lots of Advil and a bag of frozen peas. (Those of you with kids in sports know that frozen peas make the best ice packs.) I don't need a fancy ice pack when I have frozen peas! I can never thank Roman enough for keeping my kids warm that day. I sent him a flower arrangement and a pie (It was the Bob and Brian special at Locker's Florist.) But I will never forget his kindness. I hope some day I'll be able to pay that one forward. As for the damage to the car, it wasn't much. That happens when you stand in front of the car that's about to hit your car. So there's a money saving tip for ya! (Hey, if we're going to have government run healthcare, why not make use of it?) We sold the car a few months later. We never did fix it mostly because uninsured woman was supposed to pay us $250 (which was our deductible) in $50 installments. She made one payment, then declared bankruptcy. I wonder where she is now. I got the stitches taken out on Christmas Eve. And on New Year's eve, I was ready for the y2K virus to destroy the world. I had 6 months supply of baby wipes, water, meat, matches, and toilet paper. Yeah, and just like the X-rays on my knee, y2K sort of wasn't what was predicted. The kids still talk about the accident. Skippy I think has actual memories of it, but Peaches has heard the story often enough. They both still wish I'd spin the car again. I haven't since that accident, and I don't intend to. Oh, and the owner of the parked car? Well, I know what our insurance paid him and I'm sure car #3's insurance paid him plenty. I'm guessing we both got billed for a complete repair on the car, and he got enough money to actually go out and get a new car. That's what I would have done! I suppose we're all lucky no one was moving quickly that day. I mean, how much damage can you possibly do when you're only going 12?

Today I have a bum knee, and I can point to that day as the day I started putting on weight because it simply hurt so much to exercise. I'm sure there's a surgery in my future, but I sort of don't mind it too much. My knee reminds me just how dramatic and funny life can be. Seriously, if you can't laugh at those moments of drama to seem like too much, you're going to just drop dead from being too serious! Which is what I hope you got from this story. Merry Christmas to you all!

2020: A year of opportunity, Sarah Style!

 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!

Okay, so this is going to feel like a New Year's wrap up, and maybe it is, who knows.  I mean, I haven't had a lot to blog about this year, not that people are behaving themselves around me more than normal, but because I just haven't gone anyplace this year.  Who has?

But, I was thinking the other day about the Christmas letter I'm not going to get out on time...again.  Typically we have a theme.  This year, for all it's bumps and bruises, I had to think of as a year of opportunity.  But, you know, in my brain, 'opportunity' isn't necessarily the same thing as it is in a normal brain.

So, to end 2020, and to sort of combine a Christmas/New Year's Five for Friday all on a Tuesday...or Wednesday (By the time I get this finished), let's just go at this:  2020, a Year of Opportunity!

An opportunity to return to the basics:

So Christmas 2019 was the year Hubby and I decided not to get each other STUFF, but instead to get each other "experiences."  You know, concert tickets, tickets to plays, that sort of thing.  We stuffed our 2019 Christmas stockings with all kinds of fun little mini trips to one theater or another.  

Well, we did get to see PIFF the Magic Dragon in Skokie, IL and TOBY MAC in Milwaukee just before the world shut down.  The rest of the great concerts and plays, however, were put on hold, some until 2022 (Which made Skippy wonder aloud: Will that guy even be alive in 2022?)

And thus, Christmas 2020 will be a return to basics, at least for me.  I'm getting hubby a whole bunch of stuff.  Just, you know, stuff.  Stuff cannot be cancelled. It was be eaten, it can be watched, it can be worn, but it most assuredly cannot be cancelled. Therefore, this is a chance to return to our basics!

Not one single ticket for one single event in the bunch.

An opportunity for discovery:

 I've discovered something more interesting than documentaries about World War II:  Injury and death on mountains!  Do you have any idea how many shows and documentaries there are about dying on Mount Everest?  I DO! 

Thanks to the many streaming services we have, I've also discovered that sitcoms from the 80's are now pretty much unwatchable, and many from the 90's are just...not funny.  (WOW...the whining that goes on in some of those. I know the 90's were the grunge era, but seriously, "Mad about You" is literally two people whining.)

Also, "Animal Crossing," who new chopping down trees and digging up fossils to build an island community for a bunch of weight lifting/fashion obsessed animals could be so relaxing? It's like being a mom in real life...you get a mortgage, you have to clean up the island every day, the other island inhabitants do nothing for the benefit of the island, but they passive aggressively tell you about birthdays and Christmas and what they might "need" at the store.  And yet...thanks to Skippy, who thought this game would be a nice relaxer for me...I'm now addicted.

I've discovered that not even my great love for Russell Crowe is gonna get me back in a theater.  ("Unhinged" was a GREAT movie, BTW.  I'm never EVER honking my car horn again!_

Oh, and hey, "Legends of the Fall" and "Royal Tennenbaums" are still horrible movies. I didn't discover that, I just figured I haven't mentioned it in a while.

An opportunity to get creative:

My Nanowrimo brain center!

Those of you who familiar with my author page on Facebook:  Sarah the Author, know I participated in "Nanowrimo" again this year.  It's been a long time since I sat down and attempted to write a full length (over 70000 words) novel in a year but I managed it!  AND, I "Won" Nano, by completing 50000 words in November alone!  The first draft of "Deal with a Devil," which will be the fifth book in the Rock Harbor Chronicles series, is done and the second draft is under construction.  Release date?  Summer 2021-ish.

But writing wasn't the only place where I got funky with it:  I started opening some of the cook books people keep giving me and I started cooking!  I had a chance to discover cooking with meats that weren't beef, chicken, or pork, and I have had fun doing it!  Bison is my new favorite protein, but I've also had fun with lamb, goat (so yummy!) and yak.  Yes, I have a yak guy.  I can hook you up if you want to give yak a try.  Meanwhile, in an effort to cut carbs, I've also gotten brave and experimented with alternative "Pastas."  Helpful hint:  Most are just not worth it.  They cost a fortune, and taste like paste.  However, there is one that actually works.  shirataki mushroom "pasta."  (There are a number of brands. Look for them in either the international/oriental foods section OR the gluten free section of your mega mart.)  Warning: These "noodles" stink like rotting shrimp when they come out of the package (Peaches and I discovered that unpleasant fact the first time we tried it).  However, under a pasta sauce...they are a really good substitute.  Next up, I'll be trying the "orzo" shape of this product as a replacement for rice since the riced cauliflower pretty much evaporated when I put it in my gumbo.

Yes, Peaches gave me this book last year for Christmas. And if I cook like Padma...I'll look like Padma...that's my hope anyway!

An opportunity to do...whatever this was:

In a moment that was truly "It can only happen to Sarah" I managed to get a yeast infection.  Now, okay, that might seem gross to those of you who know what that typically entails (And those of you who don't...look it up I'm not explaining that here.)  BUT in 2020, this was not an ordinary yeast infection. Nope...I got it...in my ARMPITS!

You read that correctly.  A yeast infection. In my armpits. During a pandemic.  So while other people are losing their sense of taste and their ability to breathe, I'm sitting there scratching my pits which smell like a bakery.  (Which would be a good thing, you'd think...but no.)  

The treatment for a yeast infection is a series of cream applications, which you can get at your local health and beauty department. Not mine. Not a pit infection. Nope.  After trying to self treat for a couple weeks (and again, this was a super itchy thing, so thank goodness we were in lock down) I called a dermatologist.  I haven't been to a dermatologist in years, so I was a NEW patient. 

See, doc, my armpits itch...so...whatdya think?

How does a new patient go about seeing a dermatologist during a pandemic?  VIA Internet video call.   Yep.  I had to show this complete stranger (She said she was a doctor, but she was in her home and I was in mine...) My naked armpits (did I mention the infection also spread to the underboobal area?  I didn't, well, yeah, that also happened.) on a video call.  She prescribed a couple creams that worked like magic, but still...there I was in front of my computer's webcam, baring parts of my body for a stranger. My mother is actually worried there's some kind of "sexy tape" on the internet featuring my armpits now.  (I don't even want to meet the fetish group that would find that sexy.)

An opportunity to be supportive at all costs:

We've been told to support our local eateries through this pandemic, (not that the Bradley family really needed any encouragement that way), but there are so many places, and honestly, I was trying to cook healthier, more interesting meals!  WHAT TO DO?

If you've read this blog more than twice, you know that ordering take out is on my top five list of stuff to do in a day.  (The other four things are: taking naps, watching cooking shows, watching movies, and watching American Football.)

We basically picked our places, the four of us, and we've done our level best to keep them in business.  Here's a list of the places in the Waukesha/Pewaukee area we order from...a lot...

The Steaming Cup  (Coffee, oatmeal, fun breakfast sammies, and a great bakery)

 Dave's Restaurant (Best double cheeseburgers in town.  Really great breakfast options.)

Taqueria Guadelajara #2 (Legit Mexican food that's a little adventurous.)

Spring Garden (Excellent Chinese food)

Skippy's List:

Sobelman's Pub and Grill  (Great burgers and chicken sandwiches.)

Mod Pizza (really funky pizza)

Peaches' list

Fengs kitchen  (Long time Waukesha Family owned Chinese place)

The Twisted Vine Wine Shop  (Local Wine shop offering charcuterie and desserts.)

If you live in the Waukesha/Pewaukee area, check out these places. If not, look around to your independent, local eateries. They are suffering right now and need your help! It's a struggle, ordering out food,,.Not cooking dinner for yourself every single night of your life. I know, I know...but we must support them at all costs!

An opportunity to look outside ourselves:

This has been a rough year for a lot of people.  While we've had our share of bumps this year (and yes, Skippy had COVID back in early March) the four of us have been blessed to be able to keep working through it all.  Skippy and Peaches, working in different areas of the food industry, are considered essential workers and Hubby and I are able to work at home.  (Well, I've been working AT HOME for almost 6 years now, hubby has been working FROM HOME for 6 years, but this year he worked AT HOME.  That might seem like I'm saying the same thing...but it's not.  Nope.) We've been blessed to stay in our jobs, and to stay healthy (Skippy's case of COVID was relatively mild. He was hard down for three weeks, and his lungs are not the same, but he's recovered).

We're not jerks...we donate clothes and household goods to St. Vinny's.  We volunteer to help out at our church.  We donate food to the local food pantry. You know, we do the stuff everyone does.  But this year we looked around and realized that was not enough when so many people have lost so much. This was the first year in a very long time where we've been in a position to help anyone in a financial way.  Now, some would say, "You should save that money...take care of yourself...pay off some debts."  2020 has been the year we realized that we are always going to have debt.  But others around us weren't worried about paying a credit card bill, they were worried about paying the heat bill.  So...in large part thanks to our church, whose leaders look for ways to reach out to the community and help anyone in need, whether they are members or not, we've been able to help others in a tangible, practical way.  

What is it they say about candles?  Candles lose nothing when sharing their light.  Something like that.  

Yes, this!

Well, we've lost nothing in looking outside our own needs. In fact, we've gained a tremendous amount of joy from looking outside ourselves and donating to causes we've only thought about before.  (You know those catalogs you get at Christmas where you can send a cow or some chickens to a poor family in a third world country?  Yeah...we sent a goat and a couple chickens and some Bibles to a couple villages. a GOAT! I'm having a blast just thinking about the family that "gets my goat." LOL)  We've net so many great people we would NEVER meet otherwise and we've seen miracles and angels every day now that we've opened our eyes.

So friends, what I'm trying to say is this:  yes, 2020 was the pits.  And who knows what 2021 is going to bring us?  But forget the noise of politics. Ignore the fact that the ultra wealthy are never going to do their part like they should.  We regular people...if we pull together and keep our sense of humor...and if we keep praying...we can not only get through this, we can thrive.  We don't have to just sit in our houses and wait:  the opportunities are there for all of us to laugh, and grow, and help others.  

Of course, yes, I am hoping we get back to normal so I can once again watch humanity in action in line at the pharmacy...but here's to 2020...a weird year full of opportunities!

So Merry Christmas, happy holidays, enjoy the last few days of this year...and let's look to the lessons we've learned in 2020 and take the opportunities in 2021 to really make this world better!  

And hey, if you do see a picture on the internet of my armpits...please don't tell my mother.

Hey, remember what happened when Sarah turned 50? Let's laugh at that again.

 

I'm not sure if there's something in the water, or if we're all just trying to get free medical stuff done before the end of the year, but this week the discussion amongst a couple different friend circles, hasn't for once, been about Covid....

Apparently 'tis the season for a COLONOSCOPY!

So, in honor of the multiple friends I have who are getting one, or have gotten one this week, I give you this:  my five point list of fun from my colonoscopy a couple years back.  

Enjoy!

(THIS BLOG CONTAINS STUFF NOT FIT FOR EARS YOUNGER THAN 50. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.)

So my doctor decided recently that since I'm anemic, the issue of low blood iron clearly lies somewhere deep inside...either my colon or my small intestine.  

To that end, he scheduled a colonoscopy and an endoscopy for me.

I will be looking for a new doctor.  LOL

The blessed event happened yesterday, but as some of you may know, there is a prep period for both procedures.  The prep for an endoscopy:  Fast starting at midnight before your scope.  Show up on time. Bring ID.

The prep for a colonoscopy is a little more detailed, and thusly I bring you today's five for Friday!

5)  Fasting.

Okay, this is arguably the worst part of the prep.  It was for me.  Basically, you can't eat solid food, or anything that's not clear, for 36 hours before your test.  But it's worse than that.  You have to cut out nuts, popcorn, veggies, fruits, fiber, and pretty much anything with flavor 24 hours before T

HAT.  So you're on a tasteless, fiberless diet for 24 h ours, and then clear liquids after that.  (And that last 36 hours makes you dream of the previous 24.)

Now I'm a fluffy girl.  I don't fast.  I barely diet.  At first the clear liquid diet is funny:  You know, broth, jello that's not red, blue, or purple, tea, coffee (without any creamer) and...that's pretty much it.

When talking to the nurse about my prep. I suggested that vodka was a clear liquid. She agreed, but responded that I should be moderate in my vodka consumption. The packet I was given  (more on that later) suggested I NOT partake of any alcohol.  

Four hours before your procedure you're not supposed to take ANYTHING by mouth.  Now, most people aren't bothered by this because they are able to schedule their scope for early in the morning and they get a good night's sleep and are therefore blissfully unconscious for the worst of the hunger.  

Not me.  I did not sleep at all the night prior to my scope.  Around 1 AM my children made  a frozen pizza and I begged them if I could just lick it.  (The grease on the top of the pizza looked clear enough.)  They laughed at me.  I'm going to put ex-lax in their Easter baskets.

The thing is, I couldn't sleep because the prep med schedule is so...weird.  I was worried I'd forget a step and not get cleaned out enough to get the scope done and then I'd have to do it all over again.  (Which is also the argument hubby made with I asked if I could just eat a little of the pot roast I'd made for dinner.  It should be noted, he was eating a full bowl of pot roast and enjoying it.  I may put ground up ex lax in his coffee this weekend and call it a "mocha")

There are pills you have to take and then there's the liquid prep. They tell you to drink fluids all day long.  8 ounces of fluids every hour. And then...the prepping hour, the stuff I called "the goo."  It's not actually goo.  It's Gatorade mixed with Miralax.  A LOT OF Miralax.  I drank 14 daily servings of miralax in TWO SITTINGS.  

Here's how this works. Two days before your test you take a pill laxative. They don't tell you this will pretty much blow out any back up you have in your system or that an innocent sneeze might turn into a laundry nightmare.  They won't tell you that.  But I will.  The next day you take another pill. This time anything left in your body that hasn't turned to liquid fires out.  One hour after that you drink the first of the goo. 32 ounces downed in an hour.  (It tastes like someone added blades of grass to yellow Gatorade.)  45 seconds after that, your body begins producing what I consider to be the early stages of Soylent Green.  (It's PEOPLE!).  All this while only being able to eat chicken broth and green or yellow jello.  (I don't like either color.)

A couple years ago my friend Marie went through a colonoscopy and she said, "Now I know why those people on Survivor seem so stupid.  Going without food affects your ability to make decisions."

I could not agree with her more.  I mean, I was in a comfortable house, I had indoor plumbing and comforting bum wipes readily available.  And no one was asking me to drag a bag through a maze, swim 200 yards, and do a puzzle.  After going through all of this, I have a new appreciation for just how evil Mark Burnett and Jeff Probst are.

You spend hours thinking about what you're going to eat when you are finally done fasting.  My first meal with an Einstein Brothers toasted Asiago cheese bagel with Veggie shmear and a coffee followed up with two pieces of extra crispy KFC.  Best food ever.

4)  Post goo prep time is alone time.

Once you've started consuming the liquid death, plan to spend time alone.  If you have an en suite bathroom, that's the best.  I lit candles, loaded the bathroom with plenty of reading material, picked out movies I knew very well so that I didn't get too wrapped up in the plot to not go when I had to go.  (I also picked Civil War flicks...lots of noise. Drowned out the bathroom noises.)


Everything that comes out of you...and it's a lot...will be liquid.  Not loose stools.  Nope. Liquid.  And there's no warning fart or anything to let you know it's time to go. Now, some people just sit on the toilet for the duration, but that becomes uncomfortable and your feet go numb. So, if your bed is close to your commode, just be ready to unload at any slightest twinge of your lower body. 

Oh and fun fact...when you're prepping, really, no one wants to talk to you.  Not at all.  hubby celebrated that he got the TV with the cable all to himself and when I came out, he looked a little...insulted.  But at least he talked to me.  The kids spent some time avoiding me.  Granted, all I wanted to talk about was how hungry I was and how my bowels were now expelling something that looked a lot like Gatorade.  Still, they could have been more sympathetic.  Hubby suggested he sleep on the couch. I said, "I'm not sick...I'm prepping."  So he slept in the bed.  I spent the night dozing on the couch and wandering around in a haze of hunger and dehydration.

The packet  (more on that later) instructs you to drink half the goo at 5 Pm before your scope and the other half 6 hours before your scope. In my case, this was 4 AM.  So...I was so worried I'd miss this time (or I'd miss the tiny twinge while sleeping) that I didn't sleep at all the night before.  That's right...I was up from 6 AM Wednesday morning until 2 Pm after my scope.  I'm too old for that.

It's a long, lonely night when you're wandering around, drinking tea and eating green jello and looking at stuff in the fridge wondering if you could pulverize it into a clear liquid.


3) The Packet

Once you've scheduled your colonoscopy, you get a raft of emails and texts regarding the test.  I scheduled that thing two months ago.  The day after I scheduled it  I got an email telling me to purchase my prep packet.  


Purchase.

I'm an idiot, so rather than finding out what was in the packet and saving myself almost $20, I instead bought the packet which was sent to me with detailed instructions.

In the package were the following:  10 pages of directions.  5 laxative pills.  1 bottle of miralax.  2 packets of powdered Gatorade.  three packets of powered soup mix.  A box of lemon jello powder.  five little packets of wipes that look like, but are NOT, fruit snack strips.  (In the throes of my hunger I nearly tore one open and ate it.)

$31.

Yep.

$31.

I ignored the prep packet until it was almost too late.  I opened it on Monday and realized I was already not adhering to the tasteless diet.

I read and reread the instructions.  I cancelled a dentist appointment (the one to fix the tooth that fell out during my trip to Door County.) because after taking the first laxative I realized there was no way I was leaving the house.

I made the soup mix.  I didn't make the jello. I made my own green jello.  And now I'll never eat chicken broth or green jello ever again.  At least, not for the next ten years.

2) Blame it on the lack of food if you somehow imply the nurses are sexy.

I checked with Peaches on this one, and she says I'm okay, but I still feel like I had an uncomfortable moment with at least two of the dozen nurses I came in contact with the day of the procedure.  

First of all there's a team of nurses who all have one duty and they tell you their name, do the duty and you never see them again.  There was the nurse who weighed me and then told me to take all my clothes off except my socks and my bra.  Very sexy look.  Then there was the woman who was supposed to get my IV started.  She stuck me in at least three places  (And all of them hurt) before she settled on the vein on the top of my right hand. 

Then there was Karen, the nurse who fixed my IV because it was leaking all over my hand.  Again, that hurt...a lot.

After that, I think there was a Bonnie, maybe a Kathy, I'm not sure just how many other nurses got all in my face, (At this point I had no glasses, having signed the paper that swore I WAS NOT PREGNANT, I no longer hand any need to read.  So why did they bother wearing name tags?)  and chirped their name while performing one task.

I think it was Karen who rolled me down the hall in what I thought was the worst parade ever.  (This was before they gave me any kind of sedation.)  I felt I should wave, but I had way too many cords and tubes and whatnot attached to both my arms.  

I was parked in an operating room where two new nurses started pushing me into position and putting more stuff on me.  We chatted about children and jobs and plans for lunch and all of that.  Which is when I burst out with this:

"This has got to be the sexist branch of medicine ever."

Again this was BEFORE I got any sedation meds.

Nose Cannula nurse stared at me as if I'd suddenly grown two heads.  That's when I realized I'd probably just implied that I found the nurses sexy.  Now, they were very nice ladies, and they were tidy and clean and all that, but um....that wasn't my point.

I explained.  "I mean, you're sticking scopes down throats and up fannies all day."

Nose cannula nurse relaxed a little and laughed.  "I suppose."

Then I quoted my mother..."Mom always says, 'it's a good thing someone wants to do this.' "

That is literally the last thing I remember.  I'm pretty sure Nose Cannula nurse told the other nurse to plug me full of meds to shut me up.

1)  Some people are fun when they wake up. Apparently I'm annoying and not at all interesting.

Skippy had an endoscopy on Monday and when he came out of his anesthesia everyone loved him. He giggled, he offered discounted pizza to everyone, he was the life of the party.

Apparently, the only thing anyone can say about me is that I repeated myself several times and kept asking what time it was...to the point that Peaches, who I didn't even SEE until 12 hours after my procedure, scolded me for telling her something that Hubby said I'd talked about several times with him.  WELL!

Oh, and seriously, while everyone looked at Skippy's pictures of his clean esophagus and small intestine, no one wanted to look at my pictures.  And my colon is CLEAN!  (They found ulcers in my esophagus.  Nothing to worry about, they tell me.)

You know what, my next step in tracking down why I'm anemic is to go to a GYN specialist. Just for that, I'm not sharing anything with any of the people I live with. HA! That will teach them, because I 

just BET that's going to be a SUPER interesting appointment.

A Fan-Fave Repost: If you broke it, Neville, you shouldn't point out that it's broken.

 

Good morning all!

Since it's #Nanowrimo and I'm off my day job for a week to WRITE THE BOOK (that would be the 5th installment in the Rock Harbor Chronicles, starting a NEW Generation of romantic suspense with "Deal with a Devil" due out summer, 2021.) I thought I'd share an old favorite. Especially since we're rolling into the Christmas season and typically church choirs are gearing up for some weeks of HARD singing.  (Although, thanks to Covid, the work load is much lighter.  So...silver lining for those of us who aren't super enthusiastic singers.)  

Anyway, here's an old post that answers the question: Why did Sarah switch to the alto section.  It also answers the question, "Is Sarah a good, reliable choir member?"

Enjoy!

I belong to a really small church body.  Most people outside Wisconsin don't know much about it.  But it's a very musical church body and, being as small as it is, anyone who's been a teacher or a pastor pretty much knows everyone else because they're either related to other teachers and pastors or they've gone to school with other teachers and pastors or both.

In my case, roughly 87% of my relatives are either teachers or pastors in this small church body and yes, I was even a teacher once  (they put her in charge of children's education?  WHAT?).  Bonus, my mother's older brother is VERY musical and was, during his career, sort of a musical force in this church body. 

I'm telling you all this to explain why I have zero confidence when it comes to my singing.  See, my whole life my parents put me in school and church choirs. Not because I have any talent but because it's what you do in our churches.  I learned the piano, and later I learned all the percussion instruments just to annoy my parents.  I can read music, I can play music. I have a voice that's suitable for a church choir.

But back when I was 13 I didn't realize I wasn't a great musician.  Why?  Because my choir director then, a former classmate of my uncle's, assumed that I'd inherited my uncle's and mother's singing capabilities.  (Not sure how he figured that...oh, and there's no way he'd know from hearing me since I sat LITERALLY behind a wall in the choir rehearsal room.)  Anyway, he decided he'd have me try out for the very select traveling choir.  As a freshman in high school this was a HUGE boost for me, and pretty much solidified my dreams of becoming a world famous rock star. (I was an idiot.)

I was not, as you might guess, super subtle about being picked for a tryout.  Yep, I blared that all over campus. (wow...was I stupid, and I had a big mouth).  I made plans with actual members of the traveling choir to be their best buds forever. (Looking back, I really hate the 13 year old me.  She was so...optimistic and confident.  Moron.)

This is what I sound like in my head.

The day of the tryout came and I was all set to step into my God-given roll and a superstar high school singer.  One tiny problem.  The tryout didn't go so well.

"Um, do you have a cold or something?"

"No."  (I was in perfect voice, I felt.)

"Your voice is really thin. Sounds like you're a third grade girl."

Had the director stuck a fork in my neck I could not have been more crushed.  But then he said this:

"I thought you'd be better.  I mean, look at your uncle."

And I was officially done with singing for a very long time. I went through the motions, I was in choirs both church and high school and college, but the reviews of my voice didn't improve.  I had a high school director later in my life who said I sounded way different from how I spoke, but he put me in the traveling choir because I was teacher's kid and didn't cause trouble.

  In college I joined the scrub choir just so no one would expect much of me. I had to take a vocal 

This is a little closer to what
I sound like in real life.

class and the professor, who happened to direct the super cool travelling college choir, kept telling me I had a great voice. So I asked him for a try out for the choir.  That went pretty much as I expected. No cool traveling choir for me.

Let's flash forward 25...okay 26 years.  I've been a soprano in my church choirs for a long time. I sing soprano, I tell people, because I can belt those high notes.  (And because, since I do like going to rehearsal, I don't actually have to practice that much since church choir sopranos usually since melody.)

A couple Christmas's ago, our wine drinking choir...I mean our contemporary choir, sang "Mary Did You Know?"  If you've heard the song, you know it's got some high parts.  Well, our fearless leader, let's call him Neville, wanted MORE POWER from the sopranos on that high A.  And we gave him MORE STINKING POWER,

And after that service I couldn't sing, AT ALL for eight months. Not one note.  I dropped out of that choir, and pretty much faded from the old people's choir...I mean the ADULT choir.

A couple years passed. I stayed in the adult choir and muddled through the soprano lines, not really wanting to admit I could no longer hit a high A. I could no longer hit an F without pain.  Neville had broken me. 

Recently I decided to rejoin the wine drinking choir...I mean the contemporary choir...again.  But this time I came back as an alto.  My cousin, a boy, once pointed out that the alto voice in a choir really didn't do much.  I sort of see his point, although I come from a long line of alto singers. Sopranos have the high notes, the tenors have the high notes and the bass section get those fun low notes. It's a rare thing to hear anyone say, "wow...the altos in that choir really rock!" Being an alto isn't a glory spot in a choir.  And, given my history of choral singing, I was really, really okay with that.

So we had practice last night.  Again, I'm not a big fan of actually GOING to practice, but I've been trying to be good. It helps that Hubby is in choir with me.   Apparently, however, I missed last week...Hubby wasn't around and the people who live across the street from us who are also in choir said they honked and waved at me while I was sitting in my swing. I thought they were just being neighborly.  Anyway, last night we were going through a song I didn't know terribly well, but I was doing okay. I find if I sit next to, let's call her Suzanna, I do okay.  She sits behind me in the old people choir, and next to me in wine drinking choir.  I thought I was doing okay. And then:

Neville:  Okay, let's have the upper voices, the altos and sopranos, just at the bottom of page five.

So we sing.

Neville:  Okay, let's just have the altos.  Same spot.

So we sing again.

Then there's this silence. 

Neville:  Would you altos like to try this again?

The four of us  (Apparently I'm not the only who skips choir practice from time to time) looked at each other.  Then I had to say it:

Sarah:  No, but we're starting to feel a little picked on.

Neville:  I'm not singling you out.

Suzanna:  You sort of are.

Neville:  Well, I'm hearing something that's flat.

If you've been in choir you know that the altos rarely get told they're flat.  And most of the time if they need to go over something it's because they ask to go over something.  The alto section is literally the comfy sweats of  the choir. They just...work. 

Now, I didn't realize I was giving Neville, "the eye" but apparently I was.Probably because I was feeling all the feelings I have when someone is expressing disappointment at my singing.  (And I realize he was just trying to find out where the flat sound was coming from...and my guess is it came from me. Never had trouble singing flat before...until Neville broke me.)

Neville:  Well, I don't want to do anything that's going to get me into one of Sarah's posts.

And from the back row comes this:


Hubby:  You can't avoid it Neville. It just happens.

So there you go, Neville and all the members of the wine drinking choir!  See you next week at practice!  (maybe.) 

And let you think I was kidding about the wine drinking part, here's a shout out to our favorite local winery.  Many of the members, including Hubby and me, belong to their "case club."  And yes, it means exactly what you think it means.

Thanks Covid! Now I'm the weirdo who cusses.

 

WARNING: THE LANGUAGE IN TODAY'S BLOG IS A LITTLE SALTY. READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 14 SHOULD PROCEED ONLY WITH PARENTAL PERMISSION.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

So, with Covid and sheltering in place and wearing masks and social distancing, I do believe the impossible has happened:  I've become even more weird to my fellow man and woman.

Those of you who know me, or who read this blog more than once a year know that I have a bit of a different outlook on life and that colors my interactions with those around me. I have a problem with my internal edit button, I tend to be very sarcastic, and, in my gentle, conservative, church going circle of friends I'm considered a hilarious, eccentric outlaw.

And then Covid happened and, well, stuff got a little worse.

It was bound to happen, I guess. I mean, I already work at home, so my contact with my coworkers and the general public is by phone or email.  Thanks to Covid, I don't get to exercise my social chat muscle much on people like wait staff or cashiers because, between the masks and the plexiglass walls that have popped up all over the place...well...it's hard to hear anyone say anything.  Plus, you know, actually eating in a restaurant is frowned upon.  (Or forbidden, depending on the state in which you live.)

My biggest form of contact with people who are not in my house is at the pharmacy, which is where, I believe, my newest bout of weirdness began.  See, with the masks and plexiglass, we now have to speak at louder volumes. And since it's the pharmacy, we're sharing fairly private details of ourselves...at louder volumes. As a society, we've just sort of all agreed this is okay to shout at pharmacy techs and pharmacists, regardless of how personal the information might be.  We pinky swear we won't share that any info we hear in line with anyone else.  Especially about that rash cream, man in front of me last week. I'm not sharing any of the stuff you shouted at the tech with anyone.  Who needs those images in their head?

But here's the thing:  Once you're used to shouting, and oversharing, and then not talking to people unless you're shouting or oversharing, well, something happens in your brain.  At least it did in mine.

Which is how, on Tuesday at choir practice, I made a complete normal situation really, really weird.  

So I'm at choir practice...something I haven't done in a while (I'd like to blame Covid for my poor attendance at choir practice, but we all know I'm not a great practice attender.) and I'm sitting in my normal spot, except hubby told me a couple weeks ago that we've gotten a new alto who was sitting in my spot because, well, I wasn't there.  

And I'm sitting in my chair, chatting with the lady next to me when the new lady comes in and she's got a little kiddo with her.  And next to me is an open chair, which I use for my coat and water bottle, phone purse...basically I've claimed the chair next to me as also mine because it's all about me.

So the new alto sees me in what she'd been using as her spot and she's cool, she and the little one sit in the front row and start chatting with the front row altos.

Now, a NORMAL person whose brain had not been damaged by all the Covid stuff would have just leaned over and said, "Hi, I'm Sarah, welcome to this choir, good to meet you."  Or something along those lines. Not me. 

So the new lady sat down in the front row with her young kiddo and instead of leaning over and introducing myself, I look at Sandreen, a woman I've known for the better part of three decades and mouthed to her "is this the new woman?"

And Sandreen says, "Yes."

And then I don't lean over, nope, I just look square at the back of the new woman's head and I say in a voice that's way too loud, "HI! I'M SARAH!"

And the lady startles, turns and says,  in a completely normal adult voice, "Hi I'm......"

(I may have mentioned I'm really terrible with names.  Her name might be Stacey or Stashia or Stanislaw.  I will forever be calling her "new alto with kid.")

And here's where I really go off the rails.  I then say, again, in a really loud voice:  I KNOW YOU WERE SITTING HERE LAST TIME, AND I''M SITTING HERE NOW BUT IF YOU WANT TO SIT HERE I CAN MOVE TO THE FRONT ROW AND I CAN MOVE ALL MY STUFF AND YOU AND YOUR LITTLE ONE, HI LITTLE ONE, CAN SIT HERE IT'S NO BIG DEAL.

Now, New Alto with Kid looks at me, and she looks at Sandreen  and she looks back at me and says, "no, we're fine. Right here. We're fine."

"BUT I KNOW YOU WERE...WELL OKAY. I DON'T WANT TO MAKE IT WEIRD EVEN THOUGH I'VE MADE IT WEIRD NOW!  BUT WELCOME!"

Yeah...

Oh and did I mention that before this little lapse of normalcy, Sandreen's husband, a man who has sat in my front yard during this Covid stuff and enjoyed a nice socially distanced beer with hubby after a long day of work here and there the past couple months...he walked past my chair and said, "Hey, Sarah. Good to see you."  And he smiled.

And I said, "Why?  What do you know? What have you heard?"

And he says, "Can't I just say hello and smile?"

And I say, "I'm not sure."

Seriously, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Oh and something you should probably know about me and the deterioration that is my general self these days:

I come from a very conservative, church type upbringing. I know all the "Thou Shalts" and "Thou Shalt Nots."  Back in college and even beyond that, I was considered sort of an edgy girl (yeah, I know) because I would could do fun things with words (a double entre anyone?) and I wasn't above making a blue joke here and there and peppering my language with a little salt.  Even as a grown up, many of my church friends think I'm hilarious and outrageous because "I tell it like it is" and I "have a unique perspective on things."

Let me tell you. This Covid thing has unleashed some kind of beast.  Well, at least in my house.

There are a couple words I do not care for.  I'm not going to spell them out here, but one of them begins with an F.  My kids, darling adults that they are, love to try and get either hubby or me to spew an F word now and again.  (Long live the memory of the F-bomb Thanksgiving. Hubby may never live that one down.)  Apparently, however, the kids don't have to work on me anymore...nope, APPARENTLY the language cloud over my head has gotten so blue that HUBBY had to ask to me to PLEASE STOP USING THAT WORD!

So there's that!

And, I also realized this fun fact this week:  Remember "That 70's Show?"  Sure, we all do. Well, I know I was never cool enough to be one of the kids. Not even Fez, poor dear Fez.  But I knew, I KNEW I was definitely one of the parents. You bet. I was Kitty Foreman. The fun loving, cookie baking, wine drinking, lard laughing mom who just wanted everyone to be happy and peaceful.

Turns out, Thanks to Covid, I'm not Kitty anymore.

Nope. I'm officially Red Foreman.  

Why?  

Because the words DUMB and ASS come out of my mouth, oh, I don't know, like 700 times a day. 

What I'm saying is that Covid affects us all in different ways. Me, I used to be a funny Sunday School teacher who could get kids interested in reading the Bible by teaching the lessons from the "SPICIER" stories in there.  Now, I'm a loud mouthed weirdo who yells at unsuspecting altos, calls everyone a dumb ass, and makes her husband uncomfortable with her potty mouth.

I want to be loving, patient, funny Kitty Foreman again. I want to love my fellow man and woman and find funny pictures of baby goats and not sit there and listen to this person bark about wearing masks and that person barking about not wearing masks and everything on TV talking about Covid (Seriously, "Grey's Anatomy?"  You think people want to see your season premier mid November after everything else we've slogged through with Covid and terrible weather all over and murder hornets and the election ...you think we want an entire storyline dedicated to more COVID?  REALLY?  Where are the explosions and the brain transplants and the many, many, many, many love scenes in the on call room?  Where's all that?)  

I really want to be happy and loving and joyful enjoy TV shows that aren't "The Great British Baking Show."

Hmmmm, maybe I am Kitty after all!

Have a super weekend all, and hey, since I probably won't be blogging much since November is National Novel Writing Month and I've actually taken a week off my day job next week to try and finish the first draft of my new novel: DEAL WITH A DEVIL  for those of you in the US, happy Thanksgiving, and for the rest of us, Happy Holidays, let's finish strong with peace and hope for better times.

And I know some of you evil people out there are really, really hoping I stay this awkward.  Yeah, I know you are...you mean dumb asses!  LOL