How Stupid Am I, Really?

I just received an all time classic of what I call Life's Humility Lessons.

I spent nearly an hour finishing Chapter 13 of my book, which was entitled "Another Way Not To Get A Job."  It told the tale of my posting an ad on Craigslist in the summer of '09 offering my newly available .NET programming skills for free in hopes of finding a job, and the scariest job interview of my entire life and why I didn't accept their offer.

I then spent another hour or so writing Chapter 14, entitled "Cookies:  Baking As Career Inspiration" which is finally setting the stage for the Cassell Family Misadventures in Central Florida to begin.  Yes, that would be the eventual point of this book, right?

I was very happy to save Chapter 14.... until I realized I didn't do a new Save As after finishing Chapter 13.

So I now have no more Chapter 13, a finished Chapter 14, and a big hole in my book.

Color me Total Idiot.  I have absolutely no one to blame but myself for this latest misadventure, AS USUAL.

Yes, Lord, I am humbled.  The rest of you may go ahead and laugh hysterically.  I deserve it.  Ugh.

My Father's Aching Back (In Memoriam)

MY ACHING BACK!

By Bob Lucas

(published in TESA News, May 1983)

That was an expression used back in the days of World War II to express complete frustration, but it's now used to describe the physical condition of many human beings, myself included.

Last month's TESA-News informed its readers that I was in the hospital again, for the third time in a little more than a year, and wished me a speedy recovery. Thanks, I needed that. Now, a brief recap: my first visit to a hospital in March of 1982 was for the removal of two herniated disks; the second trip was suggested by a neurologist who attempted to alleviate some residual pain; the third confinement was in St. Louis University's Pain Management Program in a last-ditch effort to make me feel better. I emphasize "last-ditch" because a return trip to the surgeon who had performed my laminectomy elicited no promise of more relief through additional surgery and my family doctor informed me that I'd just have to "live with a little pain." (Unlike TV technicians, doctors don't have to guarantee their work for extended periods of time.)

By the time I got to my initial interview with the doctors at the Pain Management Program (PMP) my pain was excruciating, and after talking with them for over an hour I was convinced they wouldn't be able to help me, either. They told me that pain had taken over my entire body, a fact I already knew, and that they would try to get me to put it in the proper perspective. An internist checked out my body and pronounced that he thought that they could help me. That's all the encouragement I needed. In the back of my mind I still had the feeling that maybe they'd take some X-ray pictures and get me psyched up for more surgery that would really fix me up.

When I was informed as to what I should bring to the hospital I felt that they had confused me with some other patient: gym shoes and sweat clothes. Heck, I haven't had those items in about forty years, didn't they know I was practically a cripple? When they reassured me that I wouldn't just spend the day in bed in my pajamas, I figured that I'd better go shopping at a neighborhood discount store and get the latest fashions in exercise togs, still skeptical.

After I was admitted through Desloge Hospital, where I received the routine entrance examinations, I was ushered to my room in the Wohl Mental Health Building. This confirmed some of my deeper suspicions -- I'm a mental case. Very soon, though, I learned the wisdom of this location. It wasn't really structured like a hospital. Not one patient was bed-ridden, and all were granted a great deal of freedom. The PMP occupies a block of about nine rooms, only five of which are occupied. There is a lounge with refrigerator, sink and electric range, color TV, table, chairs, and a couch. One concession was made to hospital procedure in the form of a nurses' station which was headquarters for the full time nurse for the program. I hasten to point out that, while these R.N.'s routinely checked blood pressure, pulse, and temperature, they also encouraged the patients to do their "homework" in the evening.

Before any of the programs were entered into, each patient underwent a stress test in the cardiology department, wherein he operated a stationary bike or a treadmill to the point of physical fatigue, roughly that point at which the pulse rate was about twice the normal rate. Vital signs were constantly monitored during this test to make sure they didn’t hasten the patient’s demise.  At this point they knew the patient’s limits which they didn’t want to exceed in any of the exercise programs.

With the aid of a caliper they determined how much of my svelte body was excess baggage (fat) and how many pounds I would have to lose to achieve the perfect weight for my height. Try as I might, I was unable to convince them that I was not overweight but six inches short, but they put me on a weight-reduction diet anyway.

With these preliminary examinations completed, the patient is ready to enter the day-by-day routine. It goes like this:

0700 Rise and Shine - Blood pressure and temperature

0800 Breakfast

0830 Monday, Wednesday & Friday - visit with Internist

0900 Exercise Physiology (workout in gym)

1000 Biofeedback

1100 Occupational/Physical Therapy

1200 Lunch

1330 Group (air feelings with other patients - supervised)

1430 Physical Therapy

1600 Seminar (Learn about pain & stresses)

1730 Dinner (followed by 'homework,' visitors, etc.)

2230 M.A.S.H. (not compulsory) Bedtime optional

As I stated before, pain was ruling my body, and it was decided that my upper back pain was caused by muscle spasms caused by my "steeling" myself and stiffening my shoulders every time I got a twinge of pain from the lower back, which they told me I was entitled to have. Twice-a-day massages from the physical therapist helped work the kinks out of those shoulder muscles, to the point that they made a believer out of me - that pain receeded from a '5' on a scale of from ‘1’ - (discomfort) to '5' - (excrutiating pain) to a '0' - (no pain!!) Biofeedback helped to educate me in ways to relax those muscles so they don't spasm again; now, when I get the pain in the lower back, I'm supposed to relax the shoulders.

In brief, the whole PMP can be summed up in one word, ADAPT:

Acceptance of the pain which remains forever

Dealing with doctors, neither overusing or underusing

Aiming at reachable goals

Pacing activity level to avoid overdo-underdo cycle

Timing medication use to keep pain within manageable limits.

I've tried to sum up in a few words what I've learned in three weeks.  If you’d like to listen, I’ll happily tell you more, and reinforce my feelings at the same time.

Job and Baby News

For those of you that don't do Facebook, this is my best way to broadcast my good news.  

My temporary job since January 21 just became permanent yesterday.  I won't get rich with this one nor even have health insurance at the moment, but I'm greatly blessed all the same because I love my boss and what she does so much.

Selected details will only be shared only upon individual private request - and PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME because I'm happily overwhelmed and busy.  

Suffice it to say, no more of the white knuckle fears about money for our small family at this moment.

And just in case you want our other tidbit of good news:  in the wake of our dear Dixie's adoption on February 2 by a lovely Florida family, we are proud to welcome Tango, a seven-month-old male golden-brown mixed breed weighing approximately 40 pounds, into our small household effective Wednesday, February 27. 

Our best guess at breeds is yellow lab and a little golden retriever, with a fair amount of hound thrown in.  He's beautiful, although his ribs show, as is often true with kennel pups (Humane Society of Missouri in this case).  We plan on correcting that slowly and gently along with other baby behavior.  He's growing almost too fast.

Big brother Jack, almost exactly five years Tango's senior, is reluctantly accepting his new duties and responsibilities with good cheer, and sometimes enjoying them.  He's definitely setting his own boundaries for the little guy, with the help of the proud parents.

Feel free to share this communication if you want, with whoever you want that might care.  

Me and My Husband (no further info needed "just in case").

House Arrest

My neighbors think I'm some kind of strange voyeur - I'm sure of it at this point.  If this were a small town, I could almost hear them talking about me:

"There's that weird lady who used to walk her dog every day and sometimes sing or laugh out loud.  I wonder why she stopped?  Why does she stand and watch out the window instead?"

Well, how does one explain to neighbors one has never met that she's not spying on them?

Just now, I let Jack outside after he came and whimpered to me at my computer (as he so often does these days).  His face is so sad.  "Mommy, are we ever going to walk outside again?"

So I stood at the back glass door and watched the activity several houses down our block.  I've never met them either (much less the ones right next door), but this particular group is fascinating.

There are small and middle-sized children in this family, and they have some sort of (artificial, I'm guessing) ice-skating rink in their back yard that provides frequent activity.  This particular morning, an adult, all bundled up, appears to be raking leaves in that same back yard, while several children skate and a large gray dog meanders around.

I just had to jump up and bring Jack inside, because he was barking - probably wanting to join them.  I want to join them too, but I'm under "house arrest" today - Stu's rules - and he's right.  My Weather Channel link on my desktop computer indicates it's between 29 and 31 degrees out there, and it feels like between 20 and 24 degrees.  One can only assume that's wind related.  Avon Park FL shows 70, but I'm not there.

It doesn't do any good to be angry about a virus that hangs on relentlessly for more than 18 days in some form or fashion.  I must choose instead to be grateful for at least two weeks of temporary work in an office, and the dear friend that's responsible for that, starting tomorrow.

But I want to be outside playing today!  I don't care how cold it is!  I promise I'll bundle up!  The sun and blue sky are so pretty and there are other living creatures out there!

It's really hard to be middle-aged and know that the very act of throwing a tantrum is liable to cause yet another relapse.  It really is.

My Other Blog

If you like the rantings in "Discovering Life's Value," you might also enjoy or appreciate my new blog called "The Message Medium."

The posts there are much shorter and less rant-like and intended for a broader audience.

Check it out at http://themessagemedium.blogspot.com/

No, I don't miss Florida (much)

It's January, that magical time of year when almost anyone with a lot of money has the good common sense to run away from the snow and ice.  Who in the world runs TOWARD the snow and ice?

Well, there are a couple of St. Louisans who did something really financially silly in 2009.  They bought a bed and breakfast in central Florida (not coastal Florida, mind you, and there is a difference) from a couple of con artists from the UK, who made it clear they were returning to the UK.  They cited missing family as their reason for return, and yet, they admitted to having no children and "interesting" relationships with what family they did have.

Without even pretending to give a          about the British couple who pretended successfully to be our "new best friends" for just long enough to sell us a beautiful old house and a completely worthless business, I must say now that naivete is definitely in the eyes of the one holding the money at the end.

A year ago, we had just adopted the beautiful dog named Dixie shown in the photograph above.  Although we thought at the time that we were in a great position to be a two-dog household, little did we know that the real fun had just begun.  We actually still thought we might remain in Highlands County Florida for life, although we knew we were going to sell the old energy-inefficient house ASAP.

About the time (March of 2012) that we realized we should probably consider moving back to St. Louis where I knew people who could help me get a real full-time job, Stu did in fact get - of all things - a real, full-time job in Highlands County.  He deserved it, and he did a great job at it for over four months.

I'm still scratching my head over what made me think that moving back to St. Louis MO would magically provide me that wonderful job including health insurance that would allow me to support Stu and myself.  I've always been the one who said "you can't escape from what's in your own head by moving around" and yet... well, duh.

I'm still also wondering what made me give up such a sweet dog after only 4 1/2 months.  I realize in retrospect that her acting out that particular week had more to do with my working all day four days (away from her) while Stu was already gone all day five days each week.  So she tore up a couple of cloth shopping bags that were on the counter in the laundry room "out of her reach" (NOT).  So she dug a few more holes in the yard, one of them right underneath an airconditioning unit, almost unseating it.  So she ate one of Stu's good work shoes.  I get it all now.

But in the interest of fairness, let's play the old "what do we miss back in..." game and get it out of my system, at least for now.

I miss:

Dixie.  I may never stop missing that dog, even though I know she would HATE the cold weather here with her very short fur.

Taqueria Merlo and their authentic Mexican food at ridiculously low prices.

My dear friend Vicky, always walking distance away, even over rocks in flip-flops.  Also, her husband Mark and their beagle Xena.

My other dear friend Judy and her husband Burt.  Judy was farther away than walking distance in Avon Park Lakes, but she made it clear she was ALWAYS available if I needed her.  That's a true friend.

Shuffleboard.  They simply do not do court shuffleboard here in Missouri.  Apparently we are not far enough north (unlike MI and OH) to have the snowbird summer demand for it.

All my friends at Avon Park and Sebring Shuffleboard.  I keep in email and Facebook touch with more than a few of these, but it's not the same as being there.

Revenue from sales of avocados one at a time for $1 from the trees in our back yard.  We actually did go out to eat numerous times from our unreported and therefore untaxed revenue.  No numbers, though.

Other retired and unemployed people who had time to talk, to listen, to CARE and who weren't dependent on a million different smart gadgets to entertain them.

11 From Two Homes To One

They say that every cloud has a silver lining.  My firing from a semi-abusive job environment, once I recovered from the initial shock, definitely had its bright side.

After Stu had lost his job in March of 2009, we almost immediately put our villa up for sale.  It was a very nice new construction condo unit in the center of what I called a three-plex on the property where he had worked for seven years.

When we chose our second home, we had many dreams for the future, including retiring and living in that community with many of the people we had come to know and love during his time working there.  So, as I always say, if you’re gonna dream, you might as well dream big.

We chose a really prime lot right on the golf course with a deck overlooking it.  We paid a little more for this location, but we really loved it.   It was the floor plan that we wanted, and we got to choose all the interior fixtures, cabinets, flooring, etc. ourselves.  It was such fun feathering our little “love nest” with some really nice upscale furniture.

We also had lots of “toys” out there, including some items that were nicer than those at our real (larger) home closer to civilization.  One of our favorite toys was our golf cart, a beautiful dark blue metallic vehicle which we personalized with our initials SMC and MRC on the front using decals.

As I recall, Stu had gotten a deal he couldn’t pass up on this particular cart due to his relationship through his job with the golf course company.  It was lots of fun to go flying around the course in our little blue buggy with our golf clubs in the back and waving to everyone we knew out there.  That, for me, plus my beautiful pink and purple golf clubs, were the highlights of my brief golf career.

While it was sad to have to say goodbye to our sweet, well-appointed little home that didn’t smell like teenage sweat and animal accidents, we knew it was an economic necessity.  Stu also felt some degree of disappointment over his job loss, plus there were a very few people living there that never liked us anyway, apparently.

During the brief period of my employment in the summer of 2009, we got the sought-after offer on our villa, with a closing date at the end of July.