Life in the 10X Mirror

Men don't use magnifying mirrors. They don't really care. They'll let their nose hair get long enough to braid until a significant other tells them to do something about it. Women have magnifiers. We have valid reasons.  I got one of these super-duper magnifying mirrors that your can stick on your other mirror with suction cups.It was so I could look at my eyelashes. Oh, come on now, I am not THAT vain. It's because some of my chromosomes are just as directionally  challenged as the whole rest of me, and some of my eyelashes grow curving downward. Not a big deal in the whole scheme of human experience, but it can be annoying. It can also be painful and dangerous.

Once one of these little stinkers rubbed across my cornea, scratching it and causing an infection. It was painful and infected enough that I went to urgent care. I don't mess around with eye stuff. The doctor put in the numbing drops. Blessed relief. He put in the weird fluorescent dye. Yep, nice scratch right in the corner of my eye, and one little dinky invisible blonde eyelash turned inside out and grinding away in there.  He dug for awhile, apologized, and said he couldn't get it. He suggested that when the swelling went down I have a try at it with my magnifying mirror and tiny tweezers. I was able to do that.

I still have my 10X mirror. I look at my aging face, which looks like a lunar landscape. Chin whiskers like tree stumps. Skin like the surface of Mars. Broken capillaries snaking everywhere like fire hoses left lay after some huge house fire.   Why do I do that!?

Why do I do that about everything? If I step back and brush may hair, I don't look bad, for 52. If I look around, life is really good, I've got great friends. A wonderful husband, a son to be proud of who is talented and handsome and cracks me up. I have fun hobbies and interests.

Step away from the mirror. Yank out the eyelashes when they are problematic, and put it away.

Do you have a 10X mirror? What are you doing with it?

Migraine Wish List

A wish list for my doctors.

I wish for you the following things. This is not for ill will, but for understanding. First, I wish for you an an aura. Perhaps flashing lights, getting lost in your own hometown on the way to the grocery store, You know, the “you'd better get the shopping done before it hits” kind. You rush through the list, and dump everything on the counter, when you get home so you can crash in bed kind of aura.

For perhaps the headache itself. I could wish that for you. Kind of pain that makes you wish you could find a knitting needle and dig your own eye out of its socket so you can find the place in your brain that hurts so bad and dig it out too.

Maybe I should wish you the migraine hangover. When your scalp hurts when you comb your hair. When your skin feels bruised. When you feel foggy unbalanced and don't remember what you did the day before. Would you like that?

I think what you need is just living with the day-to-day idea of chronic pain. Of never being able to plan a life of knowing what you will do the next day. Never knowing if a date outside will end up being a day inside. Will you be out in the weather, for under the covers? Will your loved see you in nice clothes, or your pajamas? What would your medical records say for diagnosis? Annual check up? Or possible narcotic dependence? Do they really think we like taking drugs?

I don't really wish you ill. I just want you to know what it's like to be me. Perhaps then you will understand. I'm not here to get more medicine. I'm here to be understood. I'm here for you to help me. I'm not here to take up your time. I'm here to get better. I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I can do that myself. And I do. Just do what you've been trained to do. Use your brain. Search for answers to problems. The problem isn't something on paper, the problem is life, my life, and I can't live it right now, without your help, so don't send me off with more drugs and hope I will go away. Use your brain, and help my brain.

Thank you,

Your migraine patient.

Mine to Claim

African-American! ?, My European Butt

Warning this post is going to be a rant, it is guaranteed to offend just about everyone, just like those films that say this is formatted to fit your screen.  This is guaranteed to offend blacks, whites, Asian, wait, can we say Asians, or is it Orientals?  I'm not sure of the politically correct choice here.
 Are African-Americans able to tell where you  are from in Africa, a tribe, the place,  maybe the country they're from?  (insert the slavery argument. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it. See rebuttal below with Native American issue.)

 I'm Swedish, and one-half at that.  I know which place, city, which port my ancestors came from.  I have a picture of one of my ancestors standing next to the sign in the town that my forefathers left to come here to America.   I've seen my Great Grandfather's naturalization papers. Do I go around calling myself a Swedish American?  Did you know that about Africa?

A couple of years ago, Bob had a friend from school that was from West Africa.  We had him over for dinner.  We pulled out the atlas, and had him show us where he was from.  He showed us where his town was, where he went to school, where his parents lived, places he visited and other points of interest.  He was a African American.

I can say that I am Native American.  I have Cherokee blood.  I can trace it to different lines of my family history.  There is verification way back, and lots of documentation.  I even have physical characteristics that distinguish me as Native American, although I am as white as skim milk. My mouth turns down at the corners.  An Apache Indian man once asked me if I was native because I had very tiny feet, which is considered beautiful in the native culture.  I laughed, and said yes, just a little bit of Cherokee, and thanked him.

I cannot, however, claim my heritage legally because the natives in my family never "signed up" and therefore are not in any major rolls.  Many were lost on the Cherokee "trail of tears" when they were forcibly  removed from their homes and marched for miles and died along the way.

There are lots of benefits afforded to me, if I were able to prove my heritage.  But I am content to realize that yes I do have native blood.  I do not claim what is not mine to claim.

So, for those of you that go and demonstrate, or worse yet, riot in the streets, act like animals, or waste your lives, and the opportunities afforded to here because you have brown skin, you are not African Americans.  You are immature children.  Grow up.  Do not claim what is not yours to claim.

How do you spell ADD?

It's 11:00. I suppose I had better put some clothes on, although I am expecting no one, and I am perfectly comfortable in my pajamas. I know I have no clean jeans or bras, so I look for something suitable. I gather up the jeans and take them downstairs and throw them in the washing machine. So far so, good.
Upstairs again, still need something to wear. I dig in a basket in the bedroom; things to be mended. Aha! a pair of jeans with the butt blown out. Again, no one is expected, so a cheek peeking out cheekily is no problem. but, wait! what is this? A black wool skirt in the sewing pile. It doesn't need hemming, the zipper's fine, the waist isn't too big. Hmm. all it needs is a good brushing and a once over with the steamer and back to the closet. See, it pays to procrastinate! In the other bedroom to find the steamer. It's too dark in here. Out to the  dining room where there is more light. there. Done. 

Now I realize that the other half of the patio drapes never got finished steaming. Well, as long as I have the steamer out and I'm here, finish those. I should put the steamer away, but it's too hot. I'm still in my p.j. top. What can I wear that doesn't require a bra? I thought there was something in the spare bedroom closet that  caught my eye. Open closet. There's the wool skirt I just steamed. Good heavens, not THAT!  Ah, there it is, a fleece pullover. 

How did this all start? oh, yeah. I was going to get dressed. Now, where are my car keys?

Who am I?

That I should be born here, in a place where freedom exists, where I am warm and dry and have enough to eat? Am I some special creation that God should place me here in a Caucasian body in a middle class family and an intelligent and fairly sane extended tree? Why have I been placed in a land of cold and snow and green trees, ice and wind and blizzards, but exquisite summer beauty? I have gifts. So many gifts. I can write, sing, dance and move to music. I can draw, paint, sew, create. I teach. I lead. Others ask me for advice. I comfort those who hurt. Animals trust me. Yet I complain. My head hurts. I can't sing as well as I want. My soil is sandy and yields nothing. My piano sits silently and mocks me. All the drawings I could do are locked in their blank pages, my words still in my head and not in letters. I am afraid. Of not being worthy of my gifts, and not living up the their promise. I am afraid, also, of not living up to my own sense of self. What, if, after all, I really am, just very, very ordinary.

It's time to revive The blog entries. Is been spending a lot of time on Facebook. I've been enjoying some conversations on a forum. Actually, they've been more like arguments. I like to start discussions sometimes controversial things. The trouble is, most people don't like to disagree. Most people don't have true debating skills is the problem really. When they don't have good come back to your discussion, but just attack you. Typical ad hominem. I really do like to write. But unfortunately the general public, is the sort of audience that my writing skills are appreciated by. That was very horrid grammar. I apologize. I'm trying right now to use dictation with my Dragon software. Bob got it for me for birthdays, Christmas, I'm not sure what long time ago. It's very awkward right now because I'm not used to it. I think if I use it and notify will become quite fluent, but it's very awkward right now. Ethical make blog writing much easier for me, if I practice enough to make it easy so you put up with my blog right now in my very awkward wink. The awkward treaty awkward sentences. Significant? Paragraph back as you can see, I don't know all that use all the commands just yet. Can you just know what I'm saying that either, but just for fun and believe it as it is and I can see what progress I made as I go along. So, just for fun, you have to deal with it as I saw Mica brand-new person that's learning the language for the first time. Until later