How do Rabbits Keep Their Cool

July 8, 2015
The American Speech Language and Hearing Association sponsors a summer professional development event called the ASHA Schools Conference.  This conference is rotated around the country and usually  held in resort areas for affordable airfare  and accommodations.  One of my favorite locations was Phoenix AZ in July.  The outdoor temperature was 116 degrees during the day and 108 degrees at  night.

The first morning of the conference we sauntered from our lovely room through the air conditioned hallways to the conference venue.  Walking past a bank of windows my eye caught something unusual outside on the lawn.  Hundreds, and I mean hundreds of cotton tailed bunnies were sprawled out on the grass. And I do mean sprawled.  Their little front  legs and longer back legs splayed out so that their tummies were flat against the grass.  Although I thought there had been a mass epidemic of bunny deaths, a hotel worker  explained they came in from the dessert at night to cool themselves on the lawns and golf courses of the resorts.  Smart bunnies, on the cool grass.

That's where I wanted to be during the ride back to Hermiston on  the July 5th 73 miler. I wanted to find a lovely  roadside yard with some big ole' trees and sprawl out so my tummy could cool off.  Air temperature was over 103 degrees,  Pavement temperature was way higher than that.  And the basalt cliffs reflected the heat right down on us.  I grabbed a water bottle from its holder on the bike frame  below me.  Expecting cool refreshment I gagged as the very warm, almost hot, water streamed into my mouth and down my throat.  I felt sick to my stomach, my heart was racing.  My face was beet red.  "Charlie" I said.  "We need to find some shade."

He pulled Grepedo over into the only shade around.  A couple of small trees by the side of the road shaded a narrow rocky shoulder.  It was right on a curve'  I put out an old beach towel from home on the rocks. Charlie removed  the roll of toilet paper we carried in a Glad sandwich  and prompted it under me to protect my head.  The luke warm water I poured on my back and neck provided little relief.  Charlie laid the bike down and crouched in the shade.  I worried about where we stopped as the bend in the road blocked the view of oncoming motorists.  The coolness I got from the shade was enough to stop my racing heart and return my face to a healthy hue of pink. A slight breeze drifted through the trees.  I fell asleep.

After the brief rest I sat up on my towel at the edge of the shoulder.  I looked at us.  We looked like we had wrecked.  I wondered if any cars would stop to see if we were OK.. One did.  The only vehicle that came by turned around to check on us.  I almost asked for a ride.  But I didn't.

We rode on, stopping every few miles to drink warm water.  There were some uphills and down hills and we pedaled just fine.  The pavement was so potholed Charlie did not dare let the bike run its fullspeed down hill. That would have cooled us off.  I felt sick again.  My weak voice squeaked out "Charlie, find a Ramos house with some Ramos people and some Ramos water.  I want Ramos trees and Ramos grass.  I want to lay our on their lawn". And soon enough we were at old Joe Ramos's house and he rode me up the gravel drive to the lawn.  I almost fell asleep sprawled out there, but I was coerced inside by cool water and a place to lay down in front of the air conditioner. "Sis" Ramos brought me a pillow and Jean Ramos West brought me more water.  And I slept with arms and legs splayed out on their cool carpet. Cooling off like the bunnies in Phoenix.

I thought I recovered enough to make the 20 miles back to town.  The micro climate changes throughout the agricultural areas on the Meadows route saved us.  But when Charlie suggested we stop at the A and W for a burger I almost threw up all over his back.  Home sweet home.  He dropped me off across the street as usual.  I walked myself into the house.  This girl with Parkinson's Disease rode with her husband 73 miles of challenging terrain, walked into the house, took a shower and fell asleep.

The reward came a little later.  I don't remember telling him what I wanted to eat,  a quiet nudging voice said, "your egg flower soup and pepsi are in the kitchen"  I had not had either of these items in years, but my body must have been calling out for salt and sugar..

Rabbits have the right idea.  Sprawl out and keep cool.  I think I showed my gutsy side today.  Never a quitter.  I won't quit this fight.

Tandem Riding Report July 5

Tandem Riding Report July 5. 73 MILES. Top Speed 36 MPH. Today's goal was to give GrePedo a good long ride to work out the kinks. I learned from bike mechanic Steve that some of the cables need to be stretched and tightened . I interpreted that to be like stringing a guitar, stretching the strings as you start to tighten them up so that they will stay in tune better later. My biggest concern was the seat. I was pretty worried when I looked at it because it was not this padded wide cushy seat I was used to on the Big yellow mosquito eater. Turns out it was so much better than what I could have expected and the bike seat was a perfect match for my seat. GrePedo is a good 20lbs lighter than the BYME and has more gears to work with. Charlie was excited to try out the brakes...Always thinking we are going to be up and out early, we actually left the Safeway parking lot with our Bananas, fruit bowls and yogurt about 8:30. Today's route to Pendleton was Despain Gulch. At the end of that route is a long downhill. In the past he has not let us exceed 25 mph respecting my anxiety issues. Today we both tucked it in close to the bike and 36 mph seemed like nothing. It rode smooth and solid and I felt very safe. Charlie applied the disc brakes and the quiet fluttering sound brought us to the speed limit as we entered town. A salad and Gatorade later we headed towards Reith Road and followed the Umatilla River home.Those who have ridden that road know its reputation. The heat from the basalt cliffs and the black top (whats left of it) was pretty rough on me. We went through our water fast. But Charlie knows everyone so before long I was napping on someones living room floor in front of their air conditioner while he traded stories with the homeowners. After a good rest we pedaled another 20 miles and We made it home! YAY. Finally! A quick rinse off in the shower and I was asleep. I must have been ordering food in my sleep because Charlie woke me up saying "your egg flower soup and Pepsi are in the kitchen". I have not had either of these items in years but boy were they GOOD! GrePedo will go in for some adjustments but let me tell you...this is an awesome bike. And 73 miles later I am still walking and talking. SORT OF.

I put on my boots today

Reaching into my closet while squeezed between the rocking chair and the closet door may not have been the greatest idea. I was stiff and hurting if not from the Parkinsons Disease which is progressing  through  my body, then the 30 minutes on the bicycle trainer at 80 rpm or higher.  I wanted my boots, my hiking boots. But I was getting myself stuck.. I put them on once a few months ago then hid them away where I could not see them, under the  sweaters and blouses hung there in hopes I will be able to fit in them again.  The boots called to me, " come wear me" . "Walk me over hills, through  vineyards and on the hard pavement and cracked sidewalks of city streets. ". The insides felt so familiar to my feet.  I needed that comfortable supportive   feeling.  The smoothness of the custom orthotics took away the tingling in the bottoms of my feet.  So thats where they  had been hiding.  These nice boots that had protected my feet while  walking on the GR 65 the Chemin le Puy from Montcuq, France to Roncesvaile Spain, in the spring of 2013.  I had very few blisters wearing these Keens.   Do they have another go round left in them?  Do I ?

It turns out that the old friends are too worn.  They helped my body get through all that mud on GR 65 in 2013 and the wonderful mud, as (facial mudd is supposed to do,) closed up the pores (in this case the breathability pores in the boot membranes). 
Will the new blue made in USA Keens be the ones? Will they provide as good as  "understanding" as the old ones.  Will they reveal to me their heart and sole?  Will they say "Don't tread on me" when someone with large feet gets too close.  Boots are such a personal thing...you can't go out and buy them for another person.  The new blue Keens and I are dating.  If they dont work out in some training hikes they can be returned.

In Reponseti " cat pee"

Not to downplay cat pee as that is truly gross and stinky. These situations are part of life's little adventures. Annoying as they are... They are basis of great stories to be retold for years to come. When we had interns and student teachers move on to their next experience I would give them a notebook and told them they should fill dozens of notebooks with stories of their experiences. Stories inspire, educate and entertain. Lindsay Sundberg Murdock your Facebook postings do all of the above for your readers. You have so many Rocky heights stories to share with your new school family. I had the opportunity to work at Rocky Heights which along with McNary Heights were my favorite base schools in 32 years. Now to my story that OuTdOeS yours. One day the school psychologist and I went to complete a developmental evaluation on a preschooler in the RH neighborhood. I tested first while she observed and then we switched roles. I moved backwards out of the way and sat down. I smelled something and then realized my bottom was getting damp. I had parked myself directly on top of human vomit. Holding my own gags back I looked at my watch and said "oh no I have another appointment." Home was only a few blocks away and I went directly from car to shower completely dressed. It was after that I carried a "home visit bag" including a picnic blanket and change of clothes. Cherish your stories and the lessons learned. We all love to hear them and your boys will tell their kids the stories of their school teacher ranch mom.

Tandem Riding(or not) log June 28

Tandem Riding Report June 28.   Today's ride was canceled as the captain took off in a red Mini Cooper and the Stoker took a long nap... Make that two long naps.  Mother Nature has gone totally out of control with her hot flashes.When it gets to be over 100 degrees the blacktop is something like 160 degrees. When I was a little kid we loved the hot weather.  It was fun to find bubbles in the tar and pop them with a stick or a nail.   Mother Nature even let out a few grumbles (thunder) and blown off some steam with some pretty strong winds today. I got up early this morning for a ride on my roadie but when I felt the air temp it was easy to go back to sleep.  Took care of the dogs and horses and got cleaned up for church.  Backed the car out of the garage and out of the corner of my eye I saw something that was not supposed to be there. A horse! My big mare that I had just finished doctoring.  I got the horse back in and thought I was late for church but Fr Luis had trouble with the sound system so I was good.  The reading today concentrated on healing. The woman with the 12 year  hemorrhage had dared to touch Jesus' cloak.  She was poor, a woman and considered unclean due to her illness.  Yet her belief healed her. What faith she had! Jesus felt the power go out of him and turned around to say "Who touched me?"  In the crowd around him he was touched and jostled and bumped alot.  But the power of healing went out to only the one person, the one who believed. Her  admission to Jesus that she had touched his cloak took great courage as this bold action could have brought her death.  Fr Luis reminded us that even with our physical illnesses the greatest thing we need healing from is fear.  Think about it, aren't most of our actions based in fear? Most of are negative emotions are buried in fear.  Why do we get angry, carry anger around with us and not let it go.  Anger is based in fear because we are afraid if someone touches us, or thinks differently than us or influences us we are vulnerable to harm.

Many former Catholics  joke about the Catholic guilt.  I remember having that guilt.  But it wasn't because I was Catholic.  It came from fear. Fear if I didn't behave a certain way the nun was going to whack me with a ruler. That fear lead to many physical symptoms that I help onto in to  adult life.   Fear of telling what I really believed.  Fear that it wasn't OK to accept what I could bear to accept at the time, and let the rest be...Fear of the mystery that was a vengeful GOD and is loving GOD.

After being diagnosed I let it go, the anger, the guilt, the fear.  There were a few rough moments in the process, but  "I" began to emerge.

Fr Luis said "When you walk out of this church today you will be healed of the illness of fear" Jesus feels you reach and touch His cloak.   Because you believe you are healed.


 Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
Amen

Tandem Riding Report June 14.

Tandem Riding Report June 14. Yellow Mosquito Eater was needed to eliminate mosquitoes at Sacajawea Park where we camped out at the Bluegrass Festival held there. We spent most of the time riding the tandem back and forth between Sacajawea and Hanford logging 100 miles and adding 14 more on my road bike. Great news arrived on Friday when we learned the new Co motion Periscope Torpedo was in the paint shop getting its green applied. Charlie promptly named it GrePedo (green torpedo) and Nan Little suggested it be called Rappedoe. I think we could call it Repeato for my return to RAGBRAI and ThreePeto  if I should return a third time to ride the famous bicycle tour across Iowa. Note on spelling so we don't get any "pee" comments from Michael Fahning  about this tandem bike.We will see what takes. TWO WEEKS seems so long! But the paint has to dry before I can sit on it!!! Short rides this week and then next weekend a big one planned of 65 miles through the rolling wheat fields of eastern Oregon.

The A Roar A Boring Not for Alice..er...The Roaring Boring Alice...notquite right...Aurora Bores Alice AHG The Northern Lights

JThe night time sky is so fascinating.  I have watched my brother set the timer on his camera to follow the night sky as the earth rotates into morning.  At 9000 feet on Mount Adams I sat outside the tent all night, too amazed at the  twinkling stars and planets  to sleep.  In the Eagle Cap Wilderness I laid on my sleeping bag marveled by the August meteor showers.  In the depths of the Snake River Canyon a gentle slope of cool grass brought relief after a sweltering day on the river and we watched the moving pinpoints of airplanes and satellites and shooting stars as we shared the stories of our lives

Of all the nights I have gazed into the heavens, there is one that stands far above the rest.

                                                             July 8,1991

So many events lead us to this date.  They have  been chronicled in many places.  Let it suffice to say this day changed the lives of Carol and Charlie Clupny forever. 

The phone rang, calling us to another Eastern Oregon town about 2 hours away.  We rushed to gather the needed items and piled them into our car.  This was all new to us, we weren't exactly sure  what we should do.  So we drove.  And as we drove we chose a name for our baby  boy                          Born

                                                         July 5,1991

                                             LOREN MICHAEL CLUPNY

My mom shared a promise with her Cousin just before her death in AUGUST 1990.  I never heard my mom speak like this but this is what she said:  "When I get to heaven I am going to kick some butt and get Carol and Charlie a kid".  

Charlie was in the driver's seat whisking us home to a place that was not prepared for a baby.  We had nothing ..  I started to get anxious thinking "Loren is going to have to sleep in a shoe box (Charlies size 12)  or we will have to pull out a drawer and tuck  him in with socks and t-shirts." (swaddling clothes, manger)  Panic was pushing its way up my throat.  I was truly terrified. But before I could ask "Charlie can we take him back" I saw something out the window.

In the distance I saw strange lights.  Unusual flickering, flaming, weaving, churning lights.  Colors so brilliant and then so fading that it made me wonder if I was imagining them.. I thought it could have been a forest fire.  Yet that did not make sense. The behavior of the lights was unlike any flame I had seen.

Charlie  carefully steered the car through a rest area parking lot full of people who had also witnessed the phenomena from the freeway.

                                                       aurora borealis

The aurora can be seen best magnetic midnight. In northern latitudes, the effect is known as the aurora borealis (or the northern lights), named after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora, and the Greek name for the north wind, Boreas, by Galileo in 1619. 

Dawn Wind.  Its rare that the wind blows at dawn.  And when it does it brings us ALIVE..It AWAKENs us in a way that keeps us from falling back to sleep.  It makes the dawn fresh and clean and vivid. Loren Michael Clupny you are a rare and unique man...You sing life, you dance life, and you love more and deeper than life.,  more than we can understand.

That night, July 8 1991 the aurora borealis surounded us in our little car with our three day old baby and escorted us home.
And in the dawn that little baby awakened what was dead inside and we became family.

Loren Michael Clupny    you are Aurora dawn Borealis wind,   Happy 24th anniversary of that night.

The Fathers Day Ride

Father's Day is for BBQs, Hawaiian shirts, straw hats, sandals and an Alaskan Amber. The kids buy their dads ties, handkerchiefs or wallets..  As they get older these gifts turn into baseball caps, BBQ sets, aprons and if the kids are rich, a Traeger.

We attended the Saturday vigil because on Fathers Day we are getting up early for a long ride. Such convenient options for worship in the Catholic Church. We heard from Fr Luis about different kinds of dads. Even when placed into one of Father's suggested categories the kids may not grow up as expected.  I have known kids with less than great Christian dad models who grew into more than great Christian adults.  And there are those who provided a good model but the kids choose other routes.  I know Charlie was thinking about this as we started our atypical Father's Day.  And he was thinking about his dad, too.

We rode out Highland to Feedville to Despain Gulch. We got a hold of Whitney this time.  We stood at the Westerlund Road eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when we saw the Porter's white pick up coming down the hill, throwing billows of dust to announce our friend's arrival.  Whitney jumped out of the truck and gave us a big Hello!  Just a few years ago, the  Pendleton Round-up Princess Whitney did a magnificent run-in on a beautiful quarter horse. The track at Round -up Stadium was perfectly groomed and watered so that no dust would occlude the vision of the lovely princess in her knee high boots and leather regalia jumping the railing on her horse.  Today's entrance was much different, but met with the same excitement as if we were watching her at the roundup.  We are glad to know Whitney as a friend and colleague and are proud of the all around awesome parent and professional she has become   For many years we  worked  beside her in the holding pen and in more recent times we have admired her from afar with our binoculars from the highest row in the south grandstands. Today she brought her dust and we brought our sweat and chain grease and we made the best time of a few minutes together.

66 miles can get pretty boring from the stokers view . Charlie has a strong broad back that I can't see around. So I was back to entertaining myself by making lists of things I spot  in the ditch.  In the clothing category there were three gloves, unmatched, a  couple of raggedy shirts and one pair of men's whitey tidy unders (gross). I could have started building a car from tires and wheels, a muffler. two hubcaps and a license plate identified as we rode by. The oil for the vehicle could be gleaned from drips left in oil bottles and cans discarded on the roadside.  An oil filter and a beat up air filter were in the ditch but miles apart. If I needed it, a strategically located roll of TP came into view.  This weeks "unusual items thrown out of cars" champions were a yellow rubber duck and an aluminum pan with what looked like the dinner contents still cooking In the dead animal category a large badger was in the oncoming lane and three birds met their demise in the windshields of speeding motorists. An identified carcass was stripped clean by roaming carnivores I am sure.  As for living creatures Charlie's saw the shadow of vultures circling  (a portent of doom?) From my backseat view I watched a big deer bounding through the ripening wheat parallel to us as if challenging a race.  I didn't really see a live person and this may be a figment of my imagination...But there must be an individual who drives this road a lot. I hope he/she is still living.. Perhaps trying to get his courage up for who knows what, he/she drinks pint bottles of whisky. There are dozens of empty pint whiskey bottles on about a two mile stretch of this road

If my friends got together and walked this route to pick garbage I think we would collect a few dump trucks full. After observing 66  miles of litter I wanted to shout out, "Come on people, let's keep the ditches clean so this stoker can write about flowers and mountains and wildlife instead of roadside waste".  Oh yeah, waste, the human kind.  I haven't seen any of THAT kind, but I do see plenty of pee in Gatorade bottles.  "Come on people, we are in the middle of nowhere.  You can stop your car and pee outside here!  There's even toilet paper at mile marker 19."

Charlie has been waiting for me to turn left onto highway 18 ( in my story). The wind hit him head on and we both pedaled with all we had to get up the steep inclines. Then we hunkered down and held on against the gusts, gliding to the bottom of the rolly and up the next polley.  The Cold Springs Grange came into view, a much needed rest stop.  I anticipated sitting on the steps to eat my lunch. Alas, it's someone's home.  We took refuge under a far tree and ate baked potatoes with taco sauce and boiled eggs.   Father and son riders from Pendleton stopped for a chat, also taking a Father's Day ride.  They were the only other cyclists we saw this day.  Next we pedaled Cold Springs Road, past Soreys arena (Whitney's sister) and stopped at Bracher's oasis where we napped on the lawn a refreshed our water supply.

If you readers are growing weary of this story imagine how we felt living it,  Seven or eight miles  miles from the Bracher's we passed the Hamen's, cruised the long steep grade down to highway 730 and pedaled into Hat Rock .  It was 2:57 pm and the store, reportedly open until three was locked up tight.  Charlie, who is ever so good at getting things to happen, found the cook and procured two bottles of much needed Gatorade.  A quick spin to the boat launch bathrooms and back we went to highway 730. Impending storm clouds and sore butts compelled the stoker to order the most direct route home. Diagonal road.  Today the semi truck drivers slowed and gave us  alot of room.. Four wheel drive diesel pickups and rvs pulling boats were less than mindful about the safety margin needed.

Home at last, I took a quick shower, downed my PD meds

Don't Beat your Bike with a Rock.

Don't Beat your Bike with a Rock...

the desired effects may not be obtained

Just a short distance from my house my bike decided to tip over. The poor Bianchi hurt itself into an un-ridable condition.  I, on the other hand, had a nice conversation with the lady in the car my bike was intending to avoid when it fell over. For the first time in my life I beat my bike with a rock trying  to bend the bent up parts back to where they should have been so I could finish the ride home. No such luck.  I should have known that when you take a big rock to your bike it does not make matters any better.  It did make me feel a little better,tho. I cried the obligatory tear of humility. I let one or two slip when I have to walk my bike home because it has been bad.  The bike is repairable and I was not in need of repair (for once)  The husband showed up to pick me up about 100 feet from the house.  I loved his comment "Ya want me to try to fix it so you can finish your ride?" Then he looks it over. "I think it needs to go to the shop" He says.  I didn't tell him that was probably more  due

to my beating it with a big rock than the actual crash.

Tomorrow I am riding in the car!

PWP (person with parkinsons) Goes Hiking

PWP Goes Hiking

PWP (person with parkinsons) Goes Hiking

.
I decided we should go on a hike. I am not sure why I chose a hike when I have not even been out walking much. It just seemed the thing to do on such a pretty spring day.And we were on the road to where there might be interesting hiking trails.

Driving to Ellensburg on I-82 to deliver a piece of furniture to niece Kimi we found ourselves distracted by thoughts of the Yakima River Canyon. We turned off at Selah and followed the highway up the canyon. Drift boats and fly fisherfolk swarmed the river and its banks. We pulled into the Umtanum recreational area. I reached for  my trekking poles and lumbered like a lazy bear to the suspension foot bridge crossing the Yakima River and leading to the Umtanum creek trail. It was apparent, immediately, that this was going to be more than a spring stroll...

It was going to be a stupendously challenging, monumentally overwhelming PD obstacle course.   Why would I be so challenged with this gentle climb along a meandering creek.  After all I had been preparing for hiking. My PT (physical therapist) Kimber encouraged  me to pick up my feet when I walk,  The LSVT "BIG" program she administered taught me to overemphasize movements because what I thought were huge steps were really small to  tiny steps. My "PT" (personal trainer) Cindee has been guiding me in building agility   (those crazy frontwards, sideways, backwards, in and out and out and in steps on the ladder) and strength (yes ma'am I can lift weights while walking 22 mph on the treadmill at elevation level 15 with a 50 lb. back pack oh just you wait and see). One would think that I can do anything, 'cuz after all I think I CAN DO ANYTHING.  My body image is of a 105 lb  twenty something softball player, horsewoman, backpacking athlete. Until I look in the  mirror, that is.  My realistic body is well, uh,  me...what I am now...oh you know, I don't need to describe my current appearance.  Just let it suffice to say I look like me.

Back on topic here
I view things differently now as a PWP,  After a few face plants and a broken ankle I cautiously scan the area around me for anything that may impede my travel, or cause me to fall.. My ears are in tune for bicycles coming from behind  if  I am walking and cars from any direction if I am biking. I have even learned some avoidance strategies. Crowds of people cause me anxiety as I may be accidently knocked off balance and create a dominoe effect by knocking other people off balance until we are all trying to help each other up..oh yeah, back on topic...

The first obstacle I encountered  was the  suspension bridge across the Yakima River.  It was fine, well maybe almost fine as my weight did not sway the bridge too much.

 I was balancing ok, gazing down at the rushing waters  passing underneath when VALLOOMP I was thrown off balance. (balance is a challenge for PWP) Charlie had stepped on the bridge and from about 10 paces behind me was making the darn bridge move so that between the two of us there was the most peculiar sway.  My equilibrium could not handle this.  Out came the trekking poles, my legs spread out in my drunken sailor stance and I got a grip on my terror.   "OK Carol",  I said to myself.  "You are NOT going to fall into the river, there are guard rails. Get moving!" Maintaining my balanced stance with my legs spread three feet apart I got across safely.  I am sure I was quite the sight to the fisherfolks tying flies on the other end of the bridge.

From the suspension bridge we walked down a steep embankment, under the railroad tracks and up to a place where there were a choice of trails.  The trail to the left went along the tracks, the trail to the right went up. I should say UP! because it went practically straight up.  The next obstacle...my husband...I hate these lectures that squeak out of his generally kind mouth.  "I hope that's not the trail" I said.  Here it comes.  " Now Carol, what are you going to do in France if that's what the trail looks like and its the only way to go".  Oh those "what if's!  Luckily UP! was not the way to go  and we followed the trail left.

Up the gradual incline of the winding  path.  I was stiff from riding in the truck. My back was killing me.  It was work to pick my feet up over the rocks.  They felt like boulders and then there was POISON OAK.  It was here, and it was there and I had to turn my body this way and that to get around it. These were movements I didn't know I could do anymore.   An unknowing spectator would have wondered if I was doing the "twist" or maybe being attacked by killer bees that had migrated to the Yakima River Valley from South America.  I managed not to brush against a leaf! Charlie either. Danger of infestation  behind us, we continued on.

I asked the all knowing husband the time.  He looked at his phone and replied "1:59".. I did not want to argue that it was 1:37 when we left the K-Mart in Yakima  (where it took 30 minutes for him to purchase 2 bottles of water) And that had to be an hour ago.  PWP can tell the time without a clock. Almost to the minute this girl knows when she needs meds.  It  had to be three o"clock.  We walked on a few more steps and I came across a nice sitting rock.  "I think I will sit here and take my meds, could you check the time again"  "2:59"  Hmm how time flies when you are having fun.  We walked on and I started getting into the swing of things when we came upon the Carol height native grasses. The grasses reached like tentacles wrapping around my trekking poles, jerking  them out of my grip mid step and throwing me off balance.  Self talk again: Ok Carol you can walk without  trekking poles a few feet. Get over it and move on.

I forgot to mention there were some delightful things about this trek. Blue sky above (with vultures circling)  beaver dams, a huge beaver lodge (I almost fell into the creek trying to take pictures of), the sound of song birds (probably carrying bird flu) ...then...

There it was, the next obstacle.  A branch crossed the trail about chest high.  Can't go over it, can't go around it, must go under it.  Another thing this PWP can no longer do is the limbo.  Bending knees as much as I can (cuz this girls back don' bend so much anymore) I made it under and to the other side.
Husband did the same thing.  He didn't look any better getting under that tree than I did!

We took a few wrong turns (no yellow Camino arrows here) and backtracked to find the correct trail up the narrowing canyon.  The final obstacle appeared before us.  The creek needed to be crossed.  I have crossed many creeks in my life (and fallen in a few while doing so).  Today was not a day I wanted to slip off that half submerged log and land on the rocks I was supposed to be jumping three feet distance to reach. My sense of timing played in perfectly.  I checked my phone.  "Oh, its time to turn back if we are going to make Elllensburg by 5." Saved!

I usually beat butt on the downhill. I even had a chance to practice the "Australian Pole Dance" (Yvette) the  downhill use of trekking poles. I sent  Charlie  across the suspension bridge first so I could take some photos (wink wink). No huge sway this time. The hike was ending nicely.

I celebrated this first hike of the year with a delish dinner and a dessert of brownie sundae with extra ice cream.  No obstacles were noted in the consumption of food this night.

We all face obstacles in our paths.  Yours are no different than mine although we may call them by different names. Keep an eye out and an ear open to what's  happening in your home and in your workplace; with your family and with your co-workers.  We cannot avoid obstacles (or guide others around them) without recognizing them first. No one should stumble or fall. Step high, be kind and choose the right path.

An apple, Some Peanut Butter and a Bottle of Water

An Apple, Some Peanut Butter and a Bottle of Water .

Tears.  Months  go by without tears finding their way down my cheeks. Then they come.  Tears sting my eyes as I try to fight them back.  I dam them up until they overwhelm my efforts and spill. Wiping them away with the back of my hand I say "Damn, what are you crying about?"  Its this stupid disease.  And even worse than that its what I have done to my back and how the pain is compounded by this stupid disease. And even worse than that I am crying about it.  I am letting those tears, the ones I cry inside, slip out into the world.  The disease is winning.  It now can be seen by the world.  By my tears, by my noticeable limp, by this weakness on the entire right side of my body, by this tremor that no longer hides itself, by the fact I am crying so much lately, it is winning.

Cindee (yes Cindee my personal  trainer) starts the treadmill and says "Where are you walking today?" " I am on the Tour du Mont Blanc".  Tears well up and creep out.  I keep walking the treadmill trails and then I start talking.  But I can't say the words. I can't say "I am scared shitless about this walk around Mont Blanc". So instead I talk about how I have found a route I know I can do and neither Charlie or I will know any different because its all new. I suck up those tears and attempt to put myself in the place of optimism. The place where all my dreams come true

Cindee keeps me going at the 8 elevation for awhile.  She notices how its become easier for  me over time.  I notice I am walking at only 2 mph.  She notices how quickly my heart rate returns to normal. I want to say what  I am thinking "Its going to take me all day to go 5 frickin' miles." She puts the weights back on the rack "Remember when that was hard for you? Look how much stronger you are".  My thoughts spiral down and down and I want to say "Right. We both know better.  I have these grandiose ideas.  There is no way I am going to complete my trifecta. Not this year, Not ever. Who do I think I am.  I have Parkinsons Disease".

"I have been afraid Cindee.  For some reason I am afraid to  go out by myself."  "Hey you rode your bike here the other day". "That I did, but I am liking that less and less.  I am losing confidence. I need to get walking and there is no one to walk with."

"What are you going to do when you leave here Carol.  Walk or ride?" "Probably walk. I need to walk". "Let me know when you get to the top of the Butte".  Ok, there's the accountability. I am not one that doesn't "show up".  I am not  one who does not follow through.  And I would be quite ashamed if I did not do what I said I  was going to do.  She had me!

Back home from the gym I get my toe socks on, then a pair of  light wool hiking socks.  My hiking pants.. what size are these anyway, they are fitting pretty loose.  OMG these are  men's pants? I had to buy men's sized pants?    A tech shirt, my favorite guide shirt, my famous pink camino (camino yes not flamingo) baseball cap, Boots tied and I am ready for my pack.  To the pack I add a pair of scissors and some leuko tape just in case a hot spot  or heaven forbid a blister needs protection.  Oh, I should bring a snack and some water.

What do I want for a snack?  I pack the perfect things. An apple. I can't eat an apple without being glad about it. We just happened to have some lovely crisp apples so I grabbed one.  What goes good with apples? Working in Joann Pringle's preschool class, (where I developed a love for little kids with disabilities and learned the REAL words to "Bringing home a Baby Bumble Bee")  I developed a taste for her favorite snack, apple and peanut butter  I put a little peanut butter on a WHITE tortilla (because as you remember not even Nutella makes a whole wheat tortilla taste good!) A bottle of water fit nicely in its place on the side of my pack, right where it belongs, where I am used to it. Familiar, even comfortable, the pack goes on. Trekking poles in hand I lumber out the door and off to the Butte. I am not walking even two miles an hour today.  But I am walking.

As I walk I think how horrified my son Luke would be if he  drove by  with friends and one said "Hey isn't that your mom?" We are not used to seeing a middle aged woman marching down the sidewalk with trekking poles, hiking boots and a well worn backpack here in Hermiston. That it would embarrass him makes me smile. Then I imagine a police officer pulling up and questioning me "Ma'am we have had reports of a  possibly intoxicated homeless female weaving across the street.  What's in your backpack,? "No officer I'm not drunk. Its JUST Parkinson's Disease! I am carrying an apple, some peanut butter and some water."   I hope to get to say this sometime because this scenario brings a chuckle.
Then, while climbing the Butte, I see the Cross.  I think "Keep your eye on the Cross.  No one ever stumbles when their eye is on the Cross"  Just then I trip and fall to my knees.  Oh my that leads to a need for introspection!.
Well, when one falls down one must get up but I am having a hard time because now I am laughing hard.  I have many memories of falling and laughing so hard I could not get  up.

My day has become brighter.  Forgetting to eat my snack, I get to the Cross on the Butte, down and back home without any of the above situations actually occurring, except the falling of course.
I plunk myself in the recliner, take off my boots, finally eat my snack and take a nap.

Do you ever, like me, make life so complicated that it makes you cry.  You spiral downwards in frustration, worry, fear?

 Then its time to take the challenge.  Pack up a snack, take a walk and look to the Cross.

Smile. Laugh when you fall. Get up and when you are home, take a little nap. You'll feel better. Its that simple. I promise.

All is well, with my soul, all is well.

Not even Nemo

Not even Nemo could keep me inside the MRI.  I was snug in the narrow MRI tube.  Under my knees was a pillow.  A wedge kept my lower back and pelvis in a comfortable position. Soft blocks held my shoulders in the tray. My head was enclosed in a cage that reminded me of a Lacrosse helmet.  A handsome young man, Sam, was at the controls. "Ramp up the air, Sam".  Full blast was not enough!  I watched the beginning of "Finding Nemo" through a mirror strategically arranged to catch the projection of the movie from Sam's laptop. The beginning of Nemo is quite sad. Tears started slipping from the corners of my eyes. "Breath  Carol Breathe" I chanted to myself.  "Soon you and Dorie will be swimming with the turtles".  Then, a cramp in my back.  Tears came harder.  I realized I was not going to make it through 70 minutes of this brain scan.   #2  scan completed its pinging and banging sounds. Thank God it was quiet for a second.  "Sam ?" "Yeah Carol. Ready for the next scan?"  I choked on my words.  I didn't have the courage to stay in and didn't have the courage to tell Sam I wanted out. "Carol, what's going on? Carol?" "Get me out Sam!". Sam must have run from the control room because he was right there when the tray slid me out.  

Some months ago I was contacted by a research assistant in the Gait and Balance lab at Oregon  Health Sciences University.  He described a study that fit me perfectly, except for one part.......15 scans of my brain in an enclosed MRI with  no PD meds and no ingestion of a calming agent of any kind.  The study was looking for correlations between balance and cognitive skills.  I had already completed three hours of cognitive testing without much break before I was lead over to the OHSU hospital for the MRI. I was tired , a little weepy over poor Nemo's Dad losing his wife and kids. Except for little left uneaten Nemo, Dad Clownfish was alone in the world. I felt alone...in the busy hospital, with caring researchers and my husband of 33 years nearby...I felt alone.

We PWP can feel alone sometimes.  We can feel unwanted because we are different, or uncertain because of the physical and mental challenges we face. Left behind because we can't keep up.   Nemo followed the "skippers" away from the "school" was drawn by the big blue sea. For awhile he was lost and alone/ There were lots of scary things "out there".  Things that wanted to eat him up, or misguide him, or sweep him away.  Although getting caught up in the big net can be such a bummer, Nemoo and PWP survive by following Dorie's advice to "Just keep swimming swimming swimming."

They let me come back the next day. This time we traveled to Beaverton. The research team had identified some value in the data I provided.  So the wiring began at 9:15 am.  I walked fast, walked slow, turned right, turned left, spun around, walked a tight rope,  stood on foam cushions with and without eyes open. These activities were simple enough until I had to double task; balance and walking and spinning while counting backwards from 297 by threes or naming every other  letter of the alphabet.  After a  couple hours of this rodeo, I was whisked off to Dr Dan's office where more cognitive tests were administered.  One test I had to name as many words beginning with "f" as I could.  Made me wonder what some people say cuz I was in such a mood by then that the "f" word almost snuck out. Hungry, tired and craving meds we got on MAX and snoozed to the Lloyd center for food and fellowship with an old friend.

I saw my friend Brandi today.  She asked if I received compensation for my time.  I told her I was given lunch money. She asked me how I felt about being a research subject.  I feel, as I have from the very day I was diagnosed.  I have to find some good in this miserable disease.  If my experiences as a research subject will one day make another PWP's life easier, than by golly its worth any bit of inconvenience its caused me.

I think I will watch the rest of Nemo now.

The Miracle of the Arm that Moves (Miracle #2 in the miracle series)

 June 14
When the ear hears a piece of music that moves something within the heart or touches deeply in the soul  dopamine production kicks in.  This is especially interesting to music lovers with Parkinson's Disease.

Lets have a little in neurology as it relates to Parkinson's.

Normally, there are brain cells (neurons) in the human brain that produce dopamine. These neurons concentrate in a particular area of the brain, called the substantia nigra. Dopamine is a chemical that relays messages between the substantia nigra and other parts of the brain to control movements of the human body. Dopamine helps humans to have smooth, coordinated muscle movements. When approximately 60 to 80% of the dopamine-producing cells are damaged, and do not produce enough dopamine, the motor symptoms of Parkinson's disease appear. This process of impairment of brain cells is called neurodegeneration. 

So, by the time I was diagnosed with Parkisons 7 years ago, I had already lost most of the dopamine producing cells.  I had also lost an ability to play guitar.

About the time I was diagnosed and retired, educators were retiring from the Hermiston School District due to a wonderful perk for insurance.  I attended a retirement party and ran into fellow teacher Ron and Anne who were bluegrass musicians. I just knew they would help me get going so I invited them to dinner and tagged on "bring your instruments." They started me on the Bluegrass journey that night and jams and festivals followed. I l oved that fast paced driving music.  It affected me a drug, like dopamine.

I had played on and off for  years and even for  church services.  But its different now. Sometimes my right arm does not move,  My wrist feels locked and my fingers cannot hold a pick.  Fingerpicking is a struggle.  One day I tried to explain to Ron what it felt like to have to "WILL" your fingers  and wrist to move through a bucket of hardening cement to pick and strum. I dont t hink you can understand it unless you have experienced it.

When my dad died, I packed away the guitars and  didnt get them out.  I don't know why.  He hated blugrass so maybe that's what I played when he was alive.  He didn't come to hear me play, but he could complain. Maybe I needed to grieve myself out of what he hated and into something I loved.

Important influences and experiences in my musical life include my brother John.  On my sixteenth birthday he gave me what had been his first acoustic guitar.  I played it until it was no longer playable. And when he visits he  has a car full of instruments to try.  We sit up for hours playing beatles and eagles and whatever and he makes me sing and it evens sounds good...at least to the two of us.

 Bob Swobaoda worked with me for awhile.  He was truly a music teacher and band instructor. I learned some theory. But I just wanted to play.

 Mike Benton was the music director at Camp, and I was the activty director.  We had the opportunity to play together at alot of camps..and I will always remember when Mike left me  in charge of the sing-a-long, a reach in skills for me, and a 14 year old Jeremy Berka stood up by my side to give me support and lead the singing.

Margaret was the toughest teacher.  Of course as a college professor she wanted her students to learn it right. I practiced  each bar of each song until it was perfect.  And if the arm and finger were pulling through that bucket of cement, she made me practice harder.  Margaret loves guitars and found a nice Taylor for me when I was ready for my first big girl instrument. I am thankful for that.

Mike  Kellison gave Luke lesssons and then I took over from Luke.  Nicholas was kind, caring and fun and always so poilte and helpful...one of the finest guitar players I have met. Jon Wambeke was great with  kids but this 57 year old woman  had a frightneing time at the monthly performances.

Fred helped me some with the blues, as did Mike Benton in more recent times. All of these fine people influenced my skill development.

A few weeks ago we found out that help was needed over the summer for music at church.  I asked Pat if I could play alongside her a week or two prior to our turn.  The first week was so much fun.  I played loud. smooth, clear.  Pat said "I dont remeber you ever playing like that Carol"

The next week it was back to old cement arm. I got over to the Sacajewea Blue grass Festival and into a jam.  I sat through that great jam frustrated,  holding on to my guitar, not being able to even strum.  

Saturday I had to run home to play at Mass.  Cement arm made it through.  I came back to the jam one campsite over from ours.  I announced the Miracle of the Missing Guitar picks and then said "The 2nd miracle tonight is...' and I sat down and played.  And with a little help from Ron and Jack  the strings of  my guitar were soon smoking, keeping perfect rhythm for the leads.

Its like that with Parkinsons.  Sometimes people don't think you have the disease because the symptoms are not as apparent.  There are many non-motor symptoms that most people do not even know about.   The disease is always there, hidden or not, neurodegenerative, eating away at the few remaing dopamine producing cells. 

I cherish the miracle days.  Those magic moments when I am laying down the rhythm and joking with the guys.  I can't  wait until another "Miracle of the Arm that Moves"

The Miracle of the Missing Guitar Picks (Miracle one in a series+

Sacajawea State Park marks the confluence of the Columbia and Snake Rivers. The last time I was there I was much younger.  And I don't remember how much younger so that must have been a long time ago.  I was in my folks 25 foot Bayliner.  My dad was practicing docking...in the wind...the wind that comes up about 2 pm at Sacajawea State Park.  I connected the dots.  The winds slammed the Bayliner into the dock way back in 19XX.  And the wind wanted to tear the canopy off our camper last weekend as we attended the Sacajawea Bluegrass Festival.   We paid to get wrists band and listen to music but we mostly showed the wristbands as we pedaled in and out of the Park to enjoy the great bike path.

Along about 3pm on Saturday we both jumped out of our chairs realizing almost simultaneously that we had promised Sara we would be back at 3:45 to rehearse music for the 5pm Mass.  Scrambling for guitar, music, capo, picks, and straps we secured everything else from blowing away with the wind that we knew was coming (it was a bit tardy).  Charlie knocked over my guitar picks and picked them up and put them somewhere.  Its very nice of people to put things away for you, but then you never know where they went.  We raced home in the red car, grabbed fast food for Luke, took quick showers, found clean clothes and made it to the church almost on time.  I started to get my guitar out then realized my guitar picks were not in the bag.We searched every nook and cranny my car uses to hide stuff.  No luck.   I dumped every thing out of my purse. Nothing,  Charlie went home to look around the house and check pockets for even one little guitar pick.  No guitar picks. We were all pretty unnerved at this point. THEN The priest came up to remind us about the "DO NOT PLAY" list.  I was just glad he didn't tell us all the songs we wanted to play were on that list because that's all I brought and we would then be in deep doodoo. The keyboard player didn't show up. It was going to be just me and I didn't have any guitar picks.  Sara placed her hand on my right arm and prayed and then  I played the opening song without a guitar pick.  I turned the page, listened to the prayer that lead into the next song and reached into my purse for a kleenex.  There it was,! My little bag full of favorite picks. I was flabbergasted because I was sure the purses was empty.  I do not know how the picks landed in my purse.  It had to be divine intervention.

This was the first miracle of the night.

June 7 Tandem riding report

Tandem riding report for June 7.  Today's 50 mile ride was preempted by Mother Nature who is having significant hot flashes. The asphalt patches on the road have become bubbling tar pits waiting to swallow the yellow mosquito eater. If this should happen we will have to wait for it to emerge in 10,000 years  when paleontologists of that era will identify it as dinosaur bones. We can't have that.  While we wait for mother nature to come into a reasonable state, the captain is spending his time sawing logs. The admiral (stoker ) is stringing guitars and trying to  appreciate the temp set on the air conditioner while considering putting on a sweatshirt.  I will stop now and save you from further description of our non- ride today.

June 9 tandem report

Tandem Report June 9: Yesterday we rode the hells  (oops I mean the hills) of Hermiston. It was a hellish 103 degrees when we started.  We think of Hermiston as being flat, but we are really down in a hole, not a bad hole but a hole non the less.  You have to climb out of Hermiston proper in any direction. . .I named yesterday's ride the 7 Hells (hills) of Hermiston' I think we rode 5 and a couple of these twice.  If you know of others hills let me know.  I don't want to hear of any of your personal hells. Today we are talking hills.

sunshine lane
"the neighborhoods" North
Geer Road
4th Street
Theater Lane to 8th and up 8th
Highland to Highland Extension
First street Extension Station Road
"the neighborhoods" south
Nelson Lane
Punkin Center

The yellow mosquito eater got a new cassette.  You say "cassettes have gone out like 8 tracks and CDs" and I say we are talking bikes.  The teeth on the gears were just worn and the chain was slipping making riding the hills even more miserable.  I think my teeth are getting worn and my gears are slipping a bit too, so the Mosquito Eater and the Stoker have commonalities. How old is this bike in people years  anyway?  Hmm  Steve at Scotts Cycle and Sports went rummaging around the back room and came up with the last existing cassette for this bike.  Wow, I wonder if Dr Hiller at OHSU can rummage around the neurology department and come up with a new brain for me.  I want a fresh one, not one of those cadaver brains.  Right out of the box please!

Riding bikes has helped me so much.  For one thing I have developed this silly way of sharing my life with all of you.  Sister  Mary Ellen, I hope you are smiling from heaven because writing was so hard for me in High School. 

AND THEN THERE WAS TODAY AT THE GYM!!  Ii started walking, then jogging, then running lines, grape vine, side to side, backwards, steps.  Today I am thanking Dr Jay Alberts for his research.  Bicycling has helped this Person with Parkinsons.  Praise God for the knowledge and skills these doctors and researchers  are given.  Keep moving friends  And be ever grateful that you can

Acknowledgements

Bikers (as in motorcyclists) acknowledge each other in passing.  You see the subtle wave between the oncoming biker and the one you are following in your car.  There is a  connection between those who are out on the road, feeling that engine roar or purr (depending on the bike) beneath them.

Cyclist (as in bicyclists) also share a camaraderie.  Pedaling my way between Stanfield and Hermiston on 395 I was stunned by the sudden presence very very close to me.  "On your left" I heard the deep voice say. I knew exactly what to expect and that he expected me to hold my line so he could safely pass. The someone passing me was a tall lanky cyclist. He looked back and said "hope you are having a great ride" as he distanced me.  Coming down the hill by the water tower (yes the one responsible for many letters to the editor. You know... the trade mark watermelon replaced by "Watch Hermiston Grow") I saw another riding pedaling up.  My speed was picking up and I hardly ever remove my hands from the handle bars.  The rider looked up and acknowledged me with a nod and a wave.  I manged to  return these friendly gestures.  There is an understanding between riders. And we acknowledge that with these greetings

When Anne and I first started riding together, I was very slow.  I am slow now so you can imagine what it must have been like for Anne to ride with me then  We planned to meet at the Mormon church (in contrast to my meet up spot with Nancy, the Last Chance Tavern).  I watched for Anne and when I spotted her, I  spotted another rider with her.  Anne must have acknowledged the rider coming in as she was headed out.  The rider turned  around to join her.  The very fit 60 something gentleman saw two women who looked like they were "riders" and decided to take another spin. We can really look the part wearing our bike shorts and jerseys, don't ya know!  We  slowly pedaled out to Space Age and gentleman rider (GR) left us in his dust. We stopped to use the bathroom and hydrate.  After our defueling and fueling break, GR  pulled up.  "Where have you ladies been?" Um, well we had gotten there  in our own time, that was for sure.  We crossed the  highway and  rode out Echo Meadows . GR started commenting on Anne's bike and giving riding advice.  His manner was not too appealing to Anne (she lets her thoughts be known) and  before too long he was at my shoulder offering cycling tips.  Not wanting to lose my balance, I ever so slightly turned my head to him and said "Look, its enough for me to stay upright on these skinny tires.  I don't need your help right now!!". I don't make a habit of being rude to other cyclists, or really to anyone. It must have become obvious that neither Anne nor I were interested in improving our riding under GR's tutelage that fine day. Another rider turned onto the road heading our direction.  GR acknowledged him, and was acknowledged back.  "See you girls, I am going to ride back to town".  Off he went.  Harmless.  GR gave us alot to talk about in rides to come.

About 10 years ago I offered to help a young deacon with some accent reduction so he might be better understood by the congregation. Last fall he returned to our church as a priest. After the long passage of  time and the thousands of people he must have met in numerous churches he served in, he remembered my name! WOW I was impressed.  I saw him again on ASH Wednesday, the first day of Lent,  You know...the reason behind Mardi Gras?  I went to a midday service to receive the ashes, the symbol reminding us to repent and be saved...that we came from the earth and shall return there.  I ended up in line to receive the ashes from him.  He very seriously dispensed the ashes, reciting the brief prayer. And then it came, the acknowledgement, the  wink, a quick smile and twinkling eyes.  We shared a memory of a pleasant time long ago working together.

A wink, a wave, a nod, a smile,  catching an eye across the room... in that split second of acknowledgement we understand each other. In this world on misunderstanding its a good place to be.

Needle in the....BACK!

We both woke up at 3 am.  Charlie, who had gone to bed at 8:30 was awake, totally awake.  And cheery mind you. He dared to sing the "Good Morning Song". Some of my readers will remember the "Good Morning Song " from our 2012 walk on the Camino de Santiago in Spain. We were often tired and grumpy in the morning. WHY? Charlie managed to sleep through his own snoring. The rest of the occupants of our lodging, family and pilgrims, did not. We did not appreciate the "Good Morning Song", despite his good intentions.  I, who had gone to bed at 10 pm last night, quite early for me, still do not appreciate the "Good Morning Song". I manged to lay back down and snooze a little longer. Steel cut oats and fruit waited for me in the kitchen. By 5 am we were on the road to... C and D's in Boardman!! where Charlie hoped to find fresh donuts. They don't open until 6. So he visited with contractors and pipe cutters and electricians who were also waiting at C and D to grab a bite before heading off to build a new co-gen plant. He came back with two day old donuts that would have been wonderful if fresh and warm. I heard all about the lives of the go-gen contractors: where they live, the work hours, favorite places to eat...you can learn a lot  from talking to contractors when you have a mutual interest in donuts, I guess.

back to today's events...
People with Parkinson's experience a lot of pain.  Doctors are just starting to recognize the pain as part of the disease process, instead of a separate ailment. I have had some type of back issue for quite some time.  Sitting in tiny chairs at pint sized tables for much of my professional career as a speech pathologist was not helpful.  A horse buck-off incident down at the Oxbow did its damage too. Since my  diagnosis with PD the back has gotten worse.  There are times when I cannot propel myself and need to use trekking poles, rails, walls, doorways to help me move.  I cannot pick up my big guitar case, carry a laundry basket or walk holding a baby.  This is not who I am.  I am strong.  I am invincible ! I am a mover and a shaker and I have quite a bit of moving and shaking left to do. There are places to go and people to meet.  I can't be in pain all the time!

still haven't gotten back to today yet, have I?

Taking the bull by the horns, I sprung into action. (who wouldn't if they were holding a bulls horns) Bicycling was fun, free and freeing.  I previously had no pain while cycling.  I rode over 1200 miles last year.  Then it started to hurt while I was riding. No good. I need to train for the BIG EVENT next July. Action was needed!
I visited the podiatrist, the physical therapist, a chiropractor or two, a massage therapist a physiatrist, a pain management doctor and her two  pain doctor residents. I had some injections. I tried to swim regularly.  I continued tai chi through the pain. Every morning I did my stretches and my LSVT BIG exercises. I slept on the floor, on the couch, in a recliner, in bed with wedges and bolsters trying to alleviate the discomfort. Then my dad's health turned.  My energy was spent caring for him. Not myself.  The pain worsened. One day as I was taking Dad to an appointment I saw a sign at the hospital.  Columbia Pain Mangement.  Right here in Hermiston.  I called them. They are from Hood River and come here weekly.  That sounded good to me.  Talk about a thorough evaluation...complete with a drug screen and questioning about my use of marijuana (I don't) I had confidence that they were the ones to assist  me.

A call early this week was what I wanted to hear.  "Can you be in Hood River 8am Friday morning. Your insurance  has improved some injections".
My lower back is full of arthritis. A disc has slipped forward causing a pinching of nerves that innervate my legs.  I feel like lava is pouring down my calves and my feet tingle and get  hot.  The glute muscles, hamstrings and calves are like knots.  My toes are starting to curl up.  My right leg is quite atrophied. Some due to Parkinson's? Most likely, but can I get out of pain enough to exercise harder? To complete more adventures.?  That is the question I have asked many of these experts I have visited.
These guys think I can.

Finally, the appointment today...

The injections were guided by a fluoroscope.  The physician washed my lower back down and injected lidocaine to deaden the area.  He told me exactly what he was doing each step of the way,  A dye was inserted to show him the pathway to the nerves.  It was followed by a steroid to decrease any inflammation around that nerve being pinched.  The process was repeated on the left side. An assistant brought over warm wet towels for my back and wow did that feel good.  The doc left, I got to look at the pictures of the procedure and then was put in a wheel chair and told not to try to stand.  When I finally did stand up I knew why they told me not to. With  an RN in front of me and Charlie behind we made it out to the car.  I dosed in the car until The Dalles where I was treated to a cafe au lait and a pastry and a visit to the music store next door. Unfortunately I could not climb stairs by Dr's orders so no drooling over guitars in the "special back room".
So how am I now?  My back hurts from the injections.  I have ice on it. But I can actually walk without grabbing the couch, the wall, a chair.

We made it home by noon.  Along the way we saw two herds of Dall sheep, and sadly one that had been hit by a car, now dead alongside the freeway. I laid low this afternoon.  Doc says it may be awhile before I feel the full effect of the steroid. I will be a good patient. Last time I was injected I went for a 10 mile bike ride. Not now... I can't wait for the morning when I rise  before
cheery Mr. "Good Morning to You"and  yell "No Pain! No Pain!" and wake his from his restful slumber.        

I imagine there will be other procedures and medication changes as I progress through this horrible disease.  I will keep on moving tho.  Its been 7 years now since my diagnosis and add a couple more years to that for symptoms I tried to hide from myself.  Still doing good. I am hopeful, forever, hope filled.

new paths to pedal

Home sweet home...we are very thankful to my sister Beth and her family for inviting us to share their family Christmas celebration. Our home in Hermiston felt like a strange and lonely place with my dad's recent passing and Loren being away. We enjoyed excellent weather in Atascadero with good food and great wine..kayaking, cycling and wildlife viewing. Leaving Atascadero was hard but we drove up the coast Highway 1 enjoying the blue blue sky, the green green hills and the blue-green sea.. Next...The Meet-up with Robert, Yvette and Brandon, Cece and Tony,
for a late lunch on the Santa Cruz Pier. This turned into a Camino reunion walk to see monarch butterflies. The San Ramon Clupnys took us home and consoled our grieving as we sat up late at night and the next day in our pajamas until noon, drinking coffee and telling stories. Not ones to stay still long, we bicycled through the lovely vineyards near Livermore, saw movies, played hilarious games, ate Yvette's fabulous cooking ...laughed and cried together until our hearts were no longer heavy.
Now we are home...home sweet home...it is too quiet...we are too still...there is a big hole in time and space that once was filled with a dad who needed us. We did our jobs and now that page is turned and we start a new chapter. Time to renew and regroup. A new year is on its way.