Bwahahahah, Sayeth The Mother

The scene of the crime. 

There's a wedding being planned over here, people.

Yesssss.

My son and his fiance have set a date for their wedding, which will take place next summer. We're so excited and happy for them! This will be one GREAT party.

As mother of the groom, my responsibilities are a little different than if I were mother of the bride. My friend Cheryl told me that she was advised at her son's wedding to "wear beige, sit down, and just shut up".

My. Goodness.

If y'all only knew Cheryl, you'd understand what how, um, unlikely it was that this advice would be followed. And, girlfriend - I mean that in the best possible way, honey....

It's also equally unlikely that I will be able to do any of those things, either. Beige? Yuk. Sit down? (well, maybe in-between the ceremony and the reception..) and just shut up?? Umm hmm. Riiiiiiiiight. Like THAT'S going to happen.

What? You're surprised that I wouldn't behave like the perfectly genteel woman that I am?

Riiiiiiiiight.

So while the bride and groom and the bride's family get all involved in the finer details of the wedding, I have a whole year to complete my responsibilities. Which would be planning the rehearsal dinner. And picking out a suitable dress. Meh.

But by far, the most important agenda I have for the next year is to finally plan my revenge. On my delightful son, whom I love with all my heart and soul. But who asked for this revenge almost exactly twenty two years ago - the day on which he pulled the stunt that made me shake my fist at the skies and proclaim, "Vengeance shall be MINE, sayeth the Mother!!"

Yes. I am referring to the First Communion Incident.

Anyone who has known our family for more than a week has heard the story, so if you've heard it before, just deal with it, OK? Go play Bejeweled over on Facebook or something.

So. On a beautiful June day twenty two years ago, my son had finished his First Communion classes along with about fifty other angelic first grade children. We were gathered in the enormous sanctuary of our church to rehearse for the big day. The children and their parents were seated in neat and tidy rows listening to our instructions for the ceremony. John and I and our sweet, innocent little blonde boy were instructed to be seated in the front row, so we did. We turned to the center aisle to listen carefully to our priest's directions, when suddenly....

Pfffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbwwwwwaaaaappppp!!!!!!!! (Imagine a never-ending echo here that bounces off lots and lots of marble.)

My son had let rip the biggest, baddest fart that I have ever heard. In the middle of church. In front of a very large group of our fellow parishioners and our parish priest.

I had my face buried in my hands and couldn't decide whether to laugh along with everyone else in the church or to strangle the kid, and then grab the priest to confess the murder.

Think the story's over? Not by a long shot. Here's where my son really sealed his fate for a payback of enormous proportions: This sweet little boy turned to me and said at the top of his lungs and in a very shocked tone, "MOM!!!"

Oh, man. The laughter swelled even louder, but by this time I had no desire to cackle along with them. And traitor John was leaning over his knees and snorting helplessly as he tried to muffle his guffaws.

I stared straight ahead as my mind raced. What to do? I wanted to stand up, grab evil Sonnyboy by the ear, and make him confess his flatulence.

Instead, I slid as low as I could in the pew and sat on my hands to avoid beating my son AND my husband in public. I glared at my boys, who by now had both completely dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Har, har, har, guys. VEEEEERRRRYYYY funny.

Lucky for me, Father Wavra was deaf in one ear. And even luckier, his deaf ear was pointed toward my rotten son and his even rottener dad. Fr. just continued his instructions and within minutes, we were filing out of the church.

I grabbed my son by the arm and made him wait until mostly everyone was gone so that I didn't have to spend time defending my innocence in this stinky crime. John and my son both had gotten themselves under control by this point and looked at me with hangdog expressions.

"Whhh....what....what are you going to do, Mom?" son asked fearfully.

I told him to kneel down IMMEDIATELY and pray for forgiveness. Lying about your mother farting in a public place should be a MAJOR sin, I figured. And as we finally left the church and the steam quit rolling out of my ears, I suddenly knew.

It would be perfect.

He would be in absolute fear for years and years and years and years.

Yes: I would do something absolutely incredibly awful and embarrassing in a very very public place to my son. He won't know how. He won't know when. All he will know is that someday when he least expects it....bwahahahahaha. Maybe even at his WEDDING, I said.

When I told him this, he looked at me blankly and said, "Girls are creepy. I'm not getting married. So there."

I just smiled smugly and felt much, much better.

And now, as my son and his beautiful bride are planning their nuptials, I'm wondering if this would be a suitable venue for my revenge.

To be perfectly clear - I have absolutely no reason to embarrass my soon to be daughter-in-law. So if this is to take place, it has to be timed so that DIL will not be afflicted with this memory for the rest of her life. No, we actually like her a lot and want her to stick around for many many years. And come to think of it, hmmm......she and my son may be picking out our nursing home some day, so we need to stay on her good side.

My son, however, deserves this. And I've been waiting for so loooooonnnnggggg.....

Ideas, anyone?

Flower Bliss

Guys - Is there anything more fragrant or beautiful than a peony bouquet created from flowers clipped while still warm from the afternoon sun?

No. No, there isn't.

Summer Reading

My latest review over at BlogHer is up for Getting To Happy by Terry McMillan.

If you are a fan of Waiting To Exhale, you'll be glad to pick up Getting To Happy:

Girls! Where HAVE you been? It's been fifteen years and we've been dying to hear from y'all!

In Getting to Happy, author Terry McMillan reunites her Waiting to Exhale readers with Savannah, Bernadine, Robin and Gloria. She writes in her Author's Note: "Fifteen years later, however, these women suddenly began to reclaim their place in my heart, and, like old friends you haven't seen since college, I wondered how they might be faring now."

You can read the rest of my review and find out what the girls have been up to over the last decade and a half on the BlogHer book club page here. 

A Glorious Day

I feel as though I should explain my purpose for today's post. Everyone has various types of support to help them in difficult times, and of my many blessings, my faith is one of those things that lift me up and carry me when times are tough. And while I'm proud of my faith heritage and community, I realize that others may have different support systems. I don't mean to imply that my way is the only way.....but it's what helps me to get through autoimmune disease, among other of my life's challenges.

There's very few incentives that could have enticed me out from under the covers yesterday. I was totally augured into bed getting some serious sleep. But I did eventually get up because I knew that yesterday our church celebrated Corpus Christi. Which meant another opportunity not only to participate in a great community activity, but also a chance to fire up my Canon and get some amazing pictures.

The feast of Corpus Christi - translated as the Body of Christ - has been observed since the thirteenth century and the celebration takes many forms around the world. Our congregation, like many others, creates a procession in which we take Christ out into the streets of our city and then return to church where we party the afternoon away. Yesterday the weather was fantastic, but we go out every year, rain or shine.

Here's how New York City observes Corpus Christi:

ZZzzzzzzz

Great weekend, but need some serious sleep. See you tomorrow.

Sjogren's Syndrome and Filing For Disability

The Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation has put out yet another of it's excellent patient information sheets. 

Patient Education Sheet

Tips on Obtaining Disability Benefits from the Social Security Administration (SSA)

The SSF thanks Linda Dorfner Charles, BSN, RN, for authoring this Patient Education Sheet. Charles assisted the Sjögren’s Syndrome Foundation (SSF) in its long-time and successful advocacy for a specific federal disability listing for Sjögren’s syndrome.

Tips on Obtaining Disability Benefits from the Social Security Administration.

• Know that documentation is key to winning your case! Keep a journal of your symptoms and cop- ies of all records from lab tests, doctors’ visits and hospitalizations.
• Review your medical records to ensure legibility and completeness. 
• Submit documentation in order of occurrence. Show disease progression and resulting limitations,
• including side effects of all current medications.
• Have your doctor highlight the fact that Sjögren’s symptoms can unpredictably wax and wane, as SSA forms are not tailored to these features.
• If applicable, state that during a flare-up, you are unable to perform specific activities. Include basic self-care or activities of daily living (ADLs) such as eating, walking, bathing, lifting, shopping, cook- ing, reading, driving, working and household chores.
• Document what it takes for you to get through every hour of a 24-hour day. Include what you must do to alleviate symptoms, e.g. every time you use eye drops. State how each symptom affects you (frequency and duration), e.g. how often you are fatigued and what it prevents you from doing. Don’t worry about sounding repetitive.
• Cite the impact of your combined symptoms on your function and productivity, including lost work days, job status, depression, and loss of relationships and social interactions. While one symptom alone might not be considered disabling, the combination of symptoms can be disabling.
• Describe the overall impact of Sjögren’s on you and your family’s lives. Don’t forget loss of income and high treatment costs (drugs, OTC products, medical co-pays, frequent doctor visits, psycho- therapy and physical therapy).
• Explain the negative impact of the workplace on your physical well-being. For example, dry air, fluorescent lighting and computers aggravate dry eye and travel and sleep deprivation worsen fatigue, joint pain, digestive symptoms and the ability to concentrate.
• Use educational materials to help your case. Visit the SSF Web site or contact the SSF for helpful materials.
• Read SSA disability guidelines for Sjögren’s syndrome. The fact that the SSA now includes specific guidelines for Sjögren’s will help your claim. Go to www.ssa.gov and enter “Immune System” in the Search feature to bring up the Immune System Disorders Guidelines.
• Don’t let rejection discourage you! Applicants often are rejected for benefits the first time they apply. 
• Consider hiring an attorney who specializes in Social Security Disability to help with documenta-
• tion and to expedite your approval for disability.

For more information on Sjögren’s syndrome, visit the SSF Web site at www.sjogrens.org, call 800-475-6473, email ssf@sjogrens.org or write to the Sjögren’s Syndrome Foundation, 6707 Democracy Blvd, Suite 325, Bethesda, MD 20817.
Clinicians: Please make multiple copies of this Patient Education Sheet and distribute to your patients. If you have an idea for a topic or want to author a Patient Education Sheet, contact us at sq@sjogrens.org.

Matchies

Thanks for you support, everyone. I am having a much better day. One little exercise that helped me to re-orient my crummy attitude was thumbing through a few great cards that I received for my birthday this year.

A guffaw is truly therapeutic, I'm telling ya.

SO - I'm wanting to share the happy here. But let's make it a challenge: I'll put up pics of a few card covers, and then I'll put up the pics of the insides of the cards. Can you match 'em?

And if you can't, I'm seriously worried about y'all, people...

So here's the covers:

Aaaaannnnd here's the insides:

You get BONUS points if you can guess which card is a blatant reference to Terese and I getting mooned at the community center. You can read the whole story here.

Gee, I wonder who sent the moon-ing card? Hm?

Check In With Me Tomorrow

I fill up my pill boxes every two weeks. How about y'all?

I adamantly resisted using one - not to mention TWO - of these things. They remind me of my public health nursing days when I'd spend hours visiting clients in their homes and filling their weekly pill dispensers. The first time that I clicked open my very own set, I felt.....weird. Like I should smell of lavender, be wearing polyester pants with elastic waistbands, and have lace doilies on all my furniture. But now it's a routine task to which I don't give any thought. Until yesterday, when I realized that it was time to fill them up again.

I had no clue why when I looked at those two empty plastic containers I suddenly burst into tears. I have been filling the stupid things for what seemed like forever. Ah, but actually in all honesty, I have a pretty good idea....

It didn't help the situation that I was having a crashy day and had already progressed through the early phase of giddiness and was well into the woe-is-me-my-life-sucks phase. And then my mood goes downhill from there since I inevitably become even more crabby because I realize that I am far too well versed in how I behave when my energy bottoms out. After which I go become comatose for several hours and thankfully wake up feeling somewhat more optimistic.

I knew that even if I had to spend the rest of the day horizontal, I still needed to muster up enough energy before hitting the comatose phase to fill those stupid boxes. So while I was uncapping and counting and clicking, two things came to mind; First - that there were a very large number of medication sitting there in those little compartments. And secondly - I realized how drastically my concept of a two week chunk of time had changed. As I looked at those fourteen boxes to fill with pills it seemed not so long ago that my pill box was nonexistent. Instead, I had fourteen days twice a month that were filled to the brim with all sorts of great stuff; which definitely did not include taking time to count out a zillion capsules, pour handfuls of white pink yellow and brown pills, or gauge the content of two inhaler canisters.

I know that I should not indulge myself in those sessions in which I close my eyes and allow myself to sit back and reminisce about my pre-autoimmune days. To remember what those fourteen days on a monthly calendar looked and felt like: every day packed with work and family and play and hobbies and church commitments. To remember what it felt like to get up in the morning fully expecting that I would indeed complete all those things listed on my white printer paper calendar sheet taped prominently on my refrigerator door. To remember what it felt like going to bed in the evening knowing that I had a full day behind me and was thinking about what was in store for me on the next. To go to sleep feeling bone tired but knowing that I would awake the next day with my energy renewed. I'd wake up, brew myself a pot of coffee and dive into my day.

Where did those days go? I miss them so much. Geez. I shouldn't even be writing this since it makes me morose all over again.

If I were writing a self-help book, this would be the part where I'd start a new chapter - the one that tells readers to take heart. That life has changed, yes. But that change is just that. Change. Not better, not worse, just....different. And that a whole new world awaits them if they just accept the realities of their limitations and look deeper into this new life that they have acquired.

Gaaah. What a bunch of hooey.

Oops. Sorry.

I really don't mean to be so negative. But my goal for Reasonably Well is that in telling of my experiences with Sjogren's syndrome that I am completely honest. And truthfully, I have good days and bad ones. Mostly my days are good, but there are also stupid, dumb, sad, rotten, crummy ones. The fact that they exist is bad enough, but it's even worse when I just can't tell when those days will plunk themselves onto my now very empty white printer paper refrigerator calendar. I can't plan for them. I have very little warning of their arrival.

It would be so much easier if while filling up my pill boxes, I could just uncap a white bottle with a prescription label on it that says "stupid dumb crash and burn days", and while holding my nose in disgust, drop one into my two week planner. Just one. And then I'd know when it would be, plan to stay in bed for that day with my covers pulled up around me and my schnauzers, and the next day, get up and on with my life.

Well, now. Hmm. I wonder what would happen if I DID just schedule one day twice a month to spend in bed with the schnauzers? Would that stave off having those stupid dumb crash and burn days from sneaking in on their own?

It's certainly food for thought. In the meantime, I'm going to go become comatose for the rest of the day. And when I wake up tomorrow, I promise that I'll be less grumpy.......really, I will. Yeah...I know that this black gloomy cloud hanging over my psyche will be gone tomorrow.

Maybe my self-help book chapter has some wisdom in it after all.

An Unusual Project

I was asked to go take a few pictures of a small local cemetery yesterday. I agreed, but was thinking really? a cemetery? to myself. But it was a delightful warm sunny afternoon, and I was ready to escape the house for an hour or two. I'm glad that I went. It was fun.

I waited until the sun was a bit less intense, sprayed sunscreen everywhere I could think of, plopped my hat on my head, loaded the schnauzers and my camera into Goldie and off we went.

I found this little angel there. Isn't she beautiful?

She Needs A Fan Club

Girl. You NEED this mower. You can buy one here. 

So everyone around here knows how amazing Terese is.

Yeah. She's a musical genius, and she's a great mom and wife and teacher and blah blah blah blah blah....whatever.

Is it wrong that the reason I admire her most is because of this recent incident? Which one? It's a goodie:

Last week she and Greg were out mowing lawn for one of our church properties. They were both cruising around on their boy-howdy powerful riding John Deere mowers.

Terese told me, "I tried so HARD to get Greg to do a synchronized lawn mowing routine with me but he just didn't get it. So I mowed past him a zillion times while artfully waving my arms and pointing and gesturing. He just stared at me like I was nuts."

Can't you just see Terese ripping around on her souped up mower in a riveting and very public demonstration of John Deere performance art?

This, people, is either creative genius - or pure insanity. Doesn't matter which one, however. Bravo, bravo! *clapping wildly*

I have never respected her more.

And I Thought The Awareness Campaign Was Going So Well.....Silly Me

I know. These are Angry Birds. I look just like the red one today. 

Listen. Hear that?

*thud thud thud thud*

Yes, that.

*thud thud thud thud*

That would be me banging my head against the top of my little white desk in frustration after reading this article by Arthritis Today.

Sand in your eyes and cotton in your mouth? There’s a name for what you might be experiencing. Sjögren’s syndrome is an autoimmune disease that most commonly affects the lacrimal and salivary glands, which create moisture for the eyes and mouth, respectively. Sjögren’s syndrome causes a reduction in the production of saliva and tears, leading to uncomfortable dryness in the mouth and eyes.

The article goes on for another paltry four whole paragraphs, in which it does not elaborate further about the effects of Sjs. It fails to mention any aspect of the body-wide effects of the disease. Nope. Just dry eyes and mouth. Nothing more to see here, folks. Just keep movin' along....

Aaarrrrggghhh.

This coming from Arthritis Today. A periodical dedicated to rheumatic disorders. For shame - if anyone should know better than to trivialize an autoimmune rheumatic disease IT SHOULD BE THEM. Here's an idea, people: Golly. Since this is a magazine dedicated to ARTHRITIS, perhaps we should at least mention Sjs related joint issues, hm? Of course then the gastrointestinal, skin, urinary tract, vaginal, and fatigue issues just really don't exist, either. Because Sjs is just dry eye and dry mouth.

Um hm. Sure.

After my indignation and crankiness retreats a notch or two, I may just send Arthritis Today a little note. And then remove them from my twitter list. Good grief in a bucket.

Dad's Day

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!

I'm still obsessing with cakes today. And as an aside - the orange cake MAGICALLY turned RED in the refrigerator overnight.

*blink*

Wow. Thank you, mystery cake decorator fairy, wherever you are.....Seriously. I have absolutely no idea how this happened.

The cake was both RED and YUMMY. Whew, thank goodness.

Here's a special Father's Day entertainment suggestion: Head over to Cake Wrecks and choose your favorite wrecked Father's Day cake.

There's too many to choose. I can't. But this one may be a contender. What the heck is it??

Wait...wait....I think this one is even worse.

Head over to Cake Wrecks and prepare to laugh yourself silly.

It's a Party a Minute Around Here

Well, now. Get out the party hats and bring on the cake. What a busy weekend - another graduation party, (congratulations Matthew!) my birthday today, and Father's day on Sunday.

I'm making the cake. I know, I know - several of you have pleaded with me to quit putting pictures of food that is the devil incarnate as far as healthy eating is concerned, but sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

How sorry? Keep reading. I know I'M sorry.

So I started by baking a from-scratch sour cream white cake. Then I brushed the top with this:

Oh. My. Gosh. Even the bottle cap is gorgeous.

I've never had Chambord - a unbelievably delightful black raspberry liqueur - before. My liver would only let me have a teensy taste, but boy howdy. Mmmmm.

So I brushed the cake with Chambord, then spread a layer of raspberry preserves over the liqueur. THEN whipped up a batch of my favorite buttercream frosting EVER. It's called vanilla swiss meringue buttercream, and you can read the recipe I used here. There's all sorts of versions of it all over the place. First you warm egg whites and sugar and a pinch of salt over a bain marie. Mom would call it a double boiler, but I'm just so stinkin' proud of myself that I can use that term that I simply HAD TO.

Then, you beat until the meringue is stiff and glossy.

Hang onto your hats here, folks. Next you beat in ONE POUND OF UNSALTED GRADE AA BUTTER.

This is why we don't do so well at our Weight Watchers meeting weigh-ins, Julia.

This frosting is ultra smooth and not terribly sweet and just the best frosting I have ever tasted. The first time I tasted it, I wanted to sit down right there on the floor and cry.

Seriously.

So I spread it over the cake and raspberry layer, then popped it into the refrigerator to chill. Yeah - the edges are really rough but the beauty of this frosting is that when it's chilled, you can smooth it out easily.

So good so far, I thought.

Silly me.

Since the main event for this cake is actually Matthew's high school graduation, and since he requested the cake be decorated in his school's colors - red and black, I tried to do some interesting decorating. And, um.....I guess you could call the results, um...... interesting.

So Mr. Duff - I know that you're supposedly the latest and greatest in cake chefs, but listen up, Mister. This can? That I paid waaaay too much for and is clearly labeled as RED CAKE GRAFFITI? Do you notice that it's actually either pink when lightly sprayed or ORANGE when it's sprayed heavily, hm? Did we notice that the color ON the can is distinctly not the color IN the can??

This was distinctly a problem since Matt's school's arch rival's colors are ORANGE. I sprinkled red crystalized sugar over the top but.....well...yikes.

We have an orange cake here, people. I know that it doesn't matter that there's an unbelievably delicious cake underneath all this orange goo since everyone at the party is going to take one look at the thing and ask why it's not RED.

I should have left it white. It's all Duff's fault.

There's lots of other junk snazzy other things that I am going to slap on this atrocity later on today.

See that white foil envelope up in the right corner? It's a sheet of black candy paper. You're supposed to be able to cut out shapes from it and then lay them artfully on the frosting.

Sure. Uh huh.

I'll put some pictures up of the finished project later. Maybe. If I haven't taken the stupid thing and thrown it out of the kitchen window.

Oops, Matt! So sorry, I simply don't know what happened! Would you just LOOK at all that cake splattered all over my lawn......I'll just hop over to Rose's deli and pick up something......well, hello carrot cake....wait. RED velvet. Definitely.

Don't Make This Recipe

I've had this recipe card for almost thirty years. My friend Tina gave me the recipe, and then about fifteen years later, my daughter decided to illustrate it with smiley faces. Awwwww. 

If you're trying to eat healthily by reducing fat and refined sugars in your diet, DO NOT READ THIS POST. 

Don't say I didn't warn you. 

So I offered to bake some cookie bars for my friend Susan's upcoming party. Today was baking day, and I decided to get out one of my favorite really-horribly-bad-for-you recipes: salted nut roll bars. It's basically a very large candy bar in a 9x13 inch pan and mmmmm, mmmmm good. 

You start by mixing a dry yellow cake mix, an egg, and some softened butter together. Pat in a cake pan and bake until lightly browned.

Take the pan out of the oven and cover cake layer with a bag of miniature marshmallows. Return to the oven until the marshmallows are puffed, about five minutes or so. 

Let the cake and marshmallow layer cool. Meanwhile, melt together corn syrup, peanut butter chips, butter, and vanilla in a saucepan. Stir in peanuts and crispy rice cereal. 

Drop by teaspoonfuls over cooled marshmallow layer until evenly covered. Chill. 

Cover pan with foil and run - don't walk - over to your neighbor's house with these cookie bars. Do not attempt to cut into them unless you want to find yourself eating the entire pan. You think I'm kidding? There's a good reason why there is not a picture of a piece of these cookie bars cut and arranged enticingly on a pretty plate in this post. 

Dangerously good. Here's the recipe - but whip up a batch of these at your own risk.

Tina's Salted Nut Roll Bars

• One box dry yellow cake mix
• One egg
• 1/3 cup softened butter

Mix together and pat into a 9x13 inch cake pan. (If you look closely at the picture of Tina's recipe card, she calls for a larger pan, but my family likes them a bit thicker.) Bake at 350 degrees f. for 10 minutes, or until lightly browned. 

• One large bag miniature marshmallows

Sprinkle marshmallows over baked crust. Return to oven and bake until marshmallows are puffed but not browned, about five minutes.

• 12 oz. peanut butter chips
• 2/3 cup white corn syrup
• 1/4 cup butter
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Melt over low heat until blended. 

• 2 cups salted peanuts
• 2 cups crispy rice cereal

Stir cereal and peanuts into peanut butter mixture. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto cooled marshmallow layer until surface is evenly covered. Chill. Cut into bite sized pieces. 

Exercise As Medicine

Image found here. 

The day before yesterday, I hit the gym and pool. I planned on my usual twice-weekly stretching exercises followed by a half hour float and kick in the pool. But after reading the results of this study, I decided to experiment with adding some simple resistance training to my routine.

June 2, 2011 (Denver, Colorado) — Resistance training reduces symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), compared with aerobic exercise or no exercise at all, according to research presented here at the American College of Sports Medicine 58th Annual Meeting.

Patients with GAD tend to be physically inactive, although exercise training has been shown to reduce anxiety symptoms in healthy adults and patients with chronic disease, and to benefit patients with major depressive disorder.

Even though I can be a real worrywart, I'm thinking that I probably wouldn't meet the diagnostic criteria for GAD. But still I was intrigued by the concept of these exercises being therapeutic, since I had read other studies that linked successful reduction of fatigue after progressive resistance training exercises were begun in patients with multiple sclerosis.

The beneficial effect of progressive resistance training on all scores was maintained at follow-up after further 12 weeks. Fatigue, mood and quality of life all improved following progressive resistance training, the beneficial effect being maintained for at least 12 weeks after end of intervention.

I talked to a knowledgeable staff member at the community center about my interest, and he was very helpful and interested in my situation. He gave me an orientation to all of the weight machines and cautioned me to begin very, very slowly. I had been cruising around several physical therapy sites and after reading several articles on resistance training for the chronically ill, thought I understood what the basic concepts of this therapy was: to begin at the patients base level, to start with low amounts of reps and low weight amounts for short periods of time, then gradually increase.

I chose a few machines that would exercise my large muscle groups, and cautiously performed a paltry ten reps at very light weight settings on four machines. As I wiped the machines off with cleaning spray, I thought that cleaning the machines took longer than actually using them. It seemed almost silly. I hadn't even begun to perspire.

So I changed into my suit and hit the pool, then headed home. I wondered if this minor addition to my exercise routine would change anything. As I drove back home, I didn't think that I felt any differently than I usually did after leaving the community center.

When I woke up yesterday, I knew better. Good grief. I spent the day battling overall body aches, a slight fever, and an inability to do anything but remain horizontal.

As I grumpily mulled things over on the couch, I wondered: Did those few minutes lifting extremely small amounts of weight really do this to me? Or was I heading into a low-energy day regardless of my exercise routine? How could I have added this new exercise in a better way? Should I have skipped swimming? Should I just abandon this idea all together?

Grumble, grumble.

Here's what I am thinking: I'll give myself time to recover enough to get myself back to the gym, which might take another day or two. Then I will go back, but I will attempt five reps on just two machines. After which I'll hit the pool for twenty minutes instead of thirty.

What do y'all think? I'll keep you posted.

Sjoggies and Sunscreen and the FDA

From the US Food and Drug Administration press release on June 14th, 2011:

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration announced today that sunscreen products meeting modern standards for effectiveness may be labeled with new information to help consumers find products that, when used with other sun protection measures, reduce the risk of skin cancer and early skin aging, as well as help prevent sunburn. 

The final regulation allows sunscreen products that pass the FDA’s test for protection against both ultraviolet A (UVA) and ultraviolet B (UVB) rays to be labeled as “Broad Spectrum.” Both UVB and UVA radiation contribute to sunburn, skin cancer, and premature skin aging. Sunburn is primarily caused by UVB radiation. 

Under the new labeling, sunscreens labeled as both Broad Spectrum and SPF 15 (or higher), if used regularly, as directed, and in combination with other sun protection measures will help prevent sunburn, reduce the risk of skin cancer, and reduce the risk of early skin aging.

You can read the entire press release here, on the USFDA site. The FDA has also created a YouTube video that explains more about these changes in sunscreen labels.



This information is of particular interest for sjoggies since it's so important for us to minimize our exposure to UVA and UVB rays. You can read more about sunscreen safety here, here, and here.

If you need to refresh your memory as to why those of us with autoimmune diseases need to be extra sun-vigilant, you can read my previous post, entitled Summertime Sjogren's, here.

A Real Photographer

If you haven't had a chance recently, head over to the talented photographer Jody McKee Portrait Project site. Here's how Jody describes her Portrait Project:

I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis in 2008 and started this portrait project of people who have RA and other autoimmune diseases as a way to cope with my illness and spread awareness about invisible illnesses.  My hope for this project is to show the world that there are a lot of younger people out there who are dealing with complicated and often painful chronic illnesses.  Also, I think it is so important for the newly diagnosed to be able to see all of these beautiful, happy faces and know that they are not alone. 

The Portrait Project not only shows the faces of these beautiful, happy people, it also offers a deeper portrait of their personalities and strengths, which can be seen in their interviews. Here's a quote from Jody's most recent interview of Adina, who deals daily with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis:

Living with this has changed my lifestyle and how I do things, but not what I do or who I am.

Find out what Adina and all of the other young project participants have to say. It's an inspiring read.

How Annoying? Let Me Count The Ways.....

Guys. Confession time yet again here in Julia World.

After our weekend visit for Sarah's graduation, I began downloading and editing my photos, and as I counted the number of pics that I took during just three short days.......um. I realized that I need to add one more personal attribute to my Things That Drive Others Crazy About Julia list.

When I pick up my camera, I become as obsessed with taking pictures as my friend Bev's border collie does when he sees his favorite frisbee.

Click click click click snap snap snap click click click click click click click.......

Yes. I shove my camera out the windows of the car, into friends' and family members' faces, and just about anywhere else that I can imagine. It has to drive people crazy.

I can't just sit quietly through any event and just take it all in. Even if I seriously try, my fingers start itching and my knee bouncing. I begin to perspire. I fidget in my chair. And then........it's more than I can control. I have to be focusing and clicking and changing lenses and changing the f stops and white balances and file formats and blah blah blah blah blah.

A bonus annoyance: while I'm messing around with the camera, I also feel the need to discuss what I'm doing with those poor unfortunate souls near me so that I can effectively distract them from the event as well. And, if possible, I try to herd others into more interesting photo-op configurations.

I really am surprised that nobody has slapped me upside the head yet. I'm sure that I'll get what's coming to me one day. (No. You're not allowed, Terese.)

Do I realize how annoying this is? Yes. Yes, I think so. Does this mean that I see myself modifying my behavior to decrease the likelihood of making my family and friends cranky?

Not likely.

I want to be perfectly clear here - the fact that some of these photographs turn out to be interesting has absolutely nothing to do with my talent. Honestly. I just point this amazing camera somewhere and more times than not, when I click the shutter, I get some good pictures. It's hard to be a really bad photographer when armed with my Canon and facing the amazing geography and gorgeous people that surround me. Oh, wait....should that be gorgeous geography and amazing people....?

Here's my latest round from our trip back over the Cascade mountains heading back to Portland. Not all these pictures were taken by me, but they all were taken with my Canon.

John surveying the territory.

....which is breathtaking.

Trixie's doggie door.

Cute little boy's door. Karen snapped these doggy door pics.

Apple orchards nestled into the Cascade foothills.

Mountains, mountains, and more mountains. This one is Rainier. 

I forgot my HAT. Lucky for me I had an umbrella. Miss Sarah had the camera. 

Even rain clouds are beautiful in the Cascade mountains. 

My new buddy Aspen. His owner wouldn't let me take him home with me. Go fig. She did, however, take this great picture.

Bye bye, little guy.

Time to zip good ol' Canon into her carrying case and charge up her batteries. She deserves a nice rest......until next time.