Daughter #1 takes over!

I am sooooooo tired today, but for a very good reason. 
John, Daughter number one and I have been in relentless pursuit of the ultimate, perfect, affordable, and delightful apartment. 
However, we all know the magic Julia equation, right? 
Tired = STUPID. Which means that I'm so done writing. 
I have coerced Daughter number one to finish this post, with the agreement that whatever she decides to write will appear unedited on Reasonably Well. So.......heeeeeeeeere's Daughter:
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~ Reasonably Well - Daughter Numero Uno Edition ~

Hello vast internet viewers! There I was, laying on my belly across the hotel bed, browsing the eclectic collection of channels on TV, debating whether or not to brave the pre-adult-swim hot tub crowd, and mummsy drops her laptop in my lap and demands a post! Good grief this woman owes me big... well... seeing that she birthed me and all I suppose we can call it a draw...

Even though I threatened mom with a post about her musical bowel movements, I think I'll stay true to the main focus of this blog and give my thoughts on living with someone you love who has Sjogren's.

I really appreciate mum and dad coming down and helping me out. I especially appreciate mom's efforts, knowing how much it energy it zaps from her.

I just want to say that my mother is one of the strongest women I know. Seeing her struggle with her lack of energy absolutely breaks my heart, but seeing her come to terms with and regain control of her life to live Reasonably Well is inspiring. Mom has addressed her Sjogren's with the stubborn "oh yeah? just watch me do this!"-attitude of the midwest farmer's daughter she is :)

And I just wanted to thank the readers of this blog for the love and support you have given her. This blog has easily been more therapeutic to mom than many of her various pills. (And holy smokes, her super-power of taking down that pile in the morning with one sip of liquid is incredible! I've been trying to get her to audition for America's Got Talent with that act! I'll be her show-girl!)

But at the end of the day, even when we have great days together where she is full of energy... one dark thought sometimes enters my mind...

Will I get Sjogren's someday?

There's no way to know, there are too many factors, I guess at the end of the day all I can do be ready to address whatever life throws at me, and to live Reasonably Well :)

And with that... and since I got the green light to post whatever I wanted... I present to you, in my humble opinion, the cutest animals on the planet, and my new San Fran neighbors:

SEALIONS!!!!!!

These ork-orks found here

This ork-ork found here

These ork orks found on Pier 39

Image found here

Keep Your Apples Inside

Wow.

San Francisco is a much different..........everything, compared to Portland. Not better, not worse. Just different.

We've been zipping all over this area looking for apartments for daughter number one. She's fortunate that she has a budget that allows her to look almost anywhere. But then that means we have to look everywhere!

Makes me sentimental for the days that John and I lived in apartment in Minneapolis. We moved there as newlyweds waaayyyy back in 1980 and rented in a apartment complex located in a lush, parklike setting.

Very parklike. Complete with critters.

So I had acquired a bushel of apples from somewhere, and had it packaged in a great cardboard box which was lined with styrofoam to keep the apples insulated and cool. It was early fall, so I put the box of apples out on our third story balcony. Nothing could happen to them there, I figured.

The very next evening, I popped open the box to grab an apple and......good grief in a bucket. Every single apple was GONE.

When I picked up the large cardboard box in astonishment, I noticed a perfectly apple-shaped hole in one side.

What the heck?

John and I sat on our patio chairs and mulled things over. As we talked, I noticed a very fat raccoon climbing up the wood pillars to a balcony one building over. We shouted with laughter and realized we were probably watching the culprit.

Raccoons wear masks because they ARE BANDITS.

I think that a raccoon spent one very busy day and night hauling his chubby little butt up and down our wooden balcony supports (up three stories, mind) carrying one apple at a time and squirreling them away somewhere.

John thought that perhaps the raccoons had organized a raccoon water-brigade style maneuver - one guy was stationed on the balcony and then handed the apples down the line to other thieves positioned all the way down the pillar.

I would have liked to seen that.

I wonder what kind of critters Daughter will have hanging around her apartment by the ocean?

Raccoon image found on the National Geographic website.

Take Two: Lucky Shoes

It's been a busy few days, and more to come. Daughter one and I are prowling around San Francisco looking at apartments - and anything else that we find interesting - so I just don't have any extra brain cells to spare to write new posts. Instead, I've resurrected some of my oldies but goodies. Here's one of my favorites:

So there I was, sprawled out, head down, feet up, mouth open, with all kinds of dentistry equipment sticking out of my mouth. I have had enough work done on my teeth in the last five years that I have a running gag with the dental staff. They said that I've qualified for a frequent flier program of sorts.

Gee thanks. Wish that actually translated into a free crown or two.

Lack of spit does disgusting things to one's teeth.

Nitrous oxide, however, makes all things tolerable in the dentist's chair. Not only tolerable, but even mildly amusing. I was trying to hum "Yellow Submarine" around at least a pound of gauze and another two pounds of hardware.  I love nitrous.

The dentist was called away mid-procedure, so I was left alone for a few minutes blissfully babbling and inhaling deeply.

In my warm fuzzy little drug induced cloud, two large red objects swam in and out of view, capturing my attention. Well, good golly. They were shoes. MY shoes. I had never noticed before how attractive they were, even if they were a dainty size eleven. (I am not kidding - size eleven. I have some serious real estate attached to the end of my legs). Dang, I thought. I have great taste in shoes.

When Dr. E. returned, I was engrossed in examining every detail of those shoes. Red canvas. White stitching. Elastic curly laces. Who knew they were so interesting??

As Dr. E. returned to my chair, I shoved one foot near his face and declared, "Would you just LOOK at these shoes? These are great shoes. Wonderful shoes. They're my very luckiest shoes!"

Well, that's what I said. Actually, what came out of my mouth around all the equipment probably sounded like "wffwwuuuulOOOOOOkshOOOz!!!"

Dr. E. deftly reached past the floating size elevens and turned down the nitrous. Rats.

He still asks me where my lucky shoes are each time I visit.

Klutziness May Equal Infection

I think that I mentioned last week that I treated my tootsies to a pedicure. So while I was walking around my newly-polished toes around, I nicked the corner of my big toe. I looked at the small scratch and thought, meh. No big deal. I wiped the few little drops of blood away and slipped my foot back into my sandals.

Ah...but I should have taken better care of that little nick. A couple days ago, I noticed that my toe was reddened and decidedly tender. On closer exam, I could see that the small scratch was infected.

Ew.

I immediately soaked it in warm salt water and then applied antibiotic ointment and wrapped a sterile bandaid around it. I need to keep a close eye on those seemingly little scrapes and scratches - ESPECIALLY since I am taking immunosuppressants and prednisone, both of which make me more susceptible to infections.

If it doesn't resolve within a few days, I need to get my tootsies into my doctor's office.

And ditch the sandals for steel-toed shoes, perhaps.....

I'm A Crackpot

My niece sent me this very sweet story. I have no idea to whom I should give credit for it's creation, but here it is anyway.

I had written a wah wah wah I feel so useless post on Facebook, and this showed up into my inbox. Thanks, Nikki!

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full..

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water..

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. 

'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.'

The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?' 

'That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.' 

For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.

Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.

You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

On The Road Again....

I may be posting sporadically for the next week or so. I'm in the midst of helping daughter number two move into a new apartment in Seattle, and helping daughter number one move to San Francisco.

Well, I should qualify the "help" part - I'm doing a lot of driving and supervising. Which still tires me out considerably but not nearly as much as hefting sofas and mattresses around would.

It's been interesting so far. Daughter one and I cracked up today - we were waiting at a red light behind a blue haired elderly lady whose head scarcely was taller than her steering wheel. We could see her rummaging around in her gargantuan purse sitting next to her - while sitting up high in my SUV I see the darndest things. So the light turned green and Gramma still had her nose buried in her purse. We waited....and waited....and waited.....then finally I gave a teensy little toot on the horn to get her attention. She whirled around to glare at us and FLIPPED ME THE BIRD!

Oh. My. Gosh.

Sweet little old ladies aren't supposed to even know what that gesture means, are they??

She ripped through the intersection just as the light changed from yellow to red leaving daughter and I howling with laughter and waiting for the light to change. Again.

I think I've never been given the finger by anyone over seventy five. It's a new bird age record, I think.

Yesterday was dubbed World Sjogren's Day, in honor of Dr. Sjogren's birthday. You may recall that Dr. Henrik Sjogren was the first to identify Sjs back in 1933.

While I wholeheartedly support increasing awareness of Sjogren's syndrome, I have just a teensy bit of trouble putting the words CELEBRATE and SJOGREN'S SYNDROME together in the same sentence. Or paragraph.

Call me cynical. But I'm just not ready even after all these years to celebrate any aspect of Sjogren's syndrome. Sorry, Dr. Henrik. Not so excited to break out the party balloons, although a cake wouldn't be bad, come to think of it....and there will be no presents. Definitely NO presents.....unless they come in the form of massive amounts of research dollars.

But I can support the awareness and research fundraising! Head over to the Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation to learn more.

Happy Birthday Dr. Henrik Sjögren!

July 23rd is World Sjögren's Day! Click Here to make a donation! World Sjögren's Day commemorates Dr. Henrik Sjögren's birthday while bringing organizations across the world together to raise awareness about this debilitating disease. Join us in celebrating!  Help us reach our goal of raising $10,000 for Sjögren's Research!    Your donation will help support research into new treatments and a cure for Sjögren's!

ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz........

Fabulous day yesterday.

Sleeping it off today. We'll talk tomorrow.

At Least Mine Weren't As Gross As Jim's

Image found here. 

Yesterday, I decided to pamper myself and get a manicure and pedicure. I never make appointments for these things, but just stop in at a nail salon that happens to be close to wherever my errands take me for the day.

So I dropped into a salon that I hadn't visited before. I chose my nail polish color and then plopped down into the chair that was offered to me. I settled back into the comfy leather massage chair and goofed around with the control until my back was being satisfyingly kneaded and warmed, and stuck my feet into the bubbly blue water in the attached basin.

Aaahhhhh.

I grabbed a People magazine - I never read those things except when I'm at a salon, honest - and was completely absorbed in celebrity gossip when my manicurist approached, and greeted me with a perfunctory "hello". She tapped my shins, indicating that she wanted me to remove my tootsies from the water and place them on the work station, which I did.

I looked over the top of my magazine to smile and say Hi, but noticed that she was looking at my feet intently.

Hm, she said.

She abruptly got up and disappeared into the back room. Then returned wearing rubber gloves. Yes. RUBBER GLOVES.

C'mon, now. Really? My feet are that bad? I know it's been too long since I had a pedicure, but....really??

I slouched behind my People magazine. And sneakily stole glances at the patrons on either side of me. They, like me, were reading trashy magazines while being mechanically pounded by their massage chairs. And.......whew. Their manicurists were wearing gloves, too.

So.....either the salon was full of people with really, really gross feet, or gloves were standard operating procedure.

Although I can't say for certain - I'm betting it was the latter.

Afterwards, I had my hair done.

I'm debating going with the bowl cut next time. You think?

You can see more Dumb and Dumber pictures here. Although why you would want to is beyond me...

SSF Patient Education Sheet: How to Massage Salivary Glands

I know, I know. My last several posts have been pretty doofus. I promise that today's entry actually has some useful information.

Sjoggies know that our salivary glands are seriously impacted by the effects of Sjogren's syndrome. Occasionally one of the problems encountered with our salivary glands is an obstruction in a saliva duct causing pain or swelling. If you are having these symptoms, see your doctor immediately. Your doctor may suggest that you perform salivary gland massage to help.

The June 2011 edition of The Moisture Seekers (published by the Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation and mailed to all SSF members AND is yet another reason why you should become a member) included an excellent patient fact sheet entitled How to Massage Salivary Glands.

You can see the PDF version of this information online, here.

Written by Ava J. Wu, DDS

Dr. Wu is a Clinical Professor and Co-Director of the Salivary Gland Dysfunction Clinic, School of Dentistry, University of California, San Francisco.

If a sharp and stabbing pain occurs in one of your salivary glands right before or while eating or drinking, the cause might be an obstruction (a stone or mucous plug). In rare cases, associated gland swelling can accompany the discomfort. Here are some tips for massaging or "milking" the gland that might help:

Additional Tips:

• Stay well hydrated to encourage the flow of saliva through the gland.
• Temporarily avoid foods and beverages that cause the pain and possible swelling.
• Apply warm compresses to the area to increase comfort.
• Ibuprofen may be taken temporarily to decrease pain and inflammation.
• Talk to your doctor about the use of a mucolytic agent for 5 - 10 days to thin the saliva and allow it to easily pass through the salivary ducts. 

In all cases of salivary gland swelling and associated pain a medical professional should be consulted as soon as possible to determine the cause.

Additional Patient Fact Sheets like this one are available online at www.sjogrens.org/brochures.

I Can Take A Hint, Facebook. But I Won't Like It.

You know when you go to Facebook and after you read everyone's stuff - like who's in a relationship NOW, and who's not in a relationship NOW, and you see your friend's vacation and kid pictures and their Bejeweled scores? And then after you have nothing else to look at you head over to your favorite game and kind of notice that there's ads floating over on the side? Some of them are pretty bizarre.

About a week ago, I noticed an ad for WART and SKIN TAG and MOLE removal. I thought something like, Well, I know that whoever does Facebook ads has some kind of math logarithms to determine what ads to run based on what the viewer has clicked before.....but I haven't been doing any searching or clicking for wart removals. What a weird ad to run.

After a whole week, that stupid ad has been right there. Taunting me. Every single day. Aren't they supposed to cycle through or rotate or something?

NO SURGERY REQUIRED!! CLICK NOW!!

The thing is, about two weeks ago I DID have a skin tag and two moles removed in the privacy of my doctor's office. Does Facebook know this?? And if so, how??? Were the calorie police surreptitiously tailing me and posted it on Facebook in retribution for me slugging down a Venti Starbucks Full-Calorie Frappucino? Hmm. Frappuccinos have their own Facebook page. Coincidence? I think not.

It's making me crazy. I just checked again while writing this post and IT'S STILL THERE. Right above the ad that promises removal of belly flab with one secret trick.

Warts. Moles. Belly flab.

I think Facebook has been looking at my pictures and is trying to tell me something.

Cloudy Mornings

It really amazes me when I stop to think about how my concept of a perfect weather-type day has changed. Before Sjs: crystal clear blue skies, warm temperatures...ahhhh. Now? Overcast and cool.

Bleah.

But there it is, and so when I woke up this morning I actually was encouraged by the clouds overhead and the '60 something degree weather. I took my morning cuppa downstairs to our daylight basement door to let the howling schnauzers outside. My hammock chair is hung conveniently out that door, so I sipped and swung for a few minutes while I was still waking up.

I had a perfect view of my tomato plants from my chair. And also a perfect view of the weeds surrounding them. Gah.

Good thing that I've learned to keep my hat and gloves close by, or I would have been out there hoeing bare-headed. Like my garden shoes?

They're interesting, aren't they? I wonder how they got that way, LULU?

Interesting...

Check out this sound sculpture made by Studio Zimoun:


Zimoun : 105 prepared dc-motors, cotton balls, cardboard boxes 53x53x80cm, 2011 from STUDIO ZIMOUN on Vimeo.


What noisy little cotton balls.

SSF Patient Education Sheet: The Sun and Sjogren's Syndrome

The Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation has released yet another excellent patient education sheet: 

Quick - Put It Back Where It Belongs!

This will never be worn again. It is now relegated to the closet corner of shame. 

I have been debating whether I should share my latest swimming/community center story with y'all, but this one is a real goodie. Everyone knows that I have seriously doofus character defects anyway, so here goes.

A few days ago, I headed out for the community center feeling smug. I had lost a few pounds, enough to fit into an old swimming suit that I've kept stuffed back into the far corner of one of my dresser drawers. So I was all, Oh, yeah. I'm fabulous. Jazz hands and big smile!

Of course you realize that this is still a plus sized suit. Good grief, Julia. Delusions are powerful things.

I hit the locker room, slipped the suit on, and headed over to the pool, waving at a few familiar faces.

So I got into the water and started my float and paddle routine in the lap pool. About midway through my first lap, the little niggling tug on my swimsuit top that had begun ever since I put the suit on became more bothersome, so I stood up and checked it out.

Mercy.

This suit top has a shelf bra - you know, the inner lining thing that has a strip of elastic stitched at the bottom. Both boobs are supposed to fit neatly above the elastic. For the lift and support thing.

Note to self: This is not an effective bra. 

Right.

I experimentally felt around on the suit top, but froze when I discovered that something was seriously awry: one boob was situated nicely above the elastic, but the other had made the great escape and had slipped below the elastic. Making me look as though I only had one boob, and on the other side, a very strange bulge on my upper abdomen.

And I had paraded myself through the locker room, past the hot tub packed with at least ten people, past the silver sneakers aqua exercise class, and over to the storage area to pick up a floaty noodle thingy before finally getting into the pool.

While waving at people. Smiling like a real dope. Carrying my inconspicuous bright pink and lime green flamingo towel.

With one boob seriously maladjusted.

Nothing to see here, folks. Don't mind me...

PANIC!!!

Blushing from head to toe with embarrassment, I paddled over to the corner of the pool, ducked down as low as I could under the water and made a major wardrobe adjustment.

It could have been worse, I guess. It could have made the great escape over the top of the swimsuit.

I'm sure the senior ladies have now plunked me squarely in the category with the gentleman that tried to swim in his whitey-tighties.

All Sorts of Interesting Stuff

I've been meaning to put a post up with some interesting links that have been sent along to me.

This from the WEGO health site:

 WEGOHealth.tv has a new Joint Pain Channel with videos of Health Activists sharing advice, information and wisdom gathered from living with joint pain.

You won’t want to miss the inspiring videos about staying active with joint pain, making the decision to have a joint replaced, and living life to the fullest with joint pain – I’m sure you’ll recognize some of the Health Activist Video Stars!

To start watching the new Joint Pain Channel on WEGOHealth.tv, visit: http://tv.wegohealth.com/channels/joint-pain

If you would like to make a video of your own - the topic does not have to be joint pain, it can be any health related topic that you want such as Sjogren's syndrome - or participate in one, just drop me an email at juliaschulia@gmail.com, and we'll talk about it.

Dianne sent me the link to this article/slideshow from Health.Com. The title is 12 Nice Things You Can Do for Someone in Pain. You can watch it here. There's some really good suggestions there. Can you think of any that you would have recommended that weren't included?

When Arthritis Today posted it's most recent article about Sjogren's syndrome entitled Sjogren's Syndrome: Treating Your Symptoms, it redeemed itself, in my opinion. A previous article was sorely lacking in accurate and complete information, BUT this one is much more comprehensive and accurate. You can read it here.

Piano Addendum

(Singing) Me aaaand my piaaaaaaannnooooooo...(to the tune of Me And My Shadow) 

I have to make an addition/correction to my piano saga story.

Today, John reminded me that the story actually continues from where I left off......

So I left the story when the piano was residing in the middle story of a tri-story house, having been rolled around the house on boards and brought back inside via the back door. It waited there, quietly......biding it's time....until yet another two years passed and Mom decided that she wanted the piano moved DOWN ANOTHER FLIGHT OF STAIRS to the real basement. This time, there was no avoiding the whole FLIGHT OF STAIRS. Oh, and did I mention that this behemoth didn't fit on any standard piano dollies?

So that means John moved the behemoth, hm......one, two, three, four, five......SIX times. Three of which were after the piano wasn't even ours anymore.

John says that the only way that piano is getting re-located again will be in pieces from the benefit of the use of a cutting torch and an axe.

Such a violent man.

It Will Always Weigh Heavily On John...

Image found here. 

Last weekend, my son and his fiance were visiting us, and one evening over dinner our conversation was focused on their upcoming wedding and all the stuff that needed to be done before then. It was great. I sat back, coffee cup in hand and grinned. Now THIS is real entertainment, I thought.

Son: .......and so we should be looking around for a place for us to live after we get married. Man, it's going to be interesting putting all of our stuff together.

Fiance: Exaaaaactly.

Son: Um. What?

Fiance:  Well, we have to make sure to have enough wall space for my books and bookshelves. So a lot of your junk is just going to have to go.

Son: *Silence. Silence. Furrowed brow.* Sigh. Honey. I thought we discussed this.

Fiance: We did! We decided that we need a lot of room for my books!

So, Fiance - a delightful young woman and a girl who has remarkably similar tastes in literature as I - majored in English in college and works with books, books, and more books. And in her spare time she reviews books. The girl has BOOKS everywhere.

I approve heartily. I have books everywhere too.

My son smacked his hand over his forehead and dragged it down over his eyes. I've seen his father do this same face-palm maneuver when he's vexed.

Son: Mom. Do you KNOW how many books this woman has? And do you know how many times I have had to box up and lug all those books around every time she's changed apartments?!?

Fiance smiled devilishly. AND Half-Price Books is having a clearance sale next week, she said.

We fist-bumped over the cheese fondue.

Well, now, son, I said. It appears that you have a situation here that reminds me of THE PIANO INCIDENT.

Son gasped. NO!

Ah, yes. I believe so.

Fiance blinked her stunningly beautiful blue eyes and innocently asked, So, what's the piano incident?

John took a swig from his frosty beer mug before settling back in his chair. He loves telling this story:

So about a year after we were married, your mom decided that she wanted to buy a piano. She found an enormous, huge, old upright piano in the classifieds...

I interrupted. Actually, it was a cabinet grand because it had a baby grand soundboard, so it was taller than usual. And it was made of cherry wood and the tone was just amazing! It was carved so beautifully and I loved that thing!

John gave me the who's telling this story here, you or I? look and continued. We hired somebody to deliver it out to the house and I swear it was so heavy that I heard a floor joist crack when they settled it into place. We moved a couple times after that and didn't hire someone to move us, so we had to lug that two-ton piano in and out of houses.....it was the worst thing that I have had to move, EVER.

I opened my mouth to elaborate on the piano's positive attributes but took one look at John and didn't say a word.

By the time we had finally bought a house and had to move one more time, I told Julia: Just sell the thing. I beg of you. I. Will. Not. Move. That. Beast. Again. Here's what we'll do - I promise that you can buy yourself a real baby grand for our new house if I just don't have to move this old monster. Sell it. For heaven's sake, just get rid of this awful thing!

Woo! I said. And I put an ad in the newspaper immediately.

John continued: So this piano-for-sale ad ran for all of about two days before my sister saw it in the paper. My sister called my mother and told her we were selling Julia's piano, and my mother called me to tell me that she would buy it from us. She told us to just bring it on over to her house. And move it into her house.

*Massive, sorrowful sigh*. I couldn't tell Mom that I wouldn't sell her the piano. And I couldn't tell her that I wouldn't move the piano, either. So my brothers and I risked yet another hernia by taking it to her house.

I thought the piano incident was finally over until Mom called two years later. She told me that she wanted to move the piano down from the main floor of her house to her basement. Her BASEMENT. We had to take the piano out of the house, and roll it on boards around to the backside of the house and then move it into the basement door. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do IN MY WHOLE LIFE.

He shuddered. I don't know or care what she decides to do with that thing ever again. I just don't want to be involved...

Fiance laughed until she cried. Oh, yeeeaaaahhh, she said. I'll have to get some really big heavy old books about PIANOS.

My son actually whimpered into his beer.

I love that girl.

Review: What Happened To Goodbye

Another of my book reviews is up over at Blogher Book Club. This book was one of my favorites so far: What Happened To Goodbye by Sarah Dessen.

It's been many years since I last picked up a young adult novel, but I'm glad that I had the chance to read this one. In What Happened to Goodbye, author Sarah Dessen has reminded me why I find this genre of literature so interesting.

Mclean and her family had been riding a rough roller-coaster of emotions of the past few years. Her parents divorced after a publicized scandal and affair, and three years later, Mclean is still grieving the loss of what she considered a happy childhood.

Read the rest of the review and more like it here, on the BlogHer Book Club site.

How Good is Good Enough?

Nope, guys.

I wasn't at Krispy Kreme, and I avoided Rose's Deli, and luckily the calorie police weren't looking for me. Yet. And thank goodness I didn't buy Mariners tickets because, One: They weren't playing in Seattle this weekend, and Two: Their offense was STINKO. I'm still a fan, but c'mon, team - you're killing me here.

No, I just took a few days to be especially mindless. We had delightful guests for the weekend and I was so busy laughing and visiting that my brain took a holiday.

So now that I'm back to being only semi-mindless, here's what I've been mulling over: I have an upcoming appointment next week with my rheumatologist, and I want to ask him a question. Which is, am I being unrealistic in my expectations for optimal results from my newest medication cocktail to treat my psoriatic arthritis: prednisone, cyclosporine, and methotrexate?

What's my expectation? See, that's the million-dollar question. Ideally, and even I know that I'm not living in an ideal world, I would want my hands and feet and neck to be pain free, no swelling in those joints, and experience a boost in my energy levels. THAT'S how I would describe optimal results from my new meeds.

But, of course, at some level of consciousness, I know that's just not going to happen. So what would be a reasonable expectation, I wonder?

PA, although an autoimmune disease, is not caused by or related to Sjogren's syndrome. And as we all know all too well, Sjs brings joint pain and fatigue and blah blah blah blah blah to the table. How can my doctor and I dis-entangle the symptoms of the two to decide if a set of medications are effectively treating one or the other? Or preferably, both?

I suspect that even with optimal treatment, I'm going to have to become accustomed to dealing with chronic pain. Not surprisingly, I don't want to do this. Before PA, although I definitely experienced discomfort from aching joints, dry eyes, and dry mouth, I didn't have to deal with significant, ongoing pain.

How much pain is tolerable? How much indicates that my joints are being irreparably damaged? How do we balance the equation which compares potential risk from the side effects of big-gun medications to reduced pain and permanent joint damage?

Overall, my current pain level is tolerable, not terrible. Is that good enough?

I honestly don't know.

Image of handheld gold mining scale found on Amazon. Dang, you can buy anything over there.

La De Da......

........Have you seen Julia?

She's goofing off for the next few days. If you spot her near a Krispy Kreme or Rose's Deli, report in. Immediately.

How?

To report a Julia sighting, email: juliaschulia@gmail.com

However, be careful. Approach with caution, and always have an evasive action plan ready.

Seems Logical To Me...

Another sjoggie blog, Over The River and Through the Woods, put up a really interesting post last Thursday entitled "10 Foods That Drive Weight Gain and Loss Identified by Harvard - The Atlantic". This graph was included:

Head over to read it all. Veeeeeerrrryyyyyy interestinkkk......

The Latest Fashion

I went in to see my family practice doctor the other day. As I was invited into the exam room area and was (shudder) weighed and had my blood pressure checked, the medical assistant commented, "Hey. Nice MedicAlert bracelet!"

What?

"I haven't seen that style before."

I'll bet that she's seen a million of them. Well, now. I feel so cool. So stylish. So cutting-edge. Yeeeaaahhhh. Check out my MedicAlert bracelet, people. Woooooo. It's the latest and greatest EVAR.

I hang around in medical offices way too much.

Just Call Me Two-Shoe

Yesterday was a two-shoe day.

Yes, I broke my two favorite pair of sandals in one day! And I don't even have an exciting story to tell of each's demise. I just took a step, and kaplowie. I blew out the strap of my very comfy cork-soled sandals and so started to put on my Keen sandals and broke off a plastic connector.

Good grief.

So I headed over to the store where I bought my Keens, and asked the very helpful folks there if they could fix my shoe. It took three of them, but, by golly, they did. Yesssss. I was glad not to have to buy another pair. Mine look like this, except they're not blue, and they are much, much, much, larger. And grimier. But dang comfy.

While those three helpful folks wrestled with my shoe in the back room, I browsed around the store. I passed the clearance rack and THERE THEY WERE.

My new favorite sandals. I slipped them on, and......bliss......

I have to take such care to wear good supportive shoes lately or I find myself hobbling around in excruciating foot pain.  And to think that I used to be able to slip on a ninety-nine cent pair of flip flops and be good to go for a week...not anymore. I think I've worn out my poor footsies after all these years.

I wore them around the store marveling at how comfy they were and debated whether or not I should buy them since they are distinctly funky looking and in spite of being on the clearance rack, were not particularly inexpensive. But as I was trying to decide, saw this style name on the shoebox:

Can you see it?

JULIA.

It was a clear indication that I was going to wear those shoes right out of the store.

So I did.

The end.

A New Perspective

I thought I should refocus my attention lately to things other than PIE.

Sigh.

With that in mind, I read this article in Medical News Today that discusses a study which took a look at adipose tissue -yes, fat - and it's inflammatory properties. And as well all know - inflammation is particularly problematic for those of us with autoimmune disease. This study in particular focused on identifying which specific types of elements within adipose tissue create more inflammation.

Researchers at Boston University School of Medicine (BUSM) and Boston Medical Center (BMC) have shown that the quality - not just the quantity - of adipose, or fat, tissue is a significant contributing factor in the development of inflammation and vascular disease in obese individuals. The study, which is a special feature on the iPAD version of the Journal of the American College of Cardiology, provides compelling evidence that the answer to treating cardiovascular disease and other obesity-related disorders, such as type 2 diabetes and cancer, might be found in the adipose tissue itself. 

You can read the complete article at Medical News Today.

Image found here.

Piiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!

Yesterday, as I was tying my apron around my waist, I commented to John that I loved baking pies. He responded, "The world loves the fact that you love baking pies, hon."

Awwww.

I DO love baking pie. There's something about having my hands full of flour, the smell when it's baking in the oven, the way pie looks, but most importantly....the way it tastes.

MMMMMmmmmmm.

I volunteered to make a fresh strawberry pie for Terese and Greg's Fourth of July barbecue yesterday, and as I assembled the ingredients, I realized that it has been far too long since I whipped out one of these babies.

I make my piecrust in a decidedly non-high-tech method. As in using just a bowl, a fork, and a rolling pin. That's all. I have a food processor and use it for other stuff but I just can't bring myself to make piecrust in it. A machine can't possibly tell you when you've added just enough ice water or whether you need to sprinkle in a bit more flour, and the experience would be much less satisfying in general. I feel the same way about making bread - my hands just have to be all floury and sticky or I'm not happy.

And then, when the crust is finished baking, I have to cool it outside if at all possible. I love looking out my kitchen window and seeing a pie out there.

I know, I know.......You're wondering if that's a precarious spot to place a pie. If it's windy at all outside, I don't set it on the deck railing but instead put it on our patio table. I haven't sent a pie overboard from our deck yet, and I wouldn't want to, either.

Yesterday, since I was being kind of putzy, I needed to speed the cooling process along, so the crust ended up in the freezer for a bit.

Then the strawberries.....mmmmm.......

I have yet to figure out how to arrange strawberries perfectly in this pie. Mine always end up all jumbled up and messy-looking, but nobody complains. All it needs now is a big old blob of whipped cream.

Happy Independence Day!

My son, who has a REAL day job using his college degree and everything, has a hobby of blowing things up. He is actually a licensed pyro-technican, meaning he can legally blow things up.

True story - one day I got a very interesting telephone call regarding my fourteen year old son's tendencies to blow things up. It went something like this:

"Hello. This is the Federal Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms. Is (my son) there?"

Good grief. My mind was racing. What in the heck had he been up to NOW?? Was my kid in lockdown somewhere waiting for his mother to bring bail money??

Um. Well, no, he's not here. He's at school. This is his (gulp) mother.

Are you aware of his interests in procuring a copy of federal laws pertaining to explosives, from us - the Federal Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms?

Um. Well, I know he likes to blow - er, I know he likes fireworks. A lot. Is there, um, a problem, sir?

Well, we here at the Federal Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms need to follow up on all unusual information requests. Can you tell us why your son may need this information? 

Let me understand - my son is wanting to know the laws for explosives? Is that an unusual request?

The Federal Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms not allowed, by law, to give a minor this information. You may inform him of this. And from one parent to another - keep an eye on that boy.

Ah. Of course. I'll pass along your message. Have a nice day!

When I collared Son after school, he was indignant. "Mom! Do you think I would ask what the laws were if I didn't CARE about breaking them? Geez."

He had a point.

Fast forward another fourteen years and he still loves blowing things up. Legally. He's part of a team that puts on an amazing fireworks display every year at several venues near Seattle, including the Emerald Downs racetrack. Yup. That's my boy with his hands on the laptop that fires off these kaplowies and kabooms. It's all computerized these days. They spend days wiring fuses and setting up all these explosives so that they are connected to a laptop computer, which activates the fuses to fire at specific times. Here's a clip from his show last year:

What A Good Question....

......Which is: Is It A Good Idea To Microwave Fireworks?

Gee. I wonder what the answer is? Let's all watch, shall we?

Mindless Mumsie

I was cruising around our neighborhood Costco yesterday, when my cell phone rang.

"Mumsie?"

My girls call me Mumsie. I love it. They started calling me Mumsie about ten years ago when I would muscle my way into their faces when they were arguing. I'd force them to tell each other I'm Sorry! and then air-kiss. While saying Sistah! Dahlink! Mwah! Mwah! AND stand on one foot while bending the knee of the other leg and pointing their toe. Kind of like this:

I still can't believe that they actually did it. Every time. I told them that they WOULD love each other and they WOULD be best friends. Or I would sit on them.

So then they decided that they needed to get me involved in the air-kissing thing, so they would say Mumsie Dahlink! Mwah! Mwah! just so I wouldn't feel left out.

Awwwww.

Anyway, I've been Mumsie ever since. Now where was I going with this.....oh, right-o. The phone call.

So my oldest daughter called me today while I was shopping and excitedly told me what I had been suspecting for a week or so: that she had decided to move. As in to a different city. AND a different state. I had been hearing all about her interviews with this new company and at some cerebral level understood that if she chose to accept this job offer it would be good for her career and finances.

But.....I hadn't really acknowledged it in my heart.

She would be the first of my kids to live farther than a few hours' drive in Goldie. Much, much farther. I have been so spoiled in that all three of them have stayed relatively close to home.

Until now.

So as I listened to Daughter talk and describe this wonderful job offer and salary and benefit package and stock options, I suddenly felt very strange. I plopped down on a very conveniently located lawn chair in the Home and Garden aisle while I tried to pay attention to our conversation and make sense of my emotions.

Honey, I am so proud of you! Of course I'd love to go with you to pick out a new apartment....Yes, yes, it's so exciting! Well, with your new salary you can afford to put Dad and I and Terese and Greg in a REALLY NICE nursing home someday, chuckle chuckle....And I want one of those scooters, too, hehe....Oh my gosh, I can hardly believe it, either...Love you too, sweetie.

After she hung up, I stood up and pushed my shopping cart around in a daze. The things that I wanted to say to her thankfully remained unspoken: WHAT? You'd leave your old mother and father? You'd ABANDON us here and move two whole states away?? Sob....whimper....whineeeeee. 

Yes. I know. This was a great opportunity for her and two states away really isn't that far. I was just being a big old whineybutt about it all but I wouldn't let her know that...

I drifted around the store giving myself a mental kick in the pants for another half an hour and then found myself in one of the checkout lines. I realized with a shock that my shopping cart was full.

Good grief. Where did all this stuff come from??

Underwear? And THREE BOXES of band-aids? Make-up remover? What's IN that stuff? I hardly ever even wear makeup....MORE sunscreen?

(Notice the Kleenex box in the picture? OK - raise your hand if YOUR husband would buy Cars Kleenex for your bathroom. On purpose.)

(I love him because he's so weird. Back to my whining...)

Oh, man, I can hardly believe I put this in my cart.....Full Bars??? What the heck is a Full Bar?? FOUR toothbrushes? Vibrating ones? Well, that's just too bizarre....

I shook my head in disbelief as the cashier had everything out of my cart and rung up before I could wade through my foggy brain to decide which - if any - of this stuff I actually wanted to pay for. I mindlessly swiped my debit card and made my way to the car.

I think it's a good thing that Daughter called me in the aisle that she did. Would have been much more dangerous if I had been anywhere near the bakery.

Go Read This

Jennifer, over at Understanding Invisible Illnesses, has penned an excellent, powerful post entitled Speaking For Myself....Whoever That May Be. In it, she explores her relationship to her autoimmune disease, specifically:

".....The affirmations we hear in our communities are legitimate, but I have concerns about their accuracy.  The two I hear most are "I am not my illness" and "my illness does not define me", and they evoke an emotional response for me.  I am only speaking for myself - I can fathom many reasons why (and how) both statements may be spot-on for a lot of people.  But while I believe I am not my illness...I do think my illness defines me, or at least many things about me.  And that that's ok.

I am not my illness, but you must meet Sjogren's to have met me."  

Go. Read the rest on Understanding Invisible Illnesses here.
Image found on UII.