New Attitude, New Neighbor, New Job

A New Attitude,  A New Neighbor,  A New Job

I have wanted to post many times, but just couldn’t get the brain power to do it. I couldn’t even get the brain power to read other people’s blogs.  I finally gave myself a surprise diagnosis.  I have been battling depression since Spring.  As I have never really known depression, I guess I had a hard time identifying it.  Several years ago my daughter who was battling depression for a time told me,  after I tried to say something encouraging, “What do you know?  You are one of the most disgustingly happy people I know.”  At the time I had a good laugh over that one.  It is not natural for me to be sad, grumpy, out-of-sorts, so I guess that is why it took a while to identify.   Also, I do not rave on about my problems nor go on and on about poor me.   I can genuinely listen with empathy to other’s problems, but I usually personally opt out of the personal pity-pot  parade.  Once I did identify depression, I started an attack plan of eating better, faithfully exercising,  increasing vitamin Bs, and increasing magnesium.  I think the exercise helps most of all.  I feel like a different woman when I come home from the rec center.  I also started a new hobby of crocheting around fleece I make into a blanket.  It is mindless repetition and relaxes me.  Maybe that is why most of the old ladies I ever knew took up crochet in their old age.  I thought they were bored, so who knew it was therapy!  So here's to my new attitude or a renewal of my usual attitude.   I know life is what we make it, happiness is found when we look for it, and  joy is always found in the moment if we allow ourselves to feel it.   I love the saying:  I AM TOO ANNOINTED TO BE DISAPPOINTED AND TOO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED—Billy Chrystal’s wife has this hanging over her kitchen sink.

My new neighbor is going to be the Curtis and Katy Lee family, our daughter’s family. They are buying a lot from us and Brandon is building the house.  It is going to be a wonderful spacious home.  They will be between our house and Cori’s house on the other block.  Ivy and I were walking to Cori’s past their new house and she said, “My room is so cute.  Do you want to see it?”  Her room did not even have the sheetrock done yet.  Her little mind already had it perfectly decorated, I found out, as she told me about the rugs, bed, and pictures on her walls.

My new part-time job is Victim Advocate for Washington City Police Department.  I was formerly my daughter Cori’s volunteer when she had the position.  She did a remarkable job and now serves as my volunteer.   It is one of the best jobs I have ever had….lowest pay…..but best job.  It entails working with victims of crime who lack resources or knowledge of the criminal justice system.  Mostly, I help women of domestic violence place protective orders, stalking injunctions, or act as an liaison in court proceedings involving the perpetrator.  I can link victims to safe houses, legal protection, or even therapy particularly if children are involved.   I have a Bachelor Degree in Criminology/Law Enforcement from BYU and years ago I started out in part-time Juvenile Delinquency work.  Now I have gone full circle and am comfortably  back in the criminal system again.  So here I am at the age of sixty-four starting a new job.  It seems like God is not through with me yet as far as my contribution in the temporal scheme of things.  I will keep on keeping on, but the fact is I would rather wear out than rust out anyway.

Pain is a Four Letter Word

After seeing the results of my bother Tim, his wife Ginny,  my niece Rebecca, and then a lady at the community center who had hired personal trainers, I was inspired and motivated to do the same and hopefully have a great experience like they did.   I had started resistance training with a official trainer several weeks before.  She had noticed my lack of "range of motion" on my right and explained that she would get it back and gave me a series of exercises to do,  but it went from lack of range to me wincing....but "just keep it up", she shared.    She showed me how to do pilates while I was gone to Idaho, which I did, but I noticed my range was getting smaller and now my shoulder was tender to touch.After a marathon visit to sister Robin's house, loading her stuff and  then the two of us going on to Rexburg, gathering massive amounts of genealogy, getting her back home, then pushing hard to get back home by Halloween night. By Monday night, I could not lift my arm, even an inch, without wanting to share a high pitched scream.  I could not sleep, or let it hang at my side without pain.  I tossed and turned so much that Walt had to move into the other bedroom at night.  When it became obvious it was not going to heal on its own, I went to a doctor.  After moving it forward, scream, scream, then back, scream, scream.  He said, " You have bone spurs, calcium deposits, in your should and tendon.  Nothing you can do now except have a long and painful recovery.  Scar tissue has to form over the ends then you will begin to get relief."  What?I thought.  First of all you haven't even looked at an xray and I know that some magic physical therapy will fix this.  He gave me steroids and a percocet a powerful pain pill.  I am not a pill taker, but I was very happy to get them, and had them down as soon as I could.  They barely took the edge off.  I did not sleep for most of five straight days.After the x-ray results from the radiologist came back, here is what the doctor told me.  "You have bone spurs and a dense calcium deposit in your shoulder and tendon."  He had it absolutely diagnosed before the xray.  I am such a skeptic when it comes to medical.  The extra exertion on the muscle had inflamed it causing it to irritate the tissue near the calcium deposits.  I think spur is a good word for them.  Just dawned on me spur is a four letter word too, like dragging skin backward on barbwire fence.  The perfect visual for what  I have been feeling.  So here I am,  a list of stuff I can't think of doing, Can't drive, can't read, (too fuzzy), can't sleep well, can't get dressed, Walt has to do it all, can't cook, can't, write, just barely can do key board with one hand, can't can't can't.  This healing will most likely last during the holidays.  Poor me, poor little Penny. Then yesterday during my drug induced feel sorry for myself hours, I had a revelation.   WHAT A SELF ABSORBED IDIOT I AM!  MY SISTER ROBIN HAS TO ENDURE THIS EVERY MOMENT OF HER LIFE.  She might not have the pain, but she cannot use her right arm at all.  Now add to that a disability walking.  I thought I had empathy before but now I have had a healthy dose of reality check.  She is absolutely one of the most amazing women I have ever known.  She has carried her affliction with grace and dignity.  She is and always will be an inspirational example to all who know her. As for me, what I am going through is nothing and I know that there is an end in sight.  I need to remember that just because I am in pain I don't have to be one.

Sixty-Three and Still Me

I turned 63 years old in September.  I am 63 and still me.  When I was younger, I thought by this time I would be so much more, but I am still me.  I still struggle with the same things, find happiness in the same things, truly love most of the same people, plus a few more I have been blessed to receive along the way.  I have out lived my father by 7 years and the age my mother was when she passed is fast approaching.   I cannot even see the word "slow down" on my radar screen, let alone actually initiate it.  There are a few speed bumps now days.  One speed bump recently was my trip into our bedroom closet to get my glasses, I came out with Walt's dirty pants, and while putting them in the laundry to soak realized when I could not see the stains,  I had gone into the bedroom to get my glasses, so I could write something on the calendar.  Okay, that's about three speed bumps, but I think I used to do that same kind of thing in my multi-tasking 40's.   One thing that has changed a lot, other than that image looking back at me in the mirror, is my wisdom.  I have accumulated much more of it through the years.  I have found that there really are things that simply do not matter....not one bit.  What does not matter, simply put is STUFF.    Looking back on my own grandmothers, I realize that they reached  that point too.  Grandma Park never changed her furniture, a picture on the wall, or so much as a flower pot, while I knew her.  She wore her aprons over her dresses (I never saw her in a pair of pants), used the same hair product, (a slime Mother or her sister's put in her curls), or ever asked anything to be changed.  I remember Mother reached a point where she did not want to be "bothered" with the Christmas tree.  She would remove a garbage bag from her stored small fake tree and that was her total Christmas celebration decor.  I thought that was so strange, now I think how intelligent.  Perhaps one day that image looking back at me in the mirror, if I am still occasionally looking, will be back to my 1965 hairdo wearing 1950's bright orange polka dot blouse with  1970's purple bell bottom pants.  Oh, and beads, tons of beads.  Hopefully, I will still have my hubby saying, "Honey, you haven't changed a bit".

Don't Judge My Judging

I thought I had overcome, shall I say a pet peeve.  I had purged this negative from my very being, until I heard myself recount at our Oregon family get together, the latest scar on my pet peeviness.  (I just made up that word and I think it should be one).  While discussing service in the Church, a switch turned on my memory bank and connected to my mouth.  I shared how Walt signed us up for recent apricot picking at our church orchard.  We dutifully arose at 5:30 so we could be there to pick early before the sun got hot.  We were told to pick the fruit that was ripening,  (duh) what color, (another duh), and most importantly to not pick unripe fruit.  (triple duh)  Leave it to ripen for another days picking.  Walt and I carefully picked many trees, and when we went to dump our buckets,   I heard something like this.  "There ya go Samuel, Sariah, Nephi, Rachel, and Moroni (all churchy names) go pick those.  You can reach those."  Yep, there was Sister Mommy pointing her little saints at the trees we had just picked.  She didn't say pick only the ones that HAVE AN APRICOT COLOR and LEAVE THE GREEN ONES.  Of course, the next sounds we hear are huge green apricots thudding into buckets.  Apricots that will be put into discard bins when they go to the cannery.  As I went back to the trees, I gently said "those trees have already been picked, there are some further up the row that have ripe fruit."  I may as well have been talking to the apricot tree.  Finally, we went to trees along the outside of the orchard where I did not have to watch the desecration of precious fruit.  It was getting close to time for us to leave, so Walt and I went to dump our perfect harvest, when I saw two women who had just arrived.  The older women had just applied lipstick and looked like she had her hair done for a special occasion.  It seemed as if the other one was wondering if she should have worn gloves to cover her polished phony nails.  Then they started to pick a tree that by this time did not even have a hint of color.  Mustering my smiley face and using my  softest inside voice, I said, "oh, those trees have already been picked.  There are some further up the row that have ripening  fruit on them."  Sister Plastic turned and said,  "There are apricots all over this tree to be picked." Next sound...thud, thud, thud.  When I got to the truck and slammed the door, I told Walt he was NEVER to sign me up to pick in the orchards again.  I will thin, I will weed, I will wind row after pruning, but a farm girl like me can't watch the murder of innocent fruit.  He laughed, but I meant it.  As I recaped this experience to my brothers and sisters in Oregon,  and seeing the smiles on their faces, I realized that those saintly pickers I judged, were going much further on the celestial trail than I was.  They filled their assignments, plain and simple.  They were asked, they showed up, and they will be blessed.  Just because they were agriculturally challenged, did not give me the right to judge.  And to those I share my personal pet peeve, don't judge my judging.

Eat, Pray, and Love

My old friend Ann Merkley came to St. George to help her daughter after the birth of her baby.  I was able to spend some quality time with her including going to a Julie Robert"s movie called Eat, Pray, and Love.  It is adapted from a book by the same title.  I had not read the book, but had seen an interview with the author telling of her personal experience chronicled in her tell all book.  The book has started a world-wide phenomena of "Eat, Pray, and Love" woman's groups supporting one another in the quest to find inner peace.  I am sure that the book has a lot more detail and explanation, but even though I did enjoy the movie,  it left me questioning.  The movie started off with the main character knowing she had to divorce her faithful  husband of eight years (who loved her deeply) after praying due to feeling unfulfilled, then feeling a need to discover inner peace ran off to  first, Italy, next India, then to find a Bali Guru (without any teeth).  As I lay in bed that night, I thought of my inner peace.  Sometimes I too feel empty in the peace department and need to be filled back up again.   I do not have to divorce Walt and go to the other side of the world to find wisdom.  If I am lacking peace, I can pray, read the scriptures,  and there it usually is.  If I need to find a special place, I can grab my temple bag and spend a few hours in the most scared sanctuary in the world, the temple.  Instead of divorcing my husband and running to find inner peace, I come home from the temple renewed, committed to being a better person, and that improves my marriage and my family.  After a few hours at the temple, things that seemed so lacking in others to make me happy are now trivial.  After the temple I am made fully aware that when I am pointing my finger at someone else to provide me with happiness, I notice there are three fingers pointing back at me!   I was sharing all these thoughts with Ann while we were waiting for church to start and she said, "Yeah, and we don't have to scrub the floors of the temple when we get there."  This was one of the things that was required of Julia in one of her "sanctuaries".  Ann and I had a good laugh over that.  All I can say is thank you Father for the Gospel in my life.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

Angel Wings vs Broom Transportation

My Sheena is a wonderful hair dresser.  She graciously keeps many in our family looking as good as we can.  I am one of the lucky recipients.  She was cutting Cori's hair, so I went over there for mine.  Usually she is in a sweet mood, gentle by nature, but she had not had a good nights sleep, had some in-law challenges, and was understandably in a what I call a "murmur mood".  We have all been there.    After listening to her discussing her exasperations, I said that it just makes you want to kill them, but the best is to kill them with kindness.  She had a comment or two, so I said to remember there is no problem so bad that kindness can't help but improve it.  She took a deep breath, and I thinking that perhaps my mother-inspired-words helped her mind set, instead she put her hand on her hip and said, "Mother, why don't you just take your little angel wings and fly away home!"  I felt like saying, "I will after you're through flying on your broom" , but I didn't.    The truth is I remember times when a broom would have been a good vehicle of transportation for me.  The truth is I completely understood her frustration because I have been there.  I sent Sheena a text later that said,  "After I flew home with my little angel wings, I did my hair.  It looks great!"  She text back "good, get Dad to take you on a date".  Sometimes I forget that we are not  human beings having a spiritual experience but  spiritual beings having to have a human experience. Sometimes life is just plain fun and so worth it

Advise from My Undertaker

I have a good friend who is an undertaker.  He told me that one day it dawned on him, as he was handling death records, that a birth certificate proves you were born and a death certificate proves that you died, but your own worded journal proves you had a life worth living.  How sad neither my father nor mother left  any personal written data.  I see what is happening today with Face book, regardless of how exciting the new technology, it is not a personal life story, just comments filled with other comments from other people.  A blog is different.  It can be used as a tool to record a life story.  I realized the other day that I was holding back posting to my blog because I wanted to get some pictures on it.  The reason I started a blog had nothing to do with pictures, but with posting small sprinkles of my life, loves, and joy.   I love the few comments I get.  It makes me feel connected, but my children all live close and either don't read it nor comment, except for Katy.  My neice Kristi indicated that she and her sisters see each other more often than most, but she learns new things about them on their blogs.   I know this is true due to my reading Katy's blog.  Even though my family see each other often, I learn what is happening through their Facebook.  I saw a neice- in -law a few weeks ago at Walmart.  Her family had been battling some huge issues with her husband in Medical school.  At Walmart she gave me a quick hug, a "good to see you and I keep up with your girls on Facebook", and off she went.  Just a few years ago, running into a person you love and had not seen for a long time, would have spawned a conversation.  Times have definitely changed.   I was surprised when I had a friend from Idaho visit in January and I was telling her about Walt's Christmas gift (his office).  She said she had seen it all on my blog.  Why didn't she comment or let me know she was connected to me.  It would have meant so much.  Oh well, people of my generation hold back from trying anything new. 

I have decided to start mother's life story.  I am the oldest of her brood, so I thought I would get the ball rolling, but I will need help.  Just for the record, I have decided that anyone who leaves their life story to someone else to compile is really running a risk of not having the real story told.   I'll do the best I can, with help from my brothers and sister.  I have decided to put it on my blog from time to time.  Hopefully, I will get comments or email I can use.

My name is Penny and I am a Weight Watcher Drop Out

I decided to start attending Weight Watchers.   When I joined previously, a lady who has known me for years, did the intake and paper work.  When the meeting started, the leader asked for those who were new to introduce themselves, and said, "and this is one of our Lifetime members back with us".  I said "My name is Penny and I am a Weight Watcher drop out."  I am no where near goal, but later I found out that the lady who knew me, had assumed the weight I have sloooooooowly lost over the last nine years was due to Weight Watchers.  She had put Lifetime on my papers.  My weight had slowly been creeping back since last year when my only sister had a massive stroke, my baby got married,  my position with the health department ended in July, I was released from Stake RS in October, my husband's business began suffering from economic down turn,  our commercial building tenant went out of business,  Walt decided to put our house up for sale, and my friend who usually exercises with me and keeps my dietary head straight has had other more important things to do.  I had the 911 alert go off in my brain that I needed inspiration and support.  I got the inspiration today when I learned 87% Lifetime members keep their weight off.  I was sitting by a lady who told me the reason she and her daughter joined today was that everyone they know who has ever kept off lost weight belonged to Weight Watchers.  I called my friend Ann Merkley, who lives in Salt Lake, to see if she had considered joining WW.  I left a message.  She called right back and said she is on board.  She had joined with her husband and was not feeling the support she had hoped for.   We are going to go for our Lifetime. When we get there, we are going to reward ourselves with a trip . No more dropping out for me.  I am in it for the long haul.  Lifetime here I come!