When life gets interesting

20190224_085456Between more embarrassing TMI moments and a loss of a crown, I’ve been back and forth from quite a few appointments last week.

In my spare time when I’ve been burned out and tired, I have been watching “True Crime” like the Smiley Face Killers and doing diamond paintings like this one.

I finished it yesterday. My only problem is that I sometimes forget where I have my open beads and then spill them across my carpet. A couple of times you could find me on my hands and knees by the recliner with a flashlight and parting the small fibers of the multi-beige and tan carpet so I could find a bead. To my chagrin, it took a few hours to find 40 resin beads hidden there. Still I can say that I used hard physical work to finish this small masterpiece.

Next week, I have a few more appointments to get through that have to do with the diverticulitis I suffered in December. I have been very forthright in talking about the procedures I go through to keep healthy. If you’ve had a colonoscopy, you’ll know the future hell I’ll be going through. If you haven’t, I will let you find out for yourself.

So that is my future. Hopefully I will keep my mind intact so I can write soon. I’ve noticed that when I have trouble writing, my creativity bursts out somewhere else, hence the “diamond paintings.”

The blog posts may be spotty as well. It all depends on what I have to deal with this next week. See ya later.

Just a few things

photo apr 07, 11 12 27 amIt’s been an “interesting times” sort of week. We are waiting for some news on my little dog’s health. There was a little surprise in her mouth when she had her dental cleaning. Also yesterday she was recovering from the anesthesia. I held her most of the day.

On another front one of my friends who has helped me edit a few of my books is in the hospital. I don’t know if she is going to make it. Since she is so far from me, I have to depend on her family to get updates. The last I heard, her family is gathering around her to see her for the last time.

So real life is getting in the way. I’m tired as well and dealing with the results of diverticulitis, which includes anemia. I always get tired when my RBCs drop. So today is another day and tomorrow will eventually come.

I’ll be writing up a storm again very soon. Maybe today.


I’ve been getting cabin fever

brown cabin in the woods on daytime

Photo by Eneida Nieves on Pexels.com

Sometimes there is something that shivers inside. I look out the window and watch the clouds spread across the sky and obscure the sun. I feel that something inside me wants to walk, no run, away to somewhere else.

When I was growing up, my mother would start to get this look on her face and she would walk from window to window. She said it was cabin fever. I have noticed that certain people, usually from the Northern climes, understand this antsy feeling when they are trapped in a place for too long. Usually it is from snow, but it can also be from circumstance.

I am feeling it now.

My late-hubby could tell when I had had enough. He would push me into the car and we would drive for hours. I didn’t even have to get out of the car. Movement and scenery was enough to calm the feelings.

He knew it was time to take me home when I fell asleep in the car.

Then I was glad to come back to my problems and face them once again.

I also get this itchy feeling when I am living in the same place longer than three years. Yep, I have the need to wander. So what stops me? Usually fatigue and maybe fear.

My travel partner is in the Great Beyond and I don’t have anyone to travel with me. Oh yes, I have traveled alone many times. It’s just that I’ve found that it is more interesting when I travel with someone else.

When I do finally get enough and decide to “do” something, then I end up sick. I have to remind my body that hospital rooms are not hotel rooms.

I do believe this need to travel and see new things is genetic. Many of my siblings are the same. My parents and grandparents moved several times. We have itchy feet and itchy bones.

My grandmother, Alice, was the only one who wanted a home and didn’t want to leave it. She was an anomaly… but then she wasn’t a Bagley. As she drifted into dementia, she needed the comfort of a familiar place.

It is so hard to describe the longing I feel when I look out the window and hear the train whistle. It beckons me and tells me that there is so much out there to see and feel other than my own rituals and world.

It reminds me of that feeling I get when I embark on a new experience. It reminds me of wonder.

It was a day

selective focus photo of obalte green leafed plants during rain

Photo by Bibhukalyan Acharya on Pexels.com

Yesterday ended up being a day off for cleaning.

I walked into my closet and it was a mess of clothes on the floor and boxes spread around so that when I pushed on the door I couldn’t get into it.

I live in a small apartment so when one room is messy it spreads to the other rooms. I walked away from it and started the dishwasher. I had started cooking again. It’s hard to to cook in the summer here with the heat. But a few days ago I had made chicken stock and red roasted pepper sauce so I would have it in the freezer when I wanted to make my style of spaghetti or pizza.

So it started with cleaning up the messes on the counters and then scrubbing the floor. I just got a new steam mop and it picks up dirt that I can’t get in other ways. When I got the kitchen to a semblance of organization, then I went to that closet. I washed clothes and put things away. I threw plastic boxes on shelves.

There were consequences. My back started to hurt about halfway through cleaning. I try not to remember how I used to be able to clean an apartment in a couple of days from top to bottom. I’m looking at the carpets today. They need a good vacuum and maybe a little steam cleaning. At least I figured out a way to do it. I’m not sure if my body will hold out for another hard day of cleaning.

In the middle of all this, when I usually take the dog for a walk, the rain came down hard and heavy. It’s what happens in our winter. This morning the sun is shining and the temperature is a balmy 52 degrees Fahrenheit.

I went anyway, pushing my black dog buggy. Foxy, my black chihuahua-terrier mix, loves to go outside, but she doesn’t enjoy getting wet. She definitely doesn’t have any Labrador genes in there. We were a sight. I was wrapped up with a black wool coat, black scarf, and a blue hat to keep the rain off of me. She was in a small carriage with a cover over her. She was quite happy there.

When we finally got back, everything had to dry on towels. The buggy was wet from top to bottom and the dog was dry. I now understand why wool is the cloth of choice in rainy places. The water had rolled off my coat. I only had to hang the coat up to dry with the hat and scarf. I changed my socks, but I came out mostly dry.

Once I had a few minutes to sit and hold the doggy in my overstuffed rocking chair, I had time to think of brain glitches and memories. Before I had chemo at 41 for Wegener’s Granulomatosis (also called GPA) the memories were sharp, clear, and emotionally laden. After the chemo, those memories that were clear became fuzzy and indistinct as if they happened to someone else. The emotional content was gone.

In some ways that was good because I have stories that would curl your hair.

Let’s just say that my mother shows the signs of the “narcissistic personality” even though she has not been diagnosed.

It took a couple of years after taking cytoxan (I took it for a year) before I began to feel anything but anxiety and fear. My late-hubby tried hard to make me feel safe. When I started to write again about four years after my diagnosis and treatment, I started to gain my emotions one step at a time. Cytoxan made it hard to remember from day to day.

Plus I have found that immuno-suppressants (it’s chemo… don’t let the doctor’s fool you) does the same thing. It fuzzes the memories and the softer emotions. Then add into it the “Mandela effect.” I was shocked when I saw that the “Berenstein bears” was Berenstain bears.

I have two theories about it– one is collapsing timelines and the other is dimensional travel. It sounds pretty woo-woo until you start reading about Quantum mechanics. I have wondered for a long time if we can unconsciously travel. This idea gets into “astral” travel and “remote viewing.” It feels like we are living in the age when science and the occult are starting to touch.

In the collapsing timeline theory, I think more people believe one thing than another so it collapses to the believers. In the Mandela story, I remember hearing a rumor that Mandela had died, but he was presented as living. So in my timeline and memories he didn’t die. Although with him being so far away from so many people, who knew unless a body was produced?

In the dimensional travel theory, I think consciously or unconsciously a few people will travel to their opposite number. I have a few memories that change abruptly or even people who changed abruptly. That change could be that I went from a self-centered child to a noticing child. My opportunities changed abruptly too. In this dimension I have had to finagle and push for every success. Nothing has come easy. I remember times when opportunities were easy.

I wonder if somewhere else I became a scientist who studied the brain. I wondered if somewhere I was singing opera. I wondered if I became an astronaut. By the way, I didn’t give up that dream until I went into the Navy and found that the Air Force supplied NASA with pilots. In my Mandela effect I was sure the Navy was the supplier.

All of those were dreams and ambitions I had as a young child. The one dream I am fulfilling is the dream of writing.

Sarah Hoyt wrote “Who are you really? What I mean is if you met yourself at seven, are you the same person?.” The rest of the blog is here.

I am not that same person. I think I would have listened to that child of six who was making her goals and planning her life and thought she was sweet and precocious. Would I believe that she would become an electronics tech in the US Navy, earn an English literature degree, be a writer? No. I would have been like the adults around me and said that she would change her mind when she met boys. She would probably get married and have a ton of children.

Maybe in another life, I did just that.


Now for a  little promotion

Hero of Corsindor 2018-2

Hero of Corsindor is now on Amazon kindle for pre-order.

In the kingdom of Corsindor, the prince is lost, the king is dead, and the queen is holding the reins of government against disloyal nobles. They want a puppet to consolidate their power over the land. The queen has only one ally, who is not human.

There are rumors that the borders have been closed. Plus the long-lost prince, who knows nothing of ruling, is returning. Corsindor is being attacked from within and without by nightstalkers.

Shira, a foundling, trained by the Ahrah, Corsindor’s neighbors, is sent find out the conditions in Corsindor. Warrior and child of another world – her job is to confront the demons and reduce the chaos in the world. Will she survive?

Will she be tempted to take it all?

Repost Oct 18, 2017: Living in the high desert

Willow Creek Cyn 1975

Shot by Stan Anderson in 1975. I’m on the mustang and I was 14 that year.

This weekend my nephew and my brother were cooking buffalo meat and I was invited for Sunday dinner. My nephew is half-Ute so he has connections with the Ute Tribe in northeastern Utah. It was a surprise when he told me that the area I lived in in the mid 70s was where they had seeded a herd of mountain buffalo.

Even more interesting, that dirt road you see in the picture is now paved. When I lived there we were sixty miles from the nearest town. We grew all of our vegetables and fought the raccoons and coyotes from our plants and animals.

We brought our drinking water in because the wells in the area bubbled up sulfur and smelled like rotten eggs. The place had been hunted so much that the only predators were black bears. We even had hunters come in several times a year to clear the place from bears too. There hadn’t been a wolf seen in decades by that time.

Now they have buffalo, mountain goats, and wolves. They even have wild turkeys. We brought in the turkeys when we moved there. When we left, we left them there.

The reason we were there is that my father had gotten a job as a foreman to run the ranch for the Ute Tribe. We left when they decided to hire one of their own. So yes, I have lived on the reservation even though I am a white woman.

At the time I was there, we washed our clothes in ditches. We boiled our water to take bathes in tubs. We didn’t have electricity although we did haul in propane for our stoves. When the summer days got to hot we would go into the basement to cool off. We slept down there. We didn’t have AC or a lot of the modern conveniences of our neighbors.

I do remember those days with some fondness. Still I won’t do that again. It was too much work and too hard. I had a lot of responsibility for the care and tending of my brothers and sisters. I wanted to be free and run wild.

Still I am quite amused that someone decided to turn that place into a buffalo refuge. Then they paved the road. I can’t get my mind around how someplace so isolated has a paved road. Every spring the road still washes out even with the pavement. I remember times in the spring where I could collect 4-6 inches of mud on my boots when I went out to do the chores.

So I know the reason why farm families have so many kids. I also know why many farm kids want to escape this life. It is tough–tougher than you can imagine.

When I write about the “high desert” I am writing of what I know. The people who come from that environment are hardy and able because they can’t depend on anyone else to save them. It is an unforgiving environment. It is a deadly beauty.