Antiques by Joy

Singing My Song

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 22:47:00 +0000

So . . .

I was travelling cross country on a buying trip recently,

and searching for some exciting old items that would

energize my customers when they came into the shop.

There's not a lot "new" in the antiques world . . .

(no pun intended)

but our remix of items every few years seems to keep things fresh and happening.

The decorating/antiques/home furnishing biz

is regularly shaken up and infused with a new perspective from time to time,

causing us all to have a desire to redecorate or re-theme our homes.

When I began in the 70's we were making our urban and suburban homes mindful of the

wholesome, self-sustaining world of

country living.

We loved the look of a wooden bowl, a rolling pin, an oil lamp, a butter churn . . .

these were the tools we were drawn to

as we honored our grandparents' pure, simple, lifestyles.

They bespoke a work ethic born of necessity . . .

a "get the job done with what you have"

ability.

The timeworn look and soft feel of a handcarved clothespin can still turn my head!

By the eighties, I was searching for a fresher, newer look in my shop.

I edged away from the natural oak and maple woods,

and utilitarian kitchen tools,

and

leaned toward crisp white Victorian linens,

white ironstone,

blue and white hand thrown pottery from local mountain potters,

herbs,

handwoven oak splint Appalachian baskets,

and what I referred to as

"naturals"

birds nests, feathers, shells, river rocks, branches in vases . . .

There was a beauty to adding nature to the one of a kind,

hand thrown jug or hand turned wooden bowl.

I decorated my home with old, scrubbed, Irish pine furniture

(although no one else seemed to be buying it),

it was plentiful because it hadn't found favor with American buyers yet.

There was an essence of the simple and thoughtful accumulation of meaningful items.

Old World pine, (servants' furniture), was reminiscent of my heritage.

My favorite rugs were creamy white rag rugs made in the south of the scraps the factory workers collected from behind cotton mills.

My perception was that this recycling/upcycling of what was otherwise headed for destruction

was a smart idea.

It was what ingenious and thrifty pioneers had been doing throughout history,

and,

these scraps created a cottage industry for families

who otherwise would have

been hungry.

I was usually several steps outside the norm,

(read "odd" )

in my style. . .

but these rugs became a mainstay in my business at that time.

The nineties brought my excitement with old metal bins and wire baskets

and factory tables . . .

again,

not immediately of interest to most of my customers,

who simply didn't get it.

I had started swathing my furniture in linen and muslin,

and cheesecloth made awesome

(cheap) curtains, when I bothered to have curtains.

I was happier draping an ancient tatted-edged table runner over a tree branch

and tucking it above a window for softness

than actually curtaining off the view.

By 2001, I was selling down in Texas at the Round Top Antiques Fair.

I was in the process of collecting furniture and architectural pieces with old white peely paint,

but I just didn't know where to find enough of it to supply the wonderful customers I was selling to.

I began collecting this genre because no one else wanted it, and it was practically free.

"Good" surfaces were expensive and in demand,

and I wasn't able to compete in that market.

So, I began painting reject and hand me down furniture

white,

then sanding it back to look like it had been around forever.

A furniture craftsman shared that he "aged" surfaces by strapping the painted piece to the top of his car, and running it through the car wash repeatedly, until the desired patina was achieved.

My grandmother was dismayed,

she was busy stripping paint

off

old pieces,

liberating the original, beautiful wood

while I was busy slathering paint

on . . .

but, each to her own.

I was set up at Round Top one spring

when who should appear in my booth but that well known guru,

Rachael Ashwell, newly of Shabby Chic fame.

She quietly pointed to several pieces of my furniture,

smiled at me, and went on.

Her one assistant wrote a check, and the other loaded up the furniture and carted it off.

(I will probably take that to my grave as one of the highlights of my life.)

OK - Sandra Bullock also purchased an item from me,

but it's not polite to brag!

Deep inside I have a hunger

to continue the quest for the next fresh look.

No one knows what will rock our worlds,

but by turns we have evolved through

country, shabby chic, retro, Tuscan, 'frenchy',

industrial and urban chic.

I'm still travelling

still searching

still longing

for the sweet, fresh, happy look.

Still singing my song!

From My Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 15:56:00 +0000

Looking back over the past year

I have to tell you how blessed we've been at

PATINA

in so many ways!

Our customers and friends are incredible

they're our best advertisement,

bringing their friends

and

family members

and their out of town guests

to the shop.

I can't tell you how many
"once a year",
"out of town"
guests

stopped to shop

while they were visiting family and friends

for the holiday.

(Many on their way in from the airport,

with the comment that

PATINA

was the first stop they had to make!)

This sort of affection and excitement

warms out hearts.

It builds business in a solid fashion

and

keeps us

in a position to continue

seeking and providing

a treasure trove of fresh items for the shop.

There is no finer compliment than being recommended

by someone who has enjoyed our ambiance

atmosphere and design sensibility.

Many of our "regulars"

have brought a dozen friends to us through the years!

This encouragement is what keeps us going,

spending countless hours

and back breaking work,

in rain, heat, mosquitoes, mud, ice and snow,

picking,

all across the country

through thousands of worthless objects

in order to find those few

special items

that spark sweet, warm memories

and

get you excited!

You

are why we do it!

Thank you,

from the bottom of my heart!

Almost New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 12:45:00 +0000

It's almost the

New Year

and

time for resolutions . . .

I think I'll make one or two.

First,

let me assure you

I'm not going to make one to exercise more

or totally reorganize my house

or to do any of those wonderful things we

will only chastise ourselves for

forgetting by February.

No guilt.

No tough requisites.

Just want to be a kinder,

more thoughtful

and

generous person

in 2012.

A little more apt to not make comments while driving,

be annoyed by someone racing to take a parking spot,

irritated by many little things.

I'm blessed and content,

and happy to be here in America,

and

wish to smile more

and

be a blessing to other people

frequently.

What's your resolution?

Thanks for reading along this year - it's been fun!

Christmas Spirit

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 01:16:00 +0000

I was lying in bed early this morning, stretching,

and relishing the fact that I had plenty of time to simply lie there

and

enjoy the warm coziness

for a change

and my thoughts ran to Christmas.

Now, generally, when my thoughts run to any upcoming event

I'm barraged by my mental

"to-do" list

and have a rush of panic at

how much there is still to be accomplished.

There is the accompanying guilt

"why didn't you start earlier",

and the feeling of being slightly overwhelmed

followed by the big

"why am I perpetually in this cycle"

etc.

For many,

Christmas can be a big guilt inducer . . .

when you consider that bloggers all around the world are bombarding

us with the beautiful gifts and decorations they've made from scratch

and the stories of how they're helping to save the world

living the ultimate

"green lifestyle"

and how all their gifts are made from

100% recycled trash

thereby saving the planet

while stunning their friends and families with their

ingenuity

creativity

and

time management.

But this morning I simply shooed away that demon

and

thought about the Christmas memories

that stood out from my

childhood.

I recalled fragrances:

real evergreens

cookies baking

spices

hot apple cider with cinnamon sticks

clove studded orange pomanders

popcorn being strung

ham baking

ripe pears

nuts toasting

hot waffles

I recalled being surrounded by family . . .

(there were five generations of family when I was small).

Grands and great grands and great great grands!

There were aunts and uncles and greats to boot.

There was a plethora of cousins,

and neighborhood friends took up where the cousins left off.

There were Christmas trees -

one in each home

of all these relatives and neighbors,

and the grandaddy Christmas tree of them all:

the tree in our little church.

I believe it must have been 25 foot high,

(but then I'm sure it only seemed that way).

Lights and ornaments were unique on each tree,

so every one was a small miracle

and delight!

Our neighbor had a molded, white plastic tree

whose branches looked somewhat like combs . . .

the most wonderful and "modern" tree . . .

it was always decorated in a single color,

and I seem to remember one year especially

when the tree was all in blue!

Ahhhh . . .

so much more sophisticated than our hodge-podge family tree,

brimming with the handmade ornaments and paper chains

and the eggshell collages my mother lovingly crafted!

We had some family heirloom ornaments

and the precious ones my mother made

and the

school paste and macaroni and glitter ones,

and out tree was breathtaking!

We literally held our breath while the light cord was plugged in.

The final touch was my mother painstakingly adding the silvery tinsel . . .

one single strand at a time

in perfect symmetry.

I remember my mother using specific gift wrap for the gifts from family

and then, secretly, after we children were asleep,

wrapping the

Santa gifts

in a unique paper - so it would be obvious that he

had brought certain presents

from his workshop at the North Pole!

When I was old enough to know what was going on,

I was privileged to stay up late and help her wrap those Santa gifts

for my younger siblings.

My first role was to lend my finger to hold the knot securely in the ribbon while she tied a bow.

We finished special baking details, and sometimes prepared the turkey stuffing.

I was a entrusted with tearing bread into cubes and crumbling cornbread.

It was a right of passage I'll always treasure!

Every year our church had a Christmas pageant.

It was traditionally the story of Jesus' birth

in the manger in Bethlehem.

There were speaking roles and non speaking roles

and members of all ages took parts appropriate to their age, size and ability.

I was often a part of the pageant,

and loved the rehearsals, the costuming, the music, the lighting

and all the adrenaline rush of the production.

It felt so real, and so holy and I was filled with awe!

Luke's recounting of the nativity event

came alive

and it seemed we were whisked across the world to that very sight

on that

very important silent night.

I treasure so many wonderful memories

of Christmas!

The best are the feelings of being loved

and the wonder of so many relatives and friends gathered together,

and the abundance of delicious treats on the table,

and

the wonder of Jesus being born

in the city of Bethlehem,

beneath that shining star!

Continuing The Organizational Quest!

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 19:55:00 +0000

There has been some progress on the organizing front in the little workspace I think of as my studio.

Truth be told,

I must use this niche for creative space,

office space,

and

" hide the piles until the company is gone"

space.

(Oh, you know what I'm talking about . . .

don't even pretend you dont . . .)

I'm toting out boxes of half finished projects and broken items I told myself I would fix.

I've got bags and boxes of items ready for donation

and a couple of trash bags

as well . . .

and a rather sizable stack of papers for shredding . . .

Where does this paper originate?

I have called and written and emailed every organization that sends me mail,

demanding to be removed from their mailing lists

and email lists.

(There are limits to what I can endure!)

I have organized and discarded magazines.

I have rearranged some furniture.

I have purged my bulletin board.

I feel so virtuous!

I'm rounding up

MORE

vintage jars

to hold all the little messy bits of office supplies

and crafty components!

There is such a sense of accomplishment

in such a small change.

Do I hear applause????

Organizing My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 15:18:00 +0000

Well, it's 4 degrees outside my back door this morning, with a high of 10 degrees forecast.

I'm guessing this would be a great day to reorganize my creative space.

I believe I'll tear it part and move some furniture around

and create a more efficient environment.

There should be more walking room in this area

and fewer piles to have to jump over and skirt around.
I'm in here every day,
and
so much seems to pile up.

More defined spaces for my buttons and book pages

and strings and clothespins and all those yummy pieces of life I love to create with.

Hmmmm . . .

This could take some time . . .

I believe I'll begin with a cup of coffee.

Gift Wrapping

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 23:54:00 +0000

Today

I found a wire basket,

a tin box

and

some vintage linens

to use for

Christmas

gift
wrap.

I'm continuing to amass my ephemera:

book pages

sheet music

and some lovely items I must keep secret

until the family gift wrap competition is complete.

So much fun to use these

timeworn and repurposed treasures

to hold my little Christmas surprises!

There are so many sweet ways to wrap your gifts . . .

think cloth:

antique pillowcases

crocheted tablecloth

burlap and twine

or,

containers:

woven baskets

reusable fabric totebags

wooden boxes

wire bins

or,

recycled boxes:

any kind,

upholstered in fabric

or recycled papers,

tied with live evergreens and

vintage Christmas ornaments

or old linens and laces

We're attempting to avoid the commercial

wrappings

and

use what's on hand

and

lovely

and

earth concious

and

thoughtful

what fun!

Happy December

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 01:53:00 +0000

Just on cue the snow began on December 1st here in Denver

I'm certain I heard Christmas music,

and possibly sleigh bells this morning as I awoke.

There is nothing quite so beautiful as fresh snow, falling gently in the early morning.

I'm inspired, and have decorated for Christmas!

There are wreaths and garland,

pine sprays and berries

There are apothecary jars filled with vintage Christmas ornaments

and

a snow-girl-angel with a banner which says

"BELIEVE".

I have my cinnamon flavored tea and my first Christmas cookies,

baked by my friend Barb,

all yummy and chewy with white chocolate and cherries and nuts!

There is a stack of Christmas gifts and stocking stuffers,

awaiting some creative gift wrapping . . .

I've challenged my ultra-creative

and very "green" daughter to a creative-wrapping duel!

We'll try to out do each other in the recycling of

beautiful fabrics,

vintage papers,

antique ribbons,

and a wealth of gorgeous and up-cycled

boxes,

jars

and

innovative packages!

Be sure to see Kellie's blog:

http://mysocalledgreenlife.com
for a chuckle at her escapades.

More to follow, as we attempt to get on with the challenge

Happy December!

You Will Change the World

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 13:09:00 +0000

Okay,

so it's apparent that this time of year begins to be stressful for a lot of people.

I heard that yesterday was a tough one for several friends

for a variety of reasons,

and I've had 9 requests for prayer

for people I know

who have either fallen off ladders and broken bones,

or had their two year olds hospitalized,

or been diagnosed with cancer,

or lost their job,

or had something terrible and destructive happen

in their life,

or who are just plain stressed to the breaking point due to a series of little issues.

Friendships have teetered on the brink after a lifetime,

couples have separated,

and in general it's seemed like a really hard week for a lot of people!

I cannot hope to solve any of these problems of course,

but I can address the fact that many are hurting

and in need of an extra dose

TLC

and prayer.

Here's what I propose . . .

Go out today with the intent to be a catalyst for change

in your circle of influence.

Now, I know you can't solve any of these problems, either . . .

But . . .

If I know this many folks who are having a hard time, then you do as well.

Multiply that by several tens of millions of folks around the world,

and it all might just seem a little hopeless . . .

Now

consider that you have a sphere of influence

which includes every person you see today.

Yes, YOU!

Your smile

your gentle word

your helpful hand

the cup of coffee

or the inclusion in conversation

or whatever kindness you can afford to extend

may be the effort that saves that person in some way.

Let someone merge into traffic,

give them a hand,

touch their life in some soft way

and

it may remove the one straw that would have

'broken the camel's back'.

A touch on the arm or the shoulder is risky in our society

and I do it every day.

Human touch is healing to the spirit.

A well chosen kindness is theraputic.

You know what I'm talking about.

Someone once did that for you.

Pass it along.

Tip the waitress a little extra,

smile at someone,

say thanks, in a big way that lets someone know their job makes a difference.

Let the person with three items get in line in front of you at the checkout counter.

Sacrifice something, for someone else's joy.

A compliment will change someone's whole outlook on life.

You might never know how much.

I challenge you to do this for a day

and to see if

you might just like it so much you do it for another day.

I will suggest that if enough of us did this for a month,

it would change the world.

To the world you may only be one person,

but to one person,

you may be the world!

It Was Lovely!

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 02:42:00 +0000

The Christmas Open House at

PATINA ANTIQUES

went off without a hitch

and

for two glorious days

our precious customers streamed in and enjoyed the

holiday cheer!

They found vintage and antique Christmas treasures

as well as

fresh delights to adorn their trees

their mantles

and their packages!

Mercury glass, glitter, greenery, holly berries,

handmade stockings

garlands, lace, crystal,

and

pearly, wiry,

rusty, peely paint,

leathery,

chippy,

silvery

little treats

were chosen,

wrapped,

and whisked away!

There was ironstone and silverplate

French feedsack and warm, mellow treen

chosen with care

to grace holiday tables

and fill boxes under the tree.

Galvanized tin pots

and

stone urns will hold fir trees.

There was champagne

and chocolates

and ginger snaps

and candy canes

and visions of sugar plums

dancing in our heads

There were many hugs and smiles
and the days were surely blessed
and I'm thankful
and content
and pleased!

Spending time with the folks
who truly appreciate and enjoy the beautiful things
that I love,
makes my heart happy!

There will be lots of pretties coming in each day,
carefully chosen to excite and deight,

so please come visit
and
enjoy the season!

That Time of Year

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 20:31:00 +0000

In independent retail businesses,

particularly the small business owned and operated by one person,

the Christmas season is the

"make it, or break it"

time of the year.

We work tremendously hard for 10 months,

and then in the 2 months prior to Christmas,

we can do the same amount of sales we did in the previous 10.

Knowing this to be true,

these two months become very significant to our well being.

Did I say, "very significant"?

Okay, truthfully, these two months are way too important.

They can be stressful and frustrating and difficult and back breaking.

They can make you lose sleep and work in your shop till midnight, only to drive 20 miles home in a blowing, blinding snow storm, sleep a few hours and go out and scrape the 7" of snow off your car, drive back to work, and do it all over again.

They can disrupt your sleep, your attitude, your appetite and your general ability to communicate with others without taking a bite out of them.

No one moves fast enough, cares enough, has the sense of your need to complete a task,

or apparently any idea of the urgency with which you seemingly must live through these weeks.

The world should be in "fast forward" with you

but

t h e y

a r e

i n

s l o w

m o t i o n

Okay . . .

I'm a crazy woman when it comes to my

"one woman show"

of holiday retail.

The shop must be turned inside out

redecorated

holiday-ized

and

it should

(in my mind)

be found to be one of the very nicest and most loved shopping spots in

the front range.

Now,

appearing in

Victoria Magazine

last winter certainly raised the bar.

Winning

5280 Magazine's

Editor's Choice Award as

Top of the Town

Home Accessories category

two successive years,

added to my stress to impress.

Winning

Esprit 'd Noel's

Christmas House Tour

to benefit Children's Hospital,

and appearing in

Colorado Homes and Lifestyle

this month

was another beautiful compliment for

PATINA ANTIQUES.

It also adds the challenge of surpassing last year's grandeur

when we decorate for the tour

THIS YEAR

and try to do everything with a fresh new eye

to captivate our customers' imagination.

When the magazine spread appears on the news stand

the week of your annual

CHRISTMAS OPEN HOUSE,

(to which you've invited several thousand of your best customers,

friends, family, competiton and hottest critics),

you can begin to tremble and shake

with the need to keep

"out doing"

what you've done in the past.

Your dreams and conversation can be peppered with phrases like,

"over the top" and "outside the box" and "killer"

and well . . .

you get my drift . . .

But,

this year

I'm taking it a little easy.

I'm trusting that what I can do will be accomplished,

and what I can't do - only I will know about.

That there really is no amount of stress and frustration that can improve

who I am

what I do.

I'll say my prayers and do my best

and count on my creativity and my blessings

to spring from God.

I will plan my work

and

work my plan

and ask that it's blessed.

Perhaps this is a sign of age - (hopefully maturity)?

I will take time for my friends

have a cup of coffee

smile at strangers

return my shopping cart

have my grandchildren spend the night

take donuts to the guys at Grease Monkey

leave a gift on my neighbors doorstep

bake cookies

have a Christmas party

and

trust!

Time for a change

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 00:34:00 +0000

The weather is changing fast, and I'm loving the changes.

I was inspired to sort through the closet,

rotating warm weather clothing and cool weather clothing

I'm thinking hearty potato/cheddar soup

and

chili

and

rich beef stew

I have a desire for pumpkin bread

and

baked apples

and

ginger snaps

My candle fragrances are evolving into

Votivo's Red Currant

and

Honeysuckle

and

Smoke

Scarves are tempting me . .

burnt oranges

and

harvest ambers

and

cinnamon browns

I'm beginning to layer my table top with textural neutrals

in raw silk, burlap, hopsacking and linen

It's time for a change

and

I'm loving it!

Early Morning Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 00:39:00 +0000

I'm venturing out again now,

testing my endurance and navigating skills.

Though I'm not as strong and sure as I was,

there is a challenge to every day

that I enjoy meeting.

I took my market basket and started out into my brave new world.

I found several lovely items for my little shop

and stopped in to arrange them

PATINA.

It was early and quiet and calm.

Sunlight hitting the front windows at a new angle and lending a different aura.

I lit the pretty mercury glass lamps and admired the soft glow they cast.

I love to putter early,

before anyone else is about . . .

Just touching

these treasures from 100 years or more ago

starts me musing about

their histories . . .

What hands have touched these ironstone bowls

and

silver inkwells

and

old photo developing frames?

Who has opened and closed those peely shutters?

Against what storms of life . . .

What Brittish market or apothecary shop used this little scale

to weigh out goods for a home maker?

What home will harbor it next . .

Where has it resided in between . . .

What stories could it tell?

Each piece is precious in some way

because it holds those stories,

and because it will accumulate

more.

Only time will tell

who will own this treasure next . . .

Will they think of it like I do?

I love my work!

Good Morning World

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 13:38:00 +0000

Good Morning and welcome to my world.

I'm going out to work today,
just my
second
real day
"out",
since July 18th.

Some tremendously life changing
"side effects"??
"strokes"?
something
after surgery
have knocked me for a
long
miserable
serious
loop.

Today I will brave the world,
with assistance,
and
see if
I can
be
back to work.

No one knows just how disconcerting it is to find one cannot
speak,
walk,
swallow,
grasp objects
and
drive
until it happens to them.

I have a new compassion.

God is good about teaching us the skill set He intends us to posess . . .
even at this stage in life.

He will give us all the tools we will need to be tender hearted
and ready to assist and understand
and have empathy for
the people
He
wants us to serve.

I hope this
lesson is well learned
and
I do not need to
study it again . . .

There are people I need to thank
a thousand times
for what they've done
to bless me
during this process!

Now I will attempt to go to work
several days a week
and to
have a fresh perspective
on
how blessed I've always been
to be healthy and strong and self-sufficient
and capable.

Thanks for your well wishes and love!

Side Effects

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 15:17:00 +0000

Dear Ones,

Many of you are following my post surgical escapades on the blog,

so I'm dedicated to keeping you posted on the

BIZARRE

up and down recuperation process.

I had a couple of good days . . .

the sort of days that make you think it's nearly over!

That you're ready to tackle the world,

or,

at least

to get back to work.

So, you begin to try things you haven't been able to do for awhile

like going outside into the sunlight

lifting things, to rearrange them...

and you fall on your face.

Literally.

I have to sit down and figure out why I feel so well some days,

and then when I try to accomplish something simple

like tying my shoes,

or walking 2 blocks to pick up a few groceries,

or vacuuming,

I relapse.

I drop things

I stumble into things

I reach for something and miss it

Words on a page or computer screen move around

Dizziness worsens
Light creates an unbearable stress on my brain
Vision becomes distorted.

Not only can't I figure it out,
doctors still can't figure it out.

So, I've been trying to re-read my journal
to determine a pattern.

Light is my first guess.

The more I subject myself to sunlight
or
fluorescent light
and
sometimes even the light coming in my
windows through the blinds,
the worse my condition seems to get.

Motion is my second guess.

Sitting still or lying down
for an hour or more
seems to calm my center.

Walking is fine for a short distance
in my dimly lit house
at a minor pace.
Bending is disastrous.

Walking outside in the sunlight
and
riding in a car
with landscape and other vehicles flying past
and sunshine flashing in
causes havoc.

I have invested in some super dark, wrap around, protective sunglasses
my opthamologist
prescribed.
Even they are not enough to filter the light and protect my eyes and brain.

I do not intend to become a hermit!

Last week, brother dearest,
(visiting from Florida),
took me out for a drive.
Returning home, I stumbled getting out of the car.
I recovered.
Then I dropped my keys.
I bent to pick up my keys and lost my balance.
I got to the door, reached for the door knob, and missed.

I had that feeling that I'd been filled with concrete.

I went inside, went into my room,
and fell down.
I lay there, thinking . . .
I eventually got up, layed down across the bed
and spent the next 10 hours sleeping.

The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and some toast.
I took a sip.
It dribbled down my chin.

I took a bite of toast.
I couldn't swallow like I usually do.
The muscles in my throat wouldn't work
quite right . . .

I called my Primary Care Physician
who said to go to the E.R.
She was suspecting a T.I.A.

Transient Ischemic Attack.
Sometimes referred to as a
"mini stroke".

The thing about T.I.A.
is that you cannot see it
on an M.R.I.
or
C.T. scan.

The problems brought on by
T.I.A.
resolve themselves,
often within hours.

As I waited, (five hours in the E.R.),
I tried to explain to the attending physician in my halted speech,
exactly what had happened over the last few weeks.

During those five hours,
two helicopters landed with incoming emergency patients.
Flight For Life.
A dozen ambulances arrived.
People were having heart attacks,
people were bleeding profusely,
I was in much better shape than any of
THEM!

The good doctors once again could not definitively determine
exactly what the cause of my
problems
might be.

Evidently,
T.I.A.
is a forewarning sign
of
stroke.

I am in denial about this being a series of T.I.A.'s

I still believe, as do several specialists, that this is a drug/chemical reaction.

The good news is that I also believe I'm improving

just a little,

every day.

Keep those prayers going!

Storming Outside

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 22:46:00 +0000

The wind is blowing so hard outside that I'm hearing that whistling noise

I usually only hear in winter . . .

It's turned awfully stormy,

the sort of stormy that makes me wonder

if I need to turn on the radio and listen for

a weather advisory????

I'm making a pot of coffee,

and baking some cookies . . .

just because it feels like that sort of

afternoon.

The sort of afternoon when you want to cozy up

with a good book

and some classical music

and good coffee,

and warm cookies . . .

and hope the storm lasts

for a while.

Maybe I'll put on a load of laundry,

just to pretend I'm being

industrious and such!

Or not . . .

Maybe I Spoke Too Soon

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 04:41:00 +0000

I posted earlier today,

telling you how much better I was feeling . . .

I hate it when I brag about how well somethings going,

and then it goes to pieces . . .

I really did feel better this morning,

and I still contend that my speech

and other faculties

are on the upswing.

I felt soooo fine that I decided to

venture out into the sunshine and fresh air,

and take a short walk to the grocery store.

I slipped into my fancy red flip flops
with the cute red flower poofs
that everyone always compliments me on!

It's only about 2 blocks, across a lovely green lawn and brick pathway,

with trees and flowers . . .

a sweet stroll.

I knew I could do it,

and it would be good for me . . .

and I really need to get out and begin testing my abilities

and building up my confidence,

and using the muscles I've been neglecting while I sit indoors

recovering from

whatever it is that has blindsided me and knocked me for a loop

since my surgery nearly a month ago.

NOTE:

read my four previous posts before you decide to have surgery!

So . . .

I walked to the grocery store.

I was delighted . . .

I was proud . . .

I was feelin' good . . .

I took my lovely burlap grocery tote,
conscientious consumer that I am . . .

and picked up a few necessities.

I smiled at everyone.

I took my time.

This was a major accomplishment .

I was enjoying the event.

I was contemplating the produce.

NEVER

have time to contemplate the produce like some shoppers do -

it's usually a quick trip,

throw it into the cart,

get it done,

get on to the next thing on my list . . .

I started home.

I made it home.

I put my sweet burlap grocery tote down.

I dropped into my cozy chair.

I took a breath and wondered what was wrong with me.

If you told me someone had just poured 300 pounds of concrete into my body

I would have simply answered,

"oh".

I couldn't move.

I really couldn't move.

The room was tilting,

my head was spinning,

and my body was full of very heavy concrete.

Or something.

I leaned over,

laid my head on the arm of the chair

and immediately passed out.

I awoke a couple of hours later,

feeling as if I might be able to get up.

I washed my face,
brushed my teeth, drank a glass of water, and laid back down.

It's a start - and who knows . . .

maybe tomorrow will be better!

The Strangest Ride I've Ever Been On

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 17:18:00 +0000

It is nearly

one month

since my journey began, with post surgical neurological deficits.

Four to five days a week

I'm receiving therapy to enhance my recovery

from what can only be described as one of the strangest rides I've ever been on!

I'm now

detoxing my body

from all chemicals and drugs

that may have invaded my brain and central nervous system

during said surgery.

Vegetarian,

organic, chemical free,

foods and juices.

Proprietary

systemic cleanse.

Herbal supplements.

Antioxidents,

probiotic,

vitamins and minerals.

Exercise.

These are a few of my favorite things!

My speech is now improving

every day!

My walking is improving.

My balance still leaves something to be desired.

My eye-hand coordination,

typing,

writing

and

reading

are now improving.

The room still spins and tilts on occasion.

The occasions are beginning to spread out and be less frequent.

Sunlight and motion bring them on, with a vengeance!

Because I trust God to answer prayers, I have hope!

Thank you to the many people who have stood firm in their belief that God hears our prayers,

and in their commitment to pray for me.

I have begun to see some definite improvements,

I'm excited by the improvements!

I have to tell you,

I was beginning to wonder

if I was lost in some

never-never land

of post surgical dementia and bizarre side effects.

When a myriad of physicians are left without a clue

as to what is going on in their patient's body,

one begins to feel a little abandoned

and frustrated.

If I didn't have the prayer and support of close friends and family,

I cannot imagine where my mind would stray . . .

That, and the commitment of my

chiropractic team

to treat me with their years of education, experience and expertise.

They recognized my problem and went to work to correct the issue.

Their treatment approach has been the key to my recovery!

Let me encourage anyone who is struggling through the

labyrinth of doctors who merely prescribe drugs

as a solution to our illnesses . . .

There are many approaches to healing,

and it takes doctors who

listen carefully,

and who occasionally dare to

step outside the boundaries

traditional thought processes and quick solutions,

to find the appropriate healing technique needed.

Thank you Lord!

Thank You Doctor!

Update On My Crazy Life on Scopolamine

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 20:18:00 +0000

This might alternately have been entitled,
"THINGS I LOVE".

Day 15

If I'm counting correctly . . .

this would be day 15 in my recovery from

whatever the issue was

that knocked my socks off

and changed life as I know it

after my surgery.

According to my myriad of physicians.

there is nothing they can account for

that would cause my world to be tilted at approximately 30 degrees.

They claim no understanding of the spinning or the rocking.

There is no medical cause for my dizziness,

the coming and going of peripheral vision

and extreme light sensitivity.

THE FACT THAT WHEN READING, WORDS WOULD MORPH INTO STRANGE LETTER COMBINATIONS WHICH MADE NO SENSE.

Tpy vufow rhinls alpwnef suygxxl.

(I love to read.)

And how about the fact that I still could only randomly depend upon my

motor skills

to eat or brush my teeth or scratch my head?

(I love to eat.)

For the most part, I used to be able to do those things.

Generally speaking.

Prior to surgery.

(I love being able to do the simple things in life,
like wash my face without poking my finger into my eye.)

Post surgery, my speech declined to a rate of

v..e..r..y

S . . . l . . . o . . . .w.

Now it's just s.l.o.w.

Last week I demanded,

"I want my chiropractor!"

I told Dr. Chiropractor,

"Look at my condition.

You saw me several days before I had surgery on July 18th."

"What's happened to me?"

Dr. Chiropractor listened carefully, did a series of tests,

and told me exactly what was happening in my central nervous system.

(I love when a doctor really listens to what I'm saying.)

He has seen this sort of reaction to drugs before,

and because he has spent a lifetime studying and teaching about the central nervous system,

he has a well thought out, researched and documented

therapeutic

plan

for helping my brain and nervous system recover!

Turns out there have been studies done about people who suffer this sort of drug reaction.

Who knew?

(Should someone call my neurologist?)

I don't claim to understand what's happened, but he does.

He is helping me make progress.

Now my fork gets to my mouth most of the time.

I have stopped bumping into walls.

I'm only having to correct every third word when I type.

I am able to read somewhat more easily than I could last week.

My taste buds and sense of smell rebounded within an hour of his first treatment.

Withing several hours, my stomach began to growl and things started happening!

I was alerted by my brain for the first time in weeks that I was hungry!

After his second treatment, my speech has improved dramatically.

The metallic, poisonous taste in my mouth has all but gone away.

I'm not tripping like I was.

(I'm referring to my ability to walk

without stumbling into or over objects.)

(I love to be able to walk)

My hands stopped shaking.

Not everything has miraculously returned to normal,

but

I'm no longer afraid and ashamed to answer my phone

because people won't be able to understand my speech!

Movement,

especially in a car where landscape and light and

other moving objects

fly past in my peripheral vision,

enhances my dizziness,

but

I can recover from that dizziness by sitting still for some time.

Calmness, stillness and dim light promote the leveling and steadying of my world.

It is still awkward to try and achieve much

in my day.

I'm puttering about the house more,

doing some housekeeping

and personal grooming.

(I love it when I smell clean.)

Friends are driving me to doctor appointments.

I took out the trash.

I walked to my mailbox

(hey - it's a block away!)

My bed gets made.

I'm checking email every few days.

My friends are holding down the fort at

Patina Antiques!

Bless you Anne and Deb.

Rox has been in and out delivering and shuttling inventory

and getting my deposits made.

Lisa calls me three times a day to be sure I'm still breathing and upright.

(I love my friends.)

The thought of blogging crosses my mind, but as you can see,

I haven't been achieving very much.

I have been focusing on the expedient

rather than the creative . . .

So, today my friend Zoe took a batch of phone photos of my spaces at

The Gallery.

She suggested they might need some consideration

because they're beginning to miss me.

I'm looking at the photos via her text message!

(I love my phone that can do text photos.)

I called brother dearest, who has been remodeling my daughter's

house in Evergreen while he's visiting from Florida.

(I love my family.)

Tomorrow, after being shuttled to the doctor,

I'm going to attempt my first foray into

the world

and see if I can lean against some solid, steady object,

and

give direction to these kind assistants

who will be my hands and feet.

Perhaps . . .

I will accomplish something creative and productive

we'll see . . .

(I love my chiropractor.)

The Thing About Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 23:50:00 +0000

When there are a couple of dozen things in your life that are not making sense,

and you're taking a few moments to

pause and reflect

about just where you might rank in the great cosmic picture . . .

you know,

one of those periods when you're stuck at home and you can't drive and you've recently cancelled your Comcast subscription

because . . . well

you know why

I did that . . .

and you've finished your library book

and it's not time to eat again yet,

and so you just sit in your semi dark room and

think about life . . .

yeah,

those times don't occur often, but when they do

(and they are currently),

you begin to assess

where you

rank on the food chain

and perhaps muse about how many years you may still have on earth

and whether you've done most of the things you thought you'd have done by

the age you are now . . .

and you gauge whether you're likely to get any of the rest of the

bucket list

accomplished.

It's good to have these quiet times of reflection

because I usually get to the point where I have to say

I'M SO VERY BLESSED IN MY LIFE.

While there will always be those who have more things

and more fame

and more money

and more of whatever . . . .

and there will always be those people who it seems

never step in a cow pie . . .

and never get audited

and never get called for jury duty

and never get rear ended at a red light

and never have surgery

or break a tooth,

and never seem to get two of those really annoying flies in the house

that buzz so loudly and will not stop dive bombing your head for 3 days before they finally

go somewhere else . . .

(they seem to arrive with the cow-pies)

I have to tell you that one of the things I have that makes any difficult time

seem a lot easier,

is my friends.

I have some of the best friends in the world.

Now,

A lot of people think they have friends . . .

but you really seriously test that group of friends

and you're going to find that most will hang with you for a little while,

some will stand by even longer,

but a few will stick it out all the way through to the

miserably long drawn out

end.

A friend like mine will come and get you and drive you around town on errands

and take you out to lunch

even though you occasionally miss your mouth while you're eating

or need to have them hold on to you while you're walking.

My friends have rearranged work schedules

and skipped their own appointments

and not gone to the gym,

and come, smelly, from the gym,

and brought brownies

and sent flowers

and gone to work for me.

No,

I mean they've actually gone in and done my work

because I couldn't.

They've driven across town to pick up my paycheck and deposit it in my bank.

They've let me storm and cry and shake my fist

when I needed to.

They've listened to me talk for a long time about my

relationship with Jesus

even when they didn't hold the same beliefs I do,

because they respect my faith and my

beliefs.

They've acknowleged my thought process

even when I know they don't agree with it . . .

because they understand I may just need to be heard and understood.

They've been bold enough and secure enough and loving enough

to risk giving me their opinions,

even when they fear I might not want to hear them.

Even when they fear they might hurt my feelings.

I believe it's a sign of respect

that they know I won't dump them just because of a difference of opinion.

That's a secure friend.

That's like a family member.

You may get your feelings hurt,

and you may disagree,

and you may even need time to process what they've said,

but you don't stop being family.

I think being a friend is one of the most important things we can do while we're on this earth.

John 15:13

(Jesus speaking)

"Greater love has no one than this,

that one lay down his life for his friends".

Some of my friends have laid down their lives:

put aside the things they "have" to do,

sacrificed work hours, leisure time, and a bunch of gasoline

and personal energy and money and thought process

to take up the slack in my life.

I want to say thank you for being a blessing to me

dear friends.

Some of you email me with encouragement

some of you are prayer warriors,

some call, (tho' calls are tough right now),

some come and sit with me

some chauffer me around . . .

and no matter what happens in life,

when I've got friends like you guys . . .

It's going to be alright!

In fact,

if things

didn't ever go wrong in life,

and we didn't ever

NEED EACH OTHER

how would we know what

good friends

really were?

My Crazy Life on Scopolamine

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 09:32:00 +0000

Well folks,

I had a fairly simple out-patient procedure performed at Parker Adventist Hospital on July 18th.

Now, I realize. . . . .

any surgery which involves general anesthesia is not totally simple,

but all things considered

this was a low risk, short duration, common, out patient surgery.

I love my surgeon.

She's the sort of surgeon you'd pick out of a whole roomful of surgeons to treat you!

I believe my anesthesiologist is a super smart, capable and caring specialist.

I had great rapport with and complete confidence in both of them.

The O.R. staff was compassionate and thorough and kind.

I had a dear friend with me whom I trust and admire and from whom I gain great comfort.

We laughed about the surgical garb they dressed me in and she promised,

NO FACE BOOK PHOTOS!

The surgical procedure was a success, and I didn't feel a thing.

I went home a few hours post surgery, and felt fairly well, considering.

My friend stayed with me to observe me and wait on me and make sure I was recovering as I should.

I was concerned about post op nausea, which I'm prone to.

My anesthesiologist had very responsibly conferred with me about the option of wearing a

'trans derm' (emitting medication through the skin)

Scopolamine

patch to minimize the possibility of nausea.

(It's a widely accepted medication which is often used in the trans derm patch form when you go on an ocean cruise, to reduce your risk of being sea sick.)

I had a choice to say yes or no.

I said, "yes, please!"

I hate being sea sick.

It's the worst sort of sick I know.

I cannot pinpoint this patch as being a dumb decision . . .

and I hear doctors absolutely dread us lay people

ingesting and regurgitating the info

found on

Web M.D.

and similar internet sites.

My apologies to all of my doctors, but I've been reading the posts of patients who have experienced craziness similar to what's going on in my life.

Note, I am NOT confessing that I am crazy.

I'm talking about the crazy situation I've found myself in.

I had surgery, came home, and the craziness began.

I confess, I had such pronounced side effects,

(or what I thought were side effects)

that I had my friend go online and search out patients' comments about this patch.

I removed the patch 30 hours after it was first applied, because I equated the sensations I was experiencing with the complaints of hundreds of people who had bothered to post online.

(I wonder how many never bother to

go online and post something about this sort of experience.)

Anyway, I imagined "things" were crawling on my skin and in my hair.

Itchy little buggy things.

Something was making my skin crawl.

I saw "things",

like snakes or rodents scurrying across the carpet.

I did the double take at least a dozen times.

I believed someone was moving, just beyond my line of peripheral vision.

(You KNOW what I'm talking about.)

The slight movement,

shadow-like,

that,

when you look over your shoulder you can't quite catch a view of.

The thing is,

I could tell myself,

each time

that

I knew better.

I KNEW it wasn't real.

I could adjudicate that it was the surgical drugs.

I evaluated that I'd been under general anesthesia, was wearing the trans derm patch,

and had even been given one pain pill, post surgery, in the O.R.,

before being sent home.

Please note!!!!!

I did not take any pain pills or any medication of any kind once I was discharged.

Frugal person that I am, I didn't even fill the prescription my surgeon had kindly given me for post operative pain/discomfort.

I have a high pain threshold and assumed I would not need pain killers.

I was correct - I had no real pain to cope with.

I had a little discomfort and at bedtime I took (2) 200mg Ibuprofen.

The thing which annoyed me throughout the afternoon and evening was the hesitancy in my speech.

I would be speaking, and a word would get stuck coming out of my mouth.

This was not the loss of the word from my mind . . .

I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

It was a slowness in getting my tongue and lips to pronounce the word.

It was OK - I told myself - I'd been under the anesthesia,

and expected the slowness to be gone by morning.

I did comment on it to my friend, who said, yes, she noticed it, but it wasn't really all that bad.

We didn't worry about it.

I said my tongue felt too big.

She said let me see.

I stuck out my tongue.

She said, no, it's always been that big.

Ever since I've known you.

I thought it felt a little like I was having to try too hard not to bite it

when my back teeth

closed.

Also, like I might swallow it.

I also mentioned that I had the

WORST

metallic taste in my mouth.

Not like bad breath.

Like poison.

(That's what I thought, anyway . . .
I've actually neveractually tasted poison . . . What do I know?)

It was so potent that brushing my teeth four times a day did not lessen it for seven days.

Ten days later, I still taste it.

I cannot taste my food.

I CAN taste the metallic chemical taste.

I got up the next morning and immediately realized the room was tilting to the right.

Significantly to the right.

That made it difficult to walk.

Later I walked into the wall.

Later I dropped something.

I thought that was odd,

but

again,

I had been in surgery.

Who knew how long it might take to have that anesthesia out of my body . . .

I went to the kitchen to make some breakfast and sitting down to eat

two thoughts struck me.

1.) I wasn't hungry.

I'm always hungry in the morning.

2.) I had no taste buds.

I ate anyway, fearing that if I didn't, I might get nauseous .

I've experienced enough of that in my life to know that a little toast and tea

will be better that nothing in my tummy.

I made a note that at 6:15a.m. the room was tilted and I wasn't hungry.

I was going to take it very easy, what with the room tilting so precariously,

and picked up my book and settled into my cozy chair.

Now, many of you know I love to read - I'm an avid reader, and have always absorbed pages almost at a glance. I am able to take in sentences as a whole and have nearly perfect comprehension.

I've always been able to do that.

I'm not good at some things, but reading is my gift.

I could not read.

I mean, I read and re-read a sentence, and asked myself what it meant.

I read the sentence again, and again, not understanding what it said.

I recognized the words,

(at that point in time)

but the combination of words had no significance or meaning to me.

By the end of the day, I could NOT determine the individual words.

I actually stared at the page

and one at a time

spelled simple short words out loud

and didn't know what they were.

I remained calm,

and

told myself that this was temporary and would pass in a few minutes.

I made a note . . . it was 8:25 a.m.

This is why your surgeon tells you,

"you may not go home alone - you must have someone with you."

Heed this advice.

So, I could not read Tuesday, after my Monday morning surgery.

I became progressively more dizzy.

I felt detached from the whole issue.

I tried to evaluate my state of mind,

and asked myself questions,

like,

"if the smoke detector or fire alarm went off, what would you do?"

I reasoned, 'that would indicate that the condo was on fire'.

My mind rambled to my homeowners insurance policy.

I thought about campfires when I was a Girl Scout.

I brought myself back to the question at hand.

"What would you do?"

On some level, I knew the answer was that

I should get out of the condo!

My mind rambled to:

What would it be like to just sit here in my chair and wait till someone came to get me?

What if no one knows you're here?

How do I know how long I could remain sitting here?

I don't feel like going outside, anyway.

I'm comfortable in my chair.

Joy! You know the answer is you would evacuate the condo!

I feel like I'm swimming in molasses.

What was the question?

I realized it was 1:30pm,

and I had been staring at the wall thinking random thoughts for

about 5 hours.

I decided the anesthesia should have worn off by now.

I diagnosed this as disassociation from reality.

I've

NEVER

thought random thoughts like that

for hours.

I tried reading again, and realized that now I couldn't discern what words the letters spelled.

I tried to stand up and the room was spinning and tilting,

which is a rotten combination.

Bad for walking.

I realized it was past lunchtime . . . .

I'd eaten my breakfast at 6:15a.m.

I'm always ready for meals,

yet now I didn't feel hungry at all.

I decided right then,

(in a random moment of lucidity?)

the trans derm patch

was the issue.

I went to the bathroom

and using the surgical glove supplied by my anesthesiologist

and carefully following his instructions for removing the patch,

(I actually just typed "the nasty little demon patch", and then deleted it),

I took it off and made sure it was inside the glove.

I disposed of it, remembering his caution that it should not be left where a child or pet could find it.

Tho' I have no children or pets to worry about, I still carefully disposed of the patch.

I washed my hands thoroughly

then,

I showered and shampooed to be sure the site behind my ear was clean.

Hey -

Scopolamine advocates please note:

I had

NO NAUSEA.

The nasty little demon patch did what it was touted to do.

He was 100% correct about the drug lessening my risk for nausea.

I love my anesthesiologist for that.

I turned off my lamp because the 60 watt bulb was annoying.

I closed the blinds because the sun shining in hurt my eyes.

I spent long periods of time looking around the room.

Just looking . . .

I continued to be disassociated with reality.

Can a person who is disassociated from reality objectively and rationally discern whether they are thinking clearly, and whether or not they are disassociated?

I documented the removal of the patch.

2:00pm Tuesday.

I prepared and ate a late lunch.

Twice I missed my mouth with my fork.

I washed my dishes and did a load of laundry.

I folded and put away my clothes,

perfectly,

except

I ran into the wall again.

My eye / hand coordination didn't seem up to par.

My peripheral vision was not good.

I felt heavy . . . like I was filled with sand and had to struggle to lift my legs and arms.

My head felt too heavy to hold up.

My mouth tasted like I'd been sucking on the tailpipe of a car.

I was unable to type a simple text message without correcting each word several times.

I'm a fairly intelligent person.

I tried to test my mental status by attempting to play Solitaire on the computer.

I was as competent as normal - winning 75% of the games I played.

Okay I reasoned, that's not the most difficult challenge in the world,

I'm good at Solitaire . . . . my grandfather taught me to play at 4 years old.

How about listing all the teachers you had in elementary school I thought.

Miss Mangerry, who was astonished that I already knew how to read when I began first grade.

We had no kindergarten in our community.

She wanted to know the process my mother utilized to teach me at 5 years old.

I remember patiently explaining to her how a child learns to read.

She was straight out of college. Maybe she didn't understand yet.

Mrs. Winston, who was so old I was afraid she would die right there in class one day.

(Probably about the age I am currently.)

Miss Meigs from Montpelier VT.,

who married halfway through the year and became Mrs. Larson.

I was one of only two of her third graders invited to her wedding.

Barbara Pearsall was the other.

Mrs. Beverly, who had a daughter she named Beverly Beverly.

I put a frog in her desk drawer on a bet with some boys.

She was proud of me.

Mrs. Waters, from North Carolina who I thought had such a delightful accent.

I sang all the verses to 'It's a Grand Old Flag' which she taught us that year.

My speech was slower than normal, but possssssssssibly a little faster than yesterday.

No, it wasn't.

Mr. Burkett, who was allergic to the flowers I brought him when he returned from surgery.

He kept them on his desk and sneezed violently all day.

I loved Mr. Burkett.

I administered various mental tests . . .

and quoted the conversational spanish dialogues I'd memorized

in seventh grade.

Adonde vas ahora Juan?

Voy a la biblioteca.

Aye carumba, se me olvido el quaderno!

The thing was, I couldn't tell if there was something wrong that I should be worried about,

or if my symptoms were to be expected when recovering from general anesthesia,

or if these were side effects from the patch which would wear off in due time,

or if I'd had a stroke,

or what.

I talked to my surgeon.

She asked questions.

She gave me things to look for.

If I was experiencing these symptoms she listed, I should go to urgent care!

Those urgent care symptoms were the only ones I WASN'T having.

My friend came back after work to visit and assess me.

I seemed to make perfect sense in my thought process and was probably having some side effects from the anesthesia or the patch.

Please, don't think I'm blaming my nice anesthesiologist . . .

it's just that I lead a drug-free sort of life,

and when you have surgery and aren't quite the same afterward . . .

it seems natural to suspect that it's the drugs,

and that they'll wear off . . .

and that everything will return to normal . . .

We evaluated my status.

We are rational, intelligent, educated, thoughtful women,

mothers . . .

(we make our livings - we own and operate our own businesses),

with enough life experience between us to run a small nation effectively.

What was that patch called, she asked?

I knew what it was called, and spelled it for her.

Good job, Joy!

She googled Scopolamine Trans Derm Patch.

There were hundreds of comments from patients who had used the patch.

Possibly thousands.

By golly, every one of my symptoms was listed by multiple people posting online.

Many of them suffered speech impairment, visual problems, hallucinations, dizziness,

loss of manual dexterity, disorientation and a host of other rotten, annoying and frightening symptoms.

That made me feel sooooo much better.

Sort of. In one respect.

Until we realized that these people, almost without exception,

had worn the patch for a week or more.

I had worn it for a mere 30 hours.

8 a.m. Monday, pre surgery, until 2 p.m. Tuesday.

No one who was posting odd side effects like mine had worn it for only 30 hours.

"GEE!" I thought - "this craziness should go away in a very short while!!!!!!!"

I was reassured.

Sort of.

That was Tuesday, and I went to bed expecting to wake up with some improvement by morning.

Wednesday morning I awoke and stepped out of bed into a world of rocking seas.

The room was tipping from right to left,

left to right,

right to left

you get my drift.

I couldn't read.

At all.

I wanted to check my business emails.

I spent 3 hours answering 3 emails. Every key I hit produced the wrong letter.

I could not type.

I retyped every word multiple times until I was exhausted.

I proof read and proof read and still couldn't be certain that what I thought I wanted to say was what I had actually said. Or that what I said was what I actually wanted to say. Or whatever . . .

There was a complicating factor . . .

my chair, or my desk, or possibly both, were tilted at a precarious angle.

Dramatically tilted to the right.

I was struggling to stay on the chair.

I was really getting annoyed now.

This wasn't fair.

I intended to return to work on Thursday.

I had allowed myself a luxurious three days off to recover from this simple out-patient procedure

(which my surgeon had confirmed was plenty of time to recoup.)

I have a business to run. People count on me. There are appointments to keep.

The thought of driving was ridiculous.

I had visions of running over people and careening across medians and running red lights.

But in an odd, disassociated sort of way.

My hands were shaking,

I couldn't read my own handwriting . . . but I continued to make notes.

I couldn't taste foods - when I could hit my mouth with the foods.

Light bothered my eyes more on Wednesday.

I assessed:

I can prepare a simple meal.

(Translation: heat a frozen meal in the microwave,

put the disposable container in the trash

and place the fork in the dishwasher,

then collapse in my cozy chair.)

I can dress and toilet myself.

(Translation: who cares about a shower or makeup or even brushing my hair -

I can pull on yoga pants and tee shirt, but only because a visitor might come to the door,

or an ambulance, and I really should not be in my nightie.)

I was still brushing my teeth repeatedly, attempting to eliminate the metal poison taste.

Sometimes now I just rubbed the toothpaste on my tongue with my finger.

I can remove myself from this condo if there is a fire.

(Translation: but who really cares,

I've lived a great life and plan on going to heaven

so what difference does it really make if I just stay here and die in the fire?)

I will get through this, and be stronger than before.

(Translation: I should have had more than one child, because it's so unfair for her to have to care for me singlehandedly for the duration of my life . . . cause I'm pretty sure I've dropped to a point of no return and will spend the rest of my life drooling in a bed.

I tried to remain calm and collected

and talk myself out of the concerns I was beginning to feel.

And sound halfway sane when friends called.

I was torn between begging them to come and watch me to determine if I was alright,

and just staying happy and patient

and confident that these symptoms were temporal and I'd be fine in

ONE MORE DAY!

I spent a lot of time thinking about the drug companies that make things like Scopolamine patches and the degrees of hell they will suffer in.

I wondered if people like me matter to them at all.

I talked to God.

He listened.

That was Wednesday.

I wanted to believe I could wake up Thursday and feel so much improved that I could drive myself to work and spend the day doing the things I needed to be doing.

Thursday I actually thought I felt a little better, until I got out of bed.

There was no question of me driving or being able to work.

I was able to read a little and to play some Solitaire.

I cooked a simple meal. I thought I tasted my food a little more.

Thursday morning someone thought my speech had picked up and sounded slightly more normal.

Thursday afternoon someone thought my speech sounded slower than before,

as if I was struggling more.

I couldn't really be sure.

I was exhausted and stood looking at the calendar for a long time.

I dropped several things.

By evening I was more dizzy than ever.

I went to bed.

Friday morning I talked to my daughter and a friend who each noted my speech was improved!!!

I felt more energetic and maybe a little less dizzy and relieved and on the mend.

I ate,

I read a little!

I did a few chores

and

I sat at my computer to check emails.

It was about noon.

My hands began to shake.

Hard.

Visibly.

My breathing changed.

I was almost panting.

Short, rapid, shallow breaths.

My heart seemed to be racing.

I thought about my surgeons admonitions.

Something was wrong.

More wrong than my new normal.

I called Parker Adventist Hospital and asked for the operating room.

I requested the charge nurse.

Her name is Cheryl.

She's a super smart charge nurse.

I wanted my anesthesiologist, and I wanted him now.

I thought the O.R. would have that info in their computer.

I didn't know how to reach him, and I didn't have time to fool around trying to track him down.

Panting and shaking.

I spelled his name.

I recalled his first and last names!

I needed to talk to him regarding Scopolamine side effects or allergic reactions.

She asked my surgeon's name and the date of my surgery and said hold on a minute.

She didn't give me any run around - she asked all the right questions

and did the right thing . . . fast.

She called my surgeon from another phone while she had me on the line.

Somehow, she got through immediately to my surgeon's office . . .

Whoever she spoke with said, "go to your primary care physician's office now."

NOW.

I called a friend who came immediately.

My primary care physician said

he didn't recognize me as the same person he'd seen

only a few weeks

before.

I was slumped in a wheelchair,

dizzy, disoriented and shaking,

with extremely slow and labored speech.

I WAS NOT ANYTHING LIKE THE PERSON I HAD BEEN A FEW WEEKS BEFORE!

Thanks for noticing Doctor.

He did a quick assessment and called ahead to the emergency room at Parker Adventist.

I'm not certain what happened Friday around noon . . .

but something dramatic happened.

In all my life I've never had a sudden onset

of shaking and rapid breathing

and confusion

and rapid heartbeat and internal jitters.

All that while sitting peacefully in a chair,

tilting dramatically to the right,

trying to type a simple email.

It was more disconcerting because I felt such an improvement that morning.

Finally.

We drove to the E.R.

I explained in my slow, labored speech, that I'd had surgery.

Yes, right there in their hospital.

Wonderful experience.

That I'd had general anesthesia.

that I'd had a Scopolamine patch.

That the O.R. nurse had given me one pain pill.

That I'd had (2) 200 mg. Ibuprofen last Monday night.

We're talking 4 days ago, folks.

I was assessed by the triage nurse.

100 questions.

I was interviewed by a physicians assistant.

Same 100 questions.

I remember thinking that I wish I had a doctor, rather than a P.A.

No offense. She was a delightful and efficient woman.

My M.R.I. showed no event,

My C.T. scan showed no event.

My E.K.G. was normal.

My labs were normal.

My pulse and oxygen level and temperature

were

NORMAL.

I had had no stroke, or seizure.

They interviewed me and observed me and interviewed me again.

Same 100 questions.

I was freezing cold.

I had 3 blankets over me and couldn't seem to stop shaking.

They told me they were having a neurologist consult on the tests, and he would talk to me soon.

My friend was right beside me - overseeing and noting what was going on.

She was relieved to hear a neurologist was being consulted.

This seemed like a neurologist kind of gig.

They asked me what drugs I was taking.

None.

What medications?

None.

What pills?

None.

Are you sure?

It seems that statistically speaking,

American women of my age do not normally live a drug free life.

I must be forgetting about some medication,

some prescription,

"Medical marijuana??????" they asked.

"Not even", I replied.

Vitamins and a probiotic I insisted for the 10th time.

And I had to stop taking those a week prior to surgery - according to my surgeon they could interfere with something . . .

They admitted me about 5 hours later,

to observe me.

I could barely speak.

I was taken to room 103 about 10pm.

I'm not exactly sure - but about 10pm.

I was told

the neurologist

would be in to see me shortly.

Good I thought,

I want to hear from a doctor's lips what's going on in my body and or brain.

I was interviewed by my nurse.

Same 100 questions.

No, I'm not taking any drugs.

Friend #1 went home and friend #2 arrived to sit beside me.

At 12:30 in the morning a staff doctor came by.

Are you the neurologist???? (she asked hopefully)

No, he was not, but the neurologist would

be in to see me
"soon."

I was informed that my tests showed nothing. No stroke, nothing abnormal.

Silly me . . . I asked, what comes next, then . . . if you can't find anything on my tests?

Doctor shrugged. I persisted. What does that mean?

"We'll decide you're crazy", he replied.

Now, I was not feeling like myself at the moment, I'll admit. If I'd been alone, I might have thought I misunderstood the nice doctor.

He left. Girlfriend and I looked at one another in disbelief and I asked,

"Did I hear him right?"

Did a medical professional just tell his patient that if tests couldn't confirm anything wrong with her that they would decide she was

"C.R.A.Z.Y."

???

He was a "hospitalist".

Honest to goodness - my friend was making notes of all that occurred

(because I could not at that point - and you know by now that I like to have it in writing.)

So, she asked the nurse, "who was that guy who just breezed through here????"

The nurse informed us of his name, Dr. O.,

and when we inquired what his specialty was, she seriously replied that he was a

"hospitalist".

OK - I don't know everything.

I've never heard that term.

No comment, Joy, just keep these thoughts to yourself.

It was the wee hours of the morning and I was exhausted. Girlfriend had to go to work in the morning.

I sent her home and lay awake wondering when the neurologist would arrive.

If I could only stay awake . . . 2:15am.

That was Friday into Saturday.

Saturday . . .

no neurologist came to see me.

No treatment.

Heperin shots so I wouldn't get blood clots while lying in their hospital bed.

Heart monitor

Blood pressure cuff

oxygen monitor

I.V. drip to be sure I stayed hydrated

a bed that growled loudly every 60 seconds and miraculously shifted position

so I wouldn't get bed sores.

It made the dizziness so much worse.

I had slept in fitful 20 minute increments

interrupted by my very kind night nurse checking for vital signs.

A lab tech came at 4:30 am to insert a needle and draw blood for more lab tests.

And at 5:15, it was another nurse bringing giant potassium pills for me to swallow.

She said my tests showed my potassium was slightly low.

That's all my tests showed.

Period.

I'm thankful she didn't want me to die during the night from a slightly low potassium level.

Yeah - like potassium was my problem.

My speech deteriorated throughout the day Saturday.

Dr. Hospitalist returned and informed me my C.T. scan looked "pretty good".

I asked what he meant by "pretty good".

He hesitated, shrugged, and said I had a small aneurism.

No need for concern.

Not relevant.

Not related to my complaints.

About every 2 hours I asked when the neurologist would be in to see me.

I needed input, some information.

Some idea of what was going on.

What exactly was an aneurism? Didn't people die from aneurisms?

Up till that moment they had sworn I had no medical problems except a slightly low potassium level.

Was I slowly dying from low potassium?

I had the nicest nurses.

They always smiled and assured me that the neurologist was sure to be in any time now.

They were gentle and supportive.

They were polite and caring.

They asked if I needed anything.

Yes!

A neurologist!

Saturday morning my sweet daughter arrived.

She has three little children and a husband and a houseguest and major construction going on in her house.

She stayed all day, awaiting the arrival of the neurologist.

Or, actually, of anyone who could give us any information about why I was feeling so bad and had so many strange things going wrong in my body.

Where was this phantom neurologist who consulted with the E.R. doctor and who was on his way to talk to me about my condition?

Someone who could help us understand why I could now barely speak.

My surgeon came to check on me. She's hung in there with me.

My anesthesiologist who was eventually located on the top of a Colorado 'fourteener'

came to check on me.

He spent almost 40 minutes answering questions and assuring me that it was medically impossible for the Scopolamine patch with its limited "half-life" to still be in my body.

We discussed the fact that there were drugs I could be treated with

that might

counteract the effects of the Scopolamine.

(Like an antidote????)

I asked him if he would treat his mother with that sort of therapy.

He said . . . . . . . . no.

I said I would pass.

I like his honesty.

My daughter and I continued to wait.

She is a very patient and calm person.

She was polite, every one of the 25 times I sent her to ask when the neurologist might arrive.

Saturday evening, friend #3 came to visit

and that's when everything changed.

Friend #3 is the daughter of a surgeon.

She asked who my neurologist was.

I said I didn't know because I hadn't see him yet.

She began to fly around the hospital room.

Things were blowing off the tables

and being sucked into the whirlwind she created.

Let me just say this . . .

and pay attention,

because

you may need to know this one day:

when you're lying in a hospital bed for several days, feeling a little forgotten and frustrated,

wondering if they're just afraid to confess to you that you ARE going to die

of your "slight potassium deficit",

and then finding out you have a brain aneurism . . .

and you can't speak well enough to even ask the questions that are racing around in your head . . .

and you've been assured that the only possible diagnosis of Scopolamine poisoning that you've been able to conjure up from the internet research you've done is denied you because only you and about 4000 other people are the few anomalies in the world who are sharing the exact same toxic symptoms which look and feel like you've had a stroke . . .

and some Hospitalist whom you're afraid may have graduated last in his class of 10,000 tells you there's nothing wrong with you and that "they" will diagnose you as crazy . . .

EVERYONE NEEDS AN ADVOCATE WHO IS A LITTLE CRAZY AND WILD AND CAN CREATE A WHIRLWIND IN SHORT ORDER!

If you don't have one of these, you should go find one.

You've gotta love a woman who can walk in and create this sort of change.

So, it turns out that no one wrote an order for any neurologist.

NOPE.

There was no neurologist.

No hope.

I'm no doubt permanently disabled now because no one cared enough to remember to tell the neurologist they admitted me to their hospital.

No one.

Not the Physicians Assistant.

Not the E.R. Doctor.

Not Dr. Hospitalist who actually admitted me.

Not the nurses I asked every two hours when the neurologist was arriving.

No one.

Maybe there never was a neurologist "conferring" with the E.R. doctor.

Maybe she made him up.

Perhaps it was over the phone from a verrryyy long distance.

Like New Jersey . . . . and he has a very old car, and had to drive to Parker Adventist in Colorado, by way of China,

or maybe his mom was insisting he needed to go to the store for her, AND take her to visit her sister in China,

or who knows what.

Maybe he lost his car keys . . .

and had to walk from China . . .

Well, Friend #3, Miss Whirlwind, stirred up the waters.

Admin was awakened.

A really nice woman.

Dr. Hospitalist and she apologized

that I had been lying around for 28 hours growing worse by the hour

with no one treating me for anything.

(Except a slight potassium deficiency.)

Thank Goodness they caught that in time!

This gets better!

After the great whirlwind, we all had a nice chat and they decided they would

definitely

get the neurologist in to see me.

They couldn't promise when, but it would no doubt be

before 5pm the next day.

That would be Sunday!

Friend #3 said that was unacceptable.

I said, with my nearly non-existant speech capability,

"I'm diminishing here in your hospital, which I could just as well have been doing at home.

I'm angry,

I'm frustrated,

I'm sleep deprived,

and no doubt I'm being charged for this."

Their suggestion was that they would cluster the night care

so that the sleep interruptions would be

minimized.

Now that's a novel concept.

Someone should bring that up at a hospital staff meeting and propose a study of the benefits of allowing patients to sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time throughout their stay.

A committee could be formed to consider who might do such a study!

And,

they prescribed Ambien.

I said,

"Frankly, I am now afraid to go to sleep.

I suddenly feel a need to be more fully aware of what's going on here."

Yes, I truly did say that.

I felt like I was being rude

or hurting their feelings.

I said it anyway.

I was beginning to feel some trepidation about being in their care.

I asked my daughter to stay with me through the night.

Poor thing,

she'd sleep in a chair.

She stayed.

I took the Ambien, about which I had heard terrible things.

People who took it were known to do strange things under the influence,

like get out of bed and drive to New Jersey on the wrong side of the highway, and not even know they weren't asleep in their beds.

What was I thinking?

It was about 11pm.

Evidently at 11:01 I was sound asleep.

At 12:30,

guess who arrived?

Oh yes!

The neurologist.

For his one any only interview with me.

I actually never saw the man.

I can only vaguely recall my daughter's voice, asking me to wake up.

Your neurologist is here.

I believe he interviewed me, with my head under the sheet.

I do recall saying one thing.

One sentence.

I will not tell you what it was.

My daughter says I spoke to the good neurologist.

In fact, she says my first sentence was in my normal, healthy,

pre-surgery, pre-Scopolamine,

pre-diminishment cadence.

But,

that after that first statement, my voice struggled at its slowed, post surgical rate.

She says I was concise and accurate.

I might have been able to drive to New Jersey . . . .

I never saw or heard from the neurologist again.

Oh! I had an E.E.G.

This was the highlight of my stay at Parker Adventist Hospital!

I was so charmed by the woman who administered the E.E.G.,

I just have no words to tell you!

She was foreign.

She was mature.

She was possibly the only person I saw during my entire stay who was my age or older.

She had a voice and demeanor that made me wonder who she was and where she was from.

That was precisely her intent -

she was practicing the art of relaxing my mind and removing all stress with her

melodic, soothing, story telling voice.

It was immediately obvious to me, and to my daughter as well, that this woman was a charmer.

She did not stop speaking for one moment of the 45 minutes she was with us.

She did not expect any answers,

she did not pause even once,

it was as if she was singing a gypsy lullaby from 400 years ago.

If you've ever had an E.E.G.,

you know that the purpose is to try to

give you brain seizures

by repeatedly and viciously assaulting your brain with an increasingly violent series of strobe lights.

After each attack I saw blood red raindrops behind my closed eyelids.

At one point she sang to me about the lights being happy and beautiful . . .

". . . not like the lights of a police car, my dear . . .

but like the beaauuuuuutiful haaaappppppy lights on a Christmas tree . . ."

The combined lights of a thousand police cars on acid is more like it.

I also had the pleasure of meeting with a . . .

(I hope I have this right)

a speech pathologist.

She said she was told I had post operative cognitive disorder.

I said politely,

no,

I'm not struggling with cognitive issues.

My cogs are operating at full speed, thank you.

I have some disorders, but it's not cognitive.

She tested my cogs.

She said I scored 30 out of 30.

Perfect score.

She was very impressed that I could count backward from 100, by sevens.

She said she couldn't do that.

Perhaps she was simply being polite.

I blew into the spyrometer.

I'm probably not saying that correctly.

It's a plastic measuring device that measures one's ability to blow.

I scored 3000. Four times.

Apparently that was satisfactory.

I repeated after her:

I said "pahpahpahpahpah".

I said "caacaacaacaa".

I said "tahtahtahtahath".

I said "pahcaatah" you get my drift.

It showed her that my speech was impaired.

But then, my "hello" showed her that my speech was impaired.

She was very kind. I liked her.

She told me I might need speech therapy. She left.

A neuro surgeon arrived. Nice gentlemanly Doctor.

He wanted to reassure me that my brain aneurism wasn't very big.

We could get together and measure it once a year if I felt it was worrying me.

It wasn't really necessary. Nearly everyone has one.

You don't die from them.

Until they rupture.

Then you die.

No one knows when this will happen.

He left his card.

On Monday, I had a nice conversation with the doctor who evidently replaced

Dr. Hospitalist.

New Doctor.

Suddenly, I was seeing doctors and ologists and technicians every 30 minutes!

New Doctor was very nice.

She said there were no more tests they could do to determine what was wrong with me.

She said the neurologist thought the problem was the Scopolamine.

I said that five doctors,

(my primary care physician, my surgeon, my anesthesiologist,

Dr. Hospitalist and the E.R. doctor),

had firmly and confidently assured me that my initial self diagnosis of Scopolamine

side effects, (translate: POISONING!),

was inaccurate and wrong, wrong, wrong.

There was no possibility they said.

Ahhhhhh . . .

The neurologist from my Ambien induced - middle of the night - sound asleep interview . . .

He agrees with me.

And the guys on the internet.

It's probably the Scopolamine patch.

It'll go away.

New Doctor simply stood and smiled at me.

She went on to say that there was only one other thing she could possibly think of to do for me,

and that was an evaluation by a psychiatrist.

Her conundrum was,

Parker Adventist Hospital does not have a psychiatrist.

She could write an order for a psych nurse to come from somewhere else to examine me.

Would she be from the same place where they keep that neurologist chained?

I suggested to New Doctor that I would prefer to take my sad, exhausted, post operatively demented,

C.R.A.Z.Y.

sleep deprived

brain fried

bloody eyed

sadly slow speaking

electric bed shaken

potassium deficient

aneurismed

body away from there.

Not now,

but

RIGHT NOW.

Please write my discharge papers and let me out of this hospital.

I will go home.

I will sit alone in my dim, quiet, peaceful, tilted and spinning home

and pray for God's healing.

I will wait for my speech to return to it's normal pace.

I will suffer the dizziness, the lack of peripheral vision, the sensitivity to light.

I will walk into walls and drop things. I will not drive or work.

I will spend hours composing a simple email or text message.

I will take 20 minutes to answer a simple question because my speech is impaired,

like that of a stroke victim.

I will struggle with trying to read and write. Some days succeeding, some days failing.

Today is Thursday. Ten days have passed.

I have a horrible metal taste in my mouth.

I have no taste buds or appetite.

I am dizzy and my speech is slow.

It has taken me eight hours to write this blog post.

Every word has been typed incorrectly, at least twice.

Many sentences have been retyped 4 or 5 times.

I can't guarantee I have made much sense. I can no longer remember how to use spell check.

I have hit that darn spell check several hundred times. It doesn't do anything.

I will beat this.

And if I don't,

well,

I've lived a great life and had a lot of fun,

and I know I'm going to heaven whether I die from my slight potassium deficiency or my aneurism or from the horrid metallic poison taste I still have in my mouth after 10 days.

Thanks for the memories!

July Days

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 20:29:00 +0000

What started out as a promisingly sunny July day has turned on me . . .

There is a low, not so very distant rumbling of thunder

and the clouds are solidifying.

It appears that another afternoon of thunderstorms is rapidly approaching.

I love the change in the light

and the fragrance of the air

It inspires me to play around with my "indoor" life . . .

rearranging furniture

and recreating table top displays in the house.

Very satisfying!

I love rainy afternoons!

TOP OF THE TOWN - 5280 MAGAZINE AWARD

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 01:05:00 +0000

Each year,

5280 Magazine

holds a competition to determine which Denver businesses are ranked

the best in their categories.

Patina Antiques and Home

is entered in the Home Furnishings category,

because we sell both antique and new items.

We are proud to announce that

we have won

the

People's Choice Award

The Best

in our retail category

AGAIN!!

Thank you to everyone who voted for our little shop!!!

It's rewarding to be recognized for our dedication to meeting the needs of our customers,

for our hard work,

friendliness, product knowledge,

and for our commitment to excellence in the home furnishings field!

(Not to mention,

we're just plain fun!)

Stuff!

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 02:26:00 +0000

Beautiful day at Patina

French dresser

arrived

Lovely customers

finding

just the

thing they were

looking for

What a pleasure it is to converse with

folks who love to treasure hunt!

There's a kinship among those who seek the unique and unusual

and surround themselves with

repurposed

items!

A delightful gray- blue highboy went home with a sweet bevelled mirror . . .

what a room they'll make together.

Lamps and rugs and books and tables and planters and frames and cozy chairs,

OH MY!

A fantastic European wooden,

rolling bakery display cart

arrived this afternoon!

It won't last for long . . .

it's perfect for display

for storage and organization

for books or art supplies . . .

And so much more ....

Benches and display steps and chairs and little tables and chalkboards

and silver and birds nests and twine and ironstone

and lamps and baskets . . .

Happy Days

noreply@blogger.com (Joy) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 03:53:00 +0000

Happy Sunday

to all my dear ones

I spent the morning at church,

after

picking up 15 elderly friends

on our access a ride bus

and

they are precious!

They make my Sundays

extra

special!

Despite frailties,

and limitations imposed by age,

and aches and pains,

wheelchairs

walkers,

canes,

and all those things that

slow us down,

they're happy and smiling and have hugs to share!

You've got to learn from these folks

that some things in life are

important . . .

but most of the things we fret about

and struggle to achieve

are

just

not

that big

deal

God is sooo good!