just my thoughts

routine

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Thu, 03 Sep 2020 20:00:00 +0000

I haven't written a post in a long time. Not because there hasn't been anything interesting happening, I just didn't feel that spark that pushed me to write down what I was thinking. I started this blog to create a record of my memories and thoughts for my grand kids. I have more than enough moments of my thoughts recorded. Until now.

This year started out like any year, except I knew it would be the year that I retired, a big deal for someone who has been working for most of the past 53 years. Excitement and anticipation. There was a lot of chaos in the world, but I am an optimistic person who believes in solutions, and a realistic person who knows solutions to problems don't happen overnight. So I was cruising along, counting months...then the year fell apart...SARS-CoV-2 happened, the economy crashed, and our whole world turned upside down in the space of a few weeks. For people who believed the coronavirus pandemic is real (it is), their worlds filled with more chaos and worry than they bargained for. People who didn't believe it was real, saw conflicting information that made it seem like a political lie (but the death toll and infection rate speaks a different story). Most of all I believe that all this chaos, anger, blame-placing and name-calling has stopped Americans from what we have always done, and that is to pull together in a national crisis and support, protect and help each other.

As a way of coping, many of us have drawn comfort from routine things, and learned to appreciate things we may not have paid much notice to before this year.

I am one of those people who have become acutely aware of everyday things. I worry, am anxious much of the time and fear that something might happen to one of my family members, or to me before I can retire. When the worry gets to be too much, I just focus on the little things. Things like this morning, routine things that make me smile and give me respite from worry and anxiety.

This morning was one of those times. Many mornings I drink chai latte, because I love it and my cat Sam loves the milk foam on the top. This morning, I made my chai, and whipped enough milk in a cup to add to my tea, give Sam a big spoonful, and have enough for Holly, and Cheddar.

I realized how much I enjoyed the tea, because I was totally focused on it and not thinking about anything else, including the fall I took yesterday that banged me up leaving me feeling like I had been hit by a truck. As I watched the animals, I noticed that they are always focused on the here and now, and rarely distracted by anything else.

Later, as I watched Cheddar sunning in the yard, and Holly sunning by the door, I took a deep breath as the realization hit me that no matter how crazy the world gets, how chaotic, and hateful and angry people get, we all have these moments available, the moments that make up our routine, that provide stability in an unstable world.

I believe that is what will get us through this year...routine moments in our lives...and I am betting we will never completely take those moments for granted again.

...life is good... i am @cathyjonest on Instagram

slug dancing

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Mon, 12 Feb 2018 12:23:00 +0000

I was sitting watching a show on TV trying to figure out how to word a proposal I am writing. The show was one my sister raved about, but I was less enthusiastic about. Suddenly I heard a song and my head whipped around toward the television. The Kinks...Last of the Steam-Powered Trains.

Suddenly I was up, running to the bedroom door to shut Stevie Wonder into a cocoon of silence and skidding back into the living room to shout at Google Mini to “PLAY LAST OF THE STEAM POWERED TRAINS BY THE KINKS”. As the music wound it’s magic in my ears and around my body, I started dancing. Even though I am now officially Medicare age, I can still sling myself around. I stomped, twisted, lunged and did some weird foot work all over the room.

As I was dancing, wrapped up in Kinks vibrations, I glanced down. My eyes bulged as I came to a grinding, shuddering halt...toe to nose with... a slug... (I thought it was a twig or something the cats had dragged in from another room, until I looked closer.) It was moving...slowly...but moving. It was a slug.

Nothing kills a dancing mood faster than bumping into and almost squashing a slimy slug underfoot.

The magic was over.

https://youtu.be/e8J8VfAQBis ...enjoy (I dare you not to slug-dance)...

miracle of the bells

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Mon, 11 Dec 2017 03:42:00 +0000

‘Twas the night before Christmas...
Well, not quite. Deb is sick with an upper respiratory infection. So upper in fact, that it landed mostly in her head. She was standing in the living room near the tree Friday night, and said “what is the bell sound I hear? Do you hear it?”. I said no, I sure didn’t. And I didn’t.
Then Deb said “I must be going crazy, because I hear bells.”
Me: Maybe your ears are stopped up and that is what you hear.
Deb: No, I hear bells.
Me: (walking into Deb’s vicinity) I hear them too!
And there was the sound, like jingle bells. Like Santa was drawing closer to our house and was just a couple rooftops over. Except this wasn’t Christmas Eve. And Santa NEVER comes early to our house. So we listened to the faint sound of bells, trying to figure out what it was and where the sound was coming from. We bent our heads sideways, parallel to the floor and started sweeping our heads back and forth, like metal detectors searching for gold. As we eliminated areas of the room, the noise got louder, softly louder. It was still barely discernible. At this point, I was pretty convinced Santa might be out front. Then we located it... on Stevie Wonder’s end table by his chair.
This is what we found:

Yes, it was bells all right. Steve’s Audibel hearing aids. He had forgotten to turn them off. I picked up the case carefully and carried it to the bedroom and shouted at him (because his ears were inside the case jingling):
WOULD YOU PLEASE TURN YOUR HEARING AIDS OFF? THEY SOUND LIKE JINGLE BELLS AND WE THOUGHT SANTA WAS BUSTING IN EARLY!!!
After looking at me for a few seconds like I had two heads, he figured out what I was saying and laughed, holding his hands out for the case and turning the bells off.
Jingle Bells everyone. Happy Holidays and may you have lots of laughs, good food, and new memories this holiday season.

...life is good... i am @jonesbabie on twitter and Instagram

tempest in a teacup

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Thu, 09 Mar 2017 04:54:00 +0000

Have you ever had the feeling that just too darn much was going on in your life? Not just in your personal life, but things happening in the space surrounding your life were making you anxious? Kind of like trying to stay upright while standing in quicksand, when you think you are doing a good job, then look down and notice that you are up to your ankles and sinking? Sound familiar? I guess it is just life, but when too much starts happening, I find myself getting anxious. And I turn to art, as I always have, as a way of focusing, calming myself, and finding my way past the anxiety and into a healthier place for my mood, mind and mental health.

Mental health in these tumultuous times is not always an easy thing to achieve. I found myself thinking a few months ago about how I got through other times like this in my life, and then I remembered. I painted and sketched my way through. It was calming and was a way of expressing a message. Sometimes only I knew the message, but it was there.

About a year ago, I started drawing portraits. I drew what mattered to me. I spent hours sketching, using digital art as my medium, eventually finding my groove. Drawing dead people was a way to connect to how I felt about loss, whether it was a talented celebrity, or a family member. Music also moved me to draw. Most recently I have been finishing some work that I started last summer. I was in a patch of worry and needed to soothe myself. So I chose to finish this.

There is a simple story here. In my hand is a teacup, just a cheap glass cup, but it is like the one I used to drink tea from at my Mum's house, when I was travel nursing and staying with her. On my thumb is my husband's wedding ring. He stopped wearing it years ago because he couldn't wear it on the job, for safety reasons (he was an electrician in an underground coal mine). By the time he tried it on again, his finger was too large for it, so I slid it on my thumb. Also on that hand, out of sight in the drawing, is my wedding ring, and my dad's wedding ring, which I wear on my middle finger. My hand rests on a beautiful turquoise and white quilt, made for me by a dear friend from my high school days, who was also responsible for setting me up on a blind date with my husband. She made and sent the quilt when I was going through some rough times with breast cancer treatment. There were many days I spent covered in that quilt, and feeling connected to Barb, and my past, and thinking about the present and future.

The day I took the photo I drew the picture from, I felt surrounded by love past and present, by those gone from my life, and those still a part of it. Past and present intermingled, and I drew strength from the thread of life, the continuity that was there even when I didn't realize it was. And as I sorted through the emotions, the tempest in my teacup settled, and I sighed, took a deep breath...and relaxed.

Life is good, even when you don't realize it is...
I am @jonesbabie on Twitter and Instagram

toasted

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sun, 06 Nov 2016 18:43:00 +0000

Sometimes, you find that sweet spot. The place where memories past and present collide. It can be bittersweet, but oh what a marvelous feeling. A connection, proof that we go on, threaded together in ways we can't anticipate. This morning was like that for me. A brief moment when I felt so connected to the past that I felt like a bridge between generations.

Maddie stayed over last night. Dunc stayed with the boys at Jim's house next door. This morning I told the kids we were going to have scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Maddie chirped in "I know how to scramble eggs!" I told her I was glad, that it would be fun to cook breakfast together. We counted heads and realized it was going to take a lot of eggs and bread. The eggs were no problem, a huge skillet fixed that. Maddie helped me break eggs into the bowl, and I finally turned the eggs over to her. She broke, beat and I chunked some butter in a skillet. We discussed adding cheese, decided that was a go, and then I faced the toast. I had a problem. The butter was hard because Jen had put my butter dish in the fridge (we always leave it out to keep it spreadable), and my dilemma was how to get the butter to melt on the toast when it was hard as a rock.

Then I remembered that little Revere pan I had inherited when I got married. Mom had given me the whole set and I had been cooking with them for 46 years. With the set was a little pot, which would hold about 1 cup liquid at most. It had been used for one thing when I was growing up.

Melting butter.

I got it out of the cabinet, added a chunk of butter and melted it, then grabbed a brush out of the drawer. By the time I was ready, Maddie had several slices of toast waiting for butter on a paper plate. I started brushing the butter across the toast, thinking about how Dad used to do the same thing.

I closed my eyed briefly and could see Dad in my mind, standing there smiling at me and his great granddaughter making toast the way he used to when I was her age. The funny thing was, I didn't appreciate that moment back then, but now I savored it. I smiled as I told Maddie the story of Grandpa and the buttered toast.

Memories past, memories present. Threaded together by a small pot and buttered toast.

...life is good... i am @jonesbabie on twitter and Instagram

stop this mudslide before we are buried

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Wed, 12 Oct 2016 00:43:00 +0000

I just read a very disturbing article (see link below). It caused me to think back to my own childhood, and remember some things that happened. I also began to look at my own values, beliefs, and behavior. Then I decided to put them down in writing. These are just my thoughts...

The article in question came from the Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/the-trump-effect-our-kids-and-country-are-still-being-contaminated/2016/10/10/bd96b244-8eed-11e6-a6a3-d50061aa9fae_story.html

I compared what I read in the article to my own childhood. I grew up in the 60's mostly. It was a time of unrest. The struggle for civil rights was in full swing. Viet Nam was raging, as were the protests against the war here in the US. The Cuban missile crisis made me feel like we weren't as safe as I always thought we were. It was a time of great turmoil. Here are a few of my memories from about the 5th-8th grade (age 10-13):

I remember taking canned food to school, where we stockpiled food and water in case of a nuclear holocaust. We practiced getting under our desks if a bomb dropped. We talked about it like it could happen any time. This was the reality of the Cuban missile crisis for me. I lost a lot of sleep and worried a lot.

I was 11 years old when we found out in class that President Kennedy had been assassinated. I remember thinking that our country was going to be lost without him. He was the President after all, and nothing like that was supposed to happen, right? I had learned about the Lincoln assassination in school, and being an avid reader, knew about the Garfield and McKinley assassinations too. But that was history, remote and unreal to me. When Kennedy was murdered, I remember feeling like the ground had dropped out from under me.

The main thing I remember feeling was that even though there was so much turmoil in America, we were still strong, and would figure it out. I knew there was a lot of disagreement. Even my classmates and I would disagree sometimes about current events. But underneath it all was a feeling (for me) that the disagreements were healthy overall. I don't remember kids fighting or mistreating each other because they didn't agree about the news or politics. We fought about more personal things. We weren't perfect. But we got along. Mostly.

I don't see that now. I see articles like the one above with kids mimicking what they see on TV, and parents trying to shield their kids from what they see going on with this election. I know one thing. It is our responsibility to shield kids from things that are unsavory, until we can explain to them that what they see is not something that should be mirrored by them. The level of anger I see on both sides of this campaign is unnerving, and disappointing. The candidates should stick to the facts, and stop slinging mud. Just because one person slings mud doesn't mean you have to sling back. It brings to mind one other incident in my life when I was about 10 or 11.

I was being bullied by a girl at school. She was just mean. I would be taunted every day at recess, and one day as she circled me, saying the same nasty things to me I had been hearing for days (maybe weeks), something inside me snapped. I was sitting on the grassy area of the playground with some friends, and I reached up and yanked her skirt and told her to stop. Yelled at her actually. There was a small tear in her skirt, because I had yanked so hard. She told me she was going to whip my ass after school because I had torn her new skirt. Her exact words. I was terrified. She was taller than me and I was not a fighter by nature. (That was probably why she had picked on me in the first place.) After school, I raced home (I walked to school every day, about a two block distance). I remember seeing groups of kids here and there on the way, from school to halfway home, waiting to see "the fight". I think it was the longest distance I had ever run. I burst into my house screaming that this girl was going to beat me up. Mom grilled me, found out the girl had been tormenting me for a while and what I had done that day. She marched to my class the next day, and indignantly told my teacher what her thoughts were about bullying, and the bully who had been picking on me. When she finished, my teacher calmly pulled out a note I had passed to a friend at some point that year, and showed it to mom. It had an ugly word in it (hell, I think) and Mom read it and after not much else being said, she left. That afternoon, when I got home, Mom's wrath fell on my head. She had been humiliated defending me, and told me that because of being blindsided by that note, she would never defend me again if I got into a fight. My teacher had muddied the issue with a fact unrelated to what had happened. And it caused my mom to stop believing me.

I see so many things that should have gone differently, but I was not in control. Mom should not have lost trust in me. My teacher should not have slung my past behavior into the discussion and muddied the issue with it. The teacher should have sat both of us down and explained to her that bullying was not ok, and told me that reacting in anger wasn't the best way to resolve the issue. She should have made us talk it out.

That incident is similar to what I see happening in this election campaign. Get hit by mud, get angry and sling it back. Then sling more mud, faster. Social media enables this, and that is sad. It is time to see what we are doing to ourselves, taking part in this. Where is the sense in all this anger? What does it resolve? It isn't ok to say whatever you wish when you are running for the highest office in the land. Both candidates have plenty of mistakes in their backgrounds. But at some point (and that point is now for me) we become saturated with all this and just stop listening. I am to that point. Overloaded. I think it is time to stick to facts, promote the positive and stop the mudslide. If one candidate takes down their own campaign with a mountain of mud, the other should not follow suit. We should all take that high road. We are better than what is happening, and should demonstrate this for our children. Because they are the ones who will ultimately lose in this. I remember when I lost, and what I lost, as though it was yesterday. So will the children watching this now.

So will the children. Let's show them the high road.

...life is good...
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

the ghost of gma mary

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 19:11:00 +0000

A couple weeks ago I woke up to my first cup of tea and some quiet reading.

Or so I thought. What actually happened was that I entered the living room and got sucked into a skirmish. The kid variety. Gramps had already been sucked into the vortex. This was how it went down...

Maddie: Grammy, Duncan and John lost the key to my 4 wheeler and I can't find it.
Me: Can you ride without the key?
Maddie: No. I looked all through the couch, but all I found was popcorn. (Last night was popcorn movie night...Duncan misses his mouth more often than not, but that's another story.)
Me: That could be a problem then. (I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer before my morning tea.)
Maddie: Grammy will you help me look?

So that was when I felt that first gentle tug into a situation I had accidentally stumbled blindly into. We searched between all the cushions, and I ran my hands down into areas of the couch I hadn't felt in years. We found a missing sock, but no key. Gramps lifted the couch and turned it over and we searched every nook and cranny. We did the same thing to his chair for good measure.

No key. But the floors under the couch and chair got vacuumed nice and tidy, sans popcorn and other unidentifiable food and garbage.

By the time I finished that (still without my first cup of tea), I was a bit irritated at two boys who had spent the whole time we were looking for the key THEY lost, playing in the bedroom with army men. That was when the ghost of Gma Mary materialized inside me. I marched into the kids' bedroom and informed the boys that they needed to use their brains to remember where they had left the key, and find it.

Both boys looked at me like I had sprouted two heads and was speaking a foreign language. I repeated myself, and told them to get UP and come and look for the key. They moaned and groaned and dragged into the living room. John had to recover from two feet he said weren't working before he could get to the scene of his crime.

John said he had left it on the couch and that was all he could remember. Dunc said John had the key last, trying to absolve himself of any connection to the crime. I told him his alibi didn't work, because he had started the chain of events by removing the key from the four wheeler.

After a half hearted search, the boys thought they were free and clear. I upped the ante at that point, thinking they would make a better effort to FIND THAT KEY. I told them they could not ride on the four wheeler anymore since the key was gone. They wouldn't be able to start the engine.

John: Dat's ok. I got my own four wheeler.
Dunc: I don't care. Doesn't matter to me.

This was when things started to escalate. I decided to hit them where it hurt, because Maddie was the only one upset by the missing key and loss of four wheeler riding time.

Me: Ok then, no more video games when you are here too.
Dunc: Fine.

Hmm, Dunc was playing tough guy. While I thought about my next move I looked for John, who was so crushed he had locked himself in the laundry room. My next statement was meant to win a stunning victory, but it worked out somewhat differently.

Me: John, there are mice in the laundry room. (Actually there are only traps.)
John: I am getting a chocolate milk. (YooHoo, a drink made mostly of chocolate, water and sugar.)
Me: You can't have a YooHoo if you didn't eat breakfast.

zombie grandkids- yes that is a YooHoo in John's hand

Gramps: He ate a cinnamon roll. (WTH did that come from? Now they were triple teaming me.)
Me: A cinnamon roll does not count as breakfast. It is sugar. (Giving Gramps the stink eye)...Now he wants to follow sugar with sugar.
John: I will eat my egg then have chocolate milk.
Me: The egg that was on the table? I threw it away when I cleaned the table off.
John: But I wanted that egg. (Chin quivering and pitiful eyes.)
Me: (Gma Mary standing firm.)Then you need to eat it when breakfast is served. I don't leave food on the table all day.

I could feel myself gaining ground. I was ready to zoom in for the kill, play my ace in the hole. Then John started to cry. Which of course made Gramps totally crumple. I was breathing hard by this time and my eyes were beginning to bulge. Gramps took a breath to say something but I shot them both down before anything could be said. I included Dunc in this shot. I was going to overwhelm them with THE TRUTH.

Me: Have you ever heard of nutrient dense and calorie dense foods? Nutrient dense means that there are lots of vitamins and minerals in the food you eat and calorie dense means...

I noticed their faces. John was looking at me like I had sprouted a third head, Dunc had one eyebrow raised almost to his hairline and a smirk on his face, and Gramps' eyes were rolling in his head like he was having a seizure.

Then the ten year old slipped in and struck the final blow.

Dunc: I don't know and don't care.
Gramps: I was going to say the same thing.
John: (speechless and staring at me...)
Me: OK THEN. Since my money is what buys most of the food around here, I just won't buy any more CINNAMON ROLLS. EVER. And no more YOOHOO either.
Dunc: whaaaaat? Fine then, I WON'T COME ANYMORE.
John: (crying...suspiciously fake sounding sniffing)
Gramps: (seizure continues)
Me: FINE THEN, Maddie can come alone. Maddie, the next time you come, we will do lots of fun things together. We can shop, and go to the park.
Maddie: There is a park here?
Me: No, it is in Jasper. In fact there are LOTS of parks in Jasper. (I see Dunc is unimpressed, and I know I have to dig deep and find his Achille's heel.)
Maddie: ok Grammy that sounds fun.
Me: Oh, and we can go fishing Maddie. Lots of fishing. LOTS. (Dunc's eyebrows shoot up, and I am pretty sure he is buying this.)

So I play my trump card.

Me: Oh, and Gramps, sell Dunc's fishing rod, since he won't be needing it anymore. (Duncan has forgotten he doesn't own a fishing rod here, he uses Gramps' tackle.)
Dunc: WAIT...WAIT!!!! YOU CAN'T SELL MY FISHING ROD! I need it to fish!
Me: No you won't need it, since you won't be coming anymore.

At that point, I began to grin, and saw Dunc starting to smile, Gramps started to chuckle, and Maddie was laughing. I looked around for John, who had been strangely quiet...

He had downed a nutrient rich banana in 2 seconds. While we were skirmishing. He was going to do whatever it took to get that YooHoo.

Gma Mary had won again. She taught us well. Jones women never lose a skirmish.

And John got his YooHoo.

...life is good... Cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

taking a breath of life

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Mon, 14 Mar 2016 14:38:00 +0000

Friday Reflections' prompt gave me something to think about this weekend. The prompt that caught my attention was this one:

Give us some advice on how to de-stress at the end of a bad day or week?

At first I wondered how I would give anyone advice on this prompt. This past year has been so stressful for me that there were days I didn't know if I could find the energy to do ordinary tasks, much less deal with work and what was going on with the rest of my life.

But as it all spiraled out of control, I knew that if I was going to survive, I needed to deal with the stress. One day I stopped, took a deep breath and remembered how I had dealt with high stress times in the past. And so the advice I give comes from the lesson I learned then. It was actually a self taught lesson, a compilation of things I have learned over the years, and the way I survive times in my life when I feel as though I might explode from overload.

I see my life as a plate. Literally. I close my eyes and see what is going on in the here and now as a plate full of stuff. I don't see food, I see the words representing what is stressing me. For instance, if I have a deadline at work, I see a piece of paper with the name of the project on it. If I have several projects going, each one is on that plate. If I have someone in the family with something serious going on, I see them too. (The year my daughter Jen had multiple throat cancer surgeries, she was sitting on the plate, in a hospital gown.) This past year, my husband's pacemaker was on that plate, my cancer was on the plate, the dog bite I got on January 1, 2016 was there, and so was my mum's illness and death. Full plate huh? You bet it was.

In the past, when my plate got too full, I started taking things off the plate to relieve the stress. I quit a job that almost caused me to burn out as a nurse, and several other things too. The problem with this past year is that there was nothing I could remove from the plate. Absolutely nothing. I couldn't run from breast cancer, or the huge bite on my face that got infected. I couldn't run the day Steve nearly died because his pacemaker failed. And I couldn't stop my mum from dying. My plate was as full as it could get, with no room left for anything else.

When that happens in my life, and it has happened in the past, then I use mental imagery to escape. I fix a cup of tea, picture a favorite place I have been, remember something good that has happened in my life, and I go there for a little while. I have mastered the ability to be in a place physically, but be thousands of miles away in my mind. I actually discovered this when I was a child, and would live inside the books I read. It takes practice, but I can actually feel my muscles begin to relax, and my breathing softens and deepens. Relaxation. Life. De-stressing in the moment.

Yoga is another way to accomplish this same thing for me. It is one of the best practices for releasing stress. I recommend it, because yoga has made such a tremendous impact on my life.

Taking care of yourself includes managing the stress in your life. Too often we spend all our days filling them with things to do, tasks for ourselves and others that takes up all our time and energy. And like a fuel tank on a car, eventually that tank goes empty. You have to make the time to refuel so that you can manage that busy life you live. A balanced life is a happy one. For me it is anyway.

And even with all that has happened since last April, I have found my happy spot again. That doesn't mean every day is easy and not stressful. It just means I have regained my coping skills again.

Found my happy spot. I encourage you to find yours.

...stop, take a breath of life... ~cath

i am @jonesbabie on twitter

the lesson of the shawl

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sat, 05 Mar 2016 05:07:00 +0000

When my mother recently died, my sisters and I had to sort through her things. It wasn't a conscious "ok now it's time to go through Mom's stuff" sort of a decision. There wasn't much to go through.

Years ago mother decided the best way to make it easy on us when the time came was to get rid of as much stuff as she could. She was moving into my sister Vicky's house and was downsizing anyway, so we had a big cleaning out for her, and divided up what meant to us then, sorting and passing stuff to our kids. Mom was happy it was taken care of.

That meant that when she died, all she had left was what was in the room she occupied at Vicky's. So there was no huge task of sorting things out. That had been done and dusted a few years before.

What the task of going through mom's things became for us was a trip down memory lane. Especially her jewelry. Mom didn't have expensive jewelry. She had never believed in spending a lot of money on it. So what she had was a collection of good and not so good costume jewelry. Some of it was so tarnished we couldn't tell what it was. But as we sorted through it, we talked about where the pieces came from, who had given it to her, and what she wore it for, if we could remember.

We laid things out on her single bed, walked away when it became an emotional overload, and then one by one over the week and a half I was there, I noticed we would drift quietly into the room, touch her things, and sort through our own memories. That was how I discovered the shawl.

It was under some things mom had crocheted, and as soon as I saw it I recognized it. It was made by my grandmother many years ago for my mom. Grandma had a special tool called a daisy maker, and she had made the daisies then crocheted them together.

I pulled the shawl from the drawer slowly and wrapped it around my shoulders. As I looked at myself in the mirror on mom's dresser, it seemed almost as though I was looking at mom. I closed my eyes and could almost feel her presence there with me, and I felt a calmness wrap itself around me like the shawl had.

The truth of life is that no matter what you do or say there is never enough time. Letting go of the anxiety and fear of my own mortality was the lesson I learned that day.

I miss you Mary, more than I ever thought I would.

...life... ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

Writing prompt for Friday Reflections:
Tell us about something you have in your home that has been handed down to you. Describe it, take a photo, and tell us the history and meaning of this item.

YOLO

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Fri, 01 Jan 2016 14:52:00 +0000

January 1, 2016

I've never been so glad to see a year end. Today is just one day away from one of the most trying years of my life. Realistically I know this year could (and I say could instead of will because I'm an optimist) have challenges ahead for me. Bumps in the road of life as I call them.

Right now, in this moment, the road is flat. A calm spot. And I'm sucking up every second of that calm.

Life is an adventure, ultimately. Some people face adversity with an attitude of fatalistic gloom and doom. But if you see things negatively, it's easy to lose the ability to laugh. If you can't laugh, your soul withers.

I choose to laugh. Every day I will find something to laugh at. I choose adventure.

I choose...LIFE.

...and I wouldn't mind getting into that size 10 top in my closet, calling my name. That's optimism too, isn't it?

the unbearable lightness of being bald

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Wed, 30 Dec 2015 14:13:00 +0000

I wrote this post on July 15, 2015:

Life is full of decisions. Every day we have to decide things. What to wear, what to eat, when to get up, when to go to bed, what to read, what to watch on television, what to read and comment on, browse etc on the internet. When I take a day off from life, I usually try to limit my decisions to no brainers, or things that are easy to choose and use minimal brain cell energy. Do you have days like that?

Most of the time my brain is whirring away with the next idea, the next thing I want to do, the next thing to learn or see or listen to.

Until May. I don't remember the specific day, but I remember what I was doing. I was having lunch with Wretch when I got the call that changed my life as I had known it. The call that made the suspicion a reality. From that point on, my thinking changed. I had trouble concentrating and finding words. I still do at times. That is probably because I have turned off part of my brain lately.

I want to be left alone. There are many times I don't want to talk to anyone, or listen to what they have to say. I have absolutely no ideas running around inside my head part of the time. Just this......void. A sort of nothing. There are times I go numb. I can't feel any emotion, I can't connect to any thoughts. I just...am.

This doesn't last all the time, thank goodness. Because if it did I would begin to resemble a vegetable. Broccoli most likely. Not for any particular reason, but because I like broccoli. It can lay down, or stand up, and even though it has a big head, it doesn't do much thinking. It describes how I feel a lot of the time lately. Standing, big head, and no thoughts going on inside that big head.

It has been a long 2 months since that fateful phone call. Sometimes it feels like a dream that I will wake up from.

I'm still waiting to wake up.

December 30, 2015:

Today my outlook and thoughts are a bit different. This year has definitely been a challenge on a personal level. I hit some low points I never thought I would have to face in my life. I'm not one to natter on about stuff, but I would like to share some things that happened to me, with the hope that if anyone else faces breast cancer, they will have some knowledge of things happening to them.

In May, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Not all breast cancers are equal, and because of a yearly mammogram, I was lucky. My cancer was very early stage, and very small. And very treatable. I felt at that point that I had won the cancer lottery.

At the end of May I had surgery, and then I had to have surgery again in June. It seems pretty common that when a woman has a lumpectomy, there is often a positive margin that requires a second surgery, or resection. I had some pain, but the main thing was that I was limited in what I could do, and that was frustrating for me.

In July, I saw my oncologists. In my brain, there would be one oncologist, but that isn't the way things work. One doctor handled the medication I would be taking, and the other the radiation I would be receiving. This is standard treatment for very early stage breast cancer. The staff at the cancer center were wonderful, and I felt an atmosphere of support, and a camaraderie among the patients, because we were all in the same boat, rowing with identical oars.

At the end of August, two things happened that would make September and October the most difficult and challenging months of my life. I started taking Femara, a medication that blocks your body from producing any estrogen, a pretty vital hormone for women. My cancer was estrogen positive, which increased the risk of it returning. I was taking estrogen at the time, and was told I needed to stop taking it. So the day I swallowed the first Femara, I stopped the Estratest. Cold turkey, no tapering, just did it. I also started taking radiation treatments 5 days a week for 6 weeks on August 24th.

By the third week in September I was feeling hopeless. No energy, fatigue so extreme that many days I had to leave work early so that I would be able to walk up the steps and in the front door of my home. I've never felt anything so overwhelming in my life. I finally told the nurses at the center how I was feeling, and that if the next 5 years of taking this medication were going to make me feel like this, I didn't want to go on.

I'll never forget what they said to me. "Oh you are depressed! You need to go to see your primary care doctor, and ask for something for anxiety, depression, and something to help you sleep." I was dumbfounded. First, because I hadn't been able to figure out what was going on with me (I am a nurse after all and have cared for people with depression for many years). At the same time I was SO glad they had put a name to my misery. I was so depressed, I couldn't even cry, or laugh, or feel any emotion. Take my word for it, that is a pretty miserable place to be. I hated the thought of more medications, but at that point was willing to try anything.

The second thing that struck my mind when the nurses chirped out that information to me, was that I was not alone. Even deep in this dark place, I felt less alone, less isolated. The next week I saw my family doctor, and we opted for Clonidine for sleep. Even though it is for blood pressure, taken at night it can help with sleep. He also prescribed a low dose of Celexa, an antidepressant that also helps with anxiety. Another recommendation was Black Cohosh, a natural supplement that helps with hot flashes, because at that point I was also going through menopause for the second time in my life.

Three days later, Stevie Wonder said "you're feeling better aren't you?"

And I was. I could already feel the effects of the medications. When the medication is right, it makes a big difference in the quality of your life. So depression was zapped, but I was having other side effects from the Femara. Bone and joint pain from hell. Some days it was so bad I could barely make it through the day. I lived on ibuprofen just so I could function. I even took it at night, because just turning over in my sleep could cause me to wake up from the pain. I have a high pain tolerance, and this medication found that spot and tap danced on it with spike heels.

At the same time, my right breast, which I thought was going to escape burns from radiation, decided to let me know that my luck had run out. My boob began to resemble a piece of fried bacon. And let me tell you, the smell of radiated flesh dying and sloughing off in sheets is not something you want to have going on with a part of your body that is located right under your nose. And of course, with burns there is pain too. I guess you could say that the bone pain distracted me from the burn pain a bit. Thank god for ibuprofen.

image from Wikia.com

Then my vanity took a hit. My hair had begun to fall out. Just a bit at first. By October it was coming out in handfuls. This hurt my pride, because I had spent almost a year letting my hair grow out, something I hadn't done since I was 10. There was my effort, going down the drain. I was a bit miffed because my family doctor and oncologist both said they thought it was temporary. The Onc thought it was male pattern baldness from loss of estrogen (GREAT), but I realized two things. One, there was NO male pattern baldness in my family (even my sick 84 yr old mother had a headful of hair), and two, male pattern baldness affects the top of your head, and my hair was coming out all over.

The good thing about the hair loss...it took my mind off the pain, and gave me a chance to try out some really expensive shampoos and hair treatments that I would never have had a chance to try. I decided I was going to keep this hair I had grown until I looked like Gollum in Lord of the Rings. I also had a follow up appointment in December with the oncologist, who decided to stop the Femara, and start another medication. As of today, the bone pain has stopped.

And...my eyelashes and eyebrows are starting to fall out. I have to laugh though. I made it through the darkest time of my life, and came out smiling.

...every day is a new adventure... ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

on reality and the randomness of thinking

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sun, 04 Oct 2015 20:25:00 +0000

Life has been crazy busy lately. I have a (fairly) new position at work that fires my enthusiasm in a new way. Daily radiation for breast cancer treatment has become part of my life like my first cup of hot tea every morning. Life isn't static, and in a few days mine will take a turn in the road. Everything that has happened has made me a bit more introspective, and when I haven't been working, which takes most of my energy these days, I am resting (fatigue is a side effect of radiation I discovered). With all this resting comes a lot of time to think, and I have lacked the will and/or the energy to write any posts sharing my thoughts.

One thing that has always remained constant in my life is art. I have always turned to it when I am stressed, life is difficult, or when I have a lot of thoughts and emotions running around inside me. It is my therapy, my solace, my friend. A safe place to go to when I just don't want to have human contact.

Recently during one of those times, I turned to digital art. My daughter Jen had recommended an app to me a long time ago, I had tinkered with it once or twice, but never devoted any time to it. One day, when I was feeling really down, I picked up my iPad to read and instead opened the drawing app. I started doodling, and then drawing, and before I knew it I was totally immersed in it. Paper by 53 is easy to use and doesn't require a large learning curve, right up my alley at this time of my life. I started doing some drawing in the mornings, and in the evenings if I wasn't too tired. It helped to level and recenter me, just as art has always done.

One aspect of Paper is a community you can post your artwork to, that can be seen by other artists, or "remixed" by them and reposted. Mix is a way to share ideas, doesn't require a lot of communication, and lets you see some inspiring art and ideas. I also noticed that there are a large number of children on Mix, and I see them commenting on works of art, wishing they had better art skills, and asking for tips which most artists are glad to give. It is a unique community.

As I watched these children (from grade school, middle school, and high school in age), it bothered me to see them beat themselves up about their skills, and I thought about what art is for me. I have seen many skilled artists in the social media sites I participate in, many of them lucky enough to be working artists, some who do it on the side just because they love it, like I do. I remember as a child wishing I could draw like a girl in my class, or a boy. I can close my eyes and see their art and their faces, forever children in my mind. I don't know if they followed this into something professional, or if they even continued to pursue their talent. I do remember my angst, even though I realize now I had fairly good skills for my age. Always wanting to be like someone else, it created negative feelings and self doubt in me at times.

I look back now, and realize that at some point in my life, I stopped wanting to be like other artists. I use my art now to bring me joy, and as a way to express my thoughts and feelings. (My photography is much the same, an extension of my inner thoughts and feelings..) With that release from envy, or longing if you will to be like someone else, came freedom and pure joy at what I do now. I wish I could convey this to those children, and tell them what they feel is normal, not to give up, to keep practicing their art, and learning. Since space is limited I found the best way to do that was a quote from one of my favorite artists, one who spent most of her life living in her artist-husband's shadow, even though she was a gifted artist in her own right.

When I was reading the posts today for Friday Reflections, I saw a prompt that induced me to finally...FINALLY... open my computer to write again.

The prompt is:
Reflect on a quote that has touched you this week, or that has made you laugh.

The quote that touched me, that resonated with me this week is by Frida Kahlo:
"I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality."

Be true to yourself. Paint your own reality, with whatever you choose to express yourself.

...never stop reaching...life is good... ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

missing gabe

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Thu, 27 Aug 2015 09:18:00 +0000

Gabriel and Steve

Most of us take pictures everyday, not thinking much about anything but the moment captured. We file them away with all the other pictures we take and often don't think much about them after that. Until something happens.

Sunday, August 23, 2015, we lost a member of our family. I can't even call Gabe a furry member because he was as much a part of our family as any of us were. I still think if I go to the back door and open it I will hear him stir, grunt and peek around the end of the deck to say good morning.

Gabe at 10 weeks

I'm not telling you this just for sympathy, but also as a way to share some information. Gabe died from a heat stroke. Sunday was no different than any other day, and not that hot in the scheme of things. July had been much hotter than Sunday. It had rained at daylight for a long time, and it was overcast and humid, but the temperature was only in the mid 80's. Our morning routine was the same as it had been for years. Steve would go outside at some point during the morning, let the dogs out for some exercise, and then drive to town on his daily trip to "pick up a few things", leaving the dogs out. The dogs were just as predictable. They would watch Steve back out of the driveway, and then lay in the shade in the driveway or under the walnut tree in the shade and wait for Steve to come home.

Except yesterday was different. After Steve left, Gabe decided to take a walk out to the end of our road. When Deb left to get some things at a local store for her cat, she noticed him coming home. Then she noticed he had foamy saliva coming out of his mouth. She came back home and ran inside screaming for me. I ran out and even though I am not a vet, I could see he was in respiratory distress. Gabe had made it back nearly to the front door before collapsing. He was struggling for air, and as I took his collar off, I could see in his mouth, all the way down his throat. Jim had run to the house by then and checked to see if there was any obstruction. There wasn't. Gabe's tongue was blue by this point, and Jim and I checked him for snake bite, a common occurrence here in the south, and something both dogs had experienced in the past. I got a wet rag and wiped his mouth, stumped by his symptoms. Deb got another wet rag and started wiping his head. We had no idea that Gabe was having a heat stroke. If he had been human, I would have suspected it immediately. But we had never heat stroke in a dog, and we were baffled. I briefly considered hosing him down, and will always bitterly regret that I didn't, because it might have saved his life. But as I thought about hosing him with water, I thought I had better not, because it might stress him more to be sprayed. I wish now that I had. How I wish I had.

Gabe and Caesar

But I didn't, and Steve, who had been called by a panicked Deb, soon arrived home. Jim picked Gabe up, they loaded him in the truck, and took him to an emergency animal clinic in Birmingham. That was when we found out Gabe had a heat stroke. I was baffled, because he hadn't been out long, it was fairly early in the day, and it was overcast and a bit cooler than it had been for weeks. Our dogs always had plenty of water, and Steve even kept a kiddie pool full of water for them to get in when it was hot. So how did this happen?

It was Gabe's age. He was almost 13 years old, and I later learned life expectancy for a Lab was ten to twelve years. When I checked information on heat strokes, I saw the mistakes I had unknowingly made. I am going to share risks and symptoms with you here. It is important to know if you are a dog owner, and I hope you will share it with anyone you know who has dogs.

Very old or very young dogs are more susceptible to heat stroke. Breeds that are bred for cooler climates also do not do well in extreme heat.

Symptoms of heat stroke in dogs include:

Panting
Dehydration
Excessive drooling (ptyalism)
Increased body temperature - above 103° F (39° C)
Reddened gums and moist tissues of the body
Production of only small amounts of urine or no urine
Sudden (acute) kidney failure
Rapid heart rate
Irregular heart beats
Shock
Stoppage of the heart and breathing (cardiopulmonary arrest)
Fluid build-up in the lungs; sudden breathing distress (tachypnea)
Blood-clotting disorder(s)
Vomiting blood (hematemesis)
Passage of blood in the bowel movement or stool
Black, tarry stools
Small, pinpoint areas of bleeding
Generalized (systemic) inflammatory response syndrome
Disease characterized by the breakdown of red-muscle tissue
Death of liver cells
Changes in mental status
Seizures
Muscle tremors
Wobbly, uncoordinated or drunken gait or movement (ataxia)
Unconsciousness in which the dog cannot be stimulated to be awakened

Risk factors include:

Previous history of heat-related disease
Age extremes (very young, very old)
Heat intolerance due to poor acclimatization to the environment (such as a heavy coated dog in a hot geographical location)
Obesity
Poor heart/lung conditioning
Underlying heart/lung disease
Increased levels of thyroid hormone (hyperthyroidism)
Short-nosed, flat-faced (brachycephalic) breeds
Thick hair coat
Dehydration, insufficient water intake, restricted access to water

Gabe didn't make it through the night, and I wanted to share the lesson we learned too late.

If you have dogs, make sure you learn how to deal with hot temperatures, and how to prevent heat stroke. We have brought Caesar, Gabe's constant companion and our other chocolate Lab, in the house now, and watch him closely to make sure he doesn't get too hot.

Caesar looking for Gabriel

Caesar is having a tough time. Since Sunday night, he has paced the floor every night, whimpering and unable to rest. We have had a hard time adjusting to Gabe being gone, but I think Caesar has suffered the most. We buried Gabe Monday. Tuesday, while Steve was doing yard work, Caesar spent most of the day lying on top of Gabe's grave. It's been a hard adjustment, and will take time. For now, none of us are getting much sleep as we miss Gabe, and try to help Caesar with his grief.

I know the hurt and sadness will eventually ease for all of us, but we will never stop missing Gabriel.

[For more information on heat stroke in dogs you can click here or here. There are also many other resources on the Internet for more information.]

...missing someone is part of loving... cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

sisters don't suck

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sat, 22 Aug 2015 17:33:00 +0000

I haven't been much in a writing mood lately. I started a new medication to prevent a recurrence of the breast cancer they just scooped out of Goliath. My hands hurt like a toothache that won't go away, I have hot flashes that make me glisten with sweat like a greased pig, along with white-eyed insomnia, and a total lack of energy that makes every step an effort. I feel almost guilty that I am bitching about this at all, and I should sound grateful that the cancer was caught so early that I have a marvelously high chance of beating it. And I am grateful, make no mistake. Every minute that I am miserable I am grateful for my luck. Grateful for the machine that found the lump long before it could be felt by hand. Grateful for the surgeon who cut it out. Grateful for the radiation oncologist who will soon be barbecuing my boob to kill any cancerous cells lingering around. Grateful for the oncologist who prescribed this pill that has caused side effects that have placed me in temporary (hopefully) hell.

And today I am grateful for my sisters. They are so much a part of who I am that sometimes I feel we breathe for each other. They are the best part of my life, during the worst part of my life. They taught me about trust, laughter, anger, happiness, and what being a sister is all about. They also taught me that love is unconditional. I've learned acceptance, and how to listen to their counsel. Growing up, I was the one they looked to for advice, being the eldest sister. Those tables have been reversed in the past several months as I struggled to deal with this cancer. They are MY rock now, the ones who make me laugh when my mood is dark, the ones who I know are always thinking about me. They are still part of me, have always been part of me, and will be until the day I die.

vix and dooj

So today, in response to the Friday Reflections prompt "Tell us about your brother or sister", I share my love of the two remarkable women in my life that I am privileged to call sisters. This is for you, Vicky and Debbie.

I love you. Thank you for being my sisters, and for being who you are.

(More about Dooj and Vix here and here.)

...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

the starry night

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Tue, 18 Aug 2015 23:13:00 +0000

One night last week, I found myself lying on a lounge chair under the stars, with my youngest daughter Deborah lying beside me on another lounger.

It had been a difficult week for both of us. I had been to the radiation oncologist and was one step closer to getting my boob barbecued.

Deborah's week had been equally difficult. Life has been sending her curves for a while now, and every time she gets a foothold and feels as though she is beginning to move forward, something knocks her down. This time the something was enough to make her feel hopeless for a bit, before she righted herself and decided to plunge forward.

So there we were, watching the Perseid meteor shower on the peak night in August when they were shooting across the sky leaving long trails, talking about a lot of different things. It brought to mind a favorite song about one of my favorite artists and that song ran through my mind while we lay there star gazing.

The talking included a couple glasses of wine, so that may explain why our conversation ambled along about these subjects:

Nocturnal cow mooing. We thought it was a romantic time of the month for cows, and the meteors were putting them in the mood. One cow in particular bawled her way across the pasture from where we sat, mooing loudly from one end to the other. Occasionally another couple of cows would chime in.

Tiger chuffing. Not to be mistaken with roaring. Deb said it was a sign of her lack of a social life, that the last thing she searched for on her iPhone was tiger chuffing. It was replaced by cow mooing, which is when we discovered it wasn't cow sex going on, but one cow trying to find the herd. Which totally burst our romantic notion about cows. I was irritated at this point by the cow screaming across the road, so I.....

Stirred the cows up with my iPhone flashlight. I know, totally mean of me, and I paid for it by being flogged by a million bugs rushing at the light and up my nose, in my eyes and ears, and...well you get the idea. Deb also was eaten alive while Googling cow mooing.

Our California road trip. Possibly the best road trip of our lives. While we reminisced about the trip, we also talked about our own insignificance in the scheme of the universe, watching the sky light up with orange meteors shooting past in the sky overhead. Then things deteriorated again when we decided to move our lounge chairs to face the house because it seemed like the meteors were coming from there. That was when....

I peed my pants trying to get up off the lounge chair to move it. I hadn't been to yoga in a couple months due to recouping from surgeries, so my abdominal muscles were jello, and so were my legs, which led to the above. After we got settled down, we realized that the meteors were actually more visible in the direction we had just turned from, and somehow I made it up off the lounge, then Deb said something, I laughed, and peed my pants again. Just a little. At that point, we started to laugh and talked about....

Estrogen levels and how they affect homicidal behavior. I had just been taken off all estrogen, given a tablet to block my body absorbing any estrogen it might try to produce on its own, and told that the pill would probably give me hot flashes. By a doctor who was smiling so kindly at me when he said it that I thought seriously about slapping him. Just for a second. Which means this ain't gonna be good, if I felt like that while I had estrogen still floating around. About this time a leaf blew off the tree and hit Deb's shoulder, and she screamed loudly. Which made a cow start mooing again and made us....

Laugh at shadows, more bugs, and leaves. About that time we were sipping the last of our wine, and didn't notice Steve slip out and say something in his booming deep voice. I jumped and screamed and so did Deb. I thought a cow had gotten loose, circled around behind us and was about to charge us. I invited Steve to join us, but he said no, he was going back to bed, which caused me to wonder out loud why the *#&$ he had bothered coming out at all. Except I knew why.

He wanted to make me scream and pee my pants.

Because he is evil that way.

Thanks Deb, my Wretched Daughter, for being there to watch stars with me. Let's do it again kiddo. Same time, next year.

(This post is in response to two prompts on Friday Reflections, how I deal with anxiety, and reflecting on my favorite song. Somehow, this week, they were both tied together.)

...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

steaming isn't the same thing as vaping

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Wed, 12 Aug 2015 12:23:00 +0000

Right now I am steaming mad. I got up this morning, meaning to write a blog post about something on my mind. Then I saw a post on Facebook and saw red. It also hurt me, because it brought back my own memories and how easy it is to hurt someone's feelings.

School started just days ago for my grandkids, and already the cruelty has started. My daughter posted on Facebook that some little girl had told my granddaughter Maddie that she is ugly. Maddie told Jen about it with tears in her eyes. As I read the comments from Jen's friends and family reassuring Maddie that she is beautiful, I felt something else.

I felt anger. And shame.

Anger for all the times I remember enduring things people said that were hurtful. I keenly remember how unkind words can rip at self esteem at a time when it is fragile and growing. I remember wondering if maybe the person who said the ugly words was right, and what they said was true. I remember wondering what I had done to deserve the words. I know now I had done nothing, but because I reacted to the words at the time, a few other kids joined in, and hammered me pretty relentlessly for a time, until they tired of the game and moved on to new prey. Back then we knew what bullies were, and these girls were bullies. I know now that I wasn't much different than the other kids. But it was the ability to make me THINK I was different that gave this small group of cruel girls the power to hurt me.

Shame. I feel shame for all the times I have said cruel things to other people. I see how hurt Maddie is, and realize how the mean things I have said over the years to other people have hurt them. Sometimes it was unintentional, but sometimes I said things deliberately to hurt others, when I had been hurt. There is no way to be unhurt by words, and saying cruel things to others doesn't undo what has been done to me, and this was brought home to me by Maddie's reaction to that little girl.

That is what I want Maddie to understand. How we treat others has a lasting impact. Words hurt, but it is important to understand that the person saying the words doesn't really know her. The person saying the words is trying to hurt her, to get a reaction from her. If I could, I would give Maddie the strength to laugh in the face of anyone who says anything mean, because words like that, in the end, are not what is important.

The important thing to understand is her own worth as a person, and to understand that people say things for different reasons. I could go on and on about the whys of it, but the important thing is to know the truth. That we all ride on the same planet, and in the end, there isn't much different about us. We are the only species that tries to feel like we are different from each other, and better than each other. But we aren't. We are all one family. The family of man.

That sounds a little smarmy. I would still love to grab that little girl by the ear and ask her just what she means by those ugly words.

But Grammys shouldn't act like that.

Most of the time.

...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

house of the rising sun

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Tue, 04 Aug 2015 10:42:00 +0000

In response to Friday Reflections bonus prompt: What did I enjoy this week? Check out Reflections from a Redhead, and reflections from me for more about this wonderful blog link up...

This much I know is true...

When I can't get my writing brain going, photos or art speak for me:

Seeing the rising sun immediately brought music to mind:

Sometimes, words aren't necessary.

...life is good. -cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

jump back

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 12:24:00 +0000

dahlia, watercolor, pen & ink

I think I had something really good to say. But, like so many thoughts lately, it left. When your brain gets too busy, it tends to do that you know. Lose things. Thoughts. Gone. As someone once said: if you can't remember it, then it wasn't important.

I have a renewed interest in art lately and spend much of my time there, drawing, painting, and photographing things that catch my eye or mind. It takes less brain effort for me to do that. It is my comfort zone. Where I have spent most of my life. Especially a good spot when thinking takes too much effort.

But I am jumping back in. Life has a way of cycling like that. You're in, you're out, then back in again.

Along the way I have been making decisions. There is too much online that is distracting to me. I am going to be trimming my life, weeding out what I don't really love, and I mean LOVE, doing online. No more saying yes when I don't want to do something. I have been stretched too thin, and find that when I dabble in too much shit, I end up creating shit. So I will do what I feel most passionate about.

The first thing I have done is separate my Instagram accounts. My @jonesbabie Instagram will be the everyday shots of my life, stuff that is don't spur of the moment. For my art, @cathyjonest will be the account I use. I decided it is time to dig deeper into what I am capable of and want to do.

So there it is.

Come along if you like. Because I found out yesterday I am going to be around.

don't hit that sun!

PS...here is something fun for you iPhone users...an app called Prune...a simple game with no rules...you just prune trees...yes there is a point and you can lose your trees, but no mad dash to win, no hyperagitated tensed up feeling...just....relaxation...a truly minimalist zen game...

...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

just face it

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Tue, 14 Jul 2015 13:09:00 +0000

Two prompts for the Friday Reflection for June 10, 2015 caught my eye. Prompt #1 was a quote by Lauren Bacall, who said "I think your whole life shows in your face and you should be proud of that." At my age and with my experience in life, writing about my face would be easy peasy. A bit too easy. So I decided to add another prompt into the mix and combine them for a twist on the Friday prompt.

Prompt #2 was look through my photographs and choose one to write about. This is the photo I chose:

That was me about 4 weeks ago, on the morning of my first surgery for breast cancer. I say first, because I found out that a second surgery was needed a couple weeks after the first one, and that was not an easy prospect to face. In this photo, I was positive, and just ready to move forward. Who doesn't want to get past something like breast cancer and move forward? Being positive was easier with that first surgery. The second surgery was more difficult, because negative thoughts began to creep in and take over my brain.

It was hard to overcome those negative thoughts. I am not a negative person by nature, and won't whine and bitch about what was going through my mind. I won't give a lot of advice about the experience either. There have been tons of articles written about breast cancer and survival, etc. Sooner or later I will write a more personal post about my experience, so that maybe someone else who is diagnosed with breast cancer and starts combing the internet for information, will come across my little post and have a few questions answered. But that time isn't now. I am not ready to dig that deep into my thoughts.

So I will focus on the photo of me. Sans makeup, it shows me smiling, which is something I do most of the time. I have had a mostly good life, a magical life, with just a few life bumps along the way. Until this year, when I seem to be traveling a mostly bumpy road. Since January I have had to deal with things that are new and difficult for me to comprehend and work through. I have gotten past some, and some are still happening. I've decided that the best thing to do to get through a year like this year is to just take one day, one step at a time. To look forward too far is to sabotage where I am right now. And to look backward with regret is a waste of energy, because nothing will change, and again, it sabotages where my life is in the present. It prevents me from working through what I am dealing with at this moment in time.

So I will drag out my copy of A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle one more time, and thumb through it, and regain some insight into my mood and way of thinking, which lately has been self defeating. I will do this because I am that positive person my dad had a big influence on. I have that strength in me, waiting to be tapped into. I will do it because I am a get it done type of person, and not possessed of a victim mentality.

I will continue to depend on my family, reconnect with old friends, make new friends, stay connected with my sisters (who were the first best friends I ever had), and find joy through my art and photography. I will tap into the strength inside me to overcome and deal with anything and everything, and it will show in my face.

My face, my eyes. An open window to my soul.

...life isn't always good, but it is always real... cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

imagine

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Thu, 09 Jul 2015 04:36:00 +0000

Photography is an extension of every thought that I have. - Trent Parke

I love social media. Where else can you have conversations with people who fire your own imagination to new heights through an ongoing exchange of fresh ideas and innovations? For years I have watched people online who brought their own thoughts to life through their art, and by sharing their work inspired me to areas of thought I would never have experienced without the exposure to social media. This has been what has driven and influenced my own work. I am passionate about art in all its forms. The one thing that makes being human unique is the ability to experience and enjoy creativity in forms too numerous to mention.

As a child I got that exposure through books, then movies and television. With the advent of the computer age, there has been a veritable explosion of sharing, at a speed that is mind boggling. I can't say mind overload is unique to social media and computers, because even as a young child I would read so much so fast that my eyes would go blurry. The main difference between past and present is that I am now more keenly aware that there is no way to experience it all. For someone who loves to see and do new things, this has created anxiety and sadness at times, the fear that I will miss something, the knowing that I do miss so many things.

But juxtaposed against the anxiety and sadness at what I can't see or do, is the joy I find in everything that I get to ex[experience and learn. The joy greatly outweighs the negative emotions, and keeps me pushing myself to use my imagination. The joy that has led me to try to capture my life and thoughts, to share with others, but most especially for my family to have. I find a lot of comfort in the thought that someday my grandchildren, and their children, will be able to see what I saw, and know me through what I have done. That is my hope.

It is why I write my thoughts, and put what I see and think on canvas and in photos. It is an extension of me.

Just my thoughts....

...imagine life is good, and it will be... ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

tunnel vision

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Wed, 08 Jul 2015 07:25:00 +0000

Been looking at this tunnel for months now. This year hasn't been the best, but I really can't gripe much, because it could be worse. Yes, things can get worse. I've had those years too. It's been a while since I felt like pieces of the sky were falling, and hitting my head, but this year has taught me that it is time to bring out the safety helmet before the next piece of sky whacks me.

I don't mean to sound negative, and I am sure that there are plenty of oh woe is me blogs out there, and I am really not that type of person. Mostly I've been numb and just not dwelling on this cancer in my breast. I am good at avoiding stuff. When things get tough, I have a knack for just not thinking about a problem if there is nothing I can do about it. I have to say, this problem has given me pause though. Time to think about where my life is, where I want it to go, and things I haven't done that I want to do. We all think about things that way sometimes, right? I mean, I know I can't be the only person who has felt these things.

I feel like I have kind of skipped all those stages of grief that Elisabeth Kubler-Ross wrote about, and just went straight to numb. As numb as the armpit and shoulder where the lymph node was removed. I'm glad for small things, like finding out this cancer has a 94%ish cure rate, and that the lymph node was negative. It almost makes me feel ashamed for feeling this numbness. But it is there, and I can't make it go away, so I am focusing now on the light at the end of the tunnel. And allowing myself to be numb for the moment. Thinking as I watch the clock tick away and the hours go by until this next surgery later this morning to remove the cancer cells that were missed, and that the tissue biopsy revealed.

So I look at Goliath and wonder what it will be like to have a breast with a crater in it, dread being put to sleep and the loss of control over my own body, dread the discomfort and pain afterward because I am so effing ready to be well again, and not this recovering surgery patient. I want my effing life back, things back to normal. I have SHIT TO DO.

So, hurry up sunrise, and let's get this show on the road. I have a life to live.

the light at the end of the tunnel

My parting shot is a favorite Pink song, that exactly fits my mood right now...(alert, explicit language)...

Is there anything in life BETTER than rock and roll????

...life is good, dammit, so raise your glass!!... ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

favorite places and spaces in my mind

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Mon, 06 Jul 2015 12:18:00 +0000

tea time

The prompt for July 3rd that caught my eye at Friday Reflections has had me thinking for days. How could I pick one favorite place? There have been so many of them. I think about all the places I have traveled, the things I have seen and done. How could I possibly whittle it to one favorite? Janine Ripper at Reflections From a Redhead described her favorite place so colorfully, I was ready to pack a bag and leave right then.

But picking my favorite place? It finally dawned on me. The place that is my favorite of all is....

the grapes of cath

my mind

That's right. All the places I have visited, the things I have seen, are all trapped in lovely memories. They are stored away, like a filing cabinet full of cards and photos, and I can revisit and think about them whenever I want to. This ability to pull memories and close my eyes and be there is something I have always done. It is especially helpful right now, at this moment in my life when there is so much going on with so many people in my life that I often wonder what will happen next.

watercolor, pen & ink

Today, I have pulled out a memory of one of those places. My sister Vicky's back yard (garden for those of you who don't call a yard a yard) and one of the most peaceful places I have ever been. It is a place I can sit quietly, looking at the flowers, birds, bees, and listening to the breeze blowing gently through the trees, stirring the leaves to a soft rustling sound. It is a place I have painted, photographed and long to be when things are overwhelming. It is my morning refuge, my favorite place to drink my tea and think about all the vagaries of life.

vix, watering her plants

It is a place I return to at least twice a year...and where I will return once more in October of this year. Until then, I have my memories, filed away in my mind to pull out and relive over and over whenever I feel a yearning for peace and quiet.

morning in the garden

the perfect rose

...life is good. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

finding the glass slipper

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Sun, 05 Jul 2015 05:08:00 +0000

It's been a bummer kind of week. I have a not fun week coming up next week, and I was mulling it over in my mind this week, and getting kind of cranky in the process. Then I went to the movies last night with Wretched Daughter, my youngest, and one of my nieces. We had been planning to see Magic Mike XXL, and I wasn't sure what to expect. The first Magic Mike movie had been ok, but was a bit on the heavy side, taking itself way too seriously. This second time around it was played lighter, more for laughs, and about ten minutes into the movie we were having a great time. The script was a good match with the acting, and there were some classic lines in the movie. There were also 4 women sitting in the row in front of ours, having as good a time as we were. I think we were all stomping our feet, hollering and dancing to the music at times.

And as I watched the movie, and laughed with the girls around me, I forgot all my worries and just enjoyed the moment. And what moments those were! The music was good, the guys were luscious and the best part of the movie was Joe Manganiello's hunt for the perfect glass slipper. To find out what that means, you will have to see the movie yourself. I'm not about to spoil it. As far as I am concerned, gorgeous Joe stole the show.

When the movie was over, the women in front of us stood up, and the one closest to us said "come on, we are headed to Atlanta to a male review. We can be there in 2 1/2 hours." When the three of us started laughing loudly at her tone and sound of determination, she grinned at us and said "y'all are welcome to go too". We were still laughing when we went out the front door on our way home.

Life isn't perfect, but there is always something good to focus on, and something to make you laugh, if you let yourself find it.

...life is good when you spend it laughing. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

ambulance chasing

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Thu, 02 Jul 2015 06:59:00 +0000

June 26, 2015 was an important day for Stevie Wonder. Due for the first checkup since nearly dying in April when his pacemaker had to be replaced after an epic failure to pace his heart (read about it here), he was understandably nervous because he had developed atrial fibrillation after the new pacemaker was placed in his chest. His recovery from the second surgery was a bit rough compared to the first time. I tried to reassure him that he was doing ok, and just had to give himself time to heal. He was a bit whiny about the whole thing in my opinion, but I think that was because my patience was thin from dealing with my own breast cancer and surgery, which was taking place almost simultaneously to what Steve was enduring.

The twins were staying with us for a few days, so they went with us to the clinic. We were going to wait for Gramps to get all his tests finished, then go eat a late breakfast. We left at the crack of dawn for an hour long drive to the clinic. Duncan used the seat belt as a hammock for his head so he could sleep.

Duncan in a head sling

As we walked into the clinic (it was attached to the main hospital), I was explaining to Maddie what an echocardiogram was and the way I watched Gramps heart beating on the monitor when he was in ICU, before his pacemaker was put in. Her response to what I felt was a brilliant description was: "Disgusting!".

the long wait

As we sat waiting, we talked, and I played a few games of checkers with the kids. Time passed...one hour, then two. As we began our third hour of waiting the kids were about to mutiny from hunger and thirst. So I took them to another part of the clinic to get some juice and a snack. As I was digging money out of my purse to buy juice for the kids, Maddie (who was standing near the hall) uttered the fateful words: "There goes Gramps".

I figured she meant he had walked past and was headed to the waiting room looking for us. I said as much, and that was when she lowered the boom: "No, he wasn't walking, he was on one of those rolling tables."

"WHAT?" I said.
"He was on a rolling table Grammy."
At this point I looked a little panicky because I was caught between putting a $1 bill in a machine for a snack for Maddie, and taking off after the gurney. Maddie made my mind up quickly when she said: "I don't need a snack Grammy!"
So we took off down the hall. The hall took several turns, like a snake. Maddie had run ahead to scout Steve's location as I brought the rear up with a still sluggish Duncan. She would get to one turn, I would shout at her "CAN YOU SEE HIM?", she would shout back "YES I CAN", and then we would advance to the next bend in the hall.

In my mind the whole time was that SW had collapsed during the stress test, and they had come looking for me to tell me they were transporting him to wherever they needed to go to fix him, and couldn't find me because I WAS BUYING EFFING SNACKS FOR STARVING GRANDKIDS.

After what felt like a mile of scouting, reporting and running, I ran out of steam as I made it to the last bend and saw the end of the gurney and a nurse waaaaaaaaaaaay down the hall just going out of sight. I decided we would go back to the waiting room and wait until someone found us and told us the bad news.

So we sat there, they split Duncan's honeybun and drank their juice and I fidgeted like I had ants in my pants. About an hour later, Steve walked in the door of the waiting room.

bubba gramps

WALKED. I jumped up and almost shouted at him "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"
He looked at me like I had lost my mind and said "yes".
I said "did you go by on a gurney about an hour ago?"
"No" he said.

Then it hit me.

I had been chasing a stranger down the halls of the hospital. I asked Maddie how she knew it was Gramps on the gurney. She said: "because he had white hair and was wearing a mask like Gramps does when he is sleeping." Steve saw my face and knew something was up, so I had no choice but to tell him what had happened.

He started laughing.

He was still laughing 4 hours later every time someone called to check on him and he got to tell the story again.

an anticlimactic end to the morning, at Waffle House

I thought I had finally lived it down until Steve said a few hours later:

I would have loved to see what happened if you'd caught that gurney and saw you'd been chasing a stranger down the hall.

Steam started coming out of my ears at this point.

I am now the victim of another Steve story, which grows with "embellishments" every time he tells it.

...life is like chasing gurneys, you never know where you are going or what lies ahead. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

book launch: Living an Alive Life! by Tara Schiller

noreply@blogger.com (cathy jones) — Mon, 29 Jun 2015 06:23:00 +0000

I have the privilege and honor to have guest blogger Tara Schiller here today, on a very exciting day for her! Today is the launch of her book, Living an Alive Life! Tara is an author, life coach, business woman, and mom of four who will help you discover your true self, and live your life with purpose. In Living an Alive Life, Tara shares her life experiences as she provides valuable exercises to help you discover how to live life fully as the person you are intended to be. Please take the time to read Tara's post here, and to visit her blog, Absolutely Tara. Without giving away any spoilers, I will say that I discovered it is ok to be selfish. (I was surprised about it too!). I had several AHA moments as I read Living an Alive Life, and I know you will too! Read on, and learn how you too, can life life fully. (You can also follow @taraschiller on Twitter.)

From Tara:

If I could tell you one thing, it would be that you are amazing. And that you are absolutely and completely worthy of love for anything and everything that you are. I’d tell you that all those parts of you that you feel are ugly, bad, or worthy of shame, are in fact, what makes you so uniquely beautiful in the first place. Because you’re interesting. You’re full of character, and emotions, and life.

If you could see your heart through my eyes, you’d see perfection alone. You’d know that anyone who didn’t love you was completely out of their mind, and you’d feel sad for them because they missed out on something great in their lives by not knowing you.

But even if I told you these things, would you believe me? Would you take it in and protect it with your life? Maybe for a minute.

The reality is, most of us aren’t able to see ourselves this way. We’ve gone our whole lives being told what makes us accepted by others and what drives them to reject us. And since our mind is wholly devoted to protecting our heart, it has produced an acceptance gathering projection so we can feel loved.

But the problem is, we don’t just want to be loved, we want to be known. Being known is what connects us, not only to others, but to ourselves.

The mind doesn’t like that idea, because it can’t control how others react to our true hearts. It can’t create a good and bad master list and ensure we behave accordingly. And if it can’t do that, it won’t be able to protect us from rejection. The mind hates rejection. And so we aren’t known by others, and we aren’t in touch with who we truly are.

How do we overcome this? How do we retrain the mind to value the truth about our hearts over the acceptance of others? That’s what my book is about.

In Living an Alive Life, I focus on retraining the mind to value your true self, then turning those discoveries into something real and tangible with an actionable plan, and dealing with the emotional obstacles that will surface along the way.

If you go through this process and learn to value your truth, you will be able to live a life that fits you, not one that you’ve been told you’re supposed to live. And when you can become who you truly are, you will come alive. And an alive version of you will leave the world in awe!

-Tara Schiller