Go Heels...

Tuesday, 10/29/24

As I walk through the small store, my eyes grazing upon books and cards and trinkets and soaps and jewelry and apparel, a man walks by wearing a UNC Tarheels long sleeve tee. 

"Go Heels," I say with a smile. He responds with a smile and affirmative, "Yup." 

"I have a kinda funny short story, if you have a moment," I respond. 

"Sure, " he answers still smiling.

"My mom was one of 13 children though only 10 made it to adulthood. So, I have lots of cousins. Most of them went to UNC - Chapel Hill. But one of my cousins had a different idea. He applied and got accepted at UNC-CH and then proudly showed his acceptance letter to us cousins and announced with a chuckle, 'I only applied to turn 'em down. Just wanted to show everybody that I ain't goin' there. Instead, I'm going to App State.' :D " 

The man in the Carolina tee chuckles, "Well that's even funnier because I went to App State. But I'm a true-blue Carolina fan."

Some ten minutes later our paths cross again in our store perusal, and I ask, "Where are you from?" (I often ask this question of folks I encounter along my day-trip adventures in the mountains.) 

"Eden," he responds and then proceeds to explain where Eden is located (which I already knew). While listening I search my brain for a name. Thankfully, Brain came through...

"Did you know Harold Matthews?" I ask. I figure he would know Harold because Harold had been superintendent in Eden, and the UNC-tee man (whose name is Tim) looks old enough to have known Harold.

His face lights up, "Yes! I knew Harold well. And his family."

My face lights up too. "Wow. Harold was my husband's uncle. We went on a few trips to Topsail Beach with the Matthews. Hubby's having supper tomorrow night with Bruce." (Bruce is Harold's son-in-law.)

"Wow," he echoes. And then continues "I just talked to Bruce this morning. My wife and Cherly were best friends." (Cheryl was Bruce's wife who passed away years ago from cancer.)

"Cheryl was the closest thing to a sister that Hubby ever had." I add.

Tim calls and motions for his wife, also named Cheryl, to come join us. Her jaw drops upon the introduction.  One of things she tells me is, "I remember going to Aunt Kate's!" (Kate is Hubby's mom who is still alive and well at 89 years old.)

We swap stories, all three of us delighted at this serendipitous encounter.

I later drive north on the Parkway to Smart View at Mile Post 154.1, my soul feeling satisfied, grateful, and seen as I allow the magical flow that so often accompanies me (especially in the Blue Ridge) on these daytrip portals into life beyond my symptoms and problems reminding me of how very rich I am. These mountains, they are my true home on this earthly sojourn...

~*~

Tim and Cheryl visit the store mentioned above one time a year -- in October. The store? Poor Farmers Market in Meadows of Dan, Virginia. A place I frequent on my daytrips to my beloved Blue Ridge Parkway. 

The store-deli-gas station-produce stand is a feel-good gathering place. Hubby and I have grown fond of this special place -- its owner and staff, the regular patrons, and the magic it has brought into our lives. The story above is not the first of these magical encounters at the Poor Farmers Market, but it probably takes the winner. However, there is that time when, on one visit up there, Hubby and I came home with an extra $10,000 (in the form of two $5000 checks) in our wallets! It was a gift of gratitude from a previous pet-sitting client. (Woah doggies, was that I surprise!) Another time, I met a man who was born the same year in the same hospital as me in Daytona Beach, Florida. (Who woulda thunk...) There are other stories, but those three are probably at the top of the serendipity-magic list.

If any readers are ever driving the Blue Ridge Parkway in southwest Virginia, I highly recommend checking out Meadows of Dan located right off the Parkway at Mile Post 177.7.

~*~

The Youngbloods with Get Together...

Threads...

Threads turn into tapestries...

Pulling a thread can unravel a garment...

Hanging on by a thread can save a life...

 

~*~

As I continue to reread the book, The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump (2017), I find it grounding. Why is that? I wonder. 

Perhaps that seems odd - that such a book would have a grounding effect. It seems odd to me; then again, I fall in the "odd" category regularly. (To read why I chose to reread that particular book, click here: Thoughts and sighs... .)

What are some possible reasons for this grounding effect? 

• What I am reading affirms some of my thoughts, experiences, feelings regarding people who display same or similar traits that the book outlines. 
• As I read the chapters, I think less about Trump and more about those people in my life who have displayed these traits, which may help clear any cobwebs left over from those personal experiences.
• Interestingly, I do not think about Way leadership -- Wierwille or Martindale or Rivenbark or others. Why is that? I think because (for me) The Way was not so much a cult of personality as it was a totalistic system where the doctrine superseded everything in my life. Yes, I was definitely influenced by leaders, but my focus was always the doctrine, part of which was to obey leadership as long as the commands/demands/directives were based on the accuracy of the Word (doctrine) as taught by The Way. (Robert J. Lifton calls this "doctrine over person" which Lifton lists as number 7 on his "Eight Criteria for Thought Reform.")
• As I read, I question, How many of these traits do I display, and where do they fall on a continuum? 

So that's part of what's happening in that thread... 

~*~

What about the effects of Smile Therapy? :)  

 

So far, good. It's not necessarily easy to put on a smile, especially on high-symptom days. This smile often helps me redirect from a path of despair to a path of peace. It's like... I'm more accepting of my limits, and I feel/believe that my work of selfcare is commendable. This can be really difficult at times -- finding value in the often-solo care of my symptoms. It can feel pointless at times -- Why continue with all the selfcare details if all I do is maintain a crippled body? 

At some point, I may write about my low-level laser therapy, which is part of my selfcare routine. Hubby and I have no doubt that the lasers have kept me from becoming bedridden since having to give up my routine lumbar epidurals in April 2022. (I had approximately 38 epidurals over a course of eight-plus years, 2014 into 2022.)

~*~

The Gaither Vocal Band with Good Things Take Time...

Smile Therapy

 Plenty of stuff floating around in my head which I could write about...

I choose smile therapy...

~*~

I received some candid photos via text last week of me holding my 4-month-old granddaughter in mid-September. I was somewhat shocked. My face looked drawn, wearied, sad. 

This is not who I want to be.

You've been here before; remember? Some years back when you realized you weren't smiling because you were so seldom around people. 

Oh yeah; I remember that...

So, this week I've taken up what I call smile therapy. It's kind of like being aware of one's posture. When you note you aren't standing straight, you pull the imaginary string coming out of the crown of your head to straighten up. I do similar with smiling. When I notice I'm not smiling, I put on the smile. It seems to be helping. (I just web searched "smile therapy." It's a thing. :) Smile Therapy: Harnessing the Power of Grins for Mental and Physical Wellbeing)

My day kinda begins as follows...

I open my eyes in the morning and say, "Another day. I accept my fulltime job - being my own caregiver. It is not selfish; it serves my family. At this point in my life, it is what I have been called to do. This is simply my life." 

 

I tell my self: I am loved and supported. I trust in the healing power of time and self-compassion. I am grateful for all life brings to me.

 

I remind myself of my caregiver role: to direct me to act toward myself as I would toward another who lives with limited function and mobility. I wouldn't condemn them; I'd commend them.  I know how hard it is (physically and emotionally) to simply get out of bed each day; most of those days, alone.

I remind myself to remind myself to smile throughout the day and for my disability part to thank my caregiver part and for my caregiver part to commend and have empathy toward my disability part.

September was a hard month. I suffered multiple days in deep despair. I felt it and let the tears roll. At these times, the temptation to self-loathe visits with its harsh judgment of how little value I have because (for one) I'm not able to serve others like I once did and still want to. During these episodes I seldom reach out. 

Why not? Why do I not call upon folks when in this deep despair? 

• People live busy lives with problems of their own. 
• It's human nature (at least with good humans) to want to help which (too often) leads to someone giving unsolicited suggestions or advice, which leads to me explaining things I've tried and blah, blah, blah. And that's on me. Instead, I could respond, "Thanks. But right now, I'm not looking for suggestions; I just want to be seen." 
• Sometimes (often?) when one is in deep despair, it simply takes too much energy to try to communicate. 

I continually renew my commitment to this job that fell in my lap and one which I can't ignore -- being my own caregiver. Yes, Hubby helps, and without him I would need to hire assistance or move in someone. Hubby is also our breadwinner and is gone 12 hours a day on weekdays (which includes about a 3-hour round-trip commute in heavy interstate traffic), except that he has started working from home one day a week so that I'm not physically alone in the house Monday through Friday.  He usually texts me once and calls me two to three times a day. (He takes good care of me, and for that I am grateful.) Often, he is the only person I hear from through the week, other than spam and medical texts. A few times a month a friend or my children might call. Or I'll call them. 

But, like I stated above, I seldom call when I am in the depths of despair (though my children have invited me, even encouraged me, to do such). I admit, part of the reason for not calling my kids is pride. I want them to be proud of me, but anymore, I too often feel there is so little to be proud of. I have to remind myself of what I have accomplished in my life. The accomplishment I'm most proud of? My children; they are good people.

"Pride" brings to mind a scripture I have adapted to help break my checking-and-rechecking X-Twitter habit (which I don't like at all, but I also understand how and why online life can draw me in):

"All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of X, is not of the Father, but is of the world." 

I chuckled when I first saw that thought. 

Carol, regardless of what life brings with its sorrows and joys, keep smiling...
You have an abundance to be grateful for... 
And remember, wherever you go you are not alone; you always bring Mia Long...
And sing Ezra's lyrics: "...You're not alone, although you feel alone; you're just like everyone; you're holding on ..."
And remember AAA: Ask. Act. Accept...

~*~

Micheal Franti: Nobody Cries Alone