Rote and linear

Do I take my walker? Do I not take my walker?
I don't want people to think I'm trying to gain sympathy. I mean, am I really disabled enough to have to use a walker?

It doesn't matter what people think. What would be easier on you, walker or trekking poles?

Walker it is.
With a wrist brace on each hand and wrist, I unload my bike from Edward the Explorer and load the walker.

See? That doesn't sound like someone who is disabled. Unloading your bike?

Stop it. You have shared and can still share why you can cycle and how it is that you can load and unload a bike into the back of an Explorer. And it doesn't matter what people think. You know. Your loved ones know, and that's what really matters.

My wrist braces support and help give me strength. They are light blue in color, a terry-type cloth with three Velcro sections to secure them around each wrist and palm. I have quite a few pairs. One for sleep, one for being in public, one for grungy work. I remove the metal inserts and gel cushions and hand wash them every so often. I buy a new pair if needed for my wardrobe when I attend a wedding or some similar social event, which is very seldom.

I drive to Dr. Neurology. I don't park in a handicap space. I don't need it today. I open Edward's rear hatch decorated with stickers, mostly about hiking and biking. I unload my walker. I put my water bottle in the pocket carrier of the hiker's hip pack attached to my walker. I place my canvas blue-with-black trim tote bag that carries my other hip pack which serves as my wallet and carrier of essentials, and my planner and Sudoku books into the wire basket which hangs under the walker seat.

I walker-roll into the waiting room. It's packed. Not unusual. One person is waiting at the check-in window. I roll up behind them, turn my walker around, click on the handlebar brakes, and sit down. It's a comfy walker. It's name is The Phoenix, or Phoenix for short.

Phoenix and I wait my turn.

When I get to the window, the receptionist warmly greets me. But she has a puzzled look on her face as she scans her computer screen.

"Do you have an appointment today?" she asks.

"Yes. At 1:40. It is Tuesday. Isn't it?" My mind retrieves the date and time, thinking back to when I got my epidural six weeks ago. "Yes, I'm sure it's today."

The receptionist chuckles as she tries to remember what day it is and confirms that indeed it is Tuesday.

"I don't see you on the schedule," she informs me.

"I got an email confirmation. I think it was a confirmation?" As I pull out my phone to access my emails, my memory quickly sees the email from the neurologist's office. Well, two emails which appear to be duplicates; they arrived in my mail box at the same time. Neither of which I had opened. My mind's eye sees the subject line of each email. Shit. I think those were just invoice notifications.

I open my email box on my iPhone. Yes, the duplicate emails are an invoice notification, not a confirmation.

My eyes swell with tears. Okay, Carol. Don't freak. If he can't see you today, you'll just have to cope. Up your prednisone higher than usual.

"It's an invoice, not a confirmation. I don't have an appointment card because I always just use my planner. Crystal knows. I see him every six weeks."

The receptionist picks up on my distress. "Okay. Don't worry. Let me go talk to Crystal."

Surely they'll get me in. They know I need these shots.

But if they can't, you'll just have to figure it out.

"Okay. We'll work you in."

"Thank you. Thank you. Is it about a two hour wait?"

"Probably. He's going on vacation at the end of the week and will be gone for two weeks. So the schedule is packed full."

No biggie for me. There is most always a wait. It's the biggest complaint about this doctor. On the other hand, patients still come. He's really good with those needles. I've had to wait two hours before when I wasn't a work-in. I don't mind the wait. The relief to come is worth waiting for.

We chat a moment as she gets me on the schedule. I pay my bill.

When I roll around, I see a line has formed. About five people. They all move to one side and let me roll by.

~*~

Around 4:00 I'm in the examining room. Now another thirty-minute wait. I pull out my Sudoku and continue to work a puzzle.

Doc enters the room around 4:30. He greets me with his regular cheer. I could be cynical and think, Sure he's always glad to see me. I pay my bills. But I really don't think that's why he's warm and welcoming. Besides, the last two years he has given me two complimentary nerve conduction studies.

We chat a moment and he asks, "How's the Sudoku going?" My last appointment when he entered and I was working a Sudoku puzzle, we had a discussion about it. And the number nine. I showed him how to do nine-overs, also known as casting out nines, an old school method of checking addition and multiplication which is really cool.

"I don't seem to be getting any better. But I still enjoy it. You know, I can always work Sudoku. I mean when I have brain-fog-brain-mud, I can work Sudoku. I think maybe because it's so linear? Does that make sense?"

"It does." He responds as he is looking over my shoulder at my puzzle book.

"How about 120 milligrams today," he states somewhere between a question and a statement.

"I'd rather go with 80. Last time I got 80, I think. When I got 120 some months back, I had too many side effects."

"Hmm. Let's do 120." He responds.

I don't argue the case. I could probably use the 120. I'm not doing too well compared to my usual six-week interval.

120 it is.

"Okay. I'll see how I do with the side effects."

I'm back to my Explorer by 5:00.

Later I wonder if Doc can assess how much injectable steroid I need just by looking at me.

I received this round of neck shots on 6/26/18. By 6/28 in the morning, I'd lost 3 pounds. At least 2-1/2 of that from nerve inflammation reduction. It happens regularly. Should no longer amaze me, but it does.

~*~

Funny how, when I have brain-mud, I can work Sudoku. I can also work at my 2-hour/week job at an art studio, transferring payments in increments usually of $12.50 and $25.00 onto index-sized green cards that are arranged alphabetically by the artist's last name.

Brain-mud doables. Rote and linear.

I often work Sudoku as I fall asleep at night.

Fields of Gray

I seldom post about or talk politics. Or religion for that matter. I don't have energy for debate or even discussion. It can drain me. So I avoid such for my mental and emotional and physical health.

Actually I don't like to debate, even if I had the energy. There was a time I did. Maybe when I saw things more black and white. But was it really debate, or me just trying to change the other person's mind? Maybe that's what debate is, at least in part.

Things I think about.

I lean pretty far left in my ideal world. I wish people could freely migrate. I wish money didn't exist. I don't like guns for killing. I wish we didn't kill animals for consumption (though I am not a vegetarian, so that's hypocritical of me). And that when we do kill them, it shouldn't be for sport. And that those we kill to eat should be treated humanely. But then how can killing another for my own consumption ever be humane?

Things I think about.

But my far-left leaning ideal isn't practical and will never work in this world; greed doesn't allow for such. So I vote with that in mind. Maybe crimes against humanity are in there too - as far as my ideal not being practical. And as far as peace without weapons. But then, outside of severe mental illness, what are the reasons people resort to crime?

Things I think about.

Usually my political talks are with Hubby, Daughter, Daughter's partner, Son, and one friend. Not all of us are politically left-leaning. That said, none are far right; but rather, more middle-right. A couple of us even voted for Trump, but those couple aren't Trump loyalists. So, we have one of those mixed families. And we still love each other and respect each other. Politically-mixed families. One reason I wish Roseanne hadn't been cancelled (though I never watched a lot of Roseanne) and one reason I like Tim Allen's show, Last Man Standing.

Things I think about.

So, what was I gonna write about? Oh yeah...that I seldom post about or talk politics.

But, I want to put some of my thoughts out there regarding some of the stuff in the news. Even though I seldom voice my thoughts (except in private conversation as noted above), I do read, both right and left, and center. I sign a few petitions, and I send emails from time to time to my representatives. How much influence those small actions have, I don't know. That said, I am a believer that enough small actions combined, can influence. And I vote. Before I vote I read up on the people and the issues on whom and which I'll be voting.

I have lost sleep over Trump and his policies. Especially the children in the holding centers. Especially the littlest ones - five and under. When I read the words of a pediatrician who toured one of the twelve-and-under facilities, I think it was in Texas, and learned the caregivers could not touch the children to comfort them, I was horrified. Yes, horrified. I thought, What the fuck is wrong with these people!?! "These people" referring mainly to the policy makers. From what I gathered the caregiver wanted to pick up and comfort the child that was in distress that the pediatrician was witnessing at that moment, but the pediatrician was told that touching the children was not allowed. Surely though, they could touch babies? I mean, if diapers need changing, etc., they have to touch them. Maybe it was limited to what was deemed only "necessary" in the physical. (I couldn't find the article I initially read, but I found this on which, in the context of comforting the child, states "...we were told that they couldn't pick up the children and hold them.".)

That night I barely slept.

Trump harks about crime committed by people who are in our country illegally. I really question how much crime is committed by those people versus us legals, proportionally speaking. I don't think any of the mass shootings have been by illegal migrants. I think most mass shootings have been committed by white males. People are murdered daily in the US. I speculate most of those murders are committed via gunshot. How many are committed by illegals? Recent crime in my local area isn't committed by illegals. If it is, that isn't reported on the local news.

I've read a bit to try to get a grasp on asylum seekers, who, from what I gather, have recently been charged as criminals when in the past they were given a court date to reappear to decide something about their status. Trump stated only 3% return for their hearings. I read elsewhere, that listed a government source (I'm pretty sure it was a government source), that 75% return, if I understood what I read correctly. (I can't find the article I initially read, but here's one with similar information.) Trump lied stating we have 1000s of immigration judges. For him to not allow two-hundred-something judges to be added to the three-hundred-something we already have so that these cases can be expedited and so that the current children may be more quickly reunited with their families, is cruel.

I think Trump's bullying and degrading rhetoric has been a catalyst for both the left and the right to ramp up their own dehumanizing rhetoric. I hope that doesn't sound sanctimonious. Maybe it does. But, still, his normalization of such is toxic.

He so reminds me of Craig Martindale, one of the past presidents of The Way International.

I was recently updating my Way story again and came across a line about Martindale's obsession with "keeping the Household pure." "Household" refers to followers of The Way. And it was an obsession. Sniffing out any gay people and then kicking them out, sometimes literally. One Corps guy told me that he caught some gays in the act in a bathroom at the Rock of Ages and used his cowboy boots, literally kicking them. Sometimes folks weren't even gay and the decision was based on suspicion and so-called revelation from God. Kicking out people, again by revelation, for not following any number of "directives," as The Way called them.

When I read the line in my story about Martindale's purity obsession, Trump's toxic Nationalism came to mind. No, it's not identical, but the mindset and some of the tactics are similar.

I went along with Martindale's mark-and-avoid. One time I even called our leadership on a believer, who was a friend of mine, and reported her for having debt. She was going to the Advanced Class and believers were supposed to be out of debt to go.

I did that.

I sent back a letter in an envelope to an ex-Way friend and wrote something like "mark-and-avoid" on the outside of the envelope. If I recall correctly, I didn't even open the envelope. I did call our immediate leadership and asked what to do and followed his directions.

I did that.

I can't think of other incidents at the moment. I'm sure there are more.

My did-thats were wrong. They were cruel. They were dehumanizing, treating people as things. All to support a doctrine and practice that, at the time, I believed was God-ordained and the right thing to do. It was a slow process to get me to that point. I made little compromises along The Way.

Well, that isn't what I planned on writing. I was going to write more about politics and some of the current issues/events I've read about and my thoughts about such.

*~*

I just searched my blog to find a specific post about Trump. In my search I discovered that I've posted more than I thought about our current politics and Trumpism.

Black-and-white thinking brought to mind a Bruce Hornsby song which, to my recollection, I heard for the first time a few months ago. This video brought me tears, mostly thankful ones...



~*~

Details

June 21st
Time to pay for the yard cart sticker. It's due by the end of the month. I waited until after June 20, since the 20th of each month is when the credit card cycle ends. Try to space out expenses.

On my laptop, I type in the online address that is printed on the paper renewal bill. The site comes up. "Under maintenance. Please check back later," or something like that, displays on the screen. So I call the phone number listed on the paper bill. I tap the prompts to get to phone payments. The automated line allows for certain payments, but yard cart stickers isn't one of them. It's after hours, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow.


June 22nd
Website is still under maintenance.

I call the phone number again and since it's operational hours, I can click a prompt to talk with a person. I tell the lady that the website is down and that the phone line doesn't have a prompt to pay for yard cart stickers. No news to her. She takes my payment via phone.

And then I call the surgeon's office to make a follow-up appointment for July or August, and I get a message that their phone systems are down. So I don't talk to anyone there. I'll try again Monday.

And then....

***

I don't feel like typing all these details.

So stop. They aren't important anyway.

What I really want to write about is what a rough day I've had. All the little details are part of the reason for a rough day. Details that, if I didn't have the health adversities I deal with, wouldn't be major stressors. They'd be irritants. But not tasks that require such exorbitant amounts of cognitive and physical energy.

I could simply type the Panera Bread scenario.
But what for? It's all too much.

***

So...
This morning...

After taking care of D, our canine friend who is staying in our home...

After deciding, No. I won't take my laptop to Panera. I'll take my journaling book and a couple books I'm reading through. The logistics of carrying my laptop bag and a book bag into Panera while having a trekking pole in each hand and then ordering and then setting up my laptop and using my iPhone to connect to the internet - that will take too much physical and cognitive energy. And I want to have energy to bike today...

After filling my water bottles and putting them in the soft black cooler with the shoulder strap and putting my books in a carry bag and filling the extra water pitcher, thinking that if I ride my bike I'll need the extra water...

After putting the straps on my shoulders - book bag, cooler, hip pack...

After putting some kibble in my hand to give to my canine friend as I leave...
.
After picking up the extra water pitcher by its plastic carry handle...

And after making sure the TV is turned on because D is blind and the sound helps him navigate the living room...

And after giving my friend his Carol's-leaving kibble treat by tapping my leg so he follows the sound to the dog bed and then tapping the bed as I lay down the kibble...

And after making my way to the stairs and then saying, "Bye, bye D. I'll be back in a few hours," ...

I slowly open the gate that blocks the stairs (since D is blind), close the gate, check my balance, hold the rail, and carefully maneuver down the stairs.
Then I'm through the den and the office and laundry room, out the door, and through the garage.
I close the garage door via the keypad on the outside of the garage,
hobble to the Explorer,
unlock the Explorer with the fob which hangs on a carabiner that hangs on my hip pack,
unload my load into the passenger's seat,
hobble around to the driver's side,
open the door,
start the engine and turn on the air conditioner because it's 90 degrees out,
carefully climb in making sure my foot is secure on the running board,
plug my bluetooth phone adapter into my lighter so I can connect to Pandora on my phone,
close the car door,
take down the sun shades,
click on Pandora from my phone and select the Way Over Yonder genre which begins to play through my car speakers,
rest for a moment,
prepare the details for my upcoming pet visit,
back down the driveway while deciding which route to take,
stop,
pull on my seatbelt,
wait for a car to pass,
back into the road,
and am on my way to another canine friend, S, to give her a lunchtime potty break.
All with deliberate, focused thought and careful, slow movements.

I drive the longer route which has less traffic, less taillights, is slower, and requires less thinking.
Pace yourself Carol. One thing at a time.

I don't feel like typing out the details for S's visit which I have to prepare before I arrive in her driveway. If I don't get into her home in a certain amount of time, she starts barking because she hears my vehicle in her driveway. And her barking can set off the house alarm. I know all that because it has happened before.

At S's home I start to feel weaker. Nothing I've not felt before.
And them my tummy does its bloating scenario. Again, not new but odd because all I'd had in the morning was my smoothie and 6 cashews.
What the hell? Why is this happening now? Maybe I've just overdone myself again. I've allowed my self to get too tired. Why do I keep working and pushing? I have disability now.
But you've already downsized again. You want to work.
But maybe I just can't do the day visits with other pets when we are keeping a dog in our home. Or at least make them even more minimal. I'm fucking exhausted. When will I ever learn?

After S does her business and after we sit outside for about 10 minutes, we go inside.
I rest on the couch. S drinks some water.
We go back out to see if S needs to relieve herself one more time before I leave.
We go back in.
I write a note for S's humans, and I send them a text. They like both a note and a text.
I put S in her crate along with a treat.
"Bye Miss S. I'll see you next time..."
I set the alarm, lock the locks, and get in my vehicle.

I'm feeling more exhausted. I have another stop around the corner to care for some feline friends. Their humans are out of town. I'll lay down there and rest.
Keep moving Carol. You can lay down soon.

As I am backing out of S's driveway, I hear a crunch.
Oh shit. I ran over one of those solar lights.

Earlier this week I noticed those solar lights and wondered if they were new. I had the thought then, I hope I don't run over those sometime when I'm backing up.

I get out of the Explorer to check the crunch. The light is on its side, the top of it dug into the red dirt and detached from its short pole. The globe is crushed. But the light is still on, so it's still working.
Damn.
Carol you have to clean it up.
Keep pushing.
Pace.

I retrieve a couple grocery bags out of my vehicle. I started keeping a grocery bag stock in my vehicle some seven years ago when I started my pet sitting business.

I use one bag as a mitten to pick up the broken globe pieces. I put all the pieces and parts in the other bag and then put that bag in the bag I used as a mitten. I also turned the light to "off," thinking, I better find where to turn it off. Don't want to start a fire. I doubt it'd start a fire, but with my luck? I slowly hobble to the carport and place the bag on the bench, hoping S doesn't hear me or sense me and start barking and set off the alarm.

I hobble back to the Explorer. I don't bother with my seat belt; I'm literally going around the corner to my next stop. I pop a pill for my tummy hoping it brings relief within an hour.

I'll spare the details at the two felines' home - mail, packages on the front porch, trash and recycling bins, plants, and stuff. There are a lot of details to pet sitting, especially when folks are out of town.

Once in the house, I say hello to the cats. One is deaf so I approach her cautiously to make sure she sees me so I don't startle her.

I have to lay down. I feel kinda faint. I feel weak and trembly and my palms and soles are tender. But I can't lay down, my tummy is too bad off.

So I use pillows to prop myself up on the bed. I stay there for an hour rubbing my bloated belly. One of the cats lays with me.

While I rest on the bed I text S's humans to let them know I crumpled one of the solar lights. They both respond with a laugh and that the lights don't cost much and they are so appreciative of all I do. No biggie. Good folks.

After an hour I feel some relief in my tummy and it has shrunk to a more reasonable size, but I'm still weak. It's normal, these bouts, even when I don't overdo. But I've again overdone between my injections. I upped my daily prednisone last week, which is also normal. But still, too much doing. I get my neck shots Tuesday.

I care for the cats' litter boxes and food and water. I tell them bye and lock up.

Next stop - the credit union and then Panera.

***

But now I don't feel like typing the Panera scenario, so maybe I'll write about that later.
And maybe not.

All that said, as I was climbing into my Explorer after my Panera visit, I told myself, Still, I'm lucky. I don't live in a cage, and I have my family.

I wasn't able to bike today.

***

A poem I wrote last week: It Again

***
***

PS:
I don't believe this.
Well, actually I do.
Right after posting this blog piece, I sign into my FedEx account to update instructions for an upcoming delivery that FedEx emailed me about, and the site states: "Customize delivery options are unavailable at this time. Please try again later."
I have to laugh.

Middle school?

This morning I was reading my regular Roseanne update, which means I mainly read her tweets and peruse/read some of the conversations and some of her links.

I wonder if she has always believed/promoted that Hillary and company run a child sex ring? And that the left runs a deep state operation, a stealth government, working to destroy America, meaning the United States of America.

When I hear people (including myself) refer to the USA as "America," I think of the other countries in North, Central, and South Americas. They could just as easily call their land masses "America," could they not?

Anyway, back to Roseanne and reading through her tweets and some of the conversations. Again reading the name-calling between the left and the right, which seems to be more and more extreme. They both accuse the other of the same: Nazis, Fascists, authoritarians, brainwashed, fake news promoters, racists, stupid, ignorant, blind. The list goes on.

I've name called at times. I think most humans have. Sometimes the name fits; sometimes not.

It's like middle school, or worse. That's what these people, which are supposedly adults, sound like on Twitter and probably other asocial media.

And maybe I too sound like an elementary or middle schooler.

I thought of how some of these people (on both sides) complain about the youths of today and their lack of awareness, their ignorance, their laziness, their violence, their disrespect, their insert-your-own-insultive-adjective.

Doesn't every older generation say similar of the adolescent generation of their time? And perhaps humanity is waxing worse and worse, to quote a scripture. Except that the scripture says "evil men," not humanity.

Well, from where might our deplorable youth be learning this reprehensible behavior?

Btw, I don't think of our youth today as deplorable or reprehensible. I'm using those adjectives as an umbrella for some of the descriptions I've read or heard about the youth of today.

In my Twitter reading this morning I clicked on the tweets of one Tweeter, whom I'll refer to as T1.

T1 appears to be an adult, but who knows who or what sits behind a keyboard?

I read this tweet posted at 5:02AM by T1:

Good morning movement. I try to send you off with a good word and blessing daily. Today all I want to tell you is. YOUR LOVED AND PRAYED FOR. Take a moment and show some love today. Have a blessed weekend.

And then T1 tweeted this two minutes later at 5:04AM:

Here's how I try better I block jackasses like you. I don't argue with stupid people. You're a loser! Your whole cause is a lost cause. You will never amount to anything more than what you are right now because you lack the intellect to even try. Have a great Saturday. Tee-hee

Which was a response to this tweet by a Tweeter I'll reference as T2:

#BeBest: Try better than "I can't wait to drink all of your pathetic tears again".

Which was a response to this tweet by T1:

Laugh all you want. There going to be more non globalist Republicans and Trump supporting Republicans in the House and Senate in 20 weeks. And your kind will be relegated to the ash heap of History! I can't wait to drink all of your pathetic tears again. Haha haha haha

Which was a response to this tweet by T2 (which links to a **tweet posted at 4:15AM by T1):

BREAKING: Wingnut Movement Moves Aggressively Into The Hostel Business
(Nu, @foxandfriends , try to keep up. cc: @therealroseanne ) https://twitter.com/jamesplake721/status/1007899415883997184 …

Which appears to be a response to a tweet that is unavailable, which probably means that tweet was deleted.

Middle school?

~*~

**That linked 4:15AM tweet by T1, which appears to be the beginning of his back-and-forth with T2, states:

We're just getting started. 20 fridays left and phase 2 of our hostel takeover of the deep state will be complete. 44 morons retire and 3 have lost to pro trump candidates. America is poised for a real comeback. 4.8% forecasted growth. That's real $ and jobs. 3 more phases to go.

It was a response by T1 to one of Roseanne's tweets which she tweeted at 4:06AM>, which reads:

let's move on from engaging idiots and ill informed types. We have a world to run! Things r progressing nicely politically-all the real dirt has been exposed by the IG report-next step will be balls out great!

Yes, I actually spent time this morning reading this stuff, and then typing it out. Maybe I'm still in middle school too!

Q: What are my beliefs about my illness?

The following is from my personal journal. I'm going through a series of questions from a book, answering the questions as best I can at the moment. I've decided to share this question and answer publicly, though it does cause me to feel a bit vulnerable - posting this. But that's not unusual.

***

Q: What are my beliefs about my illness?

Nutshell summary:
I believe the human body, and every species of life, is designed to heal itself.
My body is designed to heal itself, and it is in the process of doing that.
But I don't know how much the ramifications of the condition can be reversed, which includes the side effects of medications used to keep me functioning.
In my body's fight for survival, during the ongoing stream of cobalt and chromium that was continuously released internally for eight years and the steroids needed to keep me functioning, it may have almost exhausted certain resources, like adrenal function.
I believe proper self care is vital to restore what can be restored.
Does this even answer the question? It will have to do for now.

~*~

6/11/2018
That word "belief" really stumps me. Is it fair to say that I don't know my "beliefs?" Yet, if I look at my actions, would that not be indicative of my beliefs? Is that a way I can define my beliefs, or at least help to define them?

My illness. I don't think of polyradiculitis as an "illness," itself. It is a condition. What illness does it fall under? Peripheral neuropathy, but not the typical PN that is described in commercials, etc. I no longer regularly suffer from pins and needles or numbness - accept in my fingers sometimes. Polyradiculitis is a rare PN condition. My main symptoms now are weakness and tenderness and pain. The tenderness is low level and only in my palms and soles. The pain is usually low level, but widespread and incessant once it starts as my injections were off. And there is fatigue, sometimes debilitating, but mostly low level and incessant, similar to the pain. And there is the brain-fog which I refer to as brain-mud. And there are other symptoms that are more irritants than major life disruptors.

I think I believe that my condition is reversible, if the cause of the condition is removed. Was the defective hip the cause? I don't know. I believe it is a major factor.

Even though I think it may be reversible, I wonder if there can be permanent damage that is not reversible - short of a "miracle." The human body, and life itself, is quite miraculous.

So, think on this - what do I believe about my illness? Come back later and look at it and write a nutshell summary.

~*~

It's 6/12/18 and I'm back.
I thought this morning that I believe the body is designed to heal itself. I believe that about all life. Life is designed to fight, to endure, to continue.

Suicide is so opposite of that, but the motive behind suicide may be, in a weird, twisted perspective, may be about survival - that a person feels s/he has no more reason to continue the fight and therefore it is best for the rest of humanity if the person delives. But that doesn't make sense at all. And it isn't what I really think. I'm just searching around in my head to try to locate words and what it is I do think. I just can't find it right now.

So back to the subject, regarding illness, the body is designed to heal itself. But what about my illness? That is the question: what do I believe about my illness?

Now I will reread what I have written here and come up with a nutshell statement.

Also remember, beliefs can change.

***

Foxes

A fox family is apparently living under our deck.

For now, we are allowing them to remain until the kits (or pups) are ready to move along. Then we will probably replace a couple broken slats that serve as a barrier to the under-deck. Will that keep them away next year? We'll have to wait to find out.

Here's a couple photos. I may add more later. The photos came out quite good, considering they were taken by my not-so-steady hands and through a cob-webbed window.

Their markings are beautiful....

Here are two different links to learn about urban foxes.

• What to Do About Foxes by the Humane Society
• What to do When Foxes Move In by the National Wildlife Federation

I tweeted some of my fox pics, and they got a lot of "likes"...for my tweets.
My fox tweets.