Where has all the wildlife gone...

In November 2024 as we waited for the demolition crew to get started on our home project, Hiram, our beloved scarlet oak, decided to get started before the humans. He dropped a limb vertically that plunged into our deck's old boards and pierced right through lodging itself with half the limb below the deck and the other half above. I laughed and sent the demolition guys (which included Hiram's arborist) a picture that Hiram was ready to get the machines rolling. The crew laughed too. The demolition of our porch and deck was complete in December 2024. Now the crew could inspect and repair our home's foundation.

It took until June 2026 before the new deck and porch were complete with furniture back in place. Hubby and I and Hiram are glad both are complete. But oh, how I missed the deck and porch over those 1-1/2 years! One thing I missed was feeding and watering the wildlife, and there was an abundance. Crows, songbirds, squirrels, foxes, groundhogs, possums, chipmunks, and raccoons. 

When the old porch and deck were still intact, I named one of the squirrels Millet. Sometimes we dined together--Millet on the deck while I sat nearby on a chair inside the screen porch. I'd talk to Millet, and she'd listen as she munched. Sometimes, if there weren't enough nuts, she'd come to the screen door and ask for more. How did she ask? She would either patiently stare and wait. Or, if she got inpatient, she'd climb on the screen door. I didn't mind at all. 

On some nights as I sat on the old porch with no lights on, Racoon would visit. He'd stand up on his hind legs on the deck and peer into the porch. We'd gaze at each other for up to maybe five minutes. The scene still gives me a chuckle because I, inside the screen porch, was the one in the cage. 

One day a lone, injured crow visited. As I sat nearby, I talked with him about how I understood injury and isolation, and I know how hard it is and that he and I both were doing our best to care for ourselves. 

This summer, after our new deck and porch were complete, I again spread almonds and walnuts and millet along the deck rail and on the deck steps and floor. But few animals visited. I told myself, "They'll be back once they know they can trust us again. I'm sure the demolition scared them away." 

Now, at the beginning of Fall, some songbirds are back, and of course crows. But they don't yet visit while I'm on the porch. I pray that changes over time. I've only seen a few squirrels and chipmunks. No raccoons. No foxes. No groundhogs. And even though deer don't eat food from the deck, we've had less deer sightings in our yard. And there has been less bird song from the woods in the upper part of our backyard. 

I hope wherever they've gone, that they have found safe places. 

I'm thankful the wildlife is still close by. Maybe I'll make some new deck friends as time goes on. 

But the dearth of wildlife is not just in our back yard. This summer I've noticed the same dearth as I've biked the woods on greenways and rail trails. And I find myself singing, "Where has all the wildlife gone? Birds, squirrels, snakes, and deer. When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn."

Furr II and magical white...

This morning on 7/17/26, I attended a guided meditation gathering on Zoom. It was my first time attending this particular group. 

The host posed a prompt about a future self and what we envision as a future self.

Who would I be in the future?

I thought of death, which is the future of every living creature. 

And then Wolf appeared. 

She first appeared in a March 2025 Zoom group guided meditation.

And here she was again.

~*~

I do not have any fixed belief regarding the afterlife; other than I do not believe in a burning hell or in eternal torment.

Do we stay in a "sleep" state until Jesus returns to call us up together in the air or until a final resurrection with new bodies that will live forever?

Do we reincarnate into another form or human?  

Do we simply cease to exist altogether? 

None of us really knows, though some may claim they "know." 

I used to claim such. 

I didn't just believe; I knew. 

People have had near-death experiences, and I do not doubt (most of) their stories. 

Are those experiences an actual reality of fact as to what happens after death?

Or are they prompted by beliefs, subconscious dreams, cellular memories, energetic signatures, or other biological or metaphysical happenings?

Lately, the reality of my own mortality feels more "distinct" than previously, most likely due to the recent deaths of two family members.
Hubby's mom passed on 6/06; she was the last of our parents to die. 
My brother passed on 7/02, the first of our siblings to die. 
It's like one chapter closed and another opened. 

This has a different feel than the deaths of our other parents--in 1993, 1996, and 2009. 

And different than the deaths of friends over the last few years. 

While composing this blog piece, I searched my brain for a word to describe what I was feeling in regard to death. At first the words "clarity" and "clear" came to mind, but neither captured what I was sensing. Then an image appeared in my mind's eye--an outline of a human form, standing. The form is white with no features. The soft-black outline impressed upon me that of a boundary. Then the word "distinct" appeared, and that feels more precise.

Could Wolf be my future reincarnation?

I do not know, but I do believe Wolf appeared again to help me in this moment of life.

~*~

After the group meditation, the host offered a prompt for journaling: "What questions would I ask of my future self?" 

In response, I wrote the following:

Hello Wolf, my future me.

I don't know what to ask you. But I feel you've already instructed me -- to be free, to let go of worry, to stay connected to Earth and the mountains and my family, 

And to howl -- to make my voice heard. 

And in that howl, others will find magic.

My voice matters.

My voice counts.

Wolf responds:

And remember to play, to frolic. 

You may never be able to run again, but for now, you can ride your bicycle.

In the future, even if you have to give up cycling, you can dance. 

And if you must dance in a chair -- if your body is unable to make the movements -- your heart can always dance.

Then I ask:

But how can I get my home organized?

Wolf responds:

It already is. You know where to find the things you need.

You simply need to organize so that when you pass the kids can easily find what is needed. 

So that is really all you "need" to organize. 

The rest of it?

Just take your time.

I know you want to be able to host Son's family, so keep that in mind as far as how to move forward and the next thing to do.

~*~

Below is a poem I wrote when Wolf first appeared...
Magic happened again today...

Furr... 

 3/24/25 

Today, Magic happened...

I became one with Wolf

Exhilaration, freedom, fully-sensed

Running unencumbered through the wild

Pausing as my instincts direct

I smell the deep, dark, pine forest 

I howl in primal connection

Aware but not afraid

I was created for this romp

These woods, wild

These woods, raw

These woods, real

These woods, home

Following a trail, blazing a trail

I live, I thrive in these elements

Purpose, navigation, sacred connection

Heeding the call to which I was born

Today, Magic happened... 

~*~ 

Addendum: More magic...

On 7/18 (the day after my Wolf meditation and the vision of a white human form with no features), Hubby and I were cycling Railroad Grade Road which parallels the South Fork of the New River in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The New River is one of the oldest rivers in the world. And it's one of the approximately 48 US rivers that flows north. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small flock of cawing crows in flight with a different colored bird in front of the flock. The crow chorus ceased, and the flock apparently landed. Then, in clear view, I spied a pure white bird high above the river flying the same direction that we were biking. It had been the bird in front of the crow flock which was no longer in flight. 

I thought to myself... What is that?!?... It's not a heron or egret... It's not a dove... The body shape doesn't match. It's not a hawk. Is it a seagull? But I see no color on it. And I've never seen seagulls in the mountains. I've seen them in the foothills, but they are always with a flock. 

Hubby was riding behind me, so I pointed to this beautiful sight to make sure he saw it too.

"I see it!" he shouted. And then a few moments later he shouts, "Is it a pigeon?" I shook my head no because the body shape didn't match. 

It sailed and glided and dipped--up, down, back-and-forth. At one point it turned to fly toward us, but I couldn't make out the color of its beak before it turned back to continue its graceful dance. The aerial show lasted at least a minute as we sailed on bicycles with it sailing in the blue sky the same direction as we were pedaling. And then, the beauty zoomed into the forest.  

After we stopped Hubby and I wondered in awe together.

Albino crows are rare, but they do exist. Also, the beak of an albino crow is a pinkish white which could explain why I saw no color on the beak. I later read that albino crows may be rejected by their flock, which could explain the flock in flight cawing behind and then landing without the pure white aviator. 

The color white had again appeared. Yet this time it was not in a vision, but rather a sight with my physical eyes. And Hubby saw it too. 

North-flowing rivers are rare.

Albino crows are rare.

And that I can again ride my bike while still living with polyradiculitis, now in its 16th year, is quite remarkable.  

Another magical day.

~*~ 

The title of my 3/24/25 poem (but not the stanzas) is borrowed from Blitzen Trapper's song, Furr...

A 3-month June...

Tools I have to help me

But which to reach for 

In times of depletion

In times of overwhelm

In times of isolation

Barely enough energy to think and type these few words

Which cannot capture the depth of the suffering

June has been a three-months month. 

Along with my detailed, regular daily maintenance and almost-weekly medical appointments, there has been...

The 7-day trip to the Outer Banks, a huge feat for me but worth it.

I had it strategically planned, including my one-to-two-week recovery time.

But the recovery window did not manifest.

John and I had to cut our trip a day short; his 91-year-old mom was dying.

He arrived at her bedside 2 minutes before her last breath.

Then came...

Searching through photos for my daughter to put together a slide show in honor of Gran.

A 4-day trip to The Smokies, where Gran lived, to attend her Celebration of Life and to help ferret through some of the huge inventory in her home.

At the Celebration, I briefly spoke about Gran's love for nature and shared an incident when she and a fellow hiker survived 3 nights lost in The Smokies in dead winter. They ate snow for hydration. 

Also, we had...

Our own back porch--putting furniture back after 17 months of being without.

Our downstairs--having to move furniture and cover staircase rails and other furniture with sheets to help keep dust minimized when workers drilled 11 penny-sized holes into the floor and foundation to inject polyfoam.

Then having the downstairs cleaned and furniture put back until it has to be moved again in latter July to complete the project.

I helped as best I could, trying to uphold the previous Carol who was once able-bodied...

But again, I paid a price...

Increased popping and pain in my back.

Injury to my shoulder from carrying a small luggage piece.

Severe spasms in my lower left ankle and foot at 4:30 AM, the pain a 10 out of 10 as I (typically a non-screamer) screamed in agony enduring the 3-to-4-minute seizure. John came rushing in. I managed to holler, "Mag Phos 6X!" Within a moment after it was under my tongue the pain ameliorated. I followed up with a couple more homeopathic cell salts, a red-light laser treatment, and then Xanax. I guess one could call me an integrative patient. 

Then there is...

My brother with stage 4 pancreatic and liver cancer and side effects of treatment. He was diagnosed at the end of February. Today he was transferred to in-patient hospice care. 

Our housecleaner's daughter in a head-on collision, but she's still with us. May she receive a full recovery.

One of my tooth crowns dislodging at 4:00 AM when I got up to pee; at least I didn't swallow it

A new-to-me car and adapting from a 1999 to piloting a 2016. Yes, I'm thankful for the new vehicle, but I'm having to learn new skills in order to safely maneuver. More for my already-overloaded brain.

The family of chiggers that moved into my pants--at least eleven itchy welts. That hadn't happened in over 5 decades. But I discovered that hemorrhoid ointment helps.

I feel I've lived through a time warp.

It has felt very strange.

But Carol, some of this is good and you lived some magical moments in spite of it all.

Can you flip your downtroddenness into gratitude, without denying the realities of what you live day to day?

The suffering, the pain, the sleeplessness, the fatigue, the discipline to stick with the protocols.

The rage, the depression, the anxieties.

The isolation.

Carol, what good happened in this three-month June?

Plenty, but I do not want to gloss over the suffering as if it doesn't matter.

As if it's not real.

Don't gloss. 

Allow. 

And also recall the good.

Recall the suffering of others who have it so much worse than you.

They too know the isolation.

Like Barry, who you met last week at the greenway.

He gets it.

~*~

Follow Your Heart by Michael Franti & Spearhead

~*~

Addendum:

My brother passed two days after being admitted to in-patient hospice. It kind of felt like a bookend to the 3-month June. RIP Brother and Mother-in-law....
Links to their obits:
Mother-in-law Kate...
Brother Ted...

Saving both...

Finally, our beloved screened-in back porch and deck are complete, or complete enough. 

Our previous deck and porch were demolished in December 2024. Our house foundation needed repairs. Thus, the demolition. The deck needed replacing anyway. 

The first waterproof professional told us we could either save the house or the tree. According to him, the tree roots were the cause of the foundation issues. 

Do we sacrifice Hiram to save our manmade dwelling? Or do we let the house go, and allow it to take its natural course of aging and decay?

The tree isn't just any tree... 

He is a giant, beautiful scarlet oak whom I named Hiram. He provides homes to squirrels and birds and insects, shade over our house, and companionship to me since I've been disabled. Sunday night I sat on the now-furnished, completed porch as Hiram and I sang together--soft love songs to tunes and words that bubbled up while Hiram's leaves gently danced.

Obviously, Hubby and I didn't heed the advice of the first water proofer. Else, Hiram and I would not have communed. So, what happened? 

Back in 2024 we called our master arborist, Drew, to tell him the news--Hiram needed to be felled. Drew had already saved Hiram some 15 years prior when a tree cutter informed us Hiram was diseased and could fall at any moment.  That's when we found Drew, the master arborist. Hiram wasn't diseased after all. 

Drew answered, "I think we have a way to save both Hiram and the house. We do waterproofing and have had success with a certain technique." 

I could barely believe my ears, but my heart was thrilled. I had no idea Drew and crew waterproofed too! 

After Drew and Will's team demolished the deck and porch, they discovered our septic pipe was rusted and being held together by Hiram's roots and a bunch of hard dirt. (Thank you, Hiram.) Within 5 hours, a plumber replaced the old, rusted iron pipe with a PVC pipe. 

Once the team got to the foundation, they discovered that it was disintegrating from all the back yard water runoff. Plus, the cinder blocks were not waterproofed when the home was built in 1965. Will and crew fixed it, and we now have a bunker holding the foundation secure.

Around March 2025 we hired Juan to build the deck. By May he had finished, but there were problems. He'd used the wrong type gutters for the new porch and had damaged part of the gutters on the house; but he couldn't properly repair any of it. So, we hired Greg the gutterman to repair all that. Then there was the porch roof; it was holding moisture and black mold began growing on the ceiling. So, we hired Tom the roofer who had to replace the entire roof and install the proper rubber tile needed for flat roofs. 

We waited seven months to allow the wood to cure. Then it was time for staining. We hired Warren, and we got more problems. There were drips-runs, boot prints, sweep marks, and uneven coating. It stayed tacky for five months until Mark the painter could fix it. He corrected it beautifully. 

But before Mark could redo and correct Warren's stain job, we had to correct more of Juan's work. So, we hired Trey who fixed it all. Trey's attention to detail and craftsmanship are par excellence. 

Seventeen months from demolition, I have my outdoor therapy room back.

Hiram is now the host and greeter of the Olive Deck and Red Oak Bamboo Porch, named for their colors. Hiram quietly welcomes our guests--squirrels and chipmunks and songbirds and crows. And some nightly visits from feral cats. 

We love you, Hiram...

Sir Edward and Crew(s)...

Sir Edward the Explorer rolled over 321,000 miles last week. I thanked him, and he replied that he is going to make it to 400,000. *wink* 

I'll be surprised if he makes it that far, but maybe? 

Back in 2008 when the 1999 Explorer was gifted to us, my son suggested "Edward" as a name. So, Edward it was. When he turned 200,000, he became Sir Edward. When he turned 300,000, I asked if he would like to become King. He declined and said he preferred serving as a Knight. 

I think it's not unusual for vehicle owners to name their vehicles. But to have the vehicle communicate back? That might put me in the weird category. No surprise there...Haha.

Why have I not yet purchased a replacement vehicle? 

Because Sir Edward meets my specific disability needs, and he is very comfortable--the headrest, the seat, and the manner in which I am able to load and haul my bicycle. That said, little things are starting to wear out that aren't worth the investment to fix at his age. (I think of my own body, in that regard...)

In the movie Cast Away, Chuck Noland (played by Tom Hanks) finds himself on a deserted island after a plane crash. In the wreckage he finds a volleyball made by Wilson Sporting Goods. Using his blood from a cut on his hand, Noland paints a face on the ball and appropriately names it "Wilson." He is stranded for almost 4 years; Wilson is his companion during his long isolation. 

I can't recall exactly when, in my disabled life, that I began regularly naming and talking with inanimate objects.  But I do recall chuckling and saying to myself, "Well, this is understandable. It's like Tom Hanks and Wilson. I'm isolated and am finding ways to feel connection."

One example is stuffed animals.... 

One day as I was again grieving the loss of connection with pets and the fact that I am not able to care for a pet, I thought, "Stuffed animals! I have plenty from my preschool-teacher days." I later read online that I wasn't alone with this idea.

I think maybe when a person is faced with the reality of their limitations--for whatever reason--and has to adjust or completely release their life work or dreams, they begin to find meaning in seemingly insignificant things. They might notice more detail in things they didn't pay much attention to before.

Like when I make my bed and place the pillow just right so that the butterfly on the floral print pillowcase is facing the window so it can fly free.

In January this year, as I looked around my home, I realized that even the floors and walls pulse with life. I wrote a prose about that at this link: Pulsing with life....

A crew at sea saved Chuck Noland.

Sir Edward depends on A Crew Auto Repair for his maintenance.

I depend on Sir Edward to help keep me cruising.

Let me introduce you to some of my other inanimate crew mates,,,

All help me to keep on cruising...

My Trek bicycles: Olivia, who now stands on my indoor trainer for indoor pedaling; Black Beauty (Bleu for short); and Midnight Rider (Midnight for short). When I drop them at Ken's Bike Shop for servicing, the service crew gets a kick out of the names. 

Wally: My first walker, inherited from Mom. Wally is a simple, basic walker. 

The Phoenix: My deluxe rollator walker, named for her metallic burgundy color and the fact that she's helped me rise from the ashes. 

Dr. Echo McCoy: My low-level, red-light laser named for its brand, Erchonia,  and because it echoes light through my body; and for Dr. McCoy on the original Star Trek series. 

Sequoia: My inversion table, who I bought after I shrank 3 inches in a 2-year span causing kyphosis. Think Quasimodo, except my hunchback is in my lower thoracic area. I quit shrinking after I began inverting. Has Sequoia helped me? I'd like to think so but can't say for sure. 

Rocket: My furry, puppet raccoon--named after Rocket in the Guardians series--who now accompanies me on my bike rides. A stuffed Baby Groot used to accompany me. I also purchased extra Baby Groots, which I would haul in my bike trunk and give away along my rides. I hope to purchase more and again be a Groot ambassador. 

Uhuru: My little SE iPhone, named after the communications officer in the original Star Trek. 

Cane and Able: My two trekking poles that help enable me to get around.  

That's all I can think of now...
I may add more as they come to mind, or as my inanimate crew grows...

Happy Birthday Sir Edward!
May 22, 2026

Remembering the Answering Machine

After being away for over eight hours,

Hubby steers the car into our driveway. 

To our delight two bucks are grazing in the backyard.

They look up momentarily to check us out,

then return to their grazing. 

Some ten minutes later, Hubby and I enter our home.

As we ascend the short staircase I say,

"Remember when we used to come home 

and check the answering machine?"

We both chuckle.

But immediately, I feel a longing ...

For more simplicity

Less information overload

More spaciousness

Less constant-contact ability

I think we humans and other creatures

are not designed for these intrusions.

Oh Carol, you're just too negative

regarding progress.

I guess it depends on how one defines "progress." 

As I read from a book,

my smart phone sits nearby.

Sometimes I need to look up a definition.

So Carol, why not pull out a dictionary?

Dictionaries are quite heavy

for my weakened arms and hands.

So, I web search a word on my phone.

But five to ten minutes later I catch myself

down a digital rabbit hole.

At least I catch myself and am able to climb out

into the open, into spaciousness, into the senses.

My phone is not the problem.

In and of itself, it is innocent.

Its designers, however, design it to catch us.

I choose to open the gate. 

And then, I get caught in a thicket,

like Br'er Rabbit.

Eventually, I accepted the answering machine.

Eventually, I accepted email.

Eventually, I purchased a smart phone.

Eventually, I checked out the Pattern Engine, 

also known as Artificial Intelligence.

I named my smart phone Uhuru,

in honor of the communications officer in the original Star Trek.

Each night, I power her down with a thank you

and tuck her into a glove which I place in a drawer

down the hall from the bedroom.

She likes it there.

~*~

Here's a poem I wrote 27 years ago, in 1999...

Please note, that I now check my email most every day...

Ode to Email

Twas a middle-aged lady who lived in a house.
Her functions were many; she wasn't a souse.
She was secretary, cook, cab driver too,
activities planner, home maintenance guru.
Doctor, nurse, janitorial clerk,
counselor, teacher, overseer of work.
Just a few of the functions for which she stayed perked.

Then to add to her list? The computer pimple.
Pop ups and ads, wrinkles and dimples!
Upgrade! Upgrade! It makes your life simple!
But beware of viruses; you need that program too!
And identity theft; so your name is who?
Got too much spam? Pay more and it's through!

First there was junk mail to take up her time
and now more info to boggle the mind.
This middle-aged woman stepped back and breathed deep,
"It's time to make simple this communication heap."

She decided, yes, her email to keep
but now only checks it every two weeks.
So, if her attention you immediately need

please call her by phone to get sooner heed.

Grit in a can...

The week of April 27th contained significant personal anniversaries: 

My 67th birthday.

My 15-year anniversary since the onset of polyradiculitis. 

My 4-year anniversary since the deadly blood clots that forced me to give up my epidurals, which coincided with the onset of chronic insomnia.

Now it is May, which marks the 13th anniversary of receiving the correct diagnosis of polyradiculitis.

This upcoming June will mark the 10th anniversary of discovering an underlying cause--a cobalt-leaching, defective hip implant. 

And August will mark the 10th year since my revision, explant-and-implant, replacement surgery. 

What have a I learned? 

Too much to list. 

But to sum it up in six words:

Loss. Grief.

Accept. Adapt.

Gratitude. Grit.

Not that I hadn't experienced these states of reality before, but I've grown to know them on a much deeper level. And the learning continues...

What have I progressively had to give up due to Poly Rad?

The activities of cooking, cleaning, changing linens, cutting my finger-and-toe nails, caring for a pet, regularly shopping or socializing, working in the yard, decorating my home, holding employment, caring for my newborn and toddler grandchildren, regularly giving gifts and sending cards, backpacking, long-distance hiking, and the list goes on. I rarely get visitors. I do have a few friends who still check in via phone or text.

One could say I've lost my identity. But deep in my heart, I don't believe that. My identity remains alive in a seed, or perhaps a seed pod. No matter my limitations, I am still Carol with all the changes that life brings...

That said, it was (and sometimes still is) hard to accept that I can no longer do much of what I once did.

Back in 2015, a long-distance friend requested information on what I do to help with the weakness and pain in my arms. My answer included a powdered food supplement that I buy at distributor cost. I didn't have the energy and wherewithal to help my friend try the product, but I couldn't bring myself to say, "I can't." (The saying, "Can't never could," echoed in my brain.) Instead, I said, "I'm not willing," which sounded harsh. I just couldn't say the word "can't." 

I struggled with this continually--the fact that I "can't." When I talked it over with Hubby, he helped me see that I'm simply not able to do certain things without consequences, compromising my already compromised wellbeing. Therefore, I "can't" do those things.

And he was right.

Eventually I was able to accept the "can't" word (though it can still cause me to wobble and feel that I need to explain, which feels overwhelming). Can the "can'ts" someday change? I'd gladly accept any changes to "can." And I have received a few "cans" in the last couple years. 

Grief continues, and I still sometimes drown in it. I wail and cry and shut down. Then when I replay scenarios in my head of what I go through on a daily basis, I again realize how very overwhelming it all is. And I am well aware that others struggle with similar disabilities, isolation, loneliness, grief, and processing through it all to get up and breathe another day. 

And that is where accept and adapt come in...

Then, gratitude and grit...

Gratitude for breath, for a husband who (even though he works fulltime) chops my celery and apples and peppers for my salads, does the laundry, grocery shops, and knobbles my back. He used to regularly help me bathe and dress, but I'm now able to do those things without supervision. (A "can!") And I'm thankful for my family and the few close friends I'm still in touch with. I'm thankful I can still drive, and (drum roll) that I can again ride my bicycle. (More "cans!")

The grit comes with living and navigating through all the above...

Like with cycling. It's hard work. The hardest part is the prep and the post-ride tasks. The actual cycling itself usually brings me a feeling of freedom--freedom from the concentrated effort required for more complex motor movement and detailed decisions in a sea of minutiae. 

I never have a day off; my self-care duties are not negotiable if I want to continue to function and maybe even receive more "cans," however small they may seem. 

One of my favorite movies as a youth was the 1969 film True Grit. I was 10, and horses were my life. When I first saw the movie, my companion was a black Welsh pony whom I named Black Eagle. Mattie named her horse Little Blackie; I felt a kinship. 

~*~

Addendum: 

Previously the sixth paragraph of this post began, "What have I progressively lost due to Poly Rad?

The abilities to [the list of things]." 

A few days later I changed it to its current wording:

"What have I progressively had to give up due to Poly Rad?

The activities of [the list of thing.]"

When I thought I had the "final" draft, I still wasn't settled with the word "abilities." But I couldn't think of another word at the time. A few days later the word "activities" came to mind, which feels more succinct. 

Why? 

I may still have partial ability to do some things; but the effort, drain, recovery time, and possible injury risk outweigh any benefit of taking on a given activity. Which was my husband's point--that means I "can't" do those things...

I also changed the word "lost" to "had to give up." 

Why? 

They aren't "lost." Even if I never gain normal functional ability, the activities live on in my memory. So, in my memory, they are not lost. And if they ever are, I still may find them again...

~*~

True Grit(1969) Part 1, Part 7, and Part 9

Images...

In March 2025, two Trump supporters and a Trump voter and I sat at the dinner table. One of the supporters said something derogatory about Biden. 

I thought, Do I say anything? 

And then I responded with something like, "What about Trump? He's worse..." 

The dialog went downhill from there. I was angered at (among other things) how anyone could support the tactics of ICE and Trump's constant dehumanizing rhetoric--such as labeling all or most undocumented/illegal immigrants as rapists, murderers, scum, and whatever other derogatory labels Trump regularly throws out from his keyboard or tongue.  

Another thing I stated was that I wouldn't be surprised if Trump leads us into a Depression and/or WWIII.  

[Please note that "I wouldn't be surprised" does not equal "I believe."]

I also shared that the bottom-line reason I voted for Harris, instead of either not voting or voting for a third-party candidate whom I figured would lose, was because I'd rather navigate the censorship of the Left than what I saw coming as the censorship of MAGA. 

[I later realized that the word "censorship" may be better stated as "government overreach."] 

One of the supporters was quite surprised at my bottom-line reason and said, "That's a new one. I haven't heard that before." 

That supporter and I later discussed our previous heated back-and-forth. Yes, we disagree on Trump and now stick mainly to subjects we have in common, though our opinions on the common sometimes also differ.  

Almost a year later on February 5, 2026, I wrote in my journal:

Carol, what do you mean by or can you describe what you saw coming from MAGA?

MAGA is fundamentalist. Fundamentalism provides easy answers. Example: 'We don't like you, so we'll get rid of you.' And MAGA uses the Bible, the major religious book of authority in US history, to back its fundamentalism. 

Versus the Left; example: 'We don't like you, but we will tolerate you, to a point.'

The Left uses so-called science to determine when their tolerance reaches a stopping point. But how and where do they get that "science?" Hmm, follow the money. I'm thinking of pharmaceutical companies. 

Today is April 19, 2026, and we are at war with Iran, and prices for goods and gasoline are up. 

Will we end up in a Depression or WWIII? 

I hope not.

(Personally, due to the current war causing a shortage of a specific poly-foam, Hubby and I are having to delay much needed foundation work on our home. But at least we have a brick-and-mortar, physical home. *gratitude*)

As I've read and watched MAGA pundits, Old Testament Bible verses are often used to justify the Iran war. The only New Testament verses I've read or heard from them come from the Book of Revelation. I've also seen folks use the account of Jesus throwing the money changers out of the temple.

Justifying by using the Old Testament and Book of Revelation makes complete sense; both are ripe with stories of war and annihilation of the unbeliever. 

But what of the gospels? What of the Pauline epistles? 

Both seem to be absent from these pundits.

I recently reread the Book of Romans and wondered if these claiming-to-be-Christian pundits had ever read it.

Personally, I believe The Way International's interpretation of scripture is more accurate than most other interpretations.

"Omg, Carol! How can you say that!?!"

I chuckle at that response. 

My answer is layered and complex. 

And it includes my time as an agnostic; a Methodist; a Baptist; a Charismatic; a Way believer; a serious student of Biblical word studies; a quasi-Christian Universalist; a reader about and of various religions, beliefs, and myths... 

One thing The Way taught that I believe is more accurate than tradition is that Jesus died on a Wednesday and was raised on a Saturday--thus fulfilling 3 days and 3 nights in the grave--and that he was crucified right as the Judeans were sacrificing their Passover lambs; Jesus was the literal Passover. When I shared this with someone the Wednesday before Easter this year, they responded, "That makes much more sense!'

I also want to note that Wierwille did plagiarize. 

And much of Way interpretation comes from other sources; E.W. Bullinger comes to mind.

~*~

As I lay in bed this past week before drifting off, I was thinking about Hegseth's Pulp Fiction prayer and about MAGA pundits using OT scripture as a justification for war. 

And I thought of the Jesus I learned of through the decades... 

The Jesus I loved as a brother...

The Jesus who was not God but fully human and understood human doubts and hardships and longings...

The Jesus who stood up for the poor and marginalized...

The Jesus who was falsely accused and executed and prayed while hanging on the stake, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Then some visuals came to mind...

An image of Jesus being repulsed by the current political administration and the people as whited sepulchers. 

Then an image of Jesus feeling his repulse, recognizing it as a normal human reaction, and recognizing that misuse of scripture is what power-hungry humans do. It is to be expected; it's no surprise. 

The next image was of Jesus, peaceful and calm, steadily going about his calling of John 3:16.

~*~

So does the above mean I've reconverted back to being a Bible believer? 

No.

I'm still a CU-leaning agnostic, sprinkled with mysticism. 

These days I feel a deep resonance with the principles of Daoism. 

~*~

Into the Mystic by Van Morrison

A different kind of "Trail Guide"...

My symptoms began in April 2011 in all my limbs and extremities. 

In May 2013, two years and eight doctors later, I received a correct diagnosis--polyradiculitis, multiple nerve roots swollen at my spinal cord in my lumbar and cervical regions.

In January 2014 I began receiving steroid lumbar epidurals every 12 weeks. 

In 2015 I designed my first "Rally Sheet."

Every 12 weeks with magnets I'd attach to my refrigerator my one-page printed Rally Sheet for that round.

These helped encourage me until my next epidural.

In 2018 I changed the title from "Rally Sheet" to "Trail Guide."

But the trail wasn't a literal trail through the woods; it was (and still is) a literal place of being, of navigating life with a rare disease and all its repercussions. 

Along with my refrigerator-attached encouragements, I kept detailed notes in small notebooks, tracking symptoms and responses to interventions.  

The last Trail Guide I attached to my refrigerator read: 

Trail Guide April 14, 2022, thru July 4, 2022:  Round #38

My self-care is a fulltime job.

That is my reality.

My self-care is service to my family & society.

To my human & animal friends.

To Nature & Earth. 

As I care for my self, I care for others.

This is my potential with Earth, my gift for a more beautiful world.

Monitor my energy and push capacity.

Turtle power. Ground. Listen. 

Happy pace, hour to hour.

Move my physical being.

Consciously eat & intermittently fast.

Rest. Be with nature. Be with me. Be.

Notice flash feelings. Observe. No need to react or respond. 

Self-validate. Boundaries. Respect. Self-soothe. 

Allow joy. Allow grief. Allow gratitude. Allow loss.

Embrace it all... 

Live well...

I do not have to prove any thing to any one.

"At some point, everything's gonna go south on you & you're going to say, 'This is it. This is how I end.' Now you can either accept that, or you can get to work. That's all it is. You just begin...." ~Mark Watney, space pirate

Countdown: 

Week 1: Begins M, 4/11/22 (Thur, 4/14: Epidural #38. Day adjusted for FL trip.)

Week 2: Begins M, 4/18/22 

Week 3: Begins M, 4/25/22 

Week 4: Begins M, 5/02/22 (Florida: 4/29 thru 5/07)

Week 5: Begins M, 5/09/22 (Black Mtn: 5/11 thru 5/13)

Week 6: Begins M, 5/16/22 

Week 7: Begins M, 5/23/22 (5/23, MON: TAKE BONIVA!  5/24, Tu: Cervical Trigger Pnt Injs, WS )

Week 8: Begins M, 6/06/22 

 

Week 9: Begins M, 6/13/22 

Week 10: Begins M, 6/20/22 

Week 12: Begins M, 7/04/22 (7/03 or 7/04: TAKE BONIVA!)

Week 12: Completed M, 7/11/22: Epidural #39. 

Signed:  carol welch, ceo  ~ cyclist. explorer. overcomer. ~

I had no idea on April 11, 2022, that it would be my last Trail Guide. 

I never received Epidural #39. 

On April 28, 2022, two weeks after Epidural #38, I landed in the hospital for 3 nights with two good-sized blood clots, one in each lung. 

The ER doctor informed me, "It's good you came in. These are the deadly kind."

Because I was put on blood thinners, I had to give up my epidurals. 

I was terrified. 

Without the epidurals, how would my body and brain be able to stay at least partly functional?

Would I become bedridden? 

Then, the same week as my blood clots, my functional medicine doctor began offering low-level laser therapy, now known as photobiomodulation; and I was his first laser patient.

In June 2023, I purchased a laser for home use. 

For over six months I lasered daily. 

Some days I'd laser my whole body; some days I would rotate upper and lower body--brain, jaws, upper arms, lower arms, wrists, thumb joints, hands and fingers, adrenals, lumbar and cervical nerve roots, upper back, lower back, thighs, knees, lower legs, ankles, feet and toes. 

Each day, the process took about 2 to 2-1/2 hours. 

Now, in March 2026, I still laser daily, but not all those parts because I have received improvements, incremental but significant.

One of those very significant improvements? My jaws.

It was in January 2016 that symptoms spread to my jaws. 

Since January 2026, my jaws have been pain-free!

*knock-on-wood* 

In June 2016 we did discover an underlying cause: My 2008 artificial hip implant had been slowly drip-dripping, leaching cobalt and chromium. It was explanted and replaced in August 2016. But still, I needed the epidurals. Then came the blood clots, and I had to give up the epidurals.  

I no longer design Trail Guides every 12 weeks.

In 2023 I began a different kind of tracking with a graph paper notebook.

Every Sunday, using a ruler I draw columns and rows for the week ahead...

~*~

"At some point, everything's gonna go south on you and you're going to say, this is it.

This is how I end.

Now you can either accept that, or you can get to work.

That's all it is.

You just, begin.

You do the math.

You solve one problem and you solve the next one, and then the next.

And if you solve enough problems, you get to come home."

~Mark Watney, Space Pirate

Snippets...

From this past week, a few snippets from my journal... 

Snippet one

When I catch myself judging myself harshly, I say to myself, "Settle Carol. Relax."

I consciously let go in my muscles and through my nervous system.

The judgement might linger, but it doesn't root. 

My legs and arms, feet and hands, toes and fingers, back and spine -- they work so hard, so very hard.

And I thank them. 

Sometimes when I meditate, chills will tingle up my back and in my limbs.

It feels good. 

Snippet two

I am almost at the end of this journal.

I wonder how many journals I've written. 

Maybe I'll count them tomorrow. 

But they are not all in one place. 

Most are on one bookshelf; others are scattered among stacks of books. 

Snippet three

Okay. I'm trying to write for an audience. 

Stop, Carol. Do not write for the audience. Not here, not in your journal.

Snippet four

I'm having anxiety...

May I be free from self-doubt, distrust, and fear. 

May I allow confidence; I've done a lot of things successfully.

May I allow trust. The Universal Spirit and Bestower has always provided; stay open to that. 

May I allow trust. Do what I can and listen; listen to those inner nudges. 

May I allow groundedness. The ground is my friend and has always supported me. 

Snippet five

I am concerned about Hubby's and my preparedness regarding end-of-life stuff.

We do have a will.

The kids have access to our credit union safe deposit box. This year I will update what is in the box.

I have set a goal that I will print all our passwords and codes and delineate accounts that are on auto ship and auto draft so that the kids have easy access to cancel those.

And I will begin and continue to get the house in order. 

I can organize these things. 

Think of all you've done Carol, especially with the ex-therapist fiasco and my defective-hip-implant fiasco. I had to compile lots of paperwork and evidence. And in both cases, I was successful despite my fatigue and weakness and brain stupor. 

I can do this. 

So, settle Carol.

Snippet six

The US and Israel started a war with Iran. It's the crusades all over again. 

Israel supposedly obeys the Old Testament, except for certain parts I guess, like animal sacrifices.

The Old Testament attributes that God commanded his people to annihilate their enemies - men, women, and children - and to take the spoils. 

I've read that radical Islam supports killing the infidels.

I will not join the online fray.

I will pray, take care of what I can, and be a peace pilgrim.

Not peace through war, but peace through prayer(?), peace through forgiveness(?).

Ah, peace through resistance to conform, through care of the earth and her creatures, through stewardship. 

This I can do.

Snippet seven

I met my newly arrived granddaughter today; she is four days old.

Why do I not feel happy?

Am I sad because of the state of the world she is entering?

But Carol, this has always been the state of the world.

Or am I afraid to feel happy, to feel love, because I know it will end?

Everything dies.

I have a banquet of belief options to choose from. 

But to quote the late Evangelical Agnostic folk singer, Todd Snider, "But believing and knowing, those are two different things."

I love you, Granddaughter two. I love you, Granddaughter one. 

Snippet eight

Gazing at the picture of me cradling my 4-day old granddaughter, I felt such deep connection. 

I have felt this before when I cradled my now 20-month-old granddaughter at 2 days old. 

I pray that their little nervous systems learn to regulate.

I pray that they know they are loved, and respected, and never ever alone.

I pray they learn to love themselves with grace and mercy and kindness and gratitude and that that has a ripple effect with all the other ripples.

Snippet nine

I counted my journals.

I've written approximately 43 since October 1998, an average of 1.59 journals per year. 

~*~

Todd Snider passed away on 11/14/25...
But his words live on...

This song was released in 2006...

"Happy New Year, everybody" by Todd Snider

Happy New Year everybody

There's an overweight man with an overweight woman on a sofa watchin' TV

He's yellin' his opinion at the television, she looks up from her food and agrees

They got two bumper stickers on their pickup truck

They keep the pickup parked outside

One sticker says, "What Would Jesus Do?"

The other bumper sticker says, "Power of Pride"

I was thumbin' through the stations on my own television

When I come across a guy on this religious station

Singin' "Somebody's Coming"––he sounded whiter than me somehow, wow

It took me back in time through dwindlin' joy

To when I was such a guilt-ridden Catholic boy

I'm Evangelical Agnostic now

I don't know what we're doin' here

You don't know what were doin' here

Now Christians, don't walk out on me just yet

You know whose name I'll be yellin' as I'm clutchin' my chest

The one my dad told me to and his told him to

And I probably pray as much or more than you do

Believe? Shit, every word I sing

But believin' and knowin', those are two different things

And if you're tryin' to change the way a stranger's life will have to go

I believe this is where I'll wanna stick to what I know

Which is nothin', you know

Nothin' for sure, so

Just chill 'til the next episode

Now back to the lecture at hand

Seems like my neighbor wants to kill what he can't understand

I say we can't just kill what we don't understand

But I turn on my TV and I see that, oh yeah we can

We can and we have since the dawn of man

For countless gods whose only real seeming plan

Was to see to it that clingin' to life was our fate

And you gotta admit, life's pretty great

But, can we deny that it's killin' us?

(I'll be here all week)

Happy New Year, everybody

Happy birthday, Country Joe

I resolve to do like I always do

I ain't hurtin' you, hm-hm-hm-hm

If life is anything it's embarrassin'

A rusty nail through a careless shoe

You can't help but sit around and wonder sometimes

Why there's never anything the nail can do

But think about how unfair it is

That the shoe is always goin' where it's got to, too

If you ain't the dumb kid out runnin' around

You kinda gotta do what you're born to do

Happy New Year, everybody (Hey, happy New Year, everybody) 

Happy birthday, Country Joe (And specifically happy birthday to you, Country Joe)

I resolve to do what I always do

And I only ever make it a day or two

Thoughts from my journal...

Sunday 2/01/2026 = 4

It snowed. Probably 6" - 7." 

I would like to go out in it.

But the experience is not worth the price. 

So, I remember...

Sledding and snow skiing. Snow forts, snowmen. Snowballs, that I would sometimes freeze in the refrigerator freezer. Collecting freshly falling snow to make snow cream. Lying down and making snow angels.

I long for days of clarity. 

From my observation, the state of my fatigue determines the state of my clarity.

What determines the state of my fatigue?

Many factors, I think...

Sleep quality.
Pain level.
Lacking purpose beyond selfcare.
Feeling anxiety, uncertainty, unprepared.

Will I ever feel or be prepared?

Yet am not I preparing by writing out these thoughts?

This is my journal. 

I am free here.

~*~

Monday 2/02/2026 = 14 = 5

I long to be pain free. 

There are times I don't feel pain...

Well, actually the only times I don't feel pain are when I sleep.

And that is an improvement. I seldom feel and get woken up by my pain. (knockonwood to the good fairies)

Are fairies real?

How about the Velveteen Rabbit? 

It became real.

Settle Carol.

Others seldom think of you. And when and if they do, you don't know what they are thinking. You can speculate and make educated guesses.

But why? Why put my energy into that?

I don't want to put my energy there. 

But too often, that is what creeps in and sometimes screams...

And I don't hear praise and goodness.

Instead, I hear criticism, harsh judgment, false accusations, and the derogatory labels that go with them.

Others have lived that too and in far, far worse, worse situations.

I still have my family, a few close friends, a few close acquaintances, and my ever-faithful love -- Nature.

I hope to again be able to commune with Her on Her turf. 

Love strokes...

Bedtime: Monday, 1/12/2026 = 5

How do you feel, my love?

Disturbed, by what is happening in the country, in the world. 

Authoritarianism -- "We're always right (and righteous); and if you disagree with us, you are a traitor." "Our motives are good; yours are evil." "We have the truth; you are brainwashed." 

Thing is, if someone accused me of such, I would probably cower. 

But I wouldn't have to. 

Nor would I have to attack.

I can take the statements apart with neutrality...

Thus began my journaling with ink and paper last night. Strokes across lined pages -- shorthand, cursive, italic. Black ink on white paper. 

The cardboard cover is black, dappled with white spots, and bound with a black-tape binding. "Composition Book" is printed on the front cover. Printed on the inside of the front cardboard cover is a nine-lined, Monday-through-Friday grid. The title printed above the grid states, "CLASS SCHEDULE" 

Printed across each 9.75x7.6-inch page are 25 horizontal blue lines on which to write and a vertical red line down the left side of each page delineating a margin. There are 100 sheets of paper in the journal, totaling 200 pages. I number each page. Next page up? Number 100, a century of days. Haha. I began this particular journal on 10/27/25. 

Printed on the back inside cardboard cover are a variety of small grids that contain a variety of conversion tables. And a multiplication table; I hadn't seen one of those in a while. Printed at the top, "USEFUL INFORMATION." 

On Christmas Day, 2025, my nineteen-month-old granddaughter came knocking on my closed bedroom door calling, "Meemaw. Meemaw." Hubby, who was with Granddaughter on her side of the door, opened the door to let her in with him following. He plopped her up on the king-size mattress and spotted her as she roamed around like a little lion cub, curious and delighted. I set aside my cushioned lap-desk and pen and journal. We then played kisses and peek-a-boo, and we giggled. 

She picks up my ballpoint pen.

I instruct her, "That is Meemaw's pen. It is a tool; it's not a toy." 

She looks at me like she is saying, "Okay. I know what a tool is." 

Son has been remodeling their home for sixish months and is still in process. Granddaughter has heard him say "tool" often, explaining that they aren't play toys. 

But it has a button! How exciting!! She pushes it and the ballpoint comes out. I say, "On." Another push and the ballpoint retreats. I say, "Off." We play this a dozen times as she watches the pen pop out and pop in. 

I show Granddaughter my journal, "This is Meemaw's journal where I write my thoughts." 

She seems curious. I show her how I use the pen to draw and write. I draw a picture of her and print her name under the picture. Then I hand her the journal.

With focus, she turns the pages. Pausing, perusing, like she is studying them. Using the pen, she draws scribblies across some of the pages over my writing. I am fine with that, actually happy. We have journaled together.

Art...

From little hands...

Love strokes...

Everydayness...

I have shared a plethora of blog posts about the evolving/devolving navigation of life with polyradiculitis...

But even in that plethora, there is much that is not shared...

I have shared few posts about the insomnia...

However, I wrote a series on my poetry blog during the time of the chronic insomnia...

An insomnia which led to sleep deprivation...

And now it is time for the following to come forward...

I no longer want to hide...

So, I am putting this out into the field...

I am thankful for my husband and children and granddaughter, my few close friends, my trusted medical and wellness team, and Earth's wildlife and non-human creatures who have continually come to my aide through the decades...

~*~

12/08/2025

Yesterday I asked myself, "Carol, what are your triggers?"

And I answered, "What do you mean 'triggers?' "

"Circumstances, internal and/or external, which prompt a response of vigilance, on-guardness, protectionism, avoidance, self-judgement, and fill-in-the blank."

If left unchecked, these can then manifest in biological symptoms such as pain, depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and blank-in-the-feel.

Then an insightful answer appeared.

"Each day as I open my eyes to greet the day, I am triggered. Wow..."

Why?

Because I don't know from day-to-day where I will land on the symptom-severity scale. 

And the factor that I navigate mostly alone can multiply the feelings of aloneness. I am physically alone most of the time as I daily navigate (on a continuum) fatigue, brain-stupor, physical weakness and pain, and the mundane tasks of being my own caregiver.

Waking up for the day triggers me.

Who will I be today? 

What will I have to navigate?  

This is hard to admit, but it's true. 

But again, "Why does greeting each day trigger me?"

It's the unknown factor, the uncertainty, of whether or not and how much I can trust my own body and brain to function on any given day...

And you know what?

Every human lives in the unknown.

None of us know what will meet us on any given day.

Yes, we have expectations and routines and goals and tasks.

But still, the next 24 hours is unknown.

The next second is unknown, at least while living here in this earthly plane. 

Dad didn't wake up one morning and have the goal of becoming a quadriplegic that afternoon.

I didn't wake up over 14 years ago with the goal of losing normal function in all my limbs and extremities.

I didn't go backpacking in my beloved Roan Mountains 15+ years ago with the goal of my ex-mental health therapist trying to assassinate my character with outright lies in at least a dozen public articles/posts.

And the list goes on...

For each of us...

But Carol, you don't have a job or work outside your self-care. 

This too is true and has been hard to accept and embrace.

And yet I know I'm not alone in navigating (have I used that word enough?) this kind of life.

I have found comfort in others' stories who live with disability and are so very limited to partake in the physical tasks of living.

Such as cooking, cleaning, errand-running, yard work, decorating one's home during the holidays, shopping, walking the dog, helping others with physical and other needs, sending cards, and so forth.

But I do have routines in my self-care, and I do have purpose as long as I can continue to accept and embrace that this is my job. 

And it is a hard job.

It's not one I would have chosen, but it is the one that has fallen to me.

So, in that sense, I'm just like able-bodied folks that have jobs or work of serving others.

I continually tell my self that my self-care is serving others...

And this too, is true...

~*~

Three days later, on 12/11/2025... 

I turn the knob of the tub faucet so water flows...

Water is a big part of the couple exit-life plans I've come up with...

Water will finish the deed so that no breath is left...

I turn the knob with feelings of utter worthlessness, shame, no value...

Of no light at the end of this dark, endless tunnel...

Feeling so alone and that I am only a burden to my family and beyond...

The pills, over 40 per day...

Just one unrelenting circumstance that I navigate...

But it won't take 40 for this deed...

I turn the knob of the tub faucet so water flows...

And a thought clearly emerges...

If Hawk is here, I'll not do it...

I turn off the knob and the flow ceases...

I walk to the bathroom window...

I peer into our big backyard...

There, regal and faithful...

Hawk, my companion...

I call Hubby...

~*~

12/16/25: Over 40 pills a day... 

I post this with some hesitancy...

But I'm so tired of hiding...

Perhaps by releasing this, I will receive something of substance...

Perhaps any passersby who suffer similar will feel seen, less alone...

I list the targeted reason for the supplements, but they also provide other systemic benefits.

I have to take multiples of many of the same pill; for example, I take 4 Omega-3s a day. 

Thus, the following listed pills add up to over 40....

It starts when I arise from bed. I swallow Bromelain, an enzyme which must be taken on an empty stomach for its anti-inflammatory effects.

An hour-or-so later after I invert on my inversion table, I swallow an Iron caplet which must be taken away from other mineral supplements. I combine it with Vitamin C with Quercetin to aid the Iron absorption and for inflammation. I swallow SAM-e for pain and depression. 

Then I exercise. 

Thirtyish  minutes later: Digestive enzyme; two Charlottes Web CBD gummies and sublingual liquid extract for inflammation and recovery and nerve health; and Sublingual B-12 for nerve health.

I eat a little, breaking my fast of 15 to 17 hours, and then swallow the first round of mixed pills. 

5 milligrams of Prednisone which I've been on since July 2011 but is reduced from the 1000s of milligrams of injectable steroids that I received throughout each year from 2014 into mid-2022. Omega-3 for inflammation and for my heart to help counter a steroid side-effect. Neuromagnesium for my brain. Methylfolate for my MTHFR gene-mutation. Calcium-magnesium to help counter the steroid side effect of bone loss. Monolaurin to help counter Epstein-Barr. Garlic to help counter the candida side effect of steroids. Vitamin C for inflammation and immunity. 

Part of my breakfast consists of powdered food supplements stirred into Coconut Water with added Tart Cherry juice concentrate. Coconut Water provides potassium to help with my leg cramps; Tart Cherry juice addresses inflammation. I stir into it 6 different powders: one targets osteoarthritis; one provides a Multivitamin, but I drink a kid's version with lower B-6 levels because my body doesn't metabolize B-6 properly; an Electrolyte to help with proper absorption; Curcumin/Turmeric for inflammation; Lion's Mane for nerve health; and Fiber which helps with cholesterol. I add another powder to my morning cereal; it targets blood sugar levels to help counter the diabetes side-effect of steroids. I also swallow MCT oil for brain and inflammation; and liquid CoQ10 for heart, brain, and fatigue.

Mid-afternoon, I swallow NAC and the mineral supplement of Strontium. Strontium needs to be taken away from other minerals; it helps counter the steroid side-effect of bone loss. NAC helps the body and the liver with detox; I used to take it at bedtime until after the chronic insomnia onset in April 2022.

Before my evening meal, I swallow another digestive enzyme. After eating I swallow the next round of mixed pills. 

Omega-3 for inflammation and for my heart to help counter the steroid side-effects. Neuromagnesium for my brain. Methylfolate for my MTHFR gene-mutation. Calcium-magnesium to help counter the steroid side-effect of bone loss. Vitamin D3 for my bones. Garlic with Curcumin to help counter the candida side-effect of steroids and to address inflammation. Vitamin C for inflammation and immunity. A Mushroom mix for immunity. Lysine to help counter shingles and herpes simplex virus. Probiotics to help counter the candida side-effect of steroids. 

I can hear the critics now...

And to them I say, "Come live with polyradiculitis and all its repercussions, not to mention the other traumas I've survived. Then your criticism or critique might hold some weight.  I don't like taking all this. But I humbly state that it has paid off in that I am not in a nursing home; my bone density is holding steady; my blood pressure and heart specs are in normal ranges; I don't have diabetes; I seldom get 'sick;' and fill-in-the-blank. Does that mean I will never develop any of those abnormalities? No. But I will do what I am able to help mitigate them, if I can."

Then there is bedtime. 

I begin this routine 1-1/2 hours before I lie down for the night. Two Charlotte's Web gummies and sublingual extract for inflammation; then I laser my brain for sleep. 

Then, I swallow a teaspoon of coconut oil and swallow magnesium supplements for sleep, and I take two THC gummies for sleep; then I again laser my brain for sleep. 

Next, I drink powdered herbs in water -- herbs combined specifically for me by my herbalist -- for inflammation and sleep.  

Then I carry my little, drawstring cloth bag (that my daughter sewed for some project when she was young) upstairs which contains my 2nd-shift sleep herbs, 2nd-shift THC gummy, and two Charlotte's Web Stay Asleep gummies. I arrange the containers on my dresser with a coffee cup half-filled with water and a glass of water each on its own hand-embroidered coaster from a village in China, a gift from a friend who lived in the village for a number of years.

Then I load my dry, no-oil, vape device with cannabis and carry it and my sleep-pharmaceuticals (of which 2 have to be cut in half which I prepare in the morning) downstairs to the living room. 

While I vape, I play Sudoku; fill in my columned chart for the day; maybe draw or color or journal or read; heat some rice socks which I use on my hands and legs and back; and then lie on the couch while using a foam roller on my left thigh. Depending on how and what I feel I might channel surf on the TV landing on a comedy or a show of interest. I also lie in silence as I allow my thoughts to free float. 

During the last 30 minutes of the 1-1/2-hour routine, I take three different pharmaceuticals, spacing between each one. 50 milligrams of Seroquel, down from the 300 milligrams which began in August 2023. Then, after 15 or so minutes, I swallow .25 milligram of Xanax which I began around July 2023. Then after another 15ish minutes, 5 milligrams of Dayvigo, down from 10 milligrams which I began in July 2023. 

When it's time, I carefully make my way up the 7-step wooden staircase, climb into the king-size bed where hubby is already sleeping, adjust my various kinds of pillows, arrange my body under my multiple blankets, and finally fall asleep to arise sometime later in the dark hours when I drink my 2nd-shift combined-for-me herbs and chew my three 2nd-shift gummies. Usually I can fall back under, but sometimes not. 

Again, I can hear the critics, and I respond...

"We tried probably all the natural means for me to be able to fall under. We tried supplements, homeopathy, various herb combinations, acupuncture, photobiomodulation, unplugging electronics in the bedroom, weighted blanket and then other blankets, turning the air down to 68 degrees F, prayer, affirmations, meditations (which actually saved me through the 14 months of chronic insomnia that ended up in a bad case of sleep deprivation), mental health counseling, counsel from a sleep neurologist, exercise, and more. And we tried other pharmaceuticals. We finally landed on the combination above. And I do sleep now, but there are side effects to all these drugs. However, the benefits of being able to sleep currently outweigh the risks of the side effects."

And to any critics and judgers I ask, "Have you ever lived with sleep deprivation; and I mean real sleep deprivation? The paranoia, suicidal kind? Of all the traumas I've experienced in my life, sleep deprivation has been the most terrifying."

I state that even compared to the 4-day nightmare with datura stramonium at age 15, except I didn't hallucinate during the 2023 sleep deprivation.

I state that even compared to the chronic and relentless, suffocating-like-one-is-drowning-in-their-own-fluid, asthma attacks that erupted almost every day/night for over 15 years.

I state that even compared to the onset and terrifying progression of polyradiculitis with symptoms that mimicked those of ALS.

Effects of a hallucinogen wear off...

My asthma attacks would typically subside  after two to three hours, giving me a break until the next one growled and pounced...

With routine epidurals and trigger-point injections, I would get temporary relief from the debilitating symptoms of widespread nerve damage...  

But wondering if you'll ever be able to again fall under into sleep? 

A different kind of torture...

~*~

So, there you have it... 

A snippet of my daily, self-care, maintenance regimen... 

And that is just my daily pharmaceuticals and herbs and supplements, and part of my sleep routine... 

~*~

Quack: Projection or Pattern Recognition?

I don't exactly recall when I first wondered, Why does Trump outright lie about the obvious?

(Currently the "obvious" are statements about the economy doing better, how grocery prices are lower, how the USA is respected again around the world, how gas prices are down to $2.00 a gallon, and so forth...)

The knee-jerk response to my question could be, "Because he's a sociopath, a malignant narcissist, a conman, a gaslighter, and ..." 

But that still doesn't answer my question. 

Perhaps it'd be better phrased, "What advantage is there to outright lying when a person/people are outright experiencing the opposite of that which the liar proclaims?" 

The Way taught, "Confession of receipt yields receipt of confession," which means to speak into realty that which hasn't yet manifested. And also, to build one's believing so that the manifestation can happen.

Trump grew up attending Norman Vincent Peale's church. Peale taught similar to what The Way taught/teaches regarding this formula. This manifestation doctrine has been labeled the "health-and-wealth gospel."

Ah, maybe that's it. Trump maybe does believe that if he speaks something that isn't as if it is, in due time, what he speaks will manifest. 

*~*

In addition to the Jeffrey Epstein fiasco, I've been keeping an eye on the recent online feud between Marjorie Taylor Greene and Donald J. Trump.

What I see in Trump's responses is someone who is hiding or protecting something or someone. In his responses I see someone who is (or at least may be) guilty of the thing(s) of which he is accused and/or of the very things of which he accuses others. 

I witnessed this type of behavior in The Way and in the anti-cult movement and (more up close and personal) with John M. Knapp, formerly LMSW... 

Name calling, the perp making him/herself into a victim, deflection, threats, false accusations against those who are calling out the aggressor, outright lies to prop up just how righteous the perp is, flamboyant theatre as a way for the perp to present him/herself as someone who thinks outside the box and is taking a stand for truth in a clever way...

~*~

When The Way was unraveling in the latter 1980s and then again in the latter 1990s (corresponding with two big Way-believer exoduses), Hubby and I considered and discussed what we had heard and read. Each time we made, what we considered at the time, an informed decision to continue with The Way through both those exoduses. One of our concluding reasons to stay was, "There's nothing else better out there..." 

I've heard and read folks state regarding Trump, "Well, it's still better than Biden or Kamala." That statement kind of reminds me of us deciding there was nothing better outside the household of The Way. But how can one know if there's anything better if they don't look around and check out what else is out there? And how can one know that things would be worse under Kamala? 

[BTW, a bottom-line reason I voted for Harris (and either not vote or vote for a third-party candidate whom I figured would lose) was because I'd rather navigate the censorship/government overreach of the Left than what I saw coming as the censorship/government overreach of MAGA.]

As far as the sexual-abuse accusations against Wierwille (the founder and first president of The Way) and other top leadership in The Way, Hubby and I believed devil spirits were at work in the accusers. After all, the devil is "the father of lies" and he is always into blaming the Ministry so as to keep people enslaved to his manipulations. Also, free-love hippies were flocking to The Way in the 1960s through the early 1980s; these women probably flaunted Wierwille and in a moment of weakness he succumbed. And why didn't these women speak up earlier?  After all, they didn't speak up until after Wierwille died; he couldn't defend himself. 

Does that reasoning (by Hubby and me at the time) sound familiar? 

It's called rationalization and is a normal, human response when one is holding onto a "truth" in which they have invested a lot of energy, money, time, heart, life, effort, and trust. 

Hubby and I now believe and know differently regarding, among other things, the accounts of the women who have shared some of their experiences.

~*~

This morning, I read an X-post by MTG calling out DJT on one of his lies about her, that she had been calling him a lot and complaining to everyone that he hasn't returned her calls. She responded with the facts -- she hasn't called him, but she has sent him two texts which she posted. 

Good for MTG. That's how one should (depending on circumstances) respond to false accusations. 

Respond with the facts and material evidence if one has any.

DJT's post about MTG are just small, little lies that one could chalk up to just a misspeak...

That said, the devil is in the details...

~*~

When Knapp initially privately gaslit me and privately falsely accused me in August 2010, I could have brushed it off as not-that-big-of-a-deal. And in comparison to most abuses, it was "small" (unless you were in my shoes). But within a week of Knapp's abusive actions and words directed at me, I learned this wasn't the first time Knapp had behaved in this manner. The information I received was corroborated by someone else later that month. And yes, knowing that was one reason I decided that I should file an official complaint -- Knapp's behavior was a pattern.

As I state elsewhere upon learning this information: 

"...I am stunned at the things shared with me. I ask why no one spoke up about these incidents as a warning for others. Chris tells me that people allowed a wide margin for Knapp because of the supposed trauma he had suffered due to the TMO [Transcendental Meditation Organization]. Also, some thought Knapp had changed after going back to school and earning his social work license.

Though I don't take all the information at face value, it does match my experience. Knapp had behaved toward me as he had toward others.

But none of the others were clients..."

Of course, my personal experiences were not on a gigantic, national, worldwide scale which can result in national or global havoc (which brings to mind Covid).

And one could say that I'm projecting my experiences into what I am currently witnessing (and have witnessed) in the MAGA-sphere.

But here's another way to look at it: Maybe it's not projection, but rather pattern recognition.

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, most likely, it's a duck.

~*~

For a deeper dive into my experiences with Knapp, here are three links:

1) This is a copy of my complaint which I filed at the end of September 2010: Complaint Overview.

2) This post shares my response to Knapp's public accusations which he posted on his organization's website and on social media (tagging folks in the cult-recovery field) almost a year later, in August 2011: My statements addressing John M. Knapp's allegations & accusations.

3) This post shares a deep dive (but still omits details) into the timeline of events: The Knapp Saga: For the Record. As I state in the opening of the piece, one of the reasons that I decided to post the timeline is "because perhaps this record... may help validate anyone who has endured a similar manipulative experience; whether with Knapp or someone else. The timeline gives an example of the slow process into entanglement and of rationalizing certain behaviors because of so-called trust."

Again, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, most likely, it's a duck...

~*~~*~

Well, this is interesting...

After I published this blog piece I checked my blog stats for the past 24 hours. And, lo and behold, one post that had been visited is entitled "Why would they lie?"  

The piece takes a deeper dive into my rationalizations regarding sexual abuse allegations of Way leadership. Unlike my 11/15/25 post which poses the question regarding a perpetrator, the 2019 post poses the same question but in regard to the victim-survivors and whistleblowers...