Summer Vacay

 

Well, what did you do on your summer vacation?

I went on a couple of day trips – one to Upper Canada Village, the living history museum which was way cool, and we also toured the prison museum here in town which was fascinating.

Mostly though, we plodded along doing our own downscale thing. There was one big happening. I found out that to go along with fibromyalgia is a condition called Myalgic Encephelomyelitis. Say that three times fast! Plainly put, the Fibro causes all the fibrous tissue in my body to act up and the ME causes swelling in my brain and spinal cord making all life a big old pain in the butt.

This is serious stuff apparently and is the reason I couldn't balance a two-wheeled electric scooter, why I go through periods of sleeping for 18 out of 24 hours, and so forth. It gets worse over time and more and more symptoms attach themselves to the condition. If I didn't have a sense of humour I think I would fly apart into tiny bits. This humour and my faith together will somehow pull me through but it is now and will continue to be a rough ride that will only get rougher.

I hope that I am not sounding too full of self-pity here. I don't want to whine, but I do want to get it out there where I can address it. I can no longer fake it as things have progressed to the point where I cannot predict from one day to the next how I will be feeling or coping. There is no way to control it and there isn't a cure. There are some therapies that can help to manage pain though they don't make it go away, and of course there are assistive devices that I shall be able to use.

Lots of theories abound, but one thing physicians are agreed upon is that with ME, there are no exercise programs that will work, because all exertion will result in muscle and fibre fatigue and further degeneration. I am currently looking at eating a diet of mostly veggies and fruits with some fish, chicken, and grains added, and meat used only occasionally at times of feasting like they did in the Bible times. 

They also strongly advise sufferers to stay the heck away from contagiously ill people, naysayers and those who insist it is all in our heads. I suppose in one way it is true – it does come from the brain, but it isn't in our Minds...

Sooner or later there will be a vaccine, or a drug, but for now, we go along and just navigate each day. Within this is the larger life lesson of 'one day at a time'. People with chronic afflictions understand this better than most. We can't look too far ahead because we just don't know how things will shape up.

Come to think of it, even those in full possession of robust physical health don't know what is charging down the pike toward them either. Maybe we with the chronic conditions are in the end more fortunate. We know we aren't in charge and we already are learning to make the most of each moment of each day. This in itself is blessing and boon.

How Wude!

 

Mum was well known when we were growing up,  as a bear for good table manners. We were taught and nagged constantly to sit up straight, not to kick the table leg, to chew with mouths closed, to keep elbows off of the table, to use the knife and fork like the English portion of our forbears, and to make absolutely no noise while eating. Her response to our protestations was,

“ Some day if you ever have lunch with the Queen, you will thank me.”

I remember thinking that this was all so dreary. Who cared how a person ate his food? What difference did it make if we played hand-puppets with our grapefruit skins? Why did anybody care that we built damns out of mashed potatoes and gravy then bombed the construction with peas? It was all pretentious and tiresome. Now I know the truth. Good table manners are not for show, or to impress others. They were invented to make the rather unattractive process of ingesting food as pleasant as possible for one’s companions.

The same can be said of good manners in general. Good manners don’t show subservience. They show respect and consideration for our fellows. They are the grease on the axles of society, and as the world becomes more and more crowded, good manners become exponentially more important. They are an easy way to practice the Golden Rule. 

As we liked it when polite behaviour was directed our way, so we were taught to send it outward. We were drilled relentlessly in saying “please”, “thank you”, “how do you do?” and “excuse me”. I have noticed that “please” always illicits a better response than “gimme”. As Mother said, “good manners don’t cost a cent but they are beyond price”.

We were taught to keep silent in church and anytime adults were speaking. We learned to write thank-you notes to anybody who gifted us, and we always held doors for adults. No adult was ever to be criticized by us at any time. We weren't old enough or experienced enough to have that right. Heaven knows we messed up a lot, and we didn't always remember our good manners, but our mother persisted.

I've had the dubious pleasure of being around so many unruly, rude, and untaught children over the past few years that the shock is gone, but the dislike remains. The only thing more annoying is the fatuous parents and grandparents who makes excuses for the little tyrants and who spin the tantrums and boorish behaviour into “expressing his individualism”. Oiy.

Yes, I taught good manners to my kids. I wanted people to say, “Oh boy! They brought the kids! “, rather than, “Crud! They brought those kids.” The good manners didn't hurt my children one iota, or me either, but the selfish, me-first behaviour of so many of their peers and their peers' kids certainly hurt the easy running of society's wheels. Without the grease of good manners, life is loud, awkward, dysfunctional, and non-productive, with a goodly smattering of finger-pointing and blaming. It is all so tiresome.

Hey Mum! Wherever you are, thank you for the lessons and the practice. I hardly ever make my empty grapefruit rinds sing “Dixie”, and I think I’m ready for that lunch with the Queen. And for those who worry about such things, no, I didn't feel the slightest bit repressed.

Pangs of Creation

So there I was griping away about how much my head and neck hurt and how sick and tired I was about being sick and tired, when BOOM! Inspiration struck.

This happens to me so often you would think that I would learn to appreciate it, wouldn't you? Hah. However, the truth is that illness and pain although they seem to be my constant companions any more, always bring along a little hostess gift when they come a-calling, or when they come to stay for a long visit.

Ready for our closeup Mr. DM!

Today the gift was three ideas for the Birby books that have been simmering away on the back brain burner for months, finally came into focus. There they were, imprinted on my mind complete with plot lines, outlines, and images of the illustrations I'll want to make. There was even a danged good idea of how to go about self-publishing them using things commonly found around the home. At least, I can use things commonly found around the city!

For example, my computer is a close partner in this endeavour. Computers and word processors are wonderful things. Desktop publishing just gets better and better and, combined with a digital camera, it is nothing short of miraculous the things one can accomplish.

On that note, what is it I hope to accomplish with these books? Well, I can't give too much away, but the long and short of it is that the central concept is that we cannot allow ourselves to ever use a handicap as an excuse to not try, or to not do. We have been given the creative impulse from the Creator Himself. We can think outside the box, to use an overworked phrase. We can imagine, create, and solve our way around obstacles.

Specifically I'm thinking of the young ones who have functioning forms of Autism, who can learn to use the necessary tools to make their way in the world. A young man of my acquaintance is the inspiration for these stories and one of our honorary grandsons is the other catalyst. In fact, young man number one will be a sort of collaborator on the books. His wacky imagination is what started the whole chain of ideas to cooking.

Once again, a condition, or illness, or dysfunction or whatever, has presented a gift. I'm beginning to firmly believe that those who consider themselves unlucky are really only blind. We can open our eyes and recognize that bad luck is standing there with something awfully good hiding right inside it's pocket. We just need to look for it.