Monday, October 31, 2005

Sick for Days

It was a gorgeous beautiful day yesterday, and we drove out to Belle Isle for a walk, but I was so sick that I couldn't walk. I was sick all weekend (and all of the preceding week), with a painful belly ache--apparently the same one Keith had on his birthday and the weekend after when we visited Gail. I got out of the car and only managed to walk a few steps and had to have Keith drive me home. Even lying down didn't help. But it was all I could manage to do.

Lying down was uncomfortable and I had to get up and sit, and that was uncomfortable so I tried a different chair. Nothing helped.

I am hoping this will pass soon, because I have so much to do to prepare for my opening, and I am falling further and further behind.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Robot Boy

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High-Brow (Alfie)

This is Gail's other new kitten, the boy, High-Brow (Alfie--short for Alfalfa). Photo by Mary Stebbins Posted by Picasa

Feeling Cranky

Last night I was cranky and irritable and I hadn’t had coffee, chocolate, mint, black or green tea or ginger. Of course, I had insomnia.

This is what I ate: an omelette made with egg beaters and one real egg, turkey sausage (fresh), mushrooms (fresh garden), zucchini, two slices of garlic bread which I accidentally buttered with real butter, bran, prunes. AND then: scalloped potatoes made with rice milk, fake cheese (veganrella), ham, shallots, garlic, white flour. Two slices of toast with margarine and bran, prunes. That was the sum total of what I ate for the day.

Suspect: white bread and white flour, shallots, garlic, potato (I ate one), butter. I cannot believe that the amount of butter I ate could make me feel THAT bad. I don’t understand it.


Elphi (Elphaba), one of Gail's new kittens (the female). Photo by Mary Stebbins
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“Drove My Chevy to the Levy”

Keith gets up at 4:20 every morning, so by the time we get Graham to bed and he reads me a selection from our current book (The Dollmaker, by Harriet Arnow, lent to us by Gail), it’s late for him and he’s very tired.

Last night, as often happens, he went to bed before me (thought I’d rather go in with him, I had things I needed to do). When I went in, a little while later, he was all warm and snug. I woke him for a brief cuddle and then he went back to sleep. I couldn’t sleep—my usual insomnia. I was lying beside him, not too close, with one hand resting lightly on his butt, when I heard him emit a high sound of surprise and fear and his warm butt went instantly cold and goose-bumps rose on his butt. They were the largest goose-bumps I’d ever felt in my life.

I said, “Keith, are you all right?”

He said, “Oh, thank you for saving me.” He then proceeded to tell me that he and I and someone else were out on a very long pier when we looked up and saw a huge Tsunami rear up and roar toward us. We turned and ran toward shore, and Keith was thinking, terrified, “This will be the day that I die.” (And that was when I woke him.)

(Drove my Chevy to the Levy, but the levy was dry, and good boys were drinking whisky and rye singing this will be the day that I die)

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Keith SIck

Keith Sick, photo by Mary Stebbins

Keith has been sick for several days. He got sick on his birthday, the day he turned 60, Wednesday, October 19, 2005. He's been sick now for 4 and a half days.

We went to Gail's today. He laid on the sofa being sick. Not all day, but off and on a good part of it.
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Diary of an Insomniac, 10/23/05

I don't want to die.  I know we all have to die sometime, but I would rather it be later than sooner.


I've got allergies, tonight, or a cold, or both.  It's often hard for me to tell the difference.  My nose is clogged, and I can't breathe.  At all.  Not through my nose.


I took an antihistamine, but it only helped for a little while.  Meanwhile, I got the Sahara Desert sirocco in my nostrils and sinuses.  Ouch—hot winds!  Horrible.  It really hurt.  Ok, you're saying, you're ridiculous.  Maybe I am.  I seem to be overly sensitive about everything relative to other people.  But that didn't take away the pain as I experienced it.


Then the congestion returned, all of it.  I can't get a breath of air through my nostrils.


If I can't breathe through my nose, I can't wear my CPAP.  If I can't wear my CPAP, I can't sleep.  My doctor says, never sleep without the CPAP, you could die.  I don't want to die.  I think I said that.  I must admit, though, that I was so tired, I tried sleeping anyway.  I slept for just under two hours from 10:35 or so until 12:30.  It's 3:25 AM and I've been up ever since.  I can't sleep.


I have sleep apnea, and my throat closes up when I sleep.  The soft tissues relax and close the air passage.  My body is literally smothering itself.  Usually, I wake up in a panic gasping for air.  But, the doctor says, sometime, I might just not wake up.  I might die instead.  People do.  I don't want to die.


It might help if I could lose weight, but sleep apnea causes weight gain and I can't seem to lose weight.  It might not help anyway, but I'd like to give it a try.


Meanwhile, I can't sleep, so I am sitting up.  But I might go lie down.  Try again.  I'm so very tired.


Meanwhile, I am charging my camera battery so I can download the pix from our trip to Gail's.  That will take a couple hours.  I sure don't want to sit and wait for it.

I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats

Friday, October 14, 2005

Mary a Elmwood by Keith

Mary at Elmwood, photo by Keith Taitt Posted by Picasa

Love Never Fails

In the Bible, I Corinthians 13, it says, "Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes,a lways perserveres.  Love never fails.  . . . The greatest of these is love."
I feel sad when I read this becasue I certainly fall short of "the glory of God" in my ability to love--I am way too human!  It is unfortunate!  I want love that never fails. love that never keeps a record of wrongs.  Love that is not easily angered.  I want perfection, but am so imperfect.

I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats

In the Palm of your Hand

In the palm of your hand, photo of Gerardia by Mary Stebbins (fallen blossom).

This picture reminds me of our love. It lies nestled in the palm of your hand, nurtured by your choices, my choices, our choices. I don't want it to wilt, but to stay forever fresh! Posted by Picasa

Unconditional LOVE

 I am reading a book on unconditional love and am happy to see that it's author,Joey O'Connor, says the following, and I quote:
"A dysfunctional understanding of unconditional love is that it is possessive, needy, clingy, controlling or all-giving.  True unconditional love has limits, borders and boundaries.  In regard to certain behaviors and choices, unconditional love sets limits and so should we.  Unconditional love does not allow an abuser to keep abusing, a control freak to keep controlling, and an enabler to keep enabling.  True unconditional love can and must say, 'stop it or else.'  It can also say, 'wait, not now, we'll see.'  Unconditional love is not a sentimental journey into wishful thinking.  It is not living in the tunnel vision of the tunnel of love.  It enables us to keep our hearts and minds wide open to new possibilities, options, choices and discoveries.
Unconditional love requires work."
I haven't read the whole book yet, so I don't know what else he says.  I want that we should work and play at love.  And keep it.

I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats

I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Small Barn in New Hampshire

Small Barn in New Hampshire, Sepia; photo by Mary Stebbins
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Sunday, October 09, 2005

Allergic to everything: The food hermit

The doctor said, don't call it an allergy, call it a "sensitivity." but it seems to amount the same thing. If I eat the way the doctor wants me to eat, I have to live in solitary confinement. I can't visit my friends and have a communal meal. No one can remember that nearly everything makes me sick. Yesterday, we had seafood chowder with lots of butter and half 'n half. Of course, I'm allergic to dairy. The day before, we had sausage soup--my doctor says no sausage, too high in cholesterol. For lunch, we had a burrito casserole with both cheese and soy. Soy exascerbates my fibromyalgia! AK! We had apple pie with sugar and fat--all bad according to my doctor. It all tasted wonderful of course! But "poisonous!"

The half-filled chowder bowl

Last night, we all worked together making seafood chowder. Tom cut potatoes, I cut onions and garlic, Rosy and Rita ripped apart whole cooked lobster, removing the tasty morsels. We sauteed the onions and garlic in real butter and added half and half. While it was cooking, Rosy was trying to find a book she had ordered. It hadn't come--out of stock. And she couldn't find it anywhere, except for $379 for what had been a $20 book. She got more and more morose and went down, in a funk, to the shed where she lives. When the chowder was ready, Tom called down several times on the intercom to invite her up, but she didn't come. We started eating without her. A while later she came up in tears wanting to know where the breaker was for the shed. Tom got up from his half finished meal and went to help her. When he returned some time later, he threw his bread in the woodstove and went upstairs. His half eaten soup sat across from me. Neither Tom not Rosy every returned to supper. I washed the dishes and Rita cleaned up the stove and counters. I felt terrible. This morning I realized that part of why I was upset is that I felt somehow to blame, because Tom had been sitting with me, talking to me. And he never returned to me; I felt unloved and abandoned. As if I had somehow offended him.

It probably was not me. But I do have issues with other people's anger. It's very hard for me to cope with.


It's raining. It rained all day yesterday. I'm visiting near Portland Maine. We tried to put a good face on it and went out to the Old Port to visit the Fish Market and the Wharves. We got soaked. Then we went to Fort Williams and the Portland Headlight and Two lights. It was pouring and very windy and the wind went sideways and we got soaked and cold.

We gave up and went home. Built a fire in the woodstove, drank hot tea. I was still cold and damp when I went to bed.

It's still raining. It's supposed to rain all day today and tomorrow--and straight through to Wednesday. Then I'm going home. I have to admit, the rain is dampening my spirits a little. It makes the kind of vacation activities I like to do--walking, exploring, taking pictures--very difficult. I'm tempted to buy a rainsuit.

* * *

When I complain about problems with my vacation, sad because I can't play, I start feeling guilty thinking of the people who died in the Tsunami and the hurrican victims in NEw Orleans and vicinity. My problems seem pretty mild in comparison. Still, I am supposed to walk 45 minutes a day, a difficult prospect in all this rain. (I took pictures--hope to post some when I get home). More.


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