Homesteading

Look what greeted us upon arrival at work on Monday morning!  Our receptionist was walking in when the daddy goose came out of nowhere hissing and snapping.  He chased, she ran.  When I arrived, the engineering department was roping off the area and putting a tub of water near the building.  Normally, the geese nest around the pond behind the School of Engineering, but last year woodstorks moved in and nested - apparently shoving the Canadian geese out.  In spite of the shade in the picture, they picked one of the sunniest, hottest places on the property.  I just hope they know what they're doing.

Obviously, my curiosity has been piqued, so I "googled" how long does it take to hatch Canadian goose eggs and got this from answers.yahoo.com:

Never place food near a nest. It can attract predators (other birds, mice, rats, raccoons, possum, etc.) that will destroy the eggs or eat the baby birds.

When a mother bird picks her nest site, she finds a place that is close enough to a food supply for her to get to in a hurry, when she takes a break from setting, but not close enough to endanger her nest.

The Canada Goose begins to incubate her eggs after she finishes laying them all - sometimes up to 15 eggs, but more commonly 2-8. Once incubation begins, the eggs should hatch in about 25-28 days. The goslings hatch covered with down and with their eyes open. They leave the nest within 24 hours of hatching with the ability to swim and feed. Unlike songbirds, the parents do not feed their babies. The young geese will fledge (leave the care of their parents) in 6-7 weeks.

Do not disturb the nest, because you could cause the mother to abandon her eggs. She views humans as predators.

Also, remember that in the US, all native migratory birds are protected under federal law (Migratory Bird Treaty Act). It is illegal for anyone to possess a protected bird, its nest, its eggs or even its feathers unless they have the required federal and state licenses. It is also illegal to disturb an active nest. Penalties for violating this law include fines of up to $500 and/or up to 6 months in jail for each offense

Hmmm...  seems the helpful humans aren't being as helpful as they think.  I'd better let them know not to feed the geese bread! 

Sometimes Motivation Whispers and Sometimes It Uses a Megaphone

There hasn't been much whispering going on around here lately.  It seems the world is shouting at me to take care of business and to start doing it NOW!

Specifically, my mother.

Not that she's yelling at me.  It's just that her current health situation is yelling at me and telling me to get my act together or I'm going to wind up in the same boat a few years down the line.  Frankly, I'm already in that boat but I haven't done much but drift around in circles - it's time to pick up an oar and start paddling.

I can't really say when the first episode happened, but my mother, the diabetic, had blood sugar that just kept going up.  Her doctor put her on a new medication in hopes that it would stop this trend and start things going the other way.  It didn't.  What it DID do was inflame her blood vessels and she began to get what she thought were blood blisters on her feet.  Then they started spreading up her legs.  She went to the doctor - he didn't know what was happening.  She went to a podiatrist - he didn't know either.  She went to a dermatologist who took one look and diagnosed vasculitis.  Just to be sure, he went to the computer and looked up the medication she'd been switched to and sure enough vasculitis was listed in the "rare but serious side effects" section.  She stopped taking the medicine, got some advice on how to deal with it and went home.

Unfortunately, things just kept getting worse.  The lesions on her feet turned black and the infection went to the bone.  A follow up trip to the doctor landed her in the hospital straight from his office.  She had so many health issues and so many sensitivities that he felt it would be better to have her monitored and cared for in the hospital until they got past this critical time.  In the meantime, spots were appearing up her legs and on her hands and arms.  It was pretty scary since she'd been off that medication and yet the spots were still spreading.  After a few days, though, things seemed to be reversing themselves.  The new spots went away, but the original ones on her feet were still pretty bad.  Still, sure that she was well on her way to healing, she was released from the hospital and sent home.

That didn't last long.  She couldn't lower her feet below her heart level without them turning purple and the lesions were better, but never went away and then they began to hurt again.  Poor Dad was run ragged trying to take care of her.  She was frustrated by being confined to her bed.  He was frustrated by his inability to make it better and having to be "on call" all the time.  Finally, he brought her into town for her doctor's appointment, coming by my house to help me with Abby first.  You can read about how that went here. 

With Mom back in the hospital, Dad was able to relax a little and really get with the program of the diet they were supposed to be following.  I have no idea how much weight he's lost but the size too small shorts he'd just bought are a bit baggy now and his belt is on notches it's never explored before.

Once her heart was under control, Mom was moved to rehab to hopefully get her ambulatory again.  She's been bedridden for 6 weeks and her muscles need to be acclimated to walking and to be built up.  They work her hard twice a day and after each session, she goes back to her room and passes out from exhaustion.  It's going to take time to get her mobile again - they're thinking at least to the end of the month.

 I've had diabetes for a couple of years.  My blood sugar never seemed to go up (I had an A1C of 5.4 for a long time) so I know I got a little lazy about keeping carbs and sugars in check.  I didn't realize just how lazy until a call from my doctor came in today - I am now up to 6.8.  That's bad.  Now I need to REALLY pay attention to all those things I should have been all along.  My medication has been increased (doubled) and they're adding Naispan which causes flushing in me - oh great, now I can look like I have hotflashes all the time!  I'm also being referred to a rheumatologist because something in my blood work is elevated but they're not sure what the issue is.  Just that I have some inflammation in my auto-immune system.  I'm really hoping it's not lupus again and that whatever it is can be remedied quickly.  I realize that I live with some level of pain all the time but I'm so used to it that only when it's acute (like in my hands) do I even notice it.  Add to my misery the fact that I have never weighed as much as I do now and I am feeling the pain, shame and inflexibility of that. 

Insult to injury now...  I finally took my car in to have a recall item taken care of and my darned headlight that wouldn't let me get the bulb in there right looked at.  Of course they came back with a whole list of items that needed attention - some of them urgently.  My car doesn't even have 60K miles on it yet!   The headlight bulb is held in by a wire clip - which apparently broke and in trying to ground itself, burned the bulb out again.  They jerry-rigged a fix for that but if the bulb burns out again it's going to be $400 to replace the headlight assembly.  My battery is working at half power and needs to be replaced and I need a new set of tires.  The fan belts are dry-rotting and need replacement.  Oh, and the head gasket is leaking and needs repair.  At least that one is still under warranty and will be done free of charge.  The catch there is that it will take 2-3 DAYS to get it done since they have to basically remove my motor to fix the problem.  So it looks like the bike/bus method of commuting to work is going to be implemented.  I have to figure out how to get the boy to school (Darling Man can pick him up) though.  Perhaps he needs to go back to riding the school bus.  At least in the mornings.  I love my Subaru.  It's reliable and I've been driving it with no major problems (except the wreck) for four years - but when it's time to fix stuff it's almost as expensive as my Volvo was.  Hard to deal with when making ends meet is a chronic problem.  Once I get this stuff taken care of, I may park my car as much as possible and use it only for going to church, the grocery store or out to the farm.  Make that baby last.  With the price of gas, that migh not be a bad idea anyway.

And I know my body will appreciate the extra exercise.

Wordless Wednesday - Waiting for Breakfast

Glorious Beginning to a Difficult Week

Easter was a beautiful day.  We started with an outstanding breakfast presented by the Mighty Marvelous Men of Advent that included eggs benedict or custom-made omelets.  As soon as the older kids finished eating, they took off to hide plastic easter eggs for the little kids to hunt after church, while the rest of us enjoyed our leisurely second cups of coffee.  My boy offered to acoylyte so it was me, Darling Man and our granddaughter in the pew for the service.  I was happy to see that the tradition of flowering the cross was alive and well.  After the lessons, the children went forward and began putting flowers into the already greened wire cross.  It doesn't seem to matter  how many flowers there are - a few or a lot - but it always comes out just beautiful.  Afterwards, Fr. R kept the kids up front and did a little sermon with them there.  He's so good at that kind of thing!  It was just perfect - the whole service.  The music, the sermon, and the people who filled the pews.  There's a core of about 100 people who come every week, but for Christmas and Easter our sparsely populated church swells to fill every pew.  This year, the ECW put together Welcome Bags with some baked goodies in it.  We are hoping that it helped people feel more welcome and perhaps more inclined to return as regular attendees! 

It was cool and dry and perfect for little kids hunting eggs in the sunshine.  And for adults standing around on the patio sipping mimosas or lemonade and chatting.  The eggs and the mimosas were pretty much taken care of in about half an hour, and we headed home to change into "play" clothes in preparation for going out to my brother-in-law's house for Easter dinner.

My sister-in-law put together a lovely feast of ham, potato salad, asparagus and a bunch of other things.  We ate until we were full, then visited a bit.  They have a new addition to the family - Kirbo!

We are now quite enamored of small dogs - after years and years of big dogs only.  Kirbo was just too cute for words, so full of energy and wanting to play!  Watching him, I could only imagine what my Abby was like as a young dog. 

The contrast was quite stark when we got home.  I'd been in denial about her for a while, but when I came home, I realized that the time was at hand when she'd need to be put to sleep.

She had been quite perky and alert up until recently.  As blindness overtook her, her world got smaller, though she still got around pretty well by sound and feel.  When she came to us, she had developed elephantiasis (thickening of the skin in patches) that first showed up in little pantaloons on her back legs.  It spread...  her front feet, patches on her ears and back - and apparently it was incredibly itchy.  She would rub herself raw on the chair rungs trying to scratch that itch away.  We tried all kinds of things....  baths, creams, steroids and cortisone shots...  The only thing that seemed to help was desitin (the baby cream) but it was only temporary.  Still, she was going outside and doing her jaunty trot and hanging out with us for pets.  But recently, even those things stopped.  She spent most of her time sleeping and she was bumping into things when she walked around.  Eventually, she was getting lost even in the house.  Finally, I realized it was time.  Time to say good bye to my darling girl.  I wrote to her second mama (the person I got her from) to tell her the time was at hand.  It was so hard.  I set up an appointment and asked my dad to drive me since Abby was so scared of riding in the car.  I wanted to be able to hold her.  Dad showed up with Mom in tow (she had a doctor's appointment that day).  We planted her in the reclining part of the couch with a cup of peppermint tea and the TV remotes and left for the vet.

Abby squirmed a bit at first, but after we'd been driving a few minutes, she relaxed in my arms.  I petted her and talked to her and when we arrived, she started shaking again - but just for a moment.  We were ushered into an exam room and waited for Dr. Hall to arrive.  I was happy for those few moments of quiet with my girl.  Dad sat there with me.  I did that for him once and now he was there for me.  When Dr. Hall came in, I told him it was time for her.  The vet tech held her while I was around front - I knew she couldn't see me, but she knew I was there.  As the drug went into her vein, a look of peace spread over her face before she went to sleep.  She looked so happy.  Now she can run and play in the light and see  her original owner.  She's such a good girl.

I didn't cry.  I think I'd spent all my tears in the previous two days trying to come to grips with the decision.  Dad and I talked about having dogs and having to make these decisions and how hard it is at the end.  Abby was riding in the back of the van in a box I'd brought...  I wanted to take her home. 

When we arrived, Mom was still on the couch but she didn't look very good.  Kind of gray, actually.  We had a cup of tea and Mom was sitting there with her hand on her chest when she announced that she was having some pretty bad arrythmia, so Dad took her on to the doctor, who took one look at her and said she needed to be in the hospital.

On her arrival, her heart rate was ranging between 43 and 110 beats per minute.  She was in the emergency room until almost 10:30pm.  It was on lockdown, so Dad couldn't be with her (there had been a shooting and they lockdown to prevent the perpetrator from coming in and finishing the job).  He sat out in the waiting room for hours.  I offered to come sit with him, which he turned down - so I went about the task of burying Abby.  I am alway surprised by how heavy a dead dog or cat can be.  It's like the life spirit bouys the body and when it's gone it suddenly weighs so much more.  The hole didn't need to be big, but it felt like a yawning cavern as I dug.  I was hot and sweaty and suddenly felt like crying.  I did when I transfered her from the box to the bag I would bury her in, but she did look so peaceful and I swear she was smiling a little.  It helped.  I finished putting her in the ground, then went to get my boy.  He was philosophical about it all and succeeded in making me laugh a couple of times. 

I wanted to go to the Wednesday night service, so I left the guys at home and went... only there was no one there.  Obviously I had missed an announcement somewhere along the way - but then I saw LaVerne coming across the lawn.  Guess I wasn't the only one who didn't get the memo.  I crossed the lawn to meet her and we stood there puzzling the situation.  I told her about Abby and Mom and she hugged me and said "We're here... why don't we go into the Chapel and pray a little bit."  So we did.  After about 15 minutes, we finished up, hugged and left.  My heart and soul felt so much calmer.  I'm so grateful she was there.

When I got home, I got my prayer book and told the guys I was going to go sit with Dad, who was still waiting to see mom in the ER.  When I arrived, I couldn't find him but they were still on lockdown, so I knew he wasn't with Mom.  I walked around both ways without seeing him, but when I was coming back around to the front desk, I spotted him walking out the door.  I trotted to catch up with him.  They were about to move Mom to a room and he needed to go home and sleep and feed animals.  We leaned on someone's truck and talked for a few moments then went our separate ways.

And that was Wednesday.

Over the next few days things fell into a rhythm.  Dad finally got some rest.  Mom was being taken care of and I visited her every day after work.  Sometimes the Boy would come with me - he doesn't like visiting in the hospital but he loves the hamburgers in the cafeteria, so if he came with me, we usually ate dinner downstairs before going home.  It was a routine, but still tiring.  Dad gave me a day off though...  He took the Boy for the day on Saturday.  They went to the farm and did chores - planting flowers, installing an irrigation system, moving the baby chicks and such.  Darling Man was working and I was free to do whatever I wanted.  It was a gorgeous day and my bike was covered in pollen and spiderwebs.  I called my friend Ute and we went to ride on the St. Marks trail.  It had been a while since either one of us had ridden, so I knew we'd be sore.  We rode up four miles and back four miles, which I think was a good start.  Legs aching a little, and rear ends a little more so, we rode over to the Riverside Cafe and had lunch before heading back to town.  It was just the break I needed.  Feeling refreshed, I came home, took a shower and headed off to see Mom.  Dad met me there with the Boy and the hand-off was accomplished.

Mom's being moved to rehab today, where she'll work on becoming ambulatory again.  It will probably be at least a week, maybe more, but I'm glad to know she's in good hands, taking care of her and getting her back on her feet.  There may be a pacemaker a little further in the future, but for now she's doing okay and getting better.

After this week, it's perfectly fine with me if next week wants to be boringly normal!

First of the Month - a couple of days late

This is the view I have of my son much of the time.  He's becoming quite the artist and spends a lot of time hunched over a piece of paper wielding a pencil.

A new drawing begins.  He started with an arm... 

He's very plesed with this one.  His main interest right now is manga-style drawing.  We bought a book on how to do it and a book with real sketching paper in it.  I think we may have an arty birthday at the end of the month.  I know just what I want to get him!  Can't say though... he reads my blog.

Go see other participants doing the First Monday Photo Meme:   http://www.murrieta365.com/

First Monday - Lotto Fever

Thursday evening, I took a little drive north to check on my parents - who happen to live very close to the state line.  Just on the other side of that line was a little gas station that sold various lottery tickets.

Yes, I succumbed to the Mega Millions Lottery fever.  The last total I heard was $640 million to be given away to the lucky winners.  I took my $10 that I allowed myself for this folly and stood in line for a surprisingly brief 2 minutes before collecting 10 numbers printed on two little slips of paper.

It's seductive, this thought that I could win.  My practical side scoffed at my daydreaming side and stated emphatically that there was no way in hell I'd ever win a big ol' bucket of money, no matter how many tickets I bought.  My dad chimed in when my brother mentioned going to get tickets on Facebook with something along the lines of "Why would anyone want that much money?"  I know for a fact that my dad has been poor before.  He isn't now - but neither is he rich.  He has enough to get by and that's all he needs.  Really, it's all that anyone needs.

But if your days of struggling are in the present or the recent past, the idea of being rich.. of not having to spend every waking moment worrying about having enough money to even cover the basics - THAT'S the thing that drives the dream.  And I've struggled.  A lot of people I know have.  This economy has made sure that plenty of people spend time wondering if they'll be able to feed their children or pay the electric bill.  That's what drove the amounts of this lottery so high - a lot of people hoping for a little relief put their pennies together and bought tickets.

I was sure I wouldn't win (and I didn't), but that didn't stop me from thinking about what I'd do with that money.  Somewhere I heard that a lump sum pay out would be around $300 million.  That's a hefty chunk of change and difficult to wrap your head around - but someone somewhere would have to do just that.  And I was thinking...  If that were me doing the head-wrapping, what would I do with that money?

Obviously, I would take care of me and mine.  A comfortable retirement account set up.  Debts paid off.  An account for my son's college expenses.  Care for my parents and my in-laws.  Comfortable lives for my brothers and their children.  Personally, I'd spend some money to get myself healthy, buy some clothes, a new car for me and my husband.  I would definitely pay a pool man to take care of that darned pool (perhaps get a "real" pool put in) and a team of maids to de-hair my house, and a remodeler to do something about my awful kitchen.  My husband would have a little house on teh beach and I would have a little summer cabin up north in the mountains so I don't have to wilt into a damp pile of me in the muggy summer (or possibly buy out my father's cousins in the matter of the farm in Wales). 

Next would come the "charity" aspect.  Some money for friends.  A new roof for my church, as well as a healthy donation that would ensure its continuance for years and years to come.  The animal shelter.  AIDs research.  Grace Mission and The Shelter as well as Refuge House would figure prominently in my donations.  Each school in my district would receive money as well. 

I'm sure I've forgotten a few of the people and places I think about giving money to on a regular basis but when I think of it, I realize that I don't want much money for me.  A million would probably cover me for life.  $300 million is so unreal to me that I would probably have to devote the rest of my life to giving the stuff away.

What would YOU do with that kind of money?

If you'd like to participate, tell me so in the comments and I'll add your link here!

Jill

Secrets (by an anonymous guest blogger)

This is something I've never done before...  had a guest poster.  I was asked if I would mind being an outlet, and after I read this, I realized that this was something that NEEDS to be said.  I'm sure a lot of people feel this way...  and there is no need!  So read on.


I have a secret. A deep, dark secret. A shameful, deep dark secret.  The thing is; I think a lot people share this secret with me. More than you would imagine. And just like me, they are afraid to admit it to the world for various reasons.

I am a middle aged woman and I take an anti-depressant. There…I said it. Every day I wake up and take a small little pink pill called Pristiq. I’ve done so for the last three years. There are so many reasons why I don’t want people to know this about me. The first being that they will think I’m crazy. And no matter how much I protest that fact, the stigma of taking an anti-depressant is still there. “Oh, she must be off her rocker to need that kind of medication.”   Or worse, people will look at me with pity and/or derision. “Her life can’t be that bad, why would she need anti-depressants? She must be a failure. She should be about to just tough it out!”

 

There are times when I hate myself for taking this drug. I think to myself that I must be broken. I wonder what is wrong with me that I can’t deal with my life without the use of a medical crutch. I wonder if I really AM crazy? Why else would I need an anti-depressant? I ask myself “What is wrong with me?” I berate myself for being weak.

But I wonder, am I so hard on myself because that’s truly how I feel OR because the social stigma of taking anti-depressants has conditioned me to think that way?

 

When I first went to my doctor I never thought I would walk out with a prescription for Pristiq. I went in for a regular checkup and had a few complaints. Things that I thought were just normal for me. But the more my doctor talked to me, the more he dug up and the more I admitted to him.  I was having trouble sleeping. I suffered from anxiety over trivial things. But neither of those seemed abnormal to me. It was just a way of life. Then came the big admission. Something I had never told anyone before. I frequently suffered from bouts of severe anger, even rage, at the smallest things. This was something I had lived with all my life. I had never known a time without anger featuring prominently in my mind. It colored everything I did and every emotion I experienced. A life always tainted by the red haze of anger. Can you imagine?

I had a hard time making and keeping friends. Imagine that. I had a hard time finding and keeping a loved one in my life. Go figure. I can’t tell you what it must have been like for them because I was always locked in my bubble of animosity. I’m fairly certain the words “I’m sorry” didn’t even exist in my vocabulary.

My doctor listened to me and asked very direct questions. In a million years I would have never thought I’d be having this discussion with a family practitioner! I would have never thought my general checkup would go this direction, would you?  After a good dialog exchange my doctor tapped his pencil against his cheek and looked at me. “I want to try something” he said.  “I want to put you on Pristiq and see how you do.” I was immediately appalled.  I wasn’t depressed!  Why the HELL would I need an anti-depressant?!?! My instant denial was both vehement and vociferous!  “I think this medication would provide you with a different perspective on life” he said. My next emotion was embarrassment. Then came fear. What exactly was my doctor seeing in me that he felt I needed an anti-depressant? What was wrong with me?  I nearly burst into tears at that point. My eyes welled up and I barely restrained the crying jag that was threatening to break out.  After all, only really messed up people needed anti-depressants, right? And here my doctor was telling me he wanted me to take them. That must mean I’m really messed up, right?

I left my doctor’s office with the prescription clutched tightly in my fist. When the nurse offered to have it faxed to my pharmacy I quickly rejected that idea because I didn’t want HER to know what he had given me!!  I didn’t want her to think I was crazy, which is silly, because she had my chart and already knew but my paranoia had already set in. Everyone was going to think I was crazy!!!

I felt like the pharmacist gave me a judging look when I turned in the prescription. I’m sure she didn’t even care what I was taking but I couldn’t help feeling she was judging me.

When I starting taking Pristiq, I didn’t even tell my husband what was going on. I was so embarrassed and worried about what he would think. I couldn’t admit to him that the doctor thought I was crazy.  But soon, the initial side effects were so bizarre I had to tell him. It was the yawning that really got me into trouble. I would have these bizarre episodes of HUGE yawns at all times of the day. It was an uncontrollable and extremely weird sensation! He called me out on the carpet “Okay, what’s going on with you? Something is different.” I nearly burst into tears as I told him my shameful secret. The funny thing is; he didn’t think it was shameful at all!  And he certainly didn’t think I was crazy. He actually sided with the doctor and “Look, just give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen? If it really does help then that’s great, if it doesn’t then you tell the doctor.”  At that point I DID burst into tears. Here was this amazing man being 100% supportive of me and my neurotic behavior.

3 years later and the truth can’t be denied. My quality of life has drastically improved since I started taking the Pristiq.

As it turns out, while I wasn’t a case of “classic depression” I WAS a case of “atypical depression” (I never knew there were so many classifications to be honest!)  My doctor thinks that I have a permanent chemical imbalance due to all the drugs/medications that my mother took while she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t her fault, it just happened that way. But it explained A LOT for me.  

 

The fact that so many of my friends and colleagues have commented on my behavior changes is proof positive how well the drug has worked. “You seem so much happier these days” is the most common observation. And it’s true. I’m more social. I sleep better. I’m more active. I’ve restarted hobbies and activities that I used to enjoy.

I realize that the brain can get sick, just like any other part of the body. I realize that taking Pristiq is simply a way of treating the chemical imbalance I suffer from. But the truth is, no matter how incredibly better my life is because of the medication I still feel a deep sense of shame.

No one but my doctor, my pharmacist and my husband knows that I take an anti-depressant.

I hid my pills whenever someone comes to our house. If I have to travel, I put them in a non-descript bottle. There is a deep seated need for me to seem “normal” to everyone. And if I’m taking an anti-depressant I must obviously be abnormal.  Right?

 

I struggle with this shame every day. The question I keep asking myself is: WHY?