I Heart Wisconsin

September 12, 2011 by scillagrace

I love my weekdays.

I Heart Wisconsin

Being unemployed and self-employed, we get to do what we want. So, if it’s going to be in the 80s for one more day this year, we get to go outside and revel in it. Which we did. We ended up on the Ice Age Trail somewhere near Milton, Wisconsin. There are 2 wildlife refuge areas nearby. Walking is a pleasure. Despite the high temperature, the breeze was cool and dry, especially off the little lake we found. The Ice Age Trail is well maintained, so I could wear shorts without risking poison ivy or thistle scratches. We saw familiar friends: a great blue heron, a red-tailed hawk, frogs, squirrels, chipmunks, spiders, etc. And a black cat on the trail ran from us and into a cornfield, reminding me that Halloween is not too far away. Walking behind Steve “Happy Long Legs”, watching that little bounce in his step, was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. Wisconsin is a great state. Aldo Leopold and John Muir lived here; its beauty is the stuff that fuels naturalists for life. I am truly lucky to be here. Here are a couple of thousand more words about that:

No, that’s not poison ivy, just a kiss before I leave this place. Follow your bliss, people. Why live any other way?

Taking Action, Stepping Out, Making Meaning

September 10, 2011 by scillagrace

My husband was diagnosed with diabetes after his first heart attack when he was 31 years old. He died 16 years later from coronary artery disease, kidney failure, and other complications of diabetes. He was sleeping in bed next to me and never woke up. I unplugged his dialysis machine, his CPAP machine, and his insulin pump that morning and set him free. That was 3 and a half years ago. My eldest child got the idea the next year that she wanted to do something to honor her father and take action to support diabetes research. She and 2 of her siblings participated in a fundraiser called StepOut Walk to Stop Diabetes. I was really impressed by her initiative and her civic action. I joined her the next year with Steve; the siblings had moved west by then. This year, we are all going to participate together. All 4 siblings and mom with a few significant others alongside. Our goal is to raise some money, to honor Jim, and to be involved in positive action as a grieving family. (If you want to donate money on behalf of our team, go to http://main.diabetes.org/goto/pgalasso)

Team Galasso 2010

Do I expect that our participation will cause this disease to be eradicated? Well, not really. Do I imagine that Jim will feel honored and bring some good fortune to us from the spirit world? Not exactly. Do I hope that our sorrow will abate and our self-esteem will soar as we pat ourselves on the back for “giving back” to the community and “fighting” for a cause? Actually, I don’t. All of those things are ego-based and not very realistic. What am I really doing, then? Well, I think of it as “pointing the canoe” again. I see that people suffer from this disease. I see that certain kinds of medical technology and education have been used to ease that suffering. I want to paddle my canoe, make some effort, toward helping those who suffer, not because I believe that I can rescue someone, but because it is how I want to live. I want to honor Jim and remember him because that’s how I want to live. I want to work with my family’s grief because that’s how I want to live. I don’t know if any particular thing will result; I don’t expect to become noble or perfect or anything. I do know that paddling in that way lets me choose a purpose and work toward it. I suppose it helps my mind to be directed toward meaning.

So, why are we humans always looking for meaning? Inquiring minds want to know…

That Steven Colbert report clip from the Approximate Chef suggests that we want to feel safe about the ending of the story. We tell ourselves, “It’s okay, because it turns out this way; I know it does”. That gives us, what, control? Last night I had a dream about meeting “the woman who owned the house” of the estate sale I went to yesterday. I don’t even know that a woman lived there. In fact, it was quite a masculine log cabin, with a boat and a mounted moose head dominating the decor. What was my subconscious trying to figure out? Well, I was trying to assure myself that this family was okay. They were selling all their stuff. They were letting strangers into their house to buy their belongings. There has to be a story there. I just went through the sale of my family home. I had emotions about it. I had a story. I imagine that there are people behind these things with an emotional story, and I want to be told that they are okay. I want to be satisfied that there is some meaning to the sale of these possessions. Ultimately, I want to know that I’m okay, that my story has a happy ending. (Steve always tells me that everyone in your dream is really you.)

Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl comes to mind. I read parts of it. Is this how we keep ourselves sane in “stressful” circumstances? Is it just a game? If it works, does it matter? If I am not dogmatically asserting that my actions are ultimately meaningful, just saying that I find meaning in them and that is useful to me, does that make my position more authentic? Can I make up a satisfying story about the family in the cabin and then say, “I know it’s not ‘true’, but I like to tell myself this story to calm my neuroses” and still be considered ‘sane’? Do most of us do this anyway? Does that make it ‘normal’ then? I suppose I could give that up and face the fact that I won’t know every story. Perhaps I would be far more sane to learn to live with ambiguity and uncertainty and meaninglessness. What do you think?

It worked for the cat…

September 5, 2011 by scillagrace

One day, while Emily’s cat, Pinkle Purr, was living with us and I was out grocery shopping, Steve heard a crash in the attic. He thought perhaps a stack of books had toppled over, so he went to see. The cat was curled up at the bottom of our bed, and nothing looked amiss upstairs in the attic. A few hours later, the cat was still there; she hadn’t moved. Curious as to whether she’d taken food or had lost her appetite for some reason, I brought her bowl upstairs from the ground floor to see if she was hungry. She was very interested in eating, but showed great difficulty getting up. In fact, she wouldn’t put any weight on either of her back two legs. She ate, but did not get up. Steve ended up sleeping on the floor of his office that night so as not to disturb her. I fretted about whether we should call a vet and what the cost might be. Steve suggested that we just give her time and that we ask a vet some questions about what they might do if we did seek medical care for her. One vet was willing to make some diagnostic guesses without seeing her. Two others refused. Little by little, she gained movement and returned to her former self in a week. She did not seem to be suffering or in pain, she just slowed down and slept and healed.

sleeping at the end of our bed - the miracle cure

Now, the debate about our health care beliefs begins. What do we do when we recognize that we don’t feel entirely well? Do we race off to the ‘experts’ to get tests done to find out what might be wrong and then entrust those experts to doing something to fix us? Well, that’s what I used to do. When I had insurance. Pinkle doesn’t have insurance. For that matter, neither do Steve or I. So now, I think a bit about my options. If I go to the expert, what is s/he going to be able to tell me? Will s/he demand tests be done first? What information can I find out on my own? Can I live with the situation as it is without risking further danger? Can I trust my body to heal itself if I allow it quiet time, nourishment, and rest?

Watching Pinkle heal herself over a few days was enlightening. Could it be that much of the time, rest and recuperative care is all we need to heal ourselves? I liked feeling that she felt comfortable in our home, that she trusted us to give her a peaceful place to heal. My youngest daughter visited us this weekend. She was stressed, unhappy, and despairing when she arrived. She was peaceful, content, and happy by the time she left. We didn’t take her to any ‘expert’, we just provided food, quiet, supportive talk, a place to be in nature, and cuddles.

taking refuge in a wildlife refuge

I remembered a time when going to the hospital was such a frequent event that I hardly thought twice about it. I know when it is warranted to save a life. I’ve lived through that. I am learning to live like a healthy person, on no medications whatever. My daughter is, too. It feels very good.