Blog Clog And How Blogging Changes after 50

Every night when my head hits the pillow, I think about moments from my day that I'd like to record for "someday" when my organic memory is gone. There will come a time when I'll need to read about my days in order to enjoy those meaningful pauses in my life again. And maybe my grandchildren would enjoy the details, too.

But I hit a blogging snag a couple of years ago and just can't get past it.

I've fallen, and I can't get up.

It's a blog clog.

Every day, I start composing posts in my thoughts such as:

Once upon a time, there was a pregnant woman who had nowhere to go

and no one who cared about her and her twins, so we took her into our home.

Or

I'm in the long, tender process of saying goodbye to my parents.

Or

My child has had a child. I am a grandmother. 

Or

Once upon a time, I had three children whom I mothered ... adequately.

Then they grew up and moved away. I miss their voices and faces so much

that it's hard to look at pictures of our family from those years. 

But I don't get past those initial thoughts. 

These are BIG topics to tackle, and emotions wash in and out like ocean waves. Some waves are gentle, some are scary, melancholy, or bubbly (like the pic on the left)--delightful. 

Forward and backward, forward and backward, one recedes, comes another. The waves always bring in little treasures and take away little treasures. Sometimes I raise my head to the horizon, but I always feel the waves lapping at my ankles and shins, reminding me that everything is changing right under me. I can feel it. 

So I'm going to write about the little treasures that flow in and flow out. Maybe if I narrow things down, I can approach them and put them down for someday. 

But today, all I can do is write generally about the flow and change. Sometimes I'm just speechless. And that is when there is nothing to do but let the waves wash over me. 

Oh the Power of "O," and I Don't Mean Oprah

Not sure, but I think my mom has a crush on someone other than my dad:


She is a faithful Dr. Oz viewer.

I like Dr. Oz OK, but I do not record his shows.

My mom does. And then she tells me all about them. Sometimes I'm not a very enthusiastic Dr. Oz show re-tell receiver.

Today, for example, when I went to bring them a few groceries and meds, she asked me to watch a segment on preventing ovarian cancer. I confess I was not enthusiastic about this, since my friend Diane passed due to that killer. I pretty much hate the topic.

But a few months back, I made a remark something like this to my mom, "Since I'm through with menopause, if I could, I'd just have the ovaries removed. Then I would never have to worry that the silent killer was after me. I think that should be an optional surgery." Obviously, I was very emotional.

Ever since then, she has been afraid I will actually try to get a doc to take them out. I assured her I was just rambling. Even so, she brings up the topic quite a bit.

The segment today was about a diet that helps keep ovarian cancer at bay and may even eradicate the cancerous cells.

One of the diet staples is endive, which I do not think I have ever eaten.



Studies of more than 62,000 women in the Netherlands have found those who ate endive had a 75% reduction in the risk of ovarian cancer. That's a pretty substantial claim, wouldn't you say? Supposedly, all it takes is 2 half-cup servings per week to do the trick. You're supposed to eat it raw. Dr. Oz says it tastes a little like cabbage.

Well, I say it can't hurt to try it. Of course, I'll never know if it's really keeping the disease away.

But it will make my mom feel good, and that's worth it to me.

I wonder ... someday ... what would MY children do just for my sake--just to put my mind at ease? Only time will tell!

I'm a New Member of a Club!

What's up?!

It has been so long since I fired up this little blog that I forgot the user name and password to get in.

Then I had to look around to figure out how to post a new post.

How can something I did nearly daily for 5 years get so blurry so fast? My last post was only February.

In my defense, if you could view my life from my vantage point, you'd see that it is like one of those front loading washers with events swirling and swishing by, eventually circling around to the first event again, making you dizzy.

From March until yesterday, I have carried with me at all times 3 notebooks full of notes; one for my dad's medical notes because he was diagnosed with cancer, one for Kristin's graduation open house, and one for Katie's wedding.

Also, tucked away in Kristin's open house notes were notes for Jordan, who graduated from college.

So, yes, one very ill father, two graduates, one bride, pretty much within a month or two.

Swirl, baby, swirl!

I missed blogging about the details here, which I'm kind of sad about because I would have had "diary" entries of this time in my life to capture for later years, but I was just too busy or too exhausted to blog. Facebook status updates, those little 420 word blog posts, seemed to work fine.

But I have missed hashing out life on here, so I'm attempting a comeback, if you will.

What I want to say today, the day after my daughter's wedding, is that I now feel as if I've been inducted into a special club because this experience has been so rich, so frustrating, so emotional, so exhausting, that it's really difficult to describe unless you've survived it. Just like the former United States Presidents' Club, you can't know what it's like until you've held this office.

From now on, when a mom tells me, "My daughter's getting married," I will immediately empathize with her and join her "team." I know what lies ahead of her, and I will be there in person or on line with support--because the hazing for this exclusive club is rough! One moment you're happy, the next you're melancholy, the next you're frustrated, then overwhelmed, then just plain fried.

Nevertheless, yesterday proved joyful, meaningful and happy beyond words. Sometimes, you're so happy that something is over and yet so happy that something is beginning, all you can do is dance!

Caffeine

This afternoon, my mother called to tell me something very important: my dad accidentally spiked her coffee ... with caffeine.

This is a MAJOR event.

We have a very reverent fear of caffeine in our family. It works on us like amphetamines in the bloodstreams of spider monkeys.

For about 40 years, my parents have eschewed caffeine. They drank Sanka before the decaf option became well-known. Every restaurant order is punctuated at beginning and end with "DECAF, please." And then when the server comes to warm up the coffee, she may be asked again, "That IS decaf, right?"

But a couple of years ago, along came Dr. Oz. You know, the famous Mehmet Oz of Oprah. The other Gayle.

And we (my parents) believe in Dr. Oz. Oh yes we do.

Lately, Dr. Oz has been touting the benefits of caffeine. Normally, someone spewing this kind of nonsense would be blackballed from my parents' TV.

But this is Dr. Oz.

So my mom called me to tell me that they bought a coffee maker and some REAL coffee.

Frankly, I thought I was talking to someone else's mom for a minute.

She gave my dad strict instructions that went something like this: "We will try a half cup in the morning only. Half real, half decaf. In the morning."

Dad washed the new machine and set it up to go. This afternoon they had coffee, which my DAD fixed. And you guessed it--he opened the real coffee and drugged my mom.

She said, "NORRRRRmally, whenIhavecaffeineIjusttalkandtalkandtalk. Doesn't seemtobedoingthat to me today."

Uh, it was doing that today.

So they are all prepared with their Tylenol PM for tonight because otherwise, they will be like owls all night. Both of them. And then I will get a recap phone call tomorrow about "the night no one slept." I think Dr. Oz should take the call.

Does caffeine affect you?