It's Time to Wake Up

   My last two blogs have been some of my most emotional.  Continuing this same path for the rest of this month makes me sigh when I choose what I want to work through next.  Only due to the high emotion is causes, but each week I purge and the part of me that hurts so much from that particular remembrance ebbs. 

  It is working. 

     Natural curiosity is abundant when an event of this magnitude occurs.  Asking ,"What was like when I awoke or what do you remember as you awoke?" was and still is a dominant inquiry.  Here it is as "I" relive it. 

      Six-thirty.  There were no sirens that I could hear.  I started to wake just like the actors do in the movies.  Trying so hard to pry my eyelids open.   Feeling as if they had weights hanging from them.    They blinked dramatically slow.   Fogginess obscured my mind and focusing was minimal.  I had no idea where I was or what had transpired just moments before.  When my eyes could focus, I ascertained I was looking out my drivers side car window, but there was no glass.  I believed I was looking at a hillside of grass.  It was at the level of my window and I could only see in black and white.  When our car finally stopped spinning  after the impact, we circled to a gridlock in a ditch along side of the rail road tracks.  

 I was trying to make sense of what I was seeing when I heard what I thought were people yelling at me.  Where was that coming from?   Did I hear, Mommy?   It had to be the girls, they were both calling my name, begging me, "Please wake up, please!" "Are you okay?" they demanded .   

Words finally penetrated through my lethargic mind.  "Mommy, I think I broke my arm", the oldest said softly.  Broke her arm?  What is she speaking of?  It started coming back to me, creeping ever so slowly into my confusion.  

Dear God, we were in a crash!  I knew it had to be terrible, there's no way we couldn't be hurt after a crash like that.   Her voice was trembling as she stated again, "Mommy, I think I broke my arm."    I thought I knew how strong I was until I heard the pain in my children's voices.  

  I  turned my head towards her voice and my movement seemed unusually delayed.   There was only darkness with a white light in the upper left corner of my vision when rotating my head to the right.  Why couldn't I see them?   I knew my eyes were open, I had just been looking at grass. 

 I was desperately trying to get the words that were in my head to reach my lips.  I needed to give them reassurance.  I spoke softly to them, " Calm down, people will be here to help us soon.  Call 911."  Only partial words were coming out, but they understood enough to take action.  She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and called for emergency help. 

 Again I tried to move, to help the girls and yet still I couldn't see them.  Something was so close to my chest, it wouldn't let me turn either direction and the lower half of my body wouldn't move.  I was trapped and couldn't understand why my body wasn't feeling any sensations.  The shadows kept trying to envelope me, they were breathing down my neck.  I fought for consciousness every moment.

  I heard the youngest say in a small voice, " Carey, I think I'm cut on my belly pretty bad."  My heart sank as I wondered what injuries they had sustained.  My little angels were suffering.  I tried to ask her if she could see the cut.  She then stated confidently, " No, no I think it's okay" then just mere moments later, the worry is back in her voice as she whimpered, "No, Carey, I think it's pretty bad."  To hear her tone and the way she is dramatic one moment, then nonchalant the next, it is just so her.  I don't know how humor could show it's face in my drowsy mind at that moment, but it did.  Even though my heart was aching for the girls, it let me know her personality was still intact.  Their speech was coherent, this let me assume they did not bear brain trauma.  I did not hold this same confidence with myself. 

    I instructed the girls to call Dad.   A woman took my daughters phone to finish the 911 call. "My  phone is in my purse" I whispered.  Again the youngest asked with all her sassiness " Where the heck is that?"  Again a small smile entered my mind at her.  I told her it was on her floorboard before the accident.  Luckily it lingered at her feet.  

 I was so proud of these two girls.  They really did stay calm in light of what they had just been through.  The oldest took charge of getting us help. She was calm with the 911 operator and in relaying details to my husband about where we were located. 

 What he must have been thinking, I can't imagine.  We had just left the house maybe eight minutes before the collision happened.   

 It's odd that I couldn't get my thoughts to form out of my mouth, but I had so many inside of my head.  I was worried about how badly the girls were injured.  I was frustrated that I couldn't help them.  I wanted to hold each of them tightly and whisper comforting words in their ears.  They were frightened.   I must have hit my head so hard because I just couldn't stay focused on what was happening.  

      As the girls ended their phone call with my husband,  I again tried to turn towards them, then the most God awful, intense pain I had ever felt, hit me in my lower legs.  Never had I felt anything so explosive in my entire life. It was completely overpowering.  Sensation had come back to my body with such severity, rating it on a pain scale was absurd. 

  I reached down and could feel my legs had been pinned by the car.  Debris surrounded them.  Sharpness from the broken car was everywhere.  If I could move them, even a little, maybe it would give me some kind of reprieve from the monstrous agony I was in.   Gently I tugged on my legs and they did move just slightly as my body spasm-ed with pain.  I rested my forehead on whatever piece of the car was against my chest and decided to try a second time.  Pulling just a little harder this time the waves of sickness were too much as the misery escalated me into unconsciousness. 

 Had I been able to think clearly, I would have understood that I should not be attempting this action.  Thank goodness they did not move because I would have caused even more damage to myself as the fractures in my right leg had perforated my skin and were now exposed. 

                         
    There is pain that makes you cry and there is pain high enough to make you vomit.  Then there is the pain that is so severe, your body's natural response is to send you into shock because it cannot tolerate the reactions it's feeling. 

 Your body is in survival mode only. 

   

    I know what drinking and driving is, my story  is how drinking and driving feels.

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Another Page Turns on the Calendar

     October is a month full of activities.  Many of us are excited about the Fall Season and the holidays to follow.   Lots of gatherings, eating and drinking.  The last full week of October is celebrated as the Red Ribbon Week. The preceding and following weekends may also be included as celebration dates as well. During this period, students all over the country pledge to live a drug-free and alcohol-free life.   As long as I can handle it, I will write each week about details regarding my collision and recovery to help celebrate this month and support this movement.

     I want no one to make any mistake about this.  I am not against drinking alcohol or the excessive consumption of it.  That is a personal decision of the consumer.   I will never lecture or stand and preach about it.   I do not want another person to take my life or the lives of my family and friends into their own hands by then driving after that excessive consumption. 

     I choose large moments in my recovery to write about.  Again for my own healing and also to let you know about so many of those small stages that you would never think about, that are so substantial to those of us who are dealing with it.  I choose to speak about the day I read the accident report.  This is a public document, anyone can view it via the internet.  I am the only one who can divulge the emotion of reading about your own tragedy on a piece of paper.  

     This hour that I spent pouring over it, again and again, unsure of what I wanted to believe, piecing together facts that I could not elicit on my own, had more of an effect than I had anticipated.  Coming across it innocently as I was rifling through our "accident" folder looking for my surgeons phone number, I slowly removed it.  Nine months into recovery, I read through the entire document.

     I view in writing that indeed four vehicles were involved, not

just the two of us.  A section at the bottom of the page shows the damage to our car I was driving that cold evening.  One section is not circled.   The trunk lid.  The only part of our car that did not receive damage that night.  Timidly, I turn the page.   A full size pick up truck hit us.  Okay.   I view the other drivers names that were involved.  I wonder about them.  How are they doing?  How did they react?   Did they have passengers as well?   Our children's names are printed in black and white as victims.  My chest immediately tightens at the bold type.  Listing their names, address, birth dates, sex, numbers that indicate their seat in what became our cocoon.  More numbers that illustrate if their air bag deployed, if they were ejected or transported elsewhere.   Their ages, ten and twelve, hit my conscious along with their faces and I consider how terribly young they are to have survived an adversity of such magnitude.  Will they understand how close we were to becoming extinct?  Will they view life differently as they mature due to their unfortunate circumstances?  

     Statements.   Driver and witness statements.  Mine?   I could

actually give a statement?  Did I give the details while still trapped in the car, in the hospital, ambulance?   What did I say? 
      "We were headed east into Cuba.  I told the girls he was on the wrong side of the highway."  What woman says they were headed east and why did I assume it was a man?  
     While both accounts are correct, it baffles me how our minds work.  The other drivers both stating the same as I, that the pickup was driving in the wrong lane.  Witnesses accounting for a high rate of speed (excess 80 mph) as the pickup passed them around corners and up hills.  
     I picture this through their eyes, driving in the dark on that December eve, viewing it from their perspective, outside of my own car, as if as a spectator.  Piecing it together, for there are so many holes in my memory.  Trying to make sense of it.  "He tapped his brakes."  "He fishtailed." "As I came over the hill, lights were everywhere."  "Parts were falling from the air when I drove up."  My chest aches, it has become rigid. 

   (Olivia's seat)

  The girls statements came as a surprise.  I didn't realize they would take a minors statement.  "I saw sparks fly, and I saw the other car hit the truck and trailer in front of us.  I heard Carey scream, "Oh my God."  I gasp.  There is no room in my chest for the air has frozen in my lungs, like blocks of ice, unyielding, unwilling to allow breath.  I do not remember the trailer, but yes, I remember, "Oh my God" distinctly.  In my mind, I screamed it so loud the residents of Cuba could hear it. 
      "We were driving and all of the sudden my Mom yelled and all the lights went out." I was thrown right back in that car, feeling everything as if it had just happened seconds before.  Numbness and a dream-like effect had started to replace the rawness over the past nine months. 
      This moment, these words, tore at the thick scab I had grown over my hysterical wounds.  Sobs rose up and out of my body before I could call them to a halt.  Like a kitchen faucet had been turned on, the warm tears cascaded down my face as my chest caved.  It is always the girls pain that gets me.  I can handle my own pain, but not theirs.  
                                                                                  (my seat)
     Soothing myself, there is one last paragraph.  The assessment of what occurred.  Many, many times, I questioned myself, "Had I done anything to help avoid the collision, to save our children?"   Surely I would have done anything, right?   If anything, this report awarded me the confirmation that, indeed, I did try to help us.

  " Driver 2 took evasive action to the right, running off the right side of the road, in an attempt to avoid Vehicle 1. Vehicle 2 traveled off the south side of  Route ZZ and struck a tree before coming to a rest in the south ditch, facing west."  It may have been instinct to jerk to the right, but I am so ever grateful that I did.  This is why, even though hit head on, the impact was on my side of the car only. 
             Demolishing the front of the car and spinning the truck into my door.  Sparing our child in the front seat from the head on and our child in the left passenger back seat from a second impact.  This is one worry I may finally relinquish.  Relief, knowing I did all that I could.   I understood that the car had stopped facing the opposite direction we were traveling, I recall nothing about hitting a tree.

     Returning from work that evening, my husband sat with me as I purged the details of my impassioned afternoon.  Sobbing again over the pain of reliving the details.  Once finished, he looked at me apologetically and sympathetically, while holding my hands and stated softly,
 "Carey........ that is the third time you have read that crash report."  I sat in silence, gaping at him.  Completely astonished.  "What?"  "You mean, we have done this before?" I asked in awe.  A simple nod, yes. 
      I  have poured over these details, reliving this, feeling my children's pain three times?  Did I react this way on each occasion?  Did my heart clench this intensely each time I read their words?  How many more memories have I lost?  I am dazed.  I feel a sense of betrayal from my own mind.

     Stopping, I proclaim that it is possible that my mind was doing me a favor.  It is conceivable that my psyche only recognizes  this nine months later because this is when I can handle it best.  Well maybe my subconscious is smarter than I give it credit for.  My vision becomes more clear as I raise my confused stare to my husband.
       "You sat quietly, and patiently listened to me mourn over the same details three times and you let me finish?"  A small smirk.  "It's what you needed." he whispers.  My chest relaxes.  Air flows freely into my lungs, heaviness leaves my body as if it's fog being burned off from the morning sun.   This time my tears are for the man God sent to me, who has been unwavering in his support of my many and long recoveries.     

     As another season passes and I turn the page to another month, I accept that not knowing everything may not be as great of an annoyance as I previously thought. 
 

What we need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring us to this very juncture and guide us into the unpredictable future.

     

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Tough Times Don't Last, Tough People Do

     I recently acquired copies of some of my x-rays and came across the ones of my pelvis.   Three surgeries on my pelvis have been performed with the first occurring four weeks after the collision.  External fixators had already been placed in both of my lower legs.  The trauma surgeon had tried to piece my right fibula back together and he set my dislocated left ankle back in it's correct position, while screwing those pieces back together as well.   So I had already had a few surgeries before this first pelvic one.   Viewing these x-rays brought back the memories of that surgery because it was the first surgery that I remember.   I'm saying I don't have even a snippet of the first surgeries of my ankles in my memory.  None.  

     Apparently that was a blessing for myself.  Reconnecting my bones, tendons and nerves bore a pain so barbaric that my conscious has blocked it out.   The high and thick wall of Dilaudid was not enough to overcome the waves of torment that crashed into my body relentlessly those first few operations. But, let me tell you, that first pelvic surgery was combined with another surgery on my right ankle and I was blasted away by the severity of the pain.  

     We hadn't anticipated  a pelvic surgery at all because only 3-5% of the type of pelvic fracture that I have, doesn't heal themselves.  Well that was not the last time during my recovery I would enter into that narrow margin.  Just trying to write my own text book instead of following the one already written, I suppose. 

      During my first check up with my surgeon, Greg reminded me about the most important complaint I'd had.  How could I have forgotten?  Relaying to my surgeon that my pubic bone had been "popping" for the last week was imperative.  It gave a pretty big wallop, one that Greg could hear and if he was carrying me, he could feel.   My surgeon stopped walking and talking instantly.  I did not enjoy the look on his face.  After a few questions, he immediately scheduled me for some x-rays and a CT of my pelvis.  He dropped the bomb on us that my pelvic fracture did not heal as expected.  The surgeon must put two bolts in my left posterior pelvis and a plate and screws on my pubic bone to hold my pelvis together.  Had I known, how many more surgeries I would have to recover from, I probably would not have taken this unplanned surgery so hard.

     Fast forward to the surgery date,  as Greg and I entered the pre-op room, some of the hospital staff had recognized us because I had already been there three times in a matter of weeks.   I was baffled since none of these smiling faces were recognizable to me.

       It seemed the next minute I was lifting my eyelids open and knew instantly I was leaving the operating room. I awoke to the huge lights moving above me and noticed the door thresh hold as we passed through it.   Nursing staff were wheeling me to Recovery and only seconds had passed when an atrocious pain began to radiate from my lower abdomen.  Within moments it was unbearable.  I asked the nurse where I was and why I was feeling so much pain.     A male nurse stated that I wasn't supposed to be awake yet.  He  informed me that I was at Barnes Hospital.  I truly did not believe him.   My teeth started chattering violently, I had no control over my body as I began to shake.  He asked me if I was cold or if I was in pain.  I told him it was horrible and pleaded with him to make it stop.  As soon as we made it to Recovery I was given Morphine, but the pain would not lessen.  This was not any different than the other surgeries, the only difference was that this time, I was remembering the experience.  The nursing staff could not give me anymore morphine as it slowed my heart to only four beats per minute.  I was transferred to the Orthopaedic floor where I could be injected with Dilaudid and finally I slept.  

       The last morning of my stay the Physical Therapist announced that I would have to start rolling to each side if I wanted to leave the hospital.  I can't describe how badly I did not want this order.  I was in anguish laying flat on the bed and NOT moving as much as possible.  They also announced that I did not have a choice. 

      It took several nurses along with PT to accomplish this exercise.   The staff positioned pillows and pulled up sheets as they rolled me to my left side.  Uncontrollable, horrible groans involuntarily rushed past my lips and grazed hard against my teeth as it felt like muscles were being torn from my bones themselves.  My God, how much more, just how much more pain?  I wanted to sob and tell them to leave me!  They were patting me softly as they told me what a great job I had done and that they would be back in a few hours to roll me to the right side.  I mentally groaned as I thanked them for their unwelcome torture.

       The right side movement wasn't as terrible as the left roll, but the last feat I had to accomplish was sitting up.  This is killing me.  I must have given that poor physical therapist a look of,  "Are you flippin'  kidding me?"  because she snickered and told me that I could do it.  I knew I could do it, I just didn't want to!  She was patient as I was moving at the speed of a slug.  It was absurd how difficult this was.  I had finally sat up and she let me rest a mere  moment before exclaiming, " Okay, now into the wheelchair!"  For the love of Pete, just smack me with a two by four and put me out of my misery!  I knew of course I had to move or I would not be leaving.   I also realized she was correct when she told me the more I moved the better I would feel, so I obliged.

     Two bolts and four very long screws were installed that day.   Yes, we estimated maybe they were a little too long in length for my anatomy.  Six months later the plate and screws were removed, only to allow my pubic bone to start popping again.   This meant that one side of my pubic bone was overlapping the other and when I moved, it popped or scraped against each other to return to it's original position.  Not great.  Four months later  a plate and six screws were reinstalled and this is how I will always stay.

        Things do have a tendency to "catch".  At that time I stop and move around until movements are attainable again.  I cannot move fast and cannot perform some actions at all.  Exercising is a trial and error process.   My sanity is modification, being creative with my thought process.  I do develop frustration at times and I also develop patience and gratitude for the lessons that these injuries teach me. 

 Especially that

Kids & Social Media: Have that talk

     By now, most of us have heard at least a smidgen about the Jennifer Lawrence scandal regarding her nude photos that were leaked.  Obviously she is a free choosing adult who can take nude photos in the privacy of her own home.  She most likely took them with someone she was in love with and never in her life time thought they would be posted for the public to view.  This is at least what I am hoping because she seems like a genuine person instead of a celebrity looking for attention. 

     Instead of getting wrapped up and rolling around in the hype about this, my immediate response was, "This is exactly why my husband and I have spoken and reiterated to our children about the danger of camera phones, texts and social media." 

     At my thirty-eight years of age, I can admit that none of that was an issue we had to deal with while maturing.  Eh hum............we didn't even have cell phones.  

     While everything today is documented, as little as fifteen years ago all we had was he said/she said.  Rumors.  You defended yourself with spoken words.  Today most, especially children don't speak, they text as much as possible.  That means every thought they have is documented, because they type All of their thoughts.  That means with those abnormally deft thumb muscles  the younger generation has grown, those texts and even worse, photos, can be shared. Our children are natives to social media.  They are much more comfortable sharing personal information than older generations are.  

     The points that we try to incorporate into our children's core are that even though we are "old" we understand that times change.  We accept certain parts of that change, but there is still a line that shouldn't be crossed and if you do cross it, realize there are consequences.  To children and teens, reputation is everything in school.   How many "likes" you receive, shape how they are perceived by their peers.  Too much influence is put on this.  Make a mistake in judgement and you may be branded as something you are not.  Make a mistake in judgement and you may hurt or embarrass someone you care about, including yourself.  Make a mistake in judgement and you may lose your scholarship/job.  This can bring a level of stress and pressure so great to teens who are already overwhelmed with school, social status and hormones that they crack, rebel or retreat so far into themselves that they are unable to find the person they once were. 

     What children don't share with us, as parents,  is a concern over their privacy and how that can be abused by peers, hackers or companies looking to use their images or words.  If I am correct, in the cyber world, even if we delete a post, it is still out there, floating around somewhere.  Even if it is not, you can bet someone has downloaded or copied it for a reason not yet known.  Until it shows up, months or years later.  Now with the invention of iCloud, it's always out there.  iCloud is supposed to be secure, but just ask Jennifer Lawrence about that.  

     I, myself, am a member of many social media networks to spread my blog to many audiences.  I do select my audience, but my blogs are always posted as "public".   Posting publicly is mostly used for marketing and I can tell you that it is exhausting just posting once or twice a week to all of them because I end up researching or finding someone I know and looking at their profile.  Then I've wasted an hour of my life, sitting on my butt when I could have been interacting with someone, making memories and at least doing something productive.  I take that chance that someone or a group will manipulate my words or images each time I post.  I try to be conscious of copyrighting my images and hopefully writing words that inspire and cannot be construed as harmful.  As we all know, there are miserable individuals out there who have it down to an art on how to manipulate.   Those are the ones that we continually warn our children of.

   So the easiest and most efficient way to avoid this situation is to just not do it.   Simple, yet at some point we have all made a mistake in posting.  Whether our words or photos were meant in a certain manner, it is all about perception.  How it will be viewed from another party or how they can alter how it is viewed.  

     We, as parents, will lead a positive influence for our children regarding this, as the future can only include more technological advances.  We will allow a certain amount of privacy as our children grown into teens and at the same time we will do our job that we accepted when we decided to create a human life and keep our children safe.( no matter how much they whine about it!)

Canning Garden Fresh Jalapenos

     I tend to plant my garden a little later than most.  I plant in late May for two reasons.  One, it seems we always have at least one late frost and I'm not that person who covers up her garden for protection.  Two, I do not want the garden to be ready for harvest during our county fair when we are busy for seven days.  That being said, my garden has been plentiful for a few weeks now and of course it seems that all of the veggies gang up on me and are ready to pick at the same time.

     I enjoy canning until I get so overwhelmed I beg the plants to just wilt up already, but it's not in me to just let them go.  Hearing the pop of the lid sealing, viewing all of my hard work on the shelves and eating organic food that I grew in the dead of winter makes it all worth it.  

     Pickles, tomato juice, sauce, pasta sauce, ro-tel, salsa, green beans and jalapenos are the bulk of my summer canning.  Jalapenos are one of the easiest to can.  My husband and I enjoy spicing up our foods and although I have frozen some of the peppers, I tend to stick to canning them.  It seems they stay crisper that way.  

     Canning them can be as easy as slicing them up and putting them in a jar and filling it with hot water, maybe a half a teaspoon of salt, if you wish.

*jalapenos 
*hot water
*1/2 tsp. salt per jar(optional)

     I save my jars from the grocery store and use them 3-4 times before discarding them.   If canned correctly those lids will seal just like the Ball jar lids and you've already paid for them once so use them as long as you can.

     Note:  when canning a large batch it is imperative that you wear rubber gloves.   I didn't even give it a thought until my fingers felt like they had flames  shooting out the ends of them because the oils from the jalapenos has soaked into the pores of my skin.   You know, our skin is the largest organ we have and the most absorbent.  So here is me, dancing around the kitchen trying anything and everything to get the burning to stop, chastising myself for such silliness.  I will only have to make that mistake once in my lifetime.  

     I like to put my  jars and lids in the dishwasher before canning.  This sanitizes them but it also heats them so I don't have to add another pot to my stove.  Also if I am canning small portions, I heat my water in the microwave instead of stove top as well.

   So, heat your jars and lids, make sure the water in your canner is heating while you are preparing your jalapenos by slicing them.  I slice them into rings.  I also leave in the seeds and ribs, you can remove them if you do not want as much heat.   Another note:  the longer you leave them sealed in the jar the more heat the peppers will produce.  Now I've been told how good they are sliding down the gullet and I've also been told how they set you on fire while passing through the poop shoot.  I suggest putting the date on the jar and if it's been over six months, that person is choosing that risk on their own.  No fault of yours!
 
     Add the peppers to your jars and do not overfill.  I had to remove a few from the tops of my jars. 
     
  


  I like to add a clove of garlic to each jar as well.


     













     Add 1 cup apple cider vinegar to 3 cups water and boil in microwave or on stove.

     Next ladle it in your jars until the peppers are covered.  I would use a funnel, unlike I did in this photo and it will end up in the jar instead of all over your counter.

Set those jars in your hot canning water, pop on the canner lid and set your timer for 20 minutes.   After 20 minutes turn your burner off and when your pop up valve drops you may remove the lid (away from you) so the steam does not melt your face off and peek inside.

    Definitely using your jar grabber would be a smart choice and place them on a thick towel or pot holder.





I then, cover the jars with a couple of heavy towels and allow them to cool gradually.  After and hour or so you will start to hear the lids "popping", which means they have sealed.

     We will use these for salads, soups, chili, sandwiches or whatever I want to add a little heat to.   But I do enjoy the adding flavor to my peppers instead of just canning them with plain water.  It really isn't difficult and if you enjoy pesticide free veggies, growing your own is the way to go.

Recipe:

• canning jars/lids
• canner
• jalapenos
• 3 cups H2O
• 1 cup apple cider vinegar
• garlic gloves

I say "Fahrvergnügen!"

     Many years ago, I started calling my kids, my little Fahrvergnügen's. (Fahr. Verg! Gnü. Gen)  I don't know why I did this really, I know I just enjoyed the pronunciation of the word.  So it started with Liv, progressed to Drew and again when I added Hayley and Mackenzie to my family.  They are all my little fahrvergnügen's.

     Some fifteen years later, I cannot remember where I retrieved this term from.  With some hard thinking, I surmised I took it from a television commercial. Nearing the age of thirty-nine with four teen kids and going through premature menopause, I was not quite sure I should trust that recollection or not.  This week, I decided to indulge into some internet researching, not only to prove I can still remember things, but to really find out what the meaning of this word is.  I mean, what if for fifteen years I have been calling my kids something morally wrong? 

     As it turns out my memory is still intact.  Fahrvergnügen is a German word.  That's kind of obvious, not only by the spelling, but also the pronunciation. It is a term used as an advertising slogan used by the German automobile manufacturer Volkswagen in a 1990 U.S. ad campaign, that included a stick figure driving a Volkswagen car.  Now, my first child was not born until 1998, so that commercial was either extremely popular to run that long, or Volkswagen had run out of ideas for almost a decade. 

      One of the tag lines incorporating the word was: "Fahrvergnügen: It's what makes a car a Volkswagen."

 
     The English meaning is:driving enjoyment

 











  It has been incorporated into my daily word use, not always used in the same fashion though.  I use it loosely, actually.  When the kids were small I would use it endearingly, " Oh my precious fahrvergnügen", meaning my little angel.

     As they turned older  "you little Fahrvergnügen" as in, you silly.

Then, "Ahhhhh, you are all Fahrvergnügen's!", meaning you little devils! At some point I moved past the kids and used it in replacement of all kinds of other words.  Maybe I'd make and mistake and mutter, "Well Fahrvergnügen!"  (well shucks!) 
 
  Maybe my husband was aggravating me, "YOU are a Fahrvergnügen" ( a butt )


I would somehow cause myself pain, "Oh Fahrvergnügen!!!!!!!!!!!!"  mmmmmm   hmmmmmmm

 So I say, I am pleased that all of this time I was calling my kids a type of enjoyment. Maybe for future use, I should understand the meaning of word I intend to use out of context.  Just in case.

  

Have You Thought of Natural Pain Relief?

 Pain.
Pain..........pain....................pain............pain.........pain...........pain.......
pain, pain,
pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,pain,
Pain Sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


     Everyone has pain and when we do, whatever pain it is, feels like the worst we've experienced.  Most of our pain is short lived.  Give it a little time to heal or to allow the medicines to take effect and most diminish within days or weeks.  Chronic pain is a different ball game.

 It never leaves.  Ever.  

     There may be days that are  more tolerable than others, but anything can cause it to intensify.   Then it feels as if little can be done to reduce it.  That is without taking a prescribed pain reliever and who wants to pop narcotics for the rest of their life?   I, for one, do not. 
      I understand too much about pain.  Living thirty-five healthy years, at age thirty-eight, I can no longer summon memories of what it felt like to live pain free.  Visions of a time when I could run or jump with the kids in the yard come to mind, but when I see my feet hit the ground, I physically cringe.  I can only associate those activities with the pain it would cause me now.  Even while watching movies, I find myself reacting in this same manner.

     Trying to give an explanation of how intense my pain has been has been a trial for me.  When asked, I just cannot find the descriptive words to encompass it.  I may never.  I fancied myself a good sympathizer before my collision and now realize some experiences are beyond words, beyond comprehension.  I lived it and there are moments when even I cannot believe I came through.

    
      With the dedication of my physicians, they have compressed my agony to severe discomfort.  I had to take it from there.  Doctors can only accomplish so much with what they have to work with and if I did not want to continue with narcotics, then I had to research other options. 

     So how am I accomplishing this?

     I want you to know that if you suffer from chronic pain, there are options, but you must be diligent in your efforts.  You may understand already that if you suffer from this condition that you build up a certain tolerance.  If your pain lowers to a certain level, you are elated.  Humans have a tendency to become lazy.  When we feel better, we stop doing what makes us feel better.  Then what happens?  We feel bad again.  Then we scramble to start again what made us feel better in the first place.  So why not just make it a life habit and stick to it?

     I exercise many habits each day to minimize my injuries.  I do not allow myself to become stagnant in my own care.  I grasp too well that when you let pain have control, it takes twice as long to reign it in.  

     Acceptance is my first defense.   I cannot move forward if I am not mentally and emotionally prepared.  

     Diet.  I eat well and I eat healthy.  I minimize what I call 'heavy' foods.  (gravy, fried)  I look for detoxing foods.

     Vitamins.  I take a herbal detoxing vitamin that is a combination of fruits and vegetables. Greens

    

        
   Exercise.  Activity is a double edged sword for me.  I need it because my body will seize up and become rigid without it.   Too much and I am resting on the couch for days.  Pilates  cycling and farm work.

     Meditation.  I don't sit cross legged and 'Ohm' in the middle of the living room, that's for sure.  With four kids, I'd never hear the end of those jokes.  I do, however, sit in a quiet place, with my legs elevated and mentally motivate myself to overcome the deep aching that takes place with humidity or over-activity on my part.

    Curamin.  This herbal supplement is known for its ability to balance the body's natural inflammatory response.   I use this as my main pain reliever.  I must take the maximum dose and take it daily.  

     Rhus Tox. This is actually poison oak.   I know!  Odd, I thought, especially since I am allergic, but I have had no side effects of rash, etc.  This, I use for my arthritis.  Rhus Tox is a homeopathic remedy.  Homeopathic means that you are using a small amount of a natural substance to treat an ailment that the substance would normally cause.  Foods for Health

    The combination of those last two supplements have been helping me since February and rarely do I even have to ingest an Ultram.  Unless I over do it.

     SMILE.   That's the most important habit of all!  Luckily that comes naturally for me.  I welcome the lines that have developed around my eyes, it lets myself and others know that I've lived a life full of happiness.  Smiling, in earnest, is uplifting.  Just try it for yourself.  If you smile repeatedly, you feel something grow in your chest  and it is impossible not to have your spirit and emotions improve.  It may not decrease your pain or fix the situation you are encountering.  Do it anyway.  What is does, is helps you handle it better and smile lines are much more attractive than frown lines.  Yes?

Smile On!

The Value of Sisterhood

     The value of sisterhood is something to be treasured for a life time.  Not all of us understand having that, but we can come close with friends that feel like sisters.  Having three daughters, there are times I envy their hushed talks, their secret smiles and overall sister camaraderie.  Having one sibling who is male, the only hushed talks we had, were episodes of him begging me not to tell our parents "something" he had done, so he wouldn't get into trouble.  ;)

     This photo shoot I am sharing has been evolving in my thoughts for a couple of years.  Because of many surgeries I have not been able to tackle this passion of mine, until Now!  Since we camp at the fairgrounds we had access to the carnival rides from our county fair and I thought this the perfect background to portray our three beauties.  

     If you have not noticed, the 50's fashion is back in style, with a contemporary spin of course.  Finding the right kind of outfits wasn't too much of a challenge.

   Studying our three daughters, I pronounced they were at the right age to help me with this endeavor.  Luckily all three readily agreed to trust my imagination.  

     When our girls filed out of the camper one by one, I had that moment the rest of you, who have watched them grow up had.  "When did all THAT happen?"  My heavens, they are stunning!  When were the little girls replaced with these remarkable young women?  I am even more stoked for this photo shoot, they are 100% all into this.  Hair, makeup and clothing.  Sweeeet!


     Photo after photo, my chest puffs with pride as I can see things differently through the lens of a camera.  Photo after photo, the lump in my throat swells as I see we only have a few years left before they leave.  Photo after photo, I hide the fresh tears of appreciation I have for these dazzling, intelligent, young ladies. 

   They were rocking this session and I was enjoying it as much as they were.  They are veteran models as I have put a camera in their face for many years.  I only had to tweak poses as they did the rest.

   I couldn't help but laugh at memories of younger years as I studied them.  They don't care about the sibling hierarchy anymore, they just want to borrow each others clothes.  There is still an occasional, "She made me do it" or "Sissy did it" or better yet, " I am the oldest, so I am the boss!"

       Our family combined nine years ago.  They didn't have a choice of whether they wanted to become sisters, but now I can hear them say, "I smile because you're my sister and there is nothing you can do about it."  

      They have grown to love and protect each other.  Confide secrets and ambitions.  We have raised them together and even though they are flowers from different gardens, they have bloomed together and developed a sisterhood that is powerful.   This is an affection worth treasuring.

How lucky are they?

Breakfast/Dessert: Healthier Peach Gratin

Healthier Peach Gratin

Prep:15 minutes

4 Medium Peaches 2 Eggs 1 Maple syrup(lite) 1/2 cup All-purpose flour 1/4 tsp Salt(optional) 2 tbsp Sugar(sweetener) 1tsp Sugar (sweetener) 1/2 tsp Vanilla 1/2 cup Granola with almonds/pecans 2 tbsp Butter(optional) 1/2 cup Greek yogurt, plain 1/2 cup Milk

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. In a medium bowl whisk together milk and eggs. Add flour, the 2 tablespoons sugar, the melted butter, vanilla, and salt, whisking until smooth. Set aside.
2. If desired, peel peaches. Pit and slice peaches.
3. Grease a 9- to 10-inch deep-dish pie plate. Pour batter into pie plate. Arrange peach slices on top of batter.
4. Bake for 20 minutes. Sprinkle with granola. Bake for 5 to 10 minutes more or until batter is light brown and set and peaches are tender. Let cool for 20 minutes before serving.
5. In a small bowl stir together yogurt and enough additional sugar to reach desired sweetness.  Drizzle with maple syrup and yogurt mixture.

     We have a fairly healthy home diet, I would say.  There are very few convenience foods in our pantry so if you were searching for any Little Debbie snacks, you would be out of luck.  Most meals, these days are made from scratch or close to it.  (which my family loves just as much!)

     The majority of our family is on a health kick the past couple of months, so since I'm the cook, the others don't have a choice!  We also have one who is trying out a vegetarian status right now, which makes me look even more diligently for healthier alternatives.  

     Trying to change up breakfast a bit and since my thoughtful husband brought home some Georgia peaches from our oldest daughter's recent college trip, naturally I searched how to revamp my normal recipes into healthier versions.   

     Taking a recipe from my Great Grandmother's cook book, I swapped out most of the butter or Lard!(some would probably have to look up the definition that word & gasp) , no crust on top, change the sugar to sweetener & the drizzled icing to yogurt. 

                                                                                      

  The base reminds me of a custard.  I am a big fan of vanilla and I used 1 tsp instead of just 1/2 tsp.

Wedge the peaches, place in the base of the dish until you have used all four or to your desired amount.

You can omit the syrup if you wish, we had some lite syrup so, why not?   It's not always abstinence, it's moderation.  Drizzle on as much or as little as you like, although I would not cover the entire dish.  I think that may give you a belly ache, of sorts.




     Using the granola/pecans gives the dish a little more substance and add some fiber and protein in there.  It is a substitution for the original pie crust.  Now I seem to have neglected photographing the drizzling of the yogurt over the top, but I loved the sweet flavor it added.  Instead of a powdered sugar glaze, you can add 1 tsp to some vanilla yogurt (  I think the yogurt is sweet enough on it's own)but you can add it if you wish.

   You end up with a sweet, but healthier breakfast/dessert.  You won't have to feel guilty or sit at the table holding your belly because the heaviness of the dish made you sick to your stomach.