Road Trip

I was going through daughter withdrawal a few days ago, specifically for child number three who lives about six hours away from me.

So I stuffed some jammies in an overnight bag, hopped in Goldie, topped off her tank with gas, and headed East. Beautiful day, beautiful drive, very little traffic. I headed out into the Columbia River Gorge.

Then crossed the Bridge of the Gods.

I passed Mount Adams,

and Mount Hood,

drove through miles and miles of wheat fields,

then arrived in eastern Washington in an area known as the Palouse, where I finally got my hugs from my girlie.

I hope that I never take this amazing area for granted.

You can see additional gorgeous pictures and learn more about the beautiful state of Washington here, here, and here.

Time For Elastic Waistbands....

Image found here.

I have a hangover. No, not the kind from indulging in large amounts of alcohol.

I'm experiencing a sugar-butter-salt-calorie hangover. Our family and friends celebrated the Fourth of July starting on July first and didn't stop until this morning, when my son headed back home.

I don't know why, but it seems that I use any holiday imaginable to provide an excuse to eat snacks and treats that are calorie laden and bad bad bad for me.

There's the usual holidays: Christmas, New Year's, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving, Labor Day, Halloween, Easter and all the usual holiday goodies that accompany them....... but then there's also Take Your Kid To Work Day. I don't work and my kids actually all have jobs of their own, but hey - it still calls for cupcakes. And what about Secretaries' Day? I require a box of chocolates even though I never have and probably never will be a secretary or employ one.

Earth Day just screams for cute cutout sugar cookies frosted with green icing. Then along comes, well, um, Maggie the dog's birthday. I'm pretty sure she would want me to celebrate with a slice of cheesecake, since of course dogs can't eat chocolate.

The month of July alone has several mandatory celebratory opportunities including National Hot Dog Day, July 18th; National Gummy Worm Day, July 15th; National Ice Cream Day, July 19th; National Lollipop Day, July 20th; National Drive-Through Day, July 24th; and my favorite, National Milk Chocolate Day, July 28th.

It would be downright unpatriotic not to celebrate.

Want to see more silly yet delicious holidays? You can read more here.

T Cell Rehabilitation

Image found here.

I read this recent article from Medical News Today with interest. Love the title - "They Are Young And Need The Job".

The article discusses t-cells, white blood cells that originates in bone marrow, mature in the thymus, and are important because they are responsible for identifying, attacking, and destroying infectious agents such as bacteria and viruses. You can read more about these t-cells here.

On occasion, such as happens in autoimmune disease, t-cells mistakenly identify healthy normal tissue as an infectious or foreign agent, and signals the immune system to begin attacking the body's own healthy tissue. These misguided t-cells are then described as autoreactive.

The Medical News Today article discusses the ability of the body to re-educate young autoreactive t-cells.

Some of these autoreactive T-cells, however, undergo a kind of reeducation to become "regulatory T-cells" that keep other autoreactive T-cells under control. A group led by immunologist Professor Ludger Klein of LMU Munich has now shown that the developmental stage of an autoreactive T-cell is decisive to its ultimate destiny. Young autoreactive T cells are very readily reeducated into regulatory T-cells. Under identical conditions, however, older T cells become fully activated and can cause damage......... resistant to reeducation.

If I understand this correctly, it seems that the body has it's own rehabilitation program for juvenile delinquent t-cells, and that there is a window of opportunity for rehab which closes once the cells become older. The young t-cells that have been re-educated go on to assume responsibility for keeping other wayward youngsters under control.

Amazing.

So those of us with autoimmune disease are dealing with a crop of juvenile delinquent t-cells that have become older, hardened criminals and are chomping away at our own healthy tissue.

I'll bet there is some kind of larger social lesson for humanity to be learned here.

It Is What It Is

Cheer up, Sammy.

Wisdom to consider when I am in angst over my limitations:

Beware the barrenness of a busy life ~ Socrates

The best things in life are nearest: Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Gooey Goodness

"What would you like for dinner tonight?" John asked today. I told him that I wanted toasted marshmallows.

Really.

I just love love love a perfectly toasted melty sweet marshmallow just off the fire. Sigh.

Wonderful hubby that he is, within the hour I was perched in front of our fire pit, brand spankin' new marshmallow toasting fork in hand with my sugary supper in progress. John insisted on real food for his dinner, go figure.

If my entire meal is to consist of one item, I want it to be perfectly cooked. What's that, you say? How do you create the perfect toasted marshmallow?

My marshmallow method has been finely tuned over several years of intense research and development. Observe carefully, and you too can be a marshmallow maniac.

First, one must always choose the finest ingredients.

So I'm not going to name names here, people, but for heaven's sake - don't buy the old rubbery marshmallows that have been sitting in some warehouse so long that the entire bag is one big sticky blob. Spring for the genuine marshmallow item.

Second, make sure that safety essentials are close at hand.

Next, prepare the fire. Choose wood that hasn't been treated with chemicals, is dry, and don't add goofy stuff like plastic bags or pop cans or other weird things to the fire. Plastic coated marshmallows are not good for you. They may even cause autoimmune disease, or something.

It's important to accurately assess a fire's readiness to roast said marshmallow. The above fire is mostly flames. Not good for toasting. Patience, grasshopper.......These coals are perfect.

Nestle the raw marshmallows near the glowing embers of the fire. Note this perfectly placed fork:

Now comes the part where an expert eye and sense of timing comes in to play. Pay attention, folks - if the marshmallow begins to puff slightly and begins to just barely smoke - it's time to turn it. If you let your attention wander, you may end up with sad crunchy chunks of charcoal. I know - there are those who claim to enjoy burned marshmallows, but I simply don't believe them. They just haven't perfected their technique.

Remember: Friends don't let friends eat burned marshmallows. Oh, the tragedy of it all.....I can't bear to look.

Now here is an example of toasted perfection:

Ready to stuff that beauty in your mouth? Not so fast, buster. A true marshmallow gourmet knows that one gently slides the marshmallow off the fork.

Note that the fingers remain below the marshmallow. Only an amateur grabs the middle creating premature smooshing.

Aaaaaah. Pop that golden brown toasty treat in your mouth and savor.

Repeat repeatedly.

Cheers!

Remember that old television show, Cheers? My favorite part was always when one of the regulars would arrive in the bar while everyone shouted, "Norm!". He'd grunt and give a perfunctory wave or make a pithy comment and plop onto his bar stool just as Sam sent his mug of beer sliding down the bar.

Call me weird, but it cracked me up every time.

Well, alert the media. Today I had my first Norm experience.

Our local convenience store, just five minutes from my house, sells a soda card. When you buy it, it is redeemable for several fountain drinks at a big discount, plus free refills if you use their original cavernous plastic cup.

You may recall that last year, I vowed that I would have a soda free summer. I failed miserably. This year I am attempting to have a sugar soda free summer. Diet soda doesn't count. Wish me luck.

So today as I breezed into the station for my diet Coke, the gal behind the cash register greeted me with, "Julia!" as I filled my cup with fizzy stuff. Oh yeah. We're on a first-name basis now. Feels good.

I need to develop a repertoire of pithy comments.

We're Even

Greg and Terese arrived at my birthday party with this beautiful hydrangea.

I promise not to whine about the chain saw incident ever again.

Only The After Photo

I felt adventurous this morning, so whipped up a batch of Pioneer Woman's recipe for huevos rancheros, found here .

My goodness. Yummy.

Her site is beautifully written and photographed. If you visit her site, her photograph of this dish is gorgeous - eggs and cheese melting onto a cobalt blue platter.

But at my house, this is what remains of her recipe.

I Am What I Am

I know that I have written a great deal about the changes my life has taken since becoming disabled, but I still pause before typing the D word, and think - really? Me?

Yes, me. After reading about and interacting with other disabled people, I am slowly understanding that while my experience with disability unfolds itself in new and different ways each day for me, countless others have and are going through the same process. I am not unique. I am not special. My disability is not rare or exceptional. It just is what it is - a change in my abilities.

Like most people, I tend to compare myself to others as I move through various stages in my life. As a teenager, it was clothes and hair and boyfriends and....well, everyone knows what that stage is like. As a young mom, I gauged my success by comparing my parenting skills to other young families and the escapades of their kids vs my hooligans. Which is another very long discussion. In my professional life, even though my goals as a nurse centered on giving good care, I still wanted to know that I could be the go-to person with a valuable skill set, be it documentation or education or technical skills.

I didn't consider this need to compare as competitive, but rather just a way to measure my worth and value in my place of employment, in my home as a mother, and in my marriage as a wife.

Along comes a disability. After dealing with the physical and emotional changes and life settles into some kind of routine, I find myself yet again looking for that measuring tape. How do I compare to others with a disability? Am I doing this better, the same, or worse than others?

After six years, I have come to the understanding that I am a slow learner, but what I have finally realized is this:

There isn't a play group where you can watch other disabled people's social and developmental abilities. There isn't a spot in the mall where the disabled hang out and eat junk food and compare notes and crack jokes. There is no standardized test to evaluate your disability skills. You can't earn a certificate or degree in this.

You can't be the best at being disabled. You can't be the worst, either.

You just have to ............. be.

Dad's Day

Dad on his John Deere

Sorry, guys, this bug - whatever it is - really has me whipped. I have graduated from NyQuil to Zithromax and Sudafed.

But I don't want it let me keep me from posting about Father's day tomorrow. Whenever one of my kids have a difficult task ahead of them, I always whip out the Grampa S., my dad's, speech. They know it. They love it. They've heard it a zillion times, but it's a goodie.

It goes something along these lines:

Nobody in the whole world is better than you are. Nobody.

Everybody puts their pants on one leg at a time.

Decide what you want to be, then go be the best there is, no matter what you choose. If you want to be a street sweeper, then be the best street sweeper.

Go after it like you're killing snakes!

And my personal favorite -

Give 'em hell!

Happy Father's Day to all those great dads out there.