BEYOND IMAGININGS

All of childhood should be remembered, and as often as possible - relived.  We lose our child-like abilities as we enter adulthood.  More 'rules' limit our thoughts and movements.  Our own insecurities do the same.

In many ways, I lived an enchanted childhood.  My playground was the deep woods that surrounded our home in rural Vermont.  It encompassed fern-lined clearings, old long-abandoned logging roads, huge boulders the size of a room, and oh so many trees to climb.  These woods housed every sweet berry imaginable, and the thorns didn't stop us.  The greatest danger was an occasional black bear, though they were 'more afraid of us than we were of them."  In the winter, with everything blanketed in snow, it was a white wonderland.  And that brings to mind one of my fondest memories of childhood.

It took place in the chilly snow-covered setting of a New England January night.  The snow was crusted a few inches thick over deep and softer snow.  My boots squeeked on it as it groaned slightly under my weight.  These conditions make the trek through the meadow so much easier.  No sinking in the snow.

The breeze bit into my exposed face.  The night was clear, and the moon lit up the whole countryside, rendering the scene in deep hues of blue.  The slope was gradual but steady, pock-marked with randomly-placed smaller boulders and recesses, ending in a quick cliff-drop into a brook still-flowing.  Hovering all along its banks were rounded fluffs of hardened snow that hid dangers as water cascaded below them.

I placed my plastic toboggan on the ground never taking my eyes from the direction I would take.  I laid in it belly down, with my head just above the front at eye level, and my feet hanging over the back to act as rudders.  My hands, double mittened, were my paddles.  Lying there, my mind was on nothing but the contour of the slope ahead.  I was completely familiar with the route.

With one last thought on this grand ride, I summoned all my strength to propel me forward.  Only my forehead could be seen above the front lip of the red toboggan.  It picked up speed quickly; there was little resistance to slow it down.

The sloping meadow in front of me rose and dipped frequently but maintained a steady downhill slant.  My sled maneuvered this leg of the course similar to a skier twisting through a competition slalom.  In the dips, snow dust had collected, and my breath was taken away as the nose of my sled slammed into each recession and kicked the chilled dust into my face... an added bonus.

The wind even at my low depth was deafening, yet muffled - a consistent aerodynamic whoosh across my ears.  Shadows of small boulders in and near my path and nearby trees distracted me briefly, but I promptly returned my attention ahead to a final stretch of meadow that approached fast, but I still could not see.

To avoid the boulders, my feet guided the sled around them, as I drug a foot on the side of the direction I wanted to go.  Most were white-covered mounds not so easily seen but the reason for my constant vigilance, as a miscalculated bounce could at the worst propel me a number of feet through the air, or at best rip a gouge in my sled.

The next section of meadow was entirely flat, and the reflection of the moon exposed an expanse of icy surface; no small crevasses for dust collection or a dipping sled, which had gained speed.  The ice was slick and unforgiving.  My jaunt now included uncontrollable side-winding which took precious time and speed to correct. 

Adrenaline was doing its job, preparing me for what I knew came soon.  I had to keep the sled straight and on course, or I would suffer a serious fate.

Breathing fast, heart beating rapidly, the end of the meadow was fast approaching.

The boulders, snow sprays, drifting sideways on the ice - were obstacles that only whet the appetite.

The ending was the best part...

Bellerose3

Suddenly, a fleeting shadow passed not a yard in front of me.  "Hoooooooo."  "Hooooooooooooo."  Losing concentration, I turned a complete 360 degrees before I regained my bearings.  Though only minimally, I could tell my momentum had slowed.

Beating wings rapidly grew distant.  The owl was only curious.  I only hoped that I was still going fast enough.

Keeping my hands and feet inside I lowered my head as much as I could to maintain speed.   A growing horizontal line dark in color appeared so fast, it almost left me unprepared.  I was still recovering from the owl.  I started to worry that I had not adequately anticipated the distance left before the steep drop in the meadow.

At the last second, I saw the wide but low mound - a flat rock right on the edge of the drop.  I had just that second to aim right for it.  I hit it square. 

Immediate flight.  Immediate silence.  What a rush, especially when you can't see what's around you.  But I could hear it...  not that far below - maybe 15 feet.  The brook.

The brook was flowing fast, a strong current - why it hadn't frozen over yet.  My sled had begun to take a downward turn.

The whooshing sound returned to my ears.  Brook sounds just behind me.  My eyes straight ahead.

Bam!! 

I landed hard, the front then the back hit. My head bounced lower and then above the sled.  A shower of snow dust flew right into my open mouth.  The bluish-white landscape returned my vision, as I spiraled and one side of my toboggan rose off the crust.  I couldn't control its flip and I flew out.  Then I flipped - I lost count how many times.

Another shadow encircled my vision as I flipped.  I was growing tired of shadows.  I stopped right next to it.  This one was vertical.  A tree.

The flip of my sled had saved my life.

I rose to my knees, and that's when the full reality hit.  I had had a guardian angel looking over my shoulder.

In the moonlight, I could clearly see that the toes of my boots were still gleaming wet...

MoonlitForest

Still, I knew I'd return for yet another thrill - another night.   

Credits for Images (above):

1st Image:  http://www.uuworld.org/2001/01/bellerose3.jpg

2nd Image:  http://www.jthomashinton.com/images/MoonlitForest.jpg

Prescription Drug Use/Addiction

(Long article – set aside time to read)

TV and the media bombard viewers with a new drug for every ailment imaginable. They say “talk to your doctor” and go on to mention all of the side effects of each drug. As each year passes, more drugs that used to be available by prescription only, now have become over-the-counter (OTC) – and therefore very accessible. The message? If you’ve got a physical problem, and even an emotional one – drugs are easy to obtain and are no longer closely monitored by your doctor; and rather than put any effort into eating better, exercising regularly, drinking plenty of fluids, and finding more natural methods for preventing disease, and if we do indeed contract an illness, for repairing our bodies – we search out a pill to fix all of our ills.

In a recent doctor’s visit, my doctor recommended that I take a common anti-inflammatory medication for the pain of tendonitis in my wrist and for osteoarthritis in my joints. At the end of the visit, due to a head and chest congestion and a spec of blood found in my urine, I was prescribed an antibiotic. It stated in the paperwork that accompanied this antibiotic that it should not be taken with any anti-inflammatory medication. Luckily and wisely, I read these scripts so that I am as informed as I can be. That doesn’t always help. It doesn’t help those who trust their doctors and who don’t read a document that could prevent other problems, and could potentially save their lives.

Our doctors do not know as much as we think they should. I’d asked my doctor about a couple of TV-advertised medications, and the response was “Well, what would you like me to do?” She was leaving the decision up to me. She did not take the time to look into my chart, my history, to determine if I might be a good candidate for one of these meds. She had her trusty laptop in front of her, but her time with me was drawing near, so she had to hurry up and close the visit. It is this rushing through the day’s patients that can skew test results and misinform our medical personnel into making inaccurate diagnoses. With the advent of physician’s assistants, more and more personnel are responsible for entering our information into our charts, and now into our computer-generated electronic charts. On a standard pulmonary function test included in a recent physical, I was entered into the computer as a male. The normal/abnormal value ranges for men and women differ. The diagnosis? I may possibly have COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease). I am a female. I’m so glad I asked questions. I forgot to find out if the COPD entry was taken out, unfortunately. I’ve since changed doctor’s offices.

We must take a proactive approach to our health. It is no longer safe to attribute our health and well-being solely to our doctors. In my opinion, and my opinion only within the context of this article, many of our doctors are pill-pushers. The pharmaceutical companies ply doctor’s offices with their wares…. huge, huge business. In order to be eligible for this or that government subsidy, or to continue to accept this or that HMO or PPO coverage, doctor’s offices must function within the mainstream of pharmaceutical offerings. It is a very sad state of affairs.

Two people close to me have been and are prescription drug addicts. Their initial health issue required pain medication, and they were prescribed narcotics. This started them on a vicious cycle that ultimately destroyed one individual, and is destroying the other.

As with any addiction, more of the substance is desired, and then is required. The habit becomes expensive, but the addict will find any way possible to acquire the substance. Personal items will be hawked or sold. Bills will go unpaid. Then they turn into thieves… stealing from family and friends. When they aren’t obtaining drugs, some resort to street gambling to make more money. They obtain their drugs from a number of doctors, all unknowing and unwitting of each other. Family life is dramatically affected – zombie-like behavior one day, anxious sometimes violent behavior the next. Frequent visits to the ER or Urgent Care facilities occur. Medical bills begin to pile up.

One day you might return home from work to find police cruiser and ambulance with lights flaring in front of your home. You run inside and find them surrounding your family member lying on the floor, his eyes rolled up back in the head, and you feel such relief when they resuscitate him.

If there are small children in the family, the effects of witnessing such things are far-reaching. Not to mention that once the addiction has progressed far enough, the addict will turn on them. They must be protected. One home we lived in quite possibly still has two bullet holes in the bedroom wall.

Prescription drug addiction is a fast-growing problem in our country, and a very expensive one. Detox and rehab programs are available, but many medical insurances do not cover them. Many addicts end up in jail and/or prison. Then it becomes the taxpayer’s problem.

Those of us who have had the misfortune of living with an addict developed our own form of PTSD. We become battle-weary and inevitably withdrawn from our lives. We begin to mistrust our own self-reliance, self-esteem, and self-confidence. And we learn to mistrust our medical personnel and the good benefits of many essential prescription drugs.

In my situation, I worked two jobs for over 7 years to recover from the daily grind and drain from our lives and finances. And I literally burned myself out. All I did was sleep, drive, and work. I didn’t have time to think of how I worried and was constantly anxious. Now, today… the deep well of strength that I drew upon to maintain my sanity during my husband’s addiction… has all but disappeared. The smallest issue puts me in tears. My attention span, my short-term memory, my ability to recognize and assimilate totally obvious details – have all diminished. A seemingly insignificant day-to-day challenge to one is an insurmountable problem for me.

My addict husband has since passed away. But lately, though I’ve not been diagnosed as such, I’ve come to realize that I’m in a depressed state. I can’t seem to muster the motivation to do much of anything at all. Oh, I have good days. I work in my yard. I get online and read e-mails and surf the net. I go to and conduct my part-time job. But I can’t seem to build any enthusiasm for anything. I must force myself to cook a meal, or water the plants. If my new husband, the love of my life, didn’t help me monitor my own prescription drug regimen (high cholesterol and blood pressure, and thyroid replacement therapy), I’d probably be in the hospital myself. I just hate pills. And I hate hospitals too. I truly, down deep, respect the need for both, and for our police and emergency personnel…. but when I am confronted with any of them in any way, I become uncontrollably anxious.

I have many hobbies. I have created wonderful things. Even they do not excite me nearly as much anymore. I keep apologizing to my daughter about my ‘downer’ e-mails to her. Yet, I can’t seem to prevent myself from hitting the ‘send’ button. I’ve got to talk to someone.

That’s where this website has at times been my saviour. I’ve found that in this small way, I can reach out… and maybe help someone else with a little information. Isn’t that what the internet is all about?

It is true…. serving others is one of the best therapies around. Sharing, supporting, reaching out to others… are some of those more natural, and totally human methods for repairing our bodies, and our minds and hearts.

Just another Earthen Blog allotment in efforts to help enforce baby boomers' positive image of themselves.

More and more, people who have entered this age group find themselves with a need - especially this time of year - to get out and do something different. Well, here's a suggestion/possibility, and one I'm trying out - and that is an understatement. I'm determined.

Learning to ride a motorcycle/motorscooter. My husband had recently inherited a Yamaha 550cc and was re-aquainting himself with riding a bike. I finally got the nerve to ride as passenger, and though it was exciting, it also unnerved me. I really don't enjoy not being in control, preferring getting somewhere under my own steam. And since I'd never learned to drive a stick in a vehicle, that lent to my decision to stay away from a clutch altogether. I quite honestly didn't think they made an automatic motorcycle. How could that be? Still we got the advice of our local motorcycle sales/repair shop, who gave us a short list of manufacturers who make automatic motorscooters. Naturally, the first thing my mind conjured up was a vespa or moped. I could just see me tooling up Arizona's I-17 on one of these.

Not! Nope! No way!

Well I got online and looked into a couple of scooters on the list... the Yamaha Magesty, and the Suzuki Burgman, both in the 400cc category. I checked out the specs in the seat-height area, especially. I'm only 5'1" with a short leg span. The mpg is awesome - 50+! This is, of course, another great motivator in these rising-gas-prices times. I called a couple of local dealers, got some pricing (and boy did they vary! - it pays to shop). We finally decided to go and physically see one.

I sat on it, and wondered if I was absolutely nuts! Sitting on the seat's lowest point, my feet were only on their tippy-toes. I couldn't sit flat footed. No kind of structure around me, and though it's much lighter than a motorcycle, for my little frame this vehicle was still a bit front heavy. But like I said... I was determined. I figured it'd take time to get comfortable with it. So, the Suzuki Burgman 400 it is! We brought it home that day, and that was two weeks ago.

We took it out to a nearby parking lot just for me to try it out, and I learned to throttle and brake, all the while keeping my feet close to the ground. I made a couple of short and easy turns, though they were quite difficult to maneuver at such slow speeds. I finally got up the courage to put my feet up on the floor boards while throttling, slow down and brake, and get my toes down. And it worked! That is, until the next time out, when I attempted the same maneuver, and landed my feet wrong (on a slight incline to my right) and both bike and me went over.

Well, that's when we decided we had to look into changing the seat somehow - lower it to accommodate my short legs - so that I could straddle the bike with both of my feet flat on the ground. Again, I was astonished to find out this sort of thing was done regularly. Heck, Suzuki was aiming the Burgman 400 at women. There had to be other women riding them just as short in stature as I! At least I hoped so.

We found a local shop (only two that are reputable in the Phoenix valley) that do custom bike seats. While talking on the phone with this gentleman, he recommended that I also sign up for a motorcycle riding safety course, and mentioned one in particular - one that his wife attended to learn how to ride. So I did... which is when I learned that they only use the bike that I didn't want to learn on - in their classes... the clutch kind! Geez! But they emphasized how they take their time with you and make sure you get it right. That heartened me. Also, this course, among others is recognized by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation - a biggie in awareness for safe motorcycle riding. So, it seems I'm on my way. Check out these websites - covering the above-mentioned areas.

WRN -Women Riders Now-

Motorcycle Safety Foundation

Suzuki Burgman 400

It always pays to do research, ask questions, just be as informed as you can. The more you 'network' in this way, the more enlightened you become in your area of interest. And that's key in any endeavor.

Before I get back on my Suzuki Burgman, my seat is going to be re-contoured, and I'm going to learn how to ride it by the safe and informed method.

I'll keep you updated on my progress!

Scam Alert

Under a new law signed into effect in February, Economic Stimulus tax rebates will be sent out by the IRS to over 130 million households; households that filed a 1040 or 1040A tax return for 2007.  The rebates will range from $300 (single) to $1200 (couples).  These households include more than 20 million low-income older Americans and 250,000 disabled veterans.

Even before President Bush signed in the Economic Stimulus legislation in February, scammers were already contacting unsuspecting targets and claiming to represent the IRS, then explaining that they can direct-deposit these tax rebates.  Of course, the victim must provide bank information right then and there.  And, of course, it is another method that the thieves now use to steal a victim's identity and swindle them.

Some scammers have been specifically using the term - Bush refunds.  And, so far, most of the scams have been by phone.  But e-mail scams claiming to represent the IRS are common.

The IRS will not make such calls or send such e-mails.  They would not ask for personally identifiable information over the phone.  They have no idea how widespread this scam has become, but as the 130 million households await their rebates, the IRS anticipates more and more calls complaining of this scam.

If you get such calls or e-mails, don't reply.  Don't click on links or open any attachments.  Doing so can send you to a fraudster's website and allow them to intercept your financial information.

To contact the real IRS, call 1-800-829-1040, or go to www.irs.gov. 

Don't let con artists steal your rebate, and your ID.