Tag Archives: humor

2014 Resolutions: Ditch the yearly thing and go monthly

31 Tuesday Dec 2013

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Here we go again. Another year.

Two years ago I mapped out for you my sure-fire way to not just set goals but achieve them. How do I know it works? Well, for starters it’s my own little algorithm of sorts that helped me settle down and find my husband.

Yes, really! I was alone and despondent and quite tired of the loser blind dates, the failed attempts at trying to meet someone and not having anyone to drop me off at the airport. (Do you know what a drag it is to always be begging for a ride to the airport?) And then I did my chart map / goal thing. And it totally worked, because this happened:

A New Year's Resolution led to this.

Not bad for a New Year’s Resolution, eh?

So, let’s mix it up a bit, shall we?

This year, though, I’m doing things different. I’m not bagging the chart map / goal thing, because it does have great value. But what I’m going to do is have monthly goals in 2014.

Why do it monthly? Well, look, if you’re like me, you’re über busy and life is different month to month. I travel a lot for work and I travel a lot in my personal life. That kind of turns things upside down at certain times of the year. For instance, take weight loss or staying fit. I need a different approach when I’m traveling—maybe it’s just to maintain during those times. Or for Pete’s sake, when on vacay I need to be okay about eating ice cream, you know?

Goats Milk Ice Cream

Because if it’s Goat’s milk ice cream you gotta have it.

Plus, what might seem like a worthy goal in January may not be as valuable of a focus come August. Maybe I find myself a little sweary in July (probably because it’s #$%&! hot here in Utah around that time) and so I’ll set a resolution or goal for the next month to zip it.

It just seems like a month-to-month method is achievable and will garner more success than dragging out the pain my goals all year, which eventually become abandoned by June. (Wait, who am I kidding? Probably February.)

Let’s get started with January

Okay, so here’s what I’m doing for January. A shopping fast.

Not shop fast, as in be speedy about buying oodles of clothes, but do without shopping for a whole month.

Grocery shopping is okay. Or if I need deodorant or hair product, but that’s pretty much it. I’ve actually done this before—last October, in fact. Not a single one on my staff at work thought I could do it, so they each put money into a pool and if I succeeded (total honor system, you know), the money was donated to our United Way drive that was going on at the time.

And you know what, guys? I totally did it. And the community benefitted.

But I need to do it again, mostly because this last month I went a little crazy with the shopping (the holidays, duh) and to be honest, I felt like I learned a lesson last October that needs to be re-learned: I found that I actually didn’t need a lot of stuff. I didn’t need that skirt or that scarf or those shoes I was looking at. I had plenty of stuff already in my closet.

So doing it again is a great way to start off the year and I know I can do it because it is doable. So no more trips to Nordstrom, shopping on QVC, or even online shopping. Sorry all you merchants, I’ll be back in February, okay?

When it gets closer to February I’ll let you know what February’s goal will be. As for this last day before January you must know that I went shopping today in my last few hours because I needed a fancy dress for a work celebration meeting in January and I knew I couldn’t shop after today, and I couldn’t decide between the short skirt or the long skirt so I got both.

Oh geez. I do need help.

Long skirt fancy

Long skirt fancy

Short skirt fancy

Short skirt fancy

I’m not done here

So two questions I have for you. Short skirt or long skirt? And how are you tackling New Year’s Resolutions in 2014 or do you just skip it altogether? (I guess that was three questions.)

Most Outstanding Achievement in Hair Over Four Decades award goes to me

04 Sunday Mar 2012

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Hair.

It’s troubled me since I was a child. I’ve always envied lovely, beautiful, trouble-free hair beginning with my mom’s fight with my hair every morning before kindergarten as she vigorously brushed through my “rat’s nest” (her words), to my youthful longing to have Marcia Brady hair, followed by the desire for Dorothy Hamill hair to the coveting of the crème de la crème of all hair–Farrah Fawcett.

Growing up, no one had dark curly hair unless they were on Soul Train.

Still to this day, my hair troubles me. So, last week I chopped off my hair. I went from this:

To this:

I got lots of interesting reactions from the change. Most people exclaimed, “I love it!” Then there were those who said, “Don’t take this wrong, but it’s really slimming.” I’m okay with that, I think. (Wait, are you calling me fat?) It’s better than the opposite, I suppose. The most interesting reaction was when someone came into my office, closed the door and said in a delicate, quiet voice, “Your hair looks great. Is everything okay?”

I laughed and assured her, “Oh for Pete’s sake. No. I’m not going through a divorce,” because that’s what brooding, downtrodden women do when breaking up. I continued, “Steve and I are still madly in love, though he’s out of town and hasn’t seen this yet.”

(I imagined this for the husband airport pickup: Stand next to all the limo drivers who hold signs for their passengers and I’d have my own sign with “Don’t worry sweetie, it will grow back.“)

So, as I was looking through my iPhoto catalogue I noticed that I’d been through a lot of different hairstyles over the years and felt some were deserving of awards. Here I present the Most Outstanding Achievement in Hair Over Four Decades awards (cue drum roll):

Best Pat Nixon Look at Age 3
What a perfectly coiffed three-year-old!
Most Outstanding Skin Smoothing Technique
In order to make sure that my hair stayed in place all day, my mom put me in ponytails that were so tight, I would never have to face a Botox treatment later in life.

The Best Achievement in Layers
Layering the hair certainly helped with the rat’s nest issue,
but it mostly just helped me achieve frizzy hair faster.
(Sorry about the tiny photo. This was my Senior photo from my high school yearbook.)
The “Why Am I Not Dating? Award” goes to…
Just days before I went away to college I chopped off my hair. Bad call.
This hair explains why I didn’t date at all my Freshman year.
That and the unfortunate argyle sweater I’m wearing in this photo.

Best Big Hair Ev-uh!
Thank goodness for big hair girl bands. (Heart! You girls are my heroes!) And shoulder pads. Frankly, the whole 80s! And guess what, I didn’t have to tease my hair to get it to be big and poofy. It just did it all by itself. I went from growing up envying others to having girls envy me! This photo is from my Senior year in college.
As you can see, I let it grow out since my Freshman year.

Best Use of a Barrette Award
The barrette became my best friend. I pretty much had this same hairstyle during all of my 20s, once I moved to California. It was easy peasy to take care of.
Shampoo, run gobs of product through hair with fingers, put in barrette and
go out the door. I didn’t even own a hair dryer.
(And no, going outside with wet hair does not give you a cold.)
Most Likely To Succeed Award
This is my “professional” ‘do that I started sporting once I decided to get serious about my career in my 30s. This photo is a little deceptive. It looks a little bit coiffed, but it’s not. I still maintained my same ritual as above–shampoo, run fingers through with product
and out the door. Still no hair dryer needed.

Best Achievement in Luring a Man
This is me in Scotland. I had just met the man who would two years later be my husband. If ever there was a time that I needed the best hair on the planet this was the time and it certainly delivered. Look at how perfectly those curls rest on my head!
Oh shame to have scorned them when I was younger.
Steve (the man) kept referring to them as springs. (sigh)

Your Hair Is Taking Over the Planet award
This, my friends, is my biggest nightmare.
After I met Steve, we dated long distance for two years, visiting each other in five different countries during that time. This was in Calgary, AB the day after a big snow storm. But the day was warm and the snow melted/evaporated so quickly the humidity in the air created this crazy mess. My hair is like a Chia Pet. It gets bigger as the day goes when moisture is added. It’s a wonder Steve still married me after this.

Best Wedding Day Dream Hair
Bless her heart–that Annie at Sieren Salon made my hair look fantastic on my wedding day. I wish this could be my hair every day.
Every girl should have awesome hair on her wedding day.

Extreme Makeover — Hair Edition
I can’t tell you how excited I was when I learned about the Brazilian Blowout. I did this for almost a year and I loved it. Too bad it’s really, really bad for hair stylists. Frankly, it’s not safe. It’s got formaldehyde in it, much to everyone’s chagrin. And the FDA ruled it not safe. But I’m waiting for a product to come out that’s much safer and when it does, I’m there in the chair again!
Here’s a version of the straightened look, but using a curling iron to give me a few sassy waves. Hey! It’s almost like Farrah’s hair!

And that, my friends, is Lisa’s hair over the years.

From hating to loving Valentine’s Day.

14 Tuesday Feb 2012

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Yes. It makes a big difference if you have someone to love for Valentine’s Day. For me, I used to hate the day.  I’d wear black. But I was single then and really had no hope to ever spend Valentine’s Day with anyone.

But today I’m wearing red and I woke my husband up by playing “Valentine” by Martina McBride and Jim Brickman. I made coconut creme brûlée last night (which we’ll be eating tonight) and Steve and I will be making dinner together this evening–Tacos!  Yes, tacos.  That’s because it’s the only thing we can cook together in the kitchen and I won’t get all crazy on him when he tries to “improvise.”  You can improvise tacos.  I’m okay with that. They’re fun and who’s not happy when they make tacos?

I also love this photo.

Meerkats (Though I want to hum that tune "Muskrat Love.")

It reminds me of Steve and I.  I shot this at the zoo in Sydney Australia last year.  Steve and I are meerkats.  (Except we’re much more faithful than meerkats and we don’t have all the drama meerkats have.)  Okay, maybe we’re not meerkats.  But they’re cute and I like to think we’re that cute too.

I know, you’re rolling your eyes or sticking your finger in your mouth and making that gagging noise. But I’m not going to apologize for it.  There are too many horrible things going on in this world right now and I can’t help it if I just want to cling on to a little lovely dovey moment.

Plus, I can’t wait for the tacos tonight.

I’ve opened up Pandora’s Box

15 Sunday Jan 2012

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I like new jewelry, natch. Especially because I’m not in the mood to be buying new clothes these days since the post-accident weight gain. Jewelry is simple and elegant and always puts a smile on my face (especially the kind that comes in a little Tiffany blue box with a white satin ribbon tied into a bow). And I can gain five pounds and the jewelry still fits. (Rings, on the other hand don’t play nice in the sandbox when I retain water. Phfft!)

But husband doesn’t see the value in jewelry. (sigh)

He feels the same way about my Jimmy Choo shoes, or any shoes for that matter unless it’s a good pair of hiking boots, which he takes great interest in as though he were buying me a space suit that I’d need for, say walking on the moon. He wants to make sure that it’s exactly what I need for every condition I could face hiking. And well, we know what kinds of conditions I end up finding myself in when hiking.

So, while in Roatan, Honduras over the holidays, after a day of diving/snorkeling (Steve dove, but I couldn’t because my ears were plugged up from a cold, so I snorkeled), we were heading back to the cruise ship, passing all the duty-free stores, when I saw the Pandora store.

An example of a Pandora bracelet (from Google images)

AND IT WAS ALL DUTY FREE!

So that meant I could go in and buy me a little something, right? AND it would be inexpensive, of course. (Snicker. I knew better than that.)

I left Steve outside with a poorly made Honduran gelato (I know, that doesn’t make sense: Honduran gelato) while I entered the doors of Pandora.

Stupid me. I let the Pandora sales people put the silver chain around my wrist and we began building my bracelet. By the time it was about 1/4 filled I stopped the two Pandora sales people and said what I never say to a sales person, “Uh, how much is this?”

I’m not going to tell you what they told me, but I’ll tell you this much: I had them shave off about $60 worth of charms/beads and ended up walking out of the store with my bracelet.

I thought I was in the clear, figuring that Steve wouldn’t ask me how much I spent, but all of a sudden the receipt fell out of my hands and the breeze carried it off. Gallant Steve chased it down and then I thought, “crap.”

Yep, he looked at the receipt and then looked at me and I had to walk the Walk of Shame back to the cruise ship as he muttered something about not being able to eat for a month.

“But you got an ice cream,” I told him. “It’s kind of even now, right?”

Counting My Blessings of White Christmas

24 Saturday Dec 2011

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I was single, in my twenties and living in Northern California and I wasn’t going home for the holidays. I loved staying in California with my close single girlfriends who were also not going home for the holidays because I had a tradition of our own. We’d go to dinner Christmas Eve and then see It’s a Wonderful Life that was playing at the Stanford Theatre and the following day we’d open presents together.

We were our own family of sorts and we felt a bit like misfits in our own immediate families. We come from a culture where you marry in your early twenties and all of us, well, we sort of missed that boat.

I was also pretty poor. Not living-in-a-box-on-the-streets-of-San Francisco poor, but the Bay Area is not a cheap place to live and my disposable income was always pretty tight, so it wasn’t a priority to buy that airline ticket back home for the holidays.

As the holidays were nearing I was at Costco buying what I’m sure was just one thing (as opposed to a pallet of something like most normal people get at Costco) and I was browsing the book and video tables when I discovered this:

White Christmas box set

A box-set of the movie, White Christmas, which included the VHS, a movie script (yes! the movie script!), and a glossy black and white photo of the cast.

Boy did I want that.

But it was over $30 and I didn’t have $30 to spend on it.

When Christmas arrived my girlfriends and I gathered together in our pajamas after we finished breakfast and we began sharing stories of how our parents seemed to always miss the mark with Christmas presents when we were growing up. Jill told about how all she ever wanted one Christmas was a coat and she got a night gown. Cami had a similar story. And Amber, who has unique taste in really cool things talked about how her family would buy her bizarre things because they thought really bizarre meant really cool. My story was about when I was in junior high and all I wanted was a pair of designer jeans. Everyone had them and I knew that if I had those jeans it would make me so cool and everyone would like me. (Because that’s exactly how fashion works.)

I didn’t get the jeans. Instead, my mom got my sister and I each a Norelco battery-operated manicure / facial kit that had all these attachments to buff and polish your nails as well as attachments to buff and polish your face. It apparently was the equivalent to a man getting a Craftsman tool kit but for female grooming.

norelco

Here’s an example of the lovely Norelco kit that was sold on eBay. Love the avocado green faux velvety casing.

At 13 I really didn’t know much or even care much about grooming. I was going through puberty and a battery-powered grooming kit wasn’t going to solve my problems. Jeans would, though.

We laughed over our stories and marveled at how there seemed to be a common thread about parents missing the mark. We were acting as though we were picked on.

When it came time to open the presents my parents had mailed me I once again felt like they missed the mark. Earlier that month my mom had asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said, “I need muffin tins. You know, just regular muffin tins.”

I got muffin tins, but they weren’t regular ones. Instead, I got mini muffin tins that make miniature muffins and jumbo muffin tins that make those gigantic muffins. Not what I had asked for.

“You see,” I said to my girl friends. “Why can’t someone give me something I actually asked for?”

Then it was time for the gifts we bought each other–the gifts between girl friends. Amber and Jill both gave me a present they bought for me. When I took off the wrapping paper I saw it. It was the White Christmas boxed set. I looked at it. Then I looked up at both of them. I think it was Amber who said, “We knew you really wanted it.”

White Christmas box set with VHS tape, movie script and B&W glossy pho

And then something happened that had never happened before: My eyes welled up with tears. And I started crying. Amber and Jill looked at each other and then they both looked at me, waiting for me to say something. (Later Jill told me, “We didn’t know what to think. Is she sad? Upset over this? It was a weird reaction.”)

I almost couldn’t talk. I never cry, but I had never wanted something so bad and actually received it. And I was so moved that my two best friends picked up on my desire for White Christmas that they actually gave it to me.

But it would be a tragedy if I ended the story there. Looking back as I write this, I’m cringing at my immaturity and selfishness in the moment that preceded the White Christmas meltdown—the attitude toward my parents who were really trying to get me to think bigger than my wishes and requests. I not only still have the White Christmas boxed set, but I still have those muffin tins and I’ve used them many times. And that Norelco battery operated grooming kit? I’ve thought several times over the past couple of decades that I’d love to have that kit. All along I was thinking that I knew exactly what I needed but I didn’t have the maturity or understanding to look beyond the jeans or the regular muffin tins that I thought I wanted.

The irony in all this is that my favorite song from the movie is the Irving Berlin song, Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep

When I’m worried and I can’t sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings
When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep counting my blessings

A Happiness List Time Capsule

10 Saturday Dec 2011

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I’m trying to decide if it’s a funny thing when your past makes a reappearance or it’s just plain weird.

You see, my sister and brother-in-law bought the house we all grew up in and last year when they were tearing up the kitchen to remodel, my sister found a piece of paper with a list on it but didn’t know who it belonged to. She showed it to my mom who said, “Oh, that was Lisa’s,” and so she sent it to me.

Yep. It was mine. It was my list of things I wanted for my birthday that would make me happy. I was sure of it. Here’s the list (click photo to enlarge):

My birthday list for when I was to turn 12.

Let me walk you through how these items would make me happy.

Satin Jacket. This was the item that was guaranteed to open doors for me as a 7th grader. It wasn’t just any satin jacket, but a baseball satin jacket in either baby blue, pink, or mint green. Every girl had one and I wanted one so badly. I knew that if I got that jacket I would never need anything else the rest of my life. I did get the jacket for my birthday (an awesome baby blue reversible jacket–denim on one side and satin on the other), but then I felt I needed Jordache jeans followed by a whole slew of fashion needs. I could never chase down happiness in the fashion world.

Jeans. A 12-year-old always needed new jeans. It was just a matter of convincing my mother that JC Penny wasn’t what I was thinking. (Sigh.)

Hoop necklace. I’m not sure but I think a hoop necklace was just a wire that went around my neck. I believe it was all the rage. Not so certain it’s a good look for me now.

School supplies. My birthday is in August and so school supplies always were associated with my birthday, so as much as I longed to separate the two events (I imagine people who have birthdays close to Christmas deal with the same sort of thing), I just capitulated and put the school supplies on my list anyway.

A mini hymn book. I always wanted those little pocked-sized hymnals people would have handy. I thought it was really cute. Now I’m too old and need the big print hymnal just to see the words and notes.

Hard-back dictionary. Yes, I was a nerd. Still am. I have two hard-back dictionaries in my house now. Plus a Scrabble dictionary. And a big hard-back Roget’s Thesaurus. Plus the Chicago Manual of Style. A bunch of Strunk and White books, a Dictionary of Problem Words and Expressions book and a grammar book. It all started here.

Barry Manilow record, Even Now. Gosh, I had nearly every Barry Manilow album growing up. (My career aspirations were first, be a concert pianist. If that didn’t work out my Plan B was to be a back-up singer for Barry Manilow.)

Stationary. No, I didn’t want to stand still at the time. I actually wanted stationery. The stuff with pretty flowers printed on it so I could write notes on it and pass around in class. Hence, the need for the dictionary.

Green eye shadow. I apologize for that one.

Eye liner (green). Again, apologies.

“Blip!” I must confess, I couldn’t remember what this was so I found it on this website.

Batteries for my watch. Isn’t this sweet? I knew that money didn’t grow on trees, so I was asking for batteries for my poor broken watch so my parents could gift them to me. I sure hope my parents celebrated when they read this.

Boots. And so the shoe obsession began. I still put boots on my list.

Suede shoes. All those mentions about dictionaries, school supplies and batteries was just the warm up to the good stuff–shoes. And who doesn’t want suede shoes?

Camera. I actually had to wait until after college before I got my first camera. And I bought it myself. But I was happy to see it made the list back then. I must have predicted that I’d fall in love with cameras later on.

A “game.” Don’t you love how non-specific I am on this? Again, my parents should be thrilled that I left the field so wide open for them.

Calculator. This one puzzles me. I run away from math and anything to do with calculating.

A set of ink pens. I loved to draw and one year I got colored pencils and this was the year I wanted to move up to color pens. I believe it was felt-tipped pens I was looking for. I’m pretty sure I got them that year for my birthday. (Thanks mom!)

Tape recorder. Not sure what I had in mind for the use of this. Tape player, maybe, but a tape recorder?

Sheet music for piano. I was a good piano student and always looking for the latest Barry Manilow song to play. Or something from The Carpenters. (Sorry Beethoven.)

So yeah, it’s a little weird finding this list. I can remember writing it and hoping that I would get at least a few things from it. I sure wish I had that Satin Baseball Jacket now. There’s no way it would fit on my body but I do remember that it was one of the few things I really, really wanted. I’m glad my mom found it for me and helped make my 7th grade experience somewhat tolerable. (Yes, tolerable. A satin jacket can’t fix everything.)

My life as a master forger

29 Saturday Oct 2011

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In high school I was like that girl Andrea on the Beverly Hills 90210 television show from the ’90s. A little nerdy, a little too talkative, and I worked on the school newspaper. I just didn’t wear glasses.

On the surface, I was pretty straight laced. I never got in trouble and I don’t think my parents ever really got mad or upset at me. (It’s not like I was getting invitations to parties or anything–I was pretty safe being at home on the weekends doing nerdy things like reading a book or practicing my calligraphy.)

I know. Yawn.

But what most people don’t know is that I had a secret life as a master forger. I wasn’t exactly like that guy on Catch Me if You Can, but if I had taken just one wrong turn I’m sure I could have “concurred” during a surgical procedure or pretended I was a pilot. I’m sure of it.

This is how it all went down:

It was my junior year in high school. The school sometimes hired me for my calligraphy skills for certificates they were handing out, whether it be for the athletic program, or some other club or organization. I guess word travels when you’ve made a name for yourself in the world of calligraphy. A few of the cheerleaders soon hired me to make their “spirit” signs throughout the halls. They’d bring me a big roll of colored butcher paper and I’d take it home and roll it out on the floor of our family room, and while watching the Johnny Carson show late at night, I’d paint signs that would say things like “Go Pioneers!” (that was our mascot–the Oregon City Pioneers) or “Beat West Linn!” (they were our rivals from across the river). I rocked those spirit sign posters.

What surprised me when I was painting the signs for the cheerleaders was that they began to pay me about $5 per sign. This was my first taste of capitalism, and little did I know where it would take me.

My signs became quite popular and so people began asking me to make signs to wish a friend “happy birthday!” or to ask someone to homecoming or prom. My signs began decorating the hallways and I had a pretty good business making about $10-$15 a week.

If sign painting was required to stay on the island on the show Survivor I’m sure I would never get kicked off. And that’s how I felt in high school. I was a keeper.

Now I’m not exactly sure how the next thing happened though. People knew I made signs and they knew I had all sorts of “fonts” and “typography” up my sleeve (though no one called it that–this was pre-Macintosh days. In fact, pre-computer days). And they knew I shamelessly took their money in exchange for my talent. But one day a kid–a cute guy, in fact–came up to me and asked me if I would help him out by writing him a note from his mother that he could take to the school office. The note was to explain that he was home sick the day before and couldn’t be at school.

There was a voice in my head that immediately told me I shouldn’t be doing that. It was wrong. But I looked up at him into his dark eyes and said, “Why, of course!” I wrote the note in my most adult-looking penmanship and away he went. I think after that day when he would pass me in the halls he might have even smiled at me once or twice. Maybe.

Before I knew it, almost as soon as I got through the high school doors, before first period, there would be a group gathering around me. They would be shoving stationery at me that they grabbed from home and they had pens in their hands for me to use. For $5 each, I would write their “notes from their mothers.”

This went on for a few months and then I can’t remember why it stopped. Either everyone decided it wasn’t a good idea anymore or maybe I took the high road and said I wasn’t going to do it anymore. (If the latter was the case, it’s too bad I don’t remember doing that. I’d like to think that I could remember when I behave virtuously.)

I’ve gone back to living my nerdy, quiet life. I don’t forge anymore. That was just my phase in high school. It garnered me a little bit of attention, a cute boy would smile at me, and I was making some pretty good cash for very little effort. It was capitalism at it’s finest!

But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to run for public office now.

Ugh. I’m chronic.

04 Tuesday Oct 2011

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After giving it much thought, I’m going to come out of the proverbial closet on this one.

I have a chronic illness.

There are a few reasons why I originally didn’t want to “come out” on this one. First of all, there’s the whole privacy issue with one’s own health care. Do I want people to know that something is wrong? What if my employer used this against me? What if people looked at me differently? What if it kept me from achieving something I really wanted because I was held back by someone else?

The other reason for maybe not going public was that I didn’t want to become depressing. Not just for readers but for myself too. I’m not judging those who find therapy in the Internet, but it’s not my approach on how I want to manage my own situation. I often have to give myself a break from the Internet–mostly when I’m hunting for solutions–because often times the people who are suffering the most tend to also be looking for answers and frequently post some of the saddest conditions. There’s a lot of hopeless folks out there who seem to be facing many challenges. It can be very depressing for those going through it and for those looking for answers.

Should I be acerbic? I might be, but I don’t think that’s going to be my approach. Should I be funny about it? Hmmm, I might laugh at something now and then, but not everything is funny. Sometimes it’s just plain annoying, inconvenient, and downright frustrating. Should I be a grassroots advocate for change or research or try to get people to pay attention to a rare condition? Oh, I wish I could. But with a very hectic corporate job with oodles of responsibilities, for now all I can do is keep up with that and make sure I’m staying on top of my own health, which requires consistent exercising at the gym. For now, I’ll have to find other ways to champion the cause.

What I do know is that this blog isn’t going to be all about my illness. I don’t think readers can bear that and I know I can’t. Part of living with a chronic illness is the living part. I’d rather focus on the other parts of my life that bring me joy. For now, this chronic illness that I have is forcing me to make decisions–about how I do things and when I do them as well as how much I do them. But I can still do them for now. And I’d rather try to find work-arounds rather than spin my head out of control by focusing everything in my life around the illness.

So, in case you’re wondering, I don’t have lupus. (Remember, in an earlier post, I mentioned that I was misdiagnosed four 1/2 years ago.) Most people’s reaction when I tell them that is “Wow! That’s great news!” While that’s great news, I just traded one disease for another. The official diagnosis I have is scleroderma. It’s part of the auto immune family and fortunately, it hasn’t impacted my organs at this point. And it just may not. We suspect that I’ve had it for about five years now and usually if the organs are involved that gets manifested in those first five years. But the doctor did inform me, “never say never.” Yes, there’s always a disclaimer.

Where do I go from here? Well, there’s no cure — just managing the symptoms. I can’t really play piano like I used to–it’s been that way for the last four years. Most of this has been manifested in my hands, which are puffy and swollen most of the time. (When my rheumatologist delivered the diagnosis news he said, “Well, you’ve been dealt a bad hand,” to which I replied. “So to speak.” See? There are appropriate times to be humorous, no?)

We’ve finally got me on some medication to manage the Reynaud’s Syndrome, and that’s been a blessing. And I am now pleased with my new rheumatologist and next month I’m seeing a gastroenterologist for consultation on other issues related to the disease. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he’ll have some more solutions for me as well. (Oh duh. I can’t cross my fingers–too swollen. Ha! More scleroderma humor!)

So why write about it? Why am I not being private about it? Because keeping it a secret just adds to my stress. I’m not ashamed about it and besides, maybe there’s someone out there who might identify with what I’m going through.

I mean, for Pete’s sake, I’m over 40. I was bound to have something happen to me.