Uh-oh! Elbow x-ray

Have you ever whacked your elbow so hard that you almost cried? 

I did exactly that recently. For two weeks, the pain persisted, but I sucked it up. I kept telling myself, "It's nothing. The pain will go away." 

But one morning I awoke to find my fingers tingling and going numb. Even lifting an empty coffee cup was excruciating. So I went to the doctor to get an x-ray. 

Here's the ridiculous part: My injury was not the result of some extraordinary adventure. 

I didn't hurt my elbow while riding a four-wheeler across a scary bridge. (Although I've done that.)

I didn't get hurt while skating in "fresh meat" roller derby tryouts. (Although I've done that too.)

It wasn't the result of a falling while skiing, and then sliding on my back, headfirst, careening down the mountain. (Yes, I absolutely did that once.)

The cause of my injury is embarrassingly mundane: While I was showering, I accidentally whacked my elbow against the shower wall. Really, really hard. 

The good news from my x-rays: "No acute fracture."

Hooray. No broken bones. Relief!

The bad news from my x-rays: "Bone remodeling/enthesopathy at the lateral humeral epicondyle, correlate for evidence of lateral epicondylitis."

I had to Google to get the layman's definition: Tennis elbow.

It's a disorder involving the attachment of a tendon to the bone. It's caused by repetitve motion of the forearm muscles, which attach to the outside of the elbow. The muscles and tendons become sore from excessive strain. My titanium wrists seem weaker than usual, as do my hands and fingers.

Most likely the injury is even more boring. It's likely from typing on my computer hours on end. Writer's injury, then.

And somehow, whacking my elbow against the shower wall aggravated it. Klutz's injury also.

It still hurts a lot to lift even a cup of coffee, but it's a relief to know I didn't break any bones. 

Spring will soon be here. I'm already dreaming about paddling my kayak on lakes and rivers around the Northwest. To do that, I'll need two good arms.

Last stummer I paddled in Dugualla Bay on Whidbey Island. 
Can't wait to return this summer!

So I'm resting it, icing it, taking anti-inflammatories. I'm taking breaks from my keyboard.

And I'm being extra careful while showering. When I get out of the shower and see a glimpse of my tattoo, a dragon holding a dragon boat paddle, I remind myself: "You're a Mighty Woman. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo! You'll be okay."

My dragon tattoo--when it was new and a bit irritated.

I know I will. I've been through so much worse. I can do this. 

Paddle on!

Copyright-free photos from Pixabay.

Advice from a procrastinator: Do three tiny tasks today

I'm a procrastinator. I put off doing big things--and even tiny tasks that take less than two minutes to complete. Do you do this too?

This morning when I picked up my frying pan, I the handle wobbled because the screw needed to be tightened. To be honest, I'd noticed the loose handle weeks ago, but I ignored it. I kept telling myself, "I don't have time to fix it now. I'll fix it later."

Today I grabbed my screwdriver from my toolbox, tightened the screw on the frying pan handle, and returned the screwdriver to its place. Done! In less than two minutes, I fixed a little problem I'd been putting off for weeks. It felt good. What a sense of accomplishment!

It took seconds to tighten screw on frying pan handle

Here are some tiny tasks that can completed in about two minutes:

• Change the batteries on the smoke alarm, remote control or another gadget
• Move that thing that's been on the kitchen counter for days and put it away where it belongs
• Clear stuff off  top of my dresser and put it where it belongs
• Clear the stuff off the bathroom counter and wipe it down
• Move shoes left by the door to shoe bag in bedroom closet
• File tax papers so I'm organized to do my taxes
• Take Goodwill donation bag from living room to my car
• Clean my laptop screen and keyboard

Completing a few of these tiny tasks I've been putting off for days, weeks, months cleared my mind to focus on more important things. 

Bolstered with a feeling of accomplishment, I headed to the bathroom to complete a more difficult task I'd been avoiding. My bathroom exhaust fan and cover were packed with compacted dust. The fan wasn't doing its job. 

I'd put off this task because I didn't even know how to do the first step of removing the fan cover. But there's a YouTube video to teach you to do anything. After watching a short video, I was confident I could do it. 

I was grossed out by the gunk I discovered in the cover, including the remains of a large moth. 

I used tweezers to pull the compacted dust from the exhaust fan's cover.

Don't let your bathroom exhaust fan get this gross!

Clean fan can do its job now.

It took about 30 minutes to complete this task: watch the video, get the stepladder, remove the exhaust fan cover, unplug the fan from the power, clean the cover, soak it on hot, soapy water, and wipe down the fan blades as best I could. 

• Now when I'm showering, I won't tell myself: Clean the fan.
• When I pick up my frying pan, I won't think: Tighten the screw.

Of course, life goes on. Many other tiny tasks need my attention. But tackling some easy tasks creates breathing space in my home and my head--and brought a satisfying sense of accomplishment. Why do I put off the easy stuff?

What two-mnute tiny tasks can you do today? Fix it. Clean it. Put it away where it belongs. Then pat yourself on the back. Give yourself a gold star. 

Next on my list: Tackle the BIG thing I've been putting off: finish writing my book, Paddling Her Own Canoe. No time like the present to tackle the next chapter.

I'm paddling my own canoe through life's waters. Sometimes choppy. Sometimes smooth as glass.

Pivoting Pro: Laid off--but ready for what's next

Like tens of thousands of workers, I was laid off recently. 

I've spent the past three years working in communications for the local community college: writing stories, news releases, web content, and producing a series of videos. My contract ended, and with it, my income, healthcare and other benefits.

But I'll be OK. First of all, I am not my job. My life is much bigger than how I make my living.

This isn't the first time I've been laid off or the first time I've been up against hard times. I am resilient, resourceful, and creative. I've pivoted in my career so many times that if I weren't 5-foot-2, I'd play for the NBA. 

Over the years, I've pivoted from one job and learned to new skills to do another job. 

• I've learned to manage communications for nonprofit organizations. 
• I've learned how to be a reporter for a daily newspaper. 
• I've learned how to write grant proposals for nonprofit organizations.
• I've learned how to stand in front of a TV camera and be spokesperson for an organization.
• I've learned how to write for the Web and social media.
• I've learned how to produce videos. 
• I've learned how to be a much better writer.

Who knows what skills I'll learn next? 

Writing and communications jobs I've done in my career:

I've done many kinds of work that isn't aligned to my college degree or career path. I'll be you have, too. 

• As a teen, I was a carhop at A&W, a lumber sorter and grader at a lumber mill, and a dishwasher in a nursing home.
• I paid for college by working as a file clerk and then by doing data entry.
• I managed shipping and receiving for a college bookstore.
• I created and ran events for an independent bookstore. And I was the Story Lady.
• I managed a small, rural branch library and again was the Story Lady.
• I managed a federal program to assist homeless veterans
• I managed a federal program to provide heating assistance to low-income people
• I managed retail operations at a National Park Service visitor center
• I ran my own book marketing and literary events company.

Who knows what interesting work is ahead for me?

Other kinds of work I've done not related to journalism and writing:

I've worked long enough to know what I want in my work:

My past work experience has also given me clarity about what I don't want in my work:

So here I go again. I'm ready to take on new challenges and see where I can make a difference. 

No need to wish me luck. My dad witnessed my well-developed pivoting skills. He told me: "You're like a cat. You always land on your feet."

I do. 

But do let me know if you hear of someone who needs a writer and communications professional who is resilient and can pivot like an NBA pro.

What jobs have you done? What do you want to do? What do you NEVER want to do again. (For me, it's being micromanaged. Life's too short.)

Here's a nifty free word cloud generator if you'd like to create your own word clouds. 

Warning! Don't go in the kitchen!

Do you ever have days when everything you create in the kitchen is a disaster?

Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not an inspired cook. I'm no Julia Child. But I can cook basic meals, and sometimes very tasty, healthy meals. Two nights ago, I made a lovely kale salad with grape tomatoes, parmesan, a boiled egg, pecans and balsamic. Yum. 

But in the last 48 hours, I've experienced what I call a Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day. 

I burned toast to a crispy, unappetizing charcoal. I spread a tiny bit of butter on it, then sprinkled it liberally with cinnamon and Stevia.

At lunchtime yesterday, I turned my back for just a smidge--and my lovely grilled cheese sandwich became a charcoal sandwich. I scraped off the worst of the charcoal and ate it. It was my last two pieces of bread. 

This morning, I burned my oatmeal. Not just a little scorched, but really, truly burned so that a thick coating of burned gunk is stuck in the bottom of the pot. But I ate it. Growing up, we ate what was put in front of us. Mostly. We didn't throw out food. So, in the last 48 hours I've eaten burned toast, burned grilled cheese and burnt oatmeal. Yum! And I'd made two servings of burnt oatmeal, so guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow?

Tonight I baked a potato (success) and topped it with steamed broccoli and grated cheese. Yum! I planned to top it with some of my homemade turkey chili I'd pulled out of the freezer. But I turned my back for just a smidge to slice some sharp cheddar--and my knife blade broke off from the handle, I forgot momentarily about the chili--and--you guessed it!  I burned the chili. I did NOT eat the burned chili. All of the liquid had been reduced out of it and it no longer can be called chili.

Perhaps a new world record of Simultaneous Kitchen Disasters for me: Broken knife blade, burned chili. At least I didn't accidentally cut myself, which would have been a trifecta of disasters.

Now, in my sink in my tiny 6 x 6 kitchen I have a  two pots coated in burnt gunk waiting to be scrubbed clean. And a broken knife. And some other dishes. I don't have a dishwasher, and I just don't have the energy to tackle it tonight. I'm going to let the crusty pots soak overnight. 

Tomorrow, I'll scour them with my secret weapon: vinegar and baking soda and a bristly green scouring pad. This isn't my first burnt-pot rodeo. (Warning: I've just read an article that burnt food can contain carcinogens.)

Today I count these kitchen successes: 

1. I made coffee. Nothing exploded.

2. I cut up an apple, saving half for tomorrow. No disasters there.

3. I peeled a boiled egg without incident.

4. I steamed broccoli in the microwave. (I can't take credit for shredding the cheese. I buy shredded cheese because I have a tendency to shred my fingers). 

I'm going to call it a day. I'll make a cuppa peppermint tea and climb into bed and read. 

I think I'll turn on Netflix and catch an episode of the Great British Baking Show, Holiday Edition. Last night I watched Caramel Week. Some of the bakers made extraordinary creations. Others had disasters. Their own version of Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day. 

I guess it happens to everyone. Perhaps even to that smug Paul Hollywood.

Mick Jagger was right. You can't always get what you want

I agree with Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones on one thing: "You can't always get what you want."

This morning I was supposed to be landing at Boston Logan International Airport to meet my sisters, Becky and Judy, to join them for a much-anticipated sisters' vacation. But Mick was right.

My original flight was scheduled for September 12. But a week before my flight, I got quite sick with COVID, so I changed my flight and my vacation request at work. The sisters' vacay was a two-week trip. Instead of joining my sisters during the first week, I'd join them for the second week. I could hardly wait to see my sisters and spend time with them seeing historic Boston, including a hop-on-hop-off bus tour of the Freedom Trail. So much history! So many historic buildings! And many delicious meals and sister chats. I couldn't wait to spend time with both sisters, a rare treat. We'd planned the trip to celebrate Becky's retirement from teaching and both sister's birthdays. (My sisters share the same birthday. No, they are not twins. They are six years apart. I'm the middle sister.)

After Boston, we were going to see Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard. We'd rented a cute Airbnb cottage near the beach at Mashpee on the Cape. Although I was disappointed to have to change my plans, I rested and counted the days until my new flight. Would I be COVID free and feel well enough to travel?

Last Friday, Day 12 of COVID, I finally tested negative! I was still exhausted, but my flight was leaving on Monday. I hadn't had the energy to do laundry in two weeks. I had to do my laundry so I could pack for my trip. Plus, I was wearing my last pair of clean underwear!

So I hauled a mountain of laundry to my sis Becky's house 25 miles away. It was a mistake. I pushed myself too hard physically. I missed a step on the walkway. I didn't fall, but my body was propelled forward and I landed--hard--on my right foot. 

 

I injured my back. I hobbled through the laundry task, my pain increasing with each step. Each movement. Hours later, driving the 30 minutes home was agony. I did my childbirth breathing to focus on the road and ease the pain. Arriving home after dark, I gingerly carried the lightest laundry basket with my clean pajamas and underwear into my apartment. Immediately I changed into pajamas and fell into bed. 

Over the weekend, I consulted by phone with my cousin, Donette, an experienced physical therapy assistant. She wondered if I'd injured my sacroiliac joint (or SI joint). The SI joint is the joint between the sacrum and the ilium bones of the pelvis, which are connected by strong ligaments. The sacrum supports the spine and is supported in turn by an ilium on each side. The joint is strong, supporting the entire weight of the upper body. At my cousin's advice, I spent all weekend lying flat in bed, alternating between ice and heat. Iboprefen. And rest. Monday morning, I made my first-ever chiropractic appointment. He confirmed that indeed, I'd injured my SI joint. He took x-rays. Thankfully, no broken bones. But my hard landing on my right foot had caused injury all along my right leg--from my calf, my knee, my pelvis, my hip and even my neck.

So instead of enjoying a Boston-Cape Cod vacation with my sisters, I'm lying flat, alternating ice and heat, and going to more chiropractic sessions. And I'm Zooming for work while flat on my back. And my camera off.

Mick, you were right! First COVID and now this! Definitely not what I wanted. 

I've lived long enough to realize that I can't change what happens to me. The only thing I can control is my attitude about what happens to me. So even in this, I'm embracing an attitude of gratitude. 

• No broken bones. 
• No surgery. 
• I'm COVID negative. 
• And I'll enjoy another sister trip sometime soon.

For those Stones fans, here's Mick singing my anthem.

My COVID week: Twice vaxxed, twice boosted, but still got really sick

 

COVID-19

COVID knocked me on my backside a week ago. I write this while propped up on the futon in my living room, It's where I've spent most of the daylight hours this past week. 

I got slammed hard--despite being twice vaxxed, twice boosted and one of the people still avoiding indoor gatherings, and masking at necessary indoor places, like the grocery store. 

Over Labor Day weekend, I visited my mom, age 88, and other family near Roseburg in southern Oregon. I came home with COVID. In fact, four of us in the family got COVID this week. Including Mom.

I took my first-ever at-home COVID test, and it was positive. Darn!

I missed out on my first full week back at my great job at Clark College. Thank goodness for an understanding supervisor, Chandra Chase, who stepped in and interviewed a student in my place! I'm grateful also for the paid sick leave I'd accumulated. 

I missed out on getting together with my daughter, Kate. We often get together on the weekends to hang out or have an adventure. Not this week.

I missed the opportunity to hear my author friend, Jane Kirkpatrick, talk about her new book, Beneath the Bending Skies at Powell's Books in Beaverton. 

I missed out on after-work walks on the trail with Clare as well as another hike in the Columbia River Gorge. 

I missed out on countless solo walks and bike rides along the trail and through the woods to pick the last blackberries, watch the herons.

I missed out on paddling my kayaks. 

I missed out on getting together for dinner and a game of Boggle or Scrabble with Holly and Charlie.

I missed sharing a picnic dinner with housemates Kathleen and Michael.

I missed a bike ride on the trail with Kathleen.

I missed attending the annual Vancouver Peace and Justice Fair in Esther Short Park.

I had to postpone my sisters' trip to Boston and Cape Cod.

Instead of participating in all of these wonderful things, I slept. Normally, I never sleep during the day and have difficulty sleeping at night. Not this week.

I also listened to an interesting novel via audiobook, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, courtesy of Fort Vancouver Regional Library.

I started watching a quirky, interesting South Korean TV show called Little Women, loosely based on Louisa May Alcott's novel by the same name. Strong female leads in a contemporary setting.  

I have so many dear ones looking after me. Kathleen brought me fresh-picked raspberries and Michael's bean soup. Clare, Holly and Charlie and my sis, Becky dropped off groceries on my front porch.

Slowly, I've improved.

Chills and fever are gone.

Body aches are gone.

Sneezing is gone, and I'm not coughing as much.

I still can't taste or smell food. (But did that stop me from eating a bar of excellent chocolate dipped into the peanut butter jar? No!)

I still have a headache, but it's no longer throbbing, just more like my constant background music.

I'm still very tired--but not thoroughly exhausted as I was. 

One friend asked me if I'd been able to write this week. Up until now, no. This blog post written on Sunday night is the first time I've had the band width to write. And this blog post is not great writing. Simply needed to get it down. I'm learning to say: "Good enough." 

I am slowly emerging from a foggy COVID brain. 

Mom and my other family members also have improved. We're on the mend. 

I'm grateful that if I had to get COVID, it was this more mild version, not the strain that was filling up hospital morgues in New York in June 2020. 

Today I accomplished these tasks:

1. Finished listening to my audiobook

2. Took a shower and washed my hair

3. Washed my dishes (I don't have a dishwasher, so it's a little more effort)

4. Checked in with Mom, my daughter, my siblings

5. I hadn't been outside in a week, so I spread a blanket in the yard and laid down for awhile. (yes, it's smoky, but I can't smell anything right now, so it was OK).

Tomorrow, it's back to work for me. (I'm still working remotely, so that's great!) Hoping I have the bandwidth to process info and write.

Eventually, after I've tested negative and feel well enough, I'm looking forward to rejoining life. 

This blog post is done. No more to say, except, do take care of yourself, dear ones. COVID is real. If you get COVID, self-isolate and don't spread it. Be kind to others.

I hope to be well enough to paddle my kayak soon!

Confessions from my Closet

 I have a confession to make: I own too many clothes. 

Here's an even more revealing confession: I've recognized that I hold onto clothes because of fond memories I have of wearing them. 

Yesterday after I did my laundry, I looked in my closet trying to find hangers for my clean clothes. 

No empty hangers. 

In a desperate search for a hanger, I thrust my arm into the closet and rummaged around in my tightly packed shirts. That's when I noticed a lovely cobalt blue top. I'd forgotten about this cute top, buried deep in my closet. Cobalt is one of my favorite colors. I look great in cobalt! This top is sleeveless and flouncy with an overlay of cobalt lace. I remembered its flattering drape. I have fond memories of wearing that top and feeling amazing wearing it. Empowered. Even beautiful. And sexy.

How long has it been since I've worn this cute top? I asked myself. Six years? Seven?

I couldn't remember. It's true that the global pandemic kept me socially distanced for two years, but I'm getting out and about now. And it's summer. Yet I haven't worn this cute, flattering summery top. Why?

Ten seconds later, after pulling this top over my head, I remembered. This cute top is too tight across my chest. The armholes are too tight. Instead of elegantly draping, it announces to the world that I have a tummy. The top hasn't changed, but my body has. This top no longer fits me. It's no longer flattering. It's downright uncomfortable! 

When I try to take off the top, it gets stuck around my chest. I might have to wear this top forever! After careful tugging, I'm finally freed. 

Curious about the size, I look at the tag. No wonder it doesn't fit. It's smaller than my current clothes. To fit into this size, I would have to exercise nonstop like an Olympic gymnast and starve myself like a supermodel. I'm 62 years old. I'm no longer willing to do that to my body.

Time to let it go, I tell myself. Time to let some other woman wear this top, look in the mirror and tell herself: I look beautiful!

Farewell to my lovely cobalt top!

I take a photo of my lovely cobalt top to remember it. Then I remove it from the hanger, gently fold it and drop it into a brown paper grocery bag. 

I found a hanger!

I look at my overstuffed closet and know I can find more hangers for the clothes I actually wear. Clothes that have earned the right to take up prime real estate in my one clothes closet.

Before I can stop myself, a full-frenzied Marie Kondo session ensues. I pull out tops, pants, skirts and dresses from my closet--and then my dresser. I cover my bed with a mountain of clothing. But unlike Marie Kondo, who asks: Does it bring me joy? I ask myself:

• How long has it been since I've worn this? 
• Does it still fit? (If I'm in doubt, I try it on.)
• Does it look good on me--or is it just covering my body?
• Do I feel good wearing this? Do I feel great? Beautiful? Amazing? Empowered? 
• Where will I wear this? 
• What will I wear this with?
• How many tops do I need?
• Am I hanging onto this because I'm associating it with fond memories of wearing it?
• Is it time to let it go and let some other woman wear it?

Marie Kondo attacked my closet!

I said goodbye to a favorite pair of slacks I wore as a newspaper reporter. I bought them 10 years ago and wore them twice a week for four and a half years. That's roughly 468 times I wore those pants as a journalist and felt professional and empowered doing my job.

I said goodbye to a pair of Columbia Sportswear hiking capris that are too small. I have newer hiking capris that fit and I feel fabulous in them. 

I said farewell to two black skirts that are too small and no longer fit my life. Too dressy. They'd require heels. I haven't owned heels in years.

I said farewell to a few sleeveless summer tops I'd bought at thrift shops several years ago, but haven't worn since 2016 or 2017. Five or six years ago. Time to go!

I said "adios" to a pair of quick-dry capris that I used to wear when I paddled a dragon boat. They are too tight--and now I own better pants for water sports.

I said "no way" to two favorite pair of jeans that are NEVER going to fit me again--and that's okay.

Again and again, I said goodbye to clothing that no longer fit or I no longer wore. About an hour later, I'd filled three brown grocery bags with clothes to donate. 

I found enough hangers to hang all my freshly laundered clothes. 

My organized closet: Only clothes that fit me--the size I am today.
And only clothes I love to wear. 

     

Now my closet and my dresser contain only clothes that I wear. Not clothes that might fit me some day when I've lost 10 pounds. When I'm the perfect size, when I'm the perfect me. 

Finally, at age 62, I've realized something so important 

that I want to shout it to every woman: 

At this very moment

I am the perfect size! 

I am the perfect me!

It's time live my life with no regrets. That includes wearing clothes that are comfortable and make me feel beautiful and empowered, no matter what their size. Or mine.