Keeping a positive attitude even in hard times

My two broken wrists have slowed me down temporarily, but I have so many reasons to be grateful.

Over Labor Day weekend, I was having a blast riding four-wheelers with the Mountain Man until I flew over the handlebars, somersaulted through the air, and crashed to the ground. I crushed both of my wrists. Eventually, I required surgery in both wrists to install permanent titanium plates and screws to repair my shattered bones. Now I am the bionic woman.

Sometimes bad things happen. That's life. What I've learned in the past seven weeks since my accident is the importance in keeping a positive attitude. It's vital in my healing process and in keeping my spirits up.

Since the beginning of the year, I've written in my gratitude journal. Every morning, I write at least three reasons to be grateful. For five weeks after the accident, I couldn't hold a pen. I couldn't write at all. That was devastating. I am a writer, a newspaper reporter, a storyteller, and a long-time journaler. Writing my thoughts is how I make sense of the world. Not only could I not hold a pen, but I couldn't type either.

Although I still have a cast on my left hand, now I can type with my right hand. My one-handed typing combined with voice recognition software has allowed me to start typing again--albeit very slowly, Even sweeter, I can grip a pen in my right hand for short periods of time. I'm writing in my gratitude journal again. Yes!

Here are some of my reasons I am grateful:

1. I am alive, and with physical therapy, I am improving daily. I could have been paralyzed or killed.

2. It's true that I've hung up my dragon boat paddle until spring and likely will not be recovered enough to ski this winter, but I'll be back. I am not going to let my accident stop me from having future adventures.

3. Seven weeks ago, I could not turn a door knob. Now I can twist a doorknob without pain. I am no longer trapped and can stay at home without a caretaker.

4. After the accident, I couldn't lift a coffee cup or glass. I had to lean over the cup on the table and drink with a straw. This morning I made my own coffee and lifted a ceramic mug to my lips. No more straws!

5. For a few weeks after the accident, I could not hold silverware. I had the table manners of a Neanderthal. This week I cut steak with my knife. Last night with the Mountain Man I ate sushi with chopsticks! I was messy, but I wasn't thrown out of the restaurant for spilling a little rice.

6. During the first week after the accident, both arms had casts that reached clear up my hands and allowed only an inch of fingertips free. In the bathroom, I had to tear off toilet paper with my teeth. Now although I still have a cast on my left hand, my right hand is in a removable splint. Now I am fully operational in the bathroom. Enough said!

7. For six weeks, I couldn't wash my hair myself, but had to rely on friends, my daughter and my mom to wash it in the sink. Last week, I washed my hair all by myself!

8. For the first several weeks, I didn't have the stamina to stand in the shower. Instead, my caregiver wrapped both my arms in plastic bags and I took baths, but I needed help turning the water on and off and pulling the plug. Since last week, I've been taking a shower. And I can turn the water on and off all by myself.

9. For about a month, I couldn't open or close a car door or buckle my seat belt. Now I can do those things. However, it will still be some weeks before I am cleared to drive. I miss driving.

10. For about a month, I needed help getting dressed. Now I can dress myself, but I am living in elastic-waist exercise pants and free-flowing hippie skirts with leggings. I still can't manipulate zippers or buttons. I am looking forward to wearing jeans again.

11. Until recently, I needed lots of help preparing meals, opening food containers, and washing the dishes. Now I am doing my own simple cooking and can even wash dishes--while wearing my plastic bag over my cast.

12. I am grateful for the long list of family, friends and co-workers who have pitched in to help me through these weeks of healing.

Tomorrow I begin my eighth week of being on short-term disability from work. I am hopeful that my doctor will clear me to return to work soon.

Each day is a gift to be cherished and lived to the fullest. I know that now more than ever. What would you write in your gratitude journal?

Living small: Cutting through the clutter

So many books, so little time!

After spending $5 to buy five books at the library's book sale last week, I am now faced with tough choices. Because I live in 600 square feet, I have one self-imposed rule: one new item into the house means one old item from the same category must find a new home. The naked truth: It's time to let go of five old books.

When you live small, too much stuff quickly overwhelms your space. I don't have to look more than three feet from where I sit typing these words to see an example of needing to find space for something new. My lovely flaming dragon roller skates from my fresh meat roller derby tryouts a week ago are still sitting jauntily on the living room floor because I do not have a space to put them. I need to let go of another pair of shoes in my closet to make room for my gorgeous purple dragons.


I am proud of myself for limiting my purchase to only five books when other bibliophiles were filling boxes with books. I'm looking forward to immersing myself in my new book-friends including "The Sea Runners" by Ivan Doig, "Reservation Blues" by Sherman Alexie and "The American Indians: The Woman's Way" by Time-Life Books, which is filled with photos, artwork and stories about Native American women.

A Quaker friend, Wess Daniels, coined my downsizing of December 2011 as my "involuntary simplicity." He was right. That exercise was the antithesis of mindful simplicity. Circumstances beyond my control (being laid off without warning and having two months to sell my house at the real estate market's lowest point and move into 600 square feet) forced me to rid myself of more than half of my possessions in six weeks. It was a painful, but necessary step in my journey.

The process of prioritizing a lifetime of possessions changed me forever. I can't go back to being the woman who held so tightly to things that I missed out on the joy of experiences. When you live in a three-story 2,400-square-foot house with three humungous attics, a basement, a garage and a storage shed, opportunities abound to collect "stuff and junk" as my Grandma Lydia called it. I was the Estate Sale Queen and was always hauling home new treasures.


Now, five moves later, I am the Queen of Downsizing. I practice voluntary simplicity. Friends have invited me into their homes to help them organize their basements and closets and to determine what stuff to let go. It's much easier to help others get rid of their possessions because I have no emotional attachment to their stuff.

But here in my cozy, small living room/study/dining room, it is time to make tough choices. I know I can do it. Six months ago, my adventurous friends Kalyn and Mat MacDonald emptied their house and moved to Alaska. I chose 12 books from their library, which meant I had to let go of a dozen of my books to make space for them.

Now I must do it again. Am I ready to let go of "The Secret Life of Bees" by Sue Monk Kidd or "People of the Book" by Geraldine Brooks? They are among my favorites, but will I read them or refer to them again? I know I am not ready to get rid of my childhood copy of "Trixie Belden," the adventurous, mystery-solving, horseback-riding tomboy who inspired me in my geeky youth. I already let go of a dozen other Trixie Belden books in my big purge. Is it time to release "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini? Decisions, decisions.

Although my too-many-books dilemma does not possess the life-and-death gravity of Sophie's choice or of Indiana Jones choosing the holy grail, it's still been painful to choose which five books I'm going to let go into the universe.

As I stare at my bookshelves, I hear the voice of the old grail knight: "Choose wisely."

Cow Sitting: Remind yourself who you are and how far you've come

Every so often we should take a moment to remember who we are, where we've come from and how far we've traveled. Not only is it a good practice in being mindful of continuing to move forward, but seeing how far we've come also can provide a boost of courage to take the first step toward a new adventure.

Recently I rediscovered a childhood photo taken during a Girl Scout outing at a dairy farm in rural northeastern Washington State where I grew up. My hair in pigtails, a 10-year-old me is sitting astride a dairy cow. Debby Noonan, my BFF and partner in many adventures, is sitting right behind me, grinning. She always had my back.

For those of you who did not grow up on a farm, let me explain that sitting on a dairy cow is not a normal rural activity. We didn't say, "We've mucked out the chicken house and led the sheep to the upper pasture. Now it's time to do some cow sitting!"

Yet here is proof that I did. It's a snapshot of who I was at age 10: happily sitting on a dairy cow with my best friend--enjoying the moment and anticipating life's next adventure.

What a great way to approach life! What is preventing you from enjoying the moment? What is your next great adventure--and what steps are you taking to make that adventure a reality? Paddle on!