Spring Photo Walk, April 22: Spring Wildflowers Are Here!

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This has been the first week of spring with weather cooperative enough to permit some wildflower blooming. The result was a collision of three types of wildflowers that usually bloom separately from one another: bloodroot, anemone, and trout lily.

I was pleased to see all three of them today. I haven’t had the chance to see all three of them in a few years. Every spring, I intend to capture all the season’s changes in flora, and then time just runs away from me. The next thing I know, the irises are in bloom. At least that hasn’t happened yet this year.

The first picture below shows the next bloom in spring’s progress: Virginia bluebells.

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Spring Photo Walk, April 8

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I was hoping that I’d spot some early wildflowers in bloom, such as bloodroot or jack-in-the-pulpit. I’ve seen several crocus patches in bloom in town, so I was just a little disappointed that the forest floor hasn’t awakened yet. The sole flower I spotted was a brave yet small dandelion on the park lawn. It was so tiny and ill-situated in the grass that it defied having its photo taken.

There was a red cardinal who paused graciously for his portrait as he called for his mate.

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He Is Risen

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Happy Easter!

All is quiet at the Cole house, aside from the rumble of my husband’s snoring in his recliner. He worked most of the night on a water line break, unwilling to resist a chance for overtime now that he’s emerged from his post-shoulder-surgery convalescence. My daughter slept through most of the morning. She had been up late into the night alternating between typing on her Chromebook and reading Ray Bradbury.

Today is a low-key day. We aren’t having a traditional holiday meal, aside from my small ambition to replicate my mom’s baked beans. We will consume “fun” food like hot dogs and chicken strips. I bought a hot dog toaster for the occasion. Have you ever tried this oddball small appliance? You can toast two hot dogs and buns at a time, and they turn out about as well as a freshly roll-cooked carnival hot dog.

Although I attended Catholic school for eight years of my youth due to my mom’s conversion to that faith halfway through my childhood, I seldom attend church. I pray every day and reflect on God, but I don’t feel like I belong when I walk into a church. I just can’t process the intersection between worship and social class. I don’t want to dress up for church (I rarely do so for any occasion). God has seen and loved me when I looked my worst, even when I weighed 260 pounds and grocery shopped in Stewie lounge pants. My faith is strong, but I haven’t encountered a congregation that feels like home.

On Easter, I reflect on God’s infinite mercy. There is no better proof of human imperfection than our failures of mercy. Think of the most odious person you’ve ever encountered in real life or through the media. Christ died for that person’s sins, too. He died for your chance at salvation and Nikolas Cruz’s as well. Forgiveness and redemption are available for everyone you love and anyone you may hate in the past, present, or future.

On Easter, I try to see people through God’s eyes, even though I, like all people, see through a glass darkly in this life.

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In Like a Lion and Out Like a Lamb

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I’ve neglected this blog for half of February and nearly all of March. I saw no point in broadcasting regular updates in my ongoing tale of woe. Of course, there have been happy times, such as seeing how our elder guinea pig has taught the younger one how to demand more hay. By the way, I’ve gathered that the secret to getting more feedings is to act as if one has never been fed since birth, that one’s girth has been attained solely through the act of respiration.

My daughter’s continuing troubles and my ongoing nerve pain have cast a pall over these bright moments. Meteorological winter has lingered far too long as well. We woke up Wednesday morning with a snowfall three inches deep covering the roads. Usually, I dread the prospect of driving during a winter storm, but I felt fearless and relieved at driving through that snow. School had been cancelled for the day, so the day was free of yet another attempt to evade attendance. Spared that struggle, I felt there was nothing I couldn’t face that day.

The next day I received the dreaded truancy letter informing me that my daughter has missed too much school. Nevermind that she has no unexcused absences. This is the last thing we need. I don’t want to relate this mess to the truancy officer. However, I will do so if necessary, just like I already did when I wrote a letter to her school for their records to summarize the crisis. I wrote that letter at the suggestion of her therapist. I think the exercise was therapeutic solely for me.

Last week I had a meeting at the school and learned some of the things Eileen has been doing. She is not inclined at all to tell me much about school, so of course, I was surprised at some of the things I heard. It sounds like she is torn between checking out in the style of Melville’s Bartleby (“I’d prefer not to.”) and protesting the curriculum in general. For instance, when English class starts and her classmates have their notebooks and The Plays of Sophocles ready on their desks, Eileen pulls out a book of her choosing and reads for pleasure for the rest of class. Two such books she read during English class were Susan Powter’s Stop the Insanity and Erma Bombeck’s The Cope Book. I didn’t know whether to hang my head in shame or applaud her campy reading choices. My inclination toward the great works of literature is also lacking.

I so wish that she would reveal her thoughts, hopes, and fears. It’s not like I’m a stranger to her struggle; I am only ignorant of the particulars. The difference is she is several years younger than I was when I had my “breakdown”. My troubles didn’t truly sink their tentacles into me until I went away to college. In a way, she has more to lose due to her age.

I feel like I’d have more luck cutting a diamond with my bare hands than getting her to tell me what is really going on in her mind. Whether or not she chooses to take me into her confidence, I need to find a way to let her know that madness is no refuge; take the help that is offered you to evade it. Madness is not a vacation full of cozy reading and just the right amount of sweet and salty to satisfy your hunger. It is a full force gale that can only be calmed through doing the very things you don’t want to do: listen to those who love you, follow your doctor’s advice, show up at the right time, do what needs to be done first and then bask in the glow of pleasure reading and the like later.

As for my issues, I’m still having problems with nerve pain. The partial relief I had from the L3/L4 epidural injection wore off six weeks after I received it. I also have nerve pain that doesn’t correspond to degeneration in my spine. It looks like it’s possible that I’ve developed fibromyalgia. I have a referral to a neurologist to eliminate other possible diagnoses.

Somehow this pain is easier to deal with than my daughter’s ongoing anxiety and attendance problems. I’d rather live with that than go back to high school.

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The Thaw Begins

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The weather continues to vary, and the graph of its changes could stand for an equation not yet quantified. Last night the low was 30 degrees, but Tuesday’s forecast high is 71 with heavy rain. We have reached the point of winter that reminds me of that arcade game with the ever-growing row of quarters that inch ever slowly toward a jackpot that really is the watched pot that never boils.

Against the backdrop of disappearing and reappearing snow, there has been some movement forward in my family, but there are lingering frustrations. The boys who taunted my daughter at lunchtime have been moved to a different cafeteria at her school. As for me, I finally had my epidural injection for nerve pain arising from my L3/L4 disc.

The epidural has definitely helped with my nerve pain. Six days after the injection, it seems as if it resolved 80% of my pain and redistributed the rest in oddball locations like the toes and bridge of my right foot. Before the shot, almost all of my pain was on my left side. What matters at this point is that my pain is tolerable. I sure wish the cortisone shot hadn’t bloated me (hooray for elastic waist pants!), but that side effect should be gone within a week.

Eileen still is still not thrilled about attending school, but what teenager ever has been? There is still a moment every school morning when there is a possibility that things will fall apart, but I’m so proud of her when she overcomes that inertia and gets on the bus.

I’ve started reading In a Different Key: The Story of Autism by John Donovan and Caren Zucker. I’m just a third of the way through this excellent book, but the experience has already been a bit cathartic, especially the passages about the “Refrigerator Mother” paradigm that reigned for entirely too long. Essentially, this theory insists that mothers create autism through poor parenting.

Unfortunately, my experiences suggest to me that this theory just formalizes a common layperson’s definition of autism, that the behavior of such children is nothing more than proof positive of a parent who is too lazy to raise a child properly. This has been the greatest frustration of my time as a mother. There have been a few people who shall remain unnamed, people who matter to me more than anyone else in this world, who in anger have told me that I created all of my daughter’s problems through my parenting. I have been hurt by such words, but there has also been the agony of knowing that I love some people who cling to ignorance despite all of the information I’ve given them, despite their witnessing firsthand many of the trials my daughter and I have endured and overcome together.

When my daughter turned two, a local hospital evaluated her intelligence as part of her intake for early childhood speech therapy. The staff informed me that their evaluation indicated that my daughter was “retarded.” Oh really? She learned to read less than two years later. She took the ACT in eighth grade and scored 31 in the English section.

Don’t believe what people tell you about your child and your parenting if it rings false.

One month down, two to go . . .

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I really don’t like winter. While I appreciate its restful qualities after it’s reality has passed until the next year, I detest winter in the present tense. Why is it that everything seems harder when the weather is awful? It’s not as if I’m living outdoors. Actually, I am outside no more than is necessary.

Since I wrote last, I have endured the H3N2 flu that has made its unwelcome visit to so many homes this year. I did get the flu shot, so the illness was not nearly as awful as the last time I had the flu years ago when I become so delirious that I hallucinated I looked like a supermodel version of my myself when I looked in the mirror. While that symptom was not an unpleasant one, the chills and muscle aches of that flu are something I’d rather forget. I also had the benefit of Tamiflu this time around. I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly that medicine worked on my fever and congestion.

I am still waiting for my epidural shot that should help alleviate the bulging L3/L4 disc that is impinging a root nerve that runs along my left hip, thigh, and knee. Now that insurance has preapproved this treatment, my shot has been scheduled for the middle of February.

If you ever find yourself in need of treatment for spine issues, be prepared to wait in line behind an unbelievable amount of people. These issues are so commonplace I’m surprised that they are not standard fare for conversation, like predictions of winter storms and roll calls of who’s on statin drugs for high cholesterol. If this were so, I would not have been disappointed so many times in how long I’ve had to wait for spinal treatments.

In other news, I have faced a common struggle that plagues parents of teenagers, the age-old battle over school attendance. I have endured a few too many mornings convincing my daughter that every school day is important. I have gone so far as to tell her that attendance is the most important thing one learns in school. In college, I once heard the rumor that St. Thomas Aquinas had a vision shortly before his death in which he saw that all of his erudition was but straw compared to the reality of seeing the Almighty. Likewise, my adult experiences have made the values of my youth seem so trivial. Your grades and class rank have little value if you can’t be depended to show up at work.

In contrast, she made a bold yet shrewd choice in plotting the rest of her high school days. She has applied to join an automated manufacturing program at a local vocational high school. She was the only young woman who visited the open house for this program. Here is a sample of some of the work she enjoyed during her visit:

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I am so proud of this unexpected choice. She’ll graduate with all the classes she’ll need for college, but she’ll also have job skills that pay living wages. I sure wish that I had acquired actual job skills in my high school days. The only vocational skill I had was typing.

When she mentioned that she’ll be wearing a uniform for the work portion of the program, she said, “Maybe I’ll look like Grandpa.”

I replied, “Looking like Grandpa is not a bad thing.”

When I consider her choice, I can’t help but reflect on two truths. We stand on the shoulders of giants, and we are deeply influenced by our ancestors. In my family tree, that giant is my great grandma Nellie, who in the photo below was the only woman making school buses at Lima’s Superior Coach factory:

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A Fortnight and a Day

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Wake me when this mess of a winter is over. I really wish I could hibernate through this season. Having lived in Ohio for most of my life, I am accustomed to wide variances in weather. A 70 degree weekend in February is not impossible. I’ve also witnessed a two-inch snowfall in May. Still, recent weather has tested my endurance:

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These brief reprieves of warmer temperatures make it hard to acclimate oneself to the spells of ridiculous cold. Our average January high and low should be 33° and 19°, respectively, but it seems we hardly ever have a winter day that represents that average.

At least the crazy weather has afforded my daughter a few snow days to work on switching back her nights and days.

In other news, we have found a second guinea pig, aptly named Buddy:

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He is quite unlike our other guinea pig L’Orange in one way: he actually likes to snack on vegetables. I hope they do not develop a sibling rivalry with Buddy occupying the role of the child who better conforms parental exceptions whilst taunting his rival sibling in secret (btw, I was that sort of sibling when I was growing up).

It is too soon to tell how well the guinea pigs will get along. I’ve taken Buddy to the vet for assurance that he is not carrying infectious diseases, but I feel I should wait a bit longer to put them together in a large habitat. L’Orange just seems to be a mountain of a man compared to little Buddy. I did succumb to temptation and placed L’Orange in Buddy’s cage for a few minutes a couple days ago. What ensued was a comedy of errors wherein L’Orange literally dragged his ass around the cage while Buddy tried to make his elder a hobby horse. I suppose they can have another opportunity to sort out who’s the boss at a later date.

My vacation at home during the first week of the year was a misery of sciatic grade pain and frozen weather. I learned something important that week: spinal stenosis and sedentary living do not combine well. As much as I’d like to do so, it is a terrible idea for me to sit down and read for eight hours a day, no matter how engrossing the texts before me might be.

As for my back, it turns out that my L3/L4 disc is bulging to the point that it is impinging a root nerve that runs across my left hip, thigh, and knee. As a result, I have nerve pain along that pathway. I will be getting an epidural injection soon to help remedy this issue.

I had one of my periodic surgery follow-ups last week. It’s been ten months since my L4/L5 fusion, and my spine is fusing well:

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If only my lumbar degeneration had been confined to the disc that was removed. If so, I would be fairly trouble-free at this point with orthopedic pain.

p.s. Of all the Golden Age mysteries I’ve read recently, I highly recommend Agatha Christie’s The Pale Horse. I think that Christie’s body of work explores a lot of the anxiety of coping with a changing modern world. This theme is very apparent in this novel.