Camping out:

My whole life feels topsy-turvey. Nothing is right or comfortable. Silence can be intense when the silence is different than it has been in the past. The birds even sound different than they do at home. The trains are closer, the neighborhood is more crowded, the street has less traffic but more sound, the heater blows differently, the rain doesn't sound the same on a composite roof as on a metal roof. I moved out of this house sixteen years ago and I never thought that I would have to come back.

I've moved into my smaller house across town. I've taken the bare essentials and sometimes I find them even barer than I realized. It wouldn't hurt, for example, to have four towells instead of two. Every time I move something though I think that I might have to move it back in a week. Having no clear time horizon is the pits! It could be a week, it could be three months--it could it even be never.

Procrastinating

I've been dawdling about moving out of this house to a house we own across town that we had been using as a rental. But I have decided to quit dawdling and get it done. I may be in Internet silence for a few days or more.

It's the rain, you know. It keeps raining! We need a few essentials like beds.

Okay, here is the truth!

My story idea was coming from my real life--sort of.

I've been sick. All last fall I was terribly sick. The list of symptoms was as long as my arm. I was afraid for the longest time that I had MS. The problem was that I had some symptoms of MS, but other symptoms weren't on the MS list. We even checked for diabetes. Some of my symptoms have been coming on over the past six years. I have had so many tests run and they have been so terribly expensive. Time and again, the tests indicated that I was healthy in every way. Time and again, the result was, "good news."

Then, for some mysterious reason that I couldn't explain, over Christmas the symptoms all vanished for the duration of the holidays. The day Ike returned to school, the symptoms came on with a vengence. That was the same week that I discovered something in my coffee maker when I was cleaning it, some mysterious white stuff. Three days later, out of curiousity, I took the sprayer head off my coffee pot and there was another something--not white stuff, but crystal like stuff. What ensued in the next three weeks was very much like paranoia. I'll take that back, it became paranoia. I suspected everything and everyone. And there were some misleading clues--just like getting well over Christmas.

Obviously, I wouldn't touch the coffee from the coffee maker. I found that our ice had the white powder stuff in it too. I began to drink bottled water. I went to buy my coffee in the mornings. I drank my pop without ice. Doing that helped a great deal and the symptoms subsided somewhat, but could still suddenly hit. A few times something would happen that mystified me. For example, one evening I grabbed a can of pop out of the refrigerator and washed the top. While I was eating my dinner, something burned my upper lip severly. I knew I had washed the top of the can--so what else could have caused it?

Even after I began to realize it may be the water, I stubbornly tried trusting it. Sometimes it didn't make me sick. That happened just enough to keep me from figuring it out. But then one night when I'd run out of bottled water, I filled my bottle with tap water. After I took a drink, I felt a mini-explosion in my mouth and it burned the entire roof of my mouth like a chemical burn. For the next two days I was terribly ill. Some of these attacks were so extreme that I did believe that I could die from them. It took more than a week for it to heal. That was when a new phenomenon began in that sometimes when I brushed my teeth it was as though I had used acid. Rinsing repeatedly didn't help.

There were other reasons that the paranoia grew. For one, I am the only one who is sick. Considering these extreme symptoms, it seems impossible that everybody else is just fine. At this point I still only have suspicions. I have no proof of anything. But I am narrowing it down to my water as the source. If it is water, it is anything that has been touched by the water--even my hands. The more I try to isolate it, the more illusive it becomes. It can be caused by a dried drop of water in the bottom of a cup or a film over the bottom of my cooking pans. Potatoes boiled in the water disintigrate and my stainless steel pans are stained black and I can't scrub the blackness out with Barkeepers Friend.

In an attempt to research it, I come up against all the black mold hype and I can't find the information I need on what I think may be a common mold that most of you can live quite comfortably with. I finally found a general list of symptoms that can be caused by molds and every symptom I have had is among them except for an apparent link to joint pain during my "attacks".

Now, let me explain: we are on a private water system. It is well water and it is untreated water. The owner tests his wells every month, just as he ought to. It is such good water that people who are on dialysis come and buy it. In truth, it was so good, it was very difficult for me to finally accept that it may not be so very good for me. On the other hand, the problem could be in our own water lines in our house, so the water coming in could be just fine. And one more thing--I have not managed to prove this yet! It is all just theory. Perhaps what I need is a visit to an allergist!

I have two sets of symptoms:
Saltiness on my skin and in my saliva
Dry eye, thick tears, nasal congestion, cough, thick to almost no saliva, extreme thirst.
Cold sweats, hot flashes, menopausal symptoms (which were ignored since I am THAT age--but that go away as soon as I manage to avoid the contagion for a few weeks.)
Imbalance or inability to walk straight
Strange heartbeats, suppressed heart action, pain in my chest, or at times up to 120 beats per minute (I almost went to the ER)
Blood in my urine (the longest running symptom and the one that has been the cause of so many repeated visits to the doctor, but no infection, no bacteria)
Blurred and double vision, increasing floaties in my eyes, sensitivity to light and recently noticing that in the dark, my left eye is blinded by a white light haze.
Bitter flavor in my mouth that taints everything I eat or drink, but is sometimes so extreme it burns like acid.
Burning in my eyes, excessive tearing (see the contradiction in the sets of symptoms!), little explosions or bursts of pain in my eyes, pink eye look.
Headaches, lethargy, muddled thinking, confused thinking, memory lapses, symptoms like extreme depression, irritability, tiredness.
Joint pain.
Digestive symptoms.
Dry nose, scabs in nose, similar scabs in ears . . .

The sum total is that the whole idea makes for a good story! If I could just get well! We are talking about temporary measures to remove me from this house until a solution can be found. Minimal expense is a necessity since we haven't got the money for lavish solutions. I've thought of moving to my rent house, but it actually has a longer running mold problem than this house--but perhaps not the molds that are causing my problem and it is on city water that is chlorinated. And, I am even considering moving my camper trailer to the local campground if that fails. Meanwhile, I can leave my husband to deal with the house.

Spring walk by the river:

I took my camera with me today when we took our walk down by the river. I'm always talking about it here, so I thought I would share some photos I took today. They should be clickable so you can get a better view.

The oddest thing happened! I have no idea how many times I have walked past that old barn. Last year we scrounged around in that area to pick up seedpods and things that I could use to decorate for Thanksgiving. But today wass the first time I have ever noticed the old car. I suppose that the site is an old homestead, but no evidence of a house could be found.

Signs of Spring

I know, it isn't an original title. This morning as I drove into the driveway, I noticed that the elm trees have that green haze that is the sure sign of spring!

Most assuredly, it is the cat playing in the daffodils that is the most perfect sign of spring! This is Miss Squeaky. She must enjoy being photographed. She struck several interesting poses. (Please ignore the leaf litter. I'll rake it up, I promise!)

An amazing guitarist!

And my first attempt to embed a video.

This player impresses my son, who is an excellent guitarist in his own right. I suppose that he was showing me how far he has yet to go. He says that some have made the claim that some of what this young lady is doing is impossible and that this piece is the most difficult ever composed for guitar. I can't substantiate either claim, but I trust him.

Discernment:

Yesterday morning, I led the discussion for our DoK meeting again over our book, Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict. This was the first time I actually had to do any leading because the group just took off on their own after the first question and discussed it without any help whatsoever from me. They're great! This time I actually did have to bring up each point, but again and enjoyably, they made it easy. I'm always so terrified beforehand! They always settle all my fears.

My priest gives me that look that says, "I wonder . . . " I know that he is still considering my extreme interest in monasticism. I have no idea where this leads. He has this way of being very still as though he is observing with his eyes but praying with his heart at the same time. It intrigues me. I want to say, "What are you thinking? What is your leading?"

In silence we discern the will of God, not quickly or hastily. Is this but a night's rest along the way or is it a new path? Where do I go from here? What do I learn from those around me and their responses to me? If he asked me what my greatest concerns are--which he doesn't do and I assume that is because he sees my personality and doesn't need to--I'd have to say that it is that I love people and I love talking to people. And then he might say, "Perhaps your path is more interactive . . . " And I might agree.

On another note, even after such a glorious morning, I still fell prey to anger and frustration again over somebody telling me that our Lord never told us to fast! Well that was the first blow. It sent me on a terrible tangent! I am so ashamed.

On other fronts:

Despite this month's challenge, my writing seems to have taken a nosedive. But there was one exception. For the first time in what seems like forever, I revisited Katie Jo and Wade in imagination. I was thrilled.

The thing is that I am not happy with forcing a story that I'm not excited about. There are better things to do with my time, I think.

My daily walking has been going very well this week and I'm proud of myself.

I'm crossposting this peice that I wrote yesterday evening when I returned from my walk:

We were going to walk down by the river again. On our way down big snake road, I told my husband that just a few minutes earlier, when I was driving up the hill, I had seen two husky men walking down it. They were strangers. I'd never seen them before and considering their builds they must have been brothers, although older--maybe in their thirties. They were carrying sticks. Not wimpy little sticks, but good stout ones. When I saw them I was suspicious. I don't know what it was in particular about them, but they seemed angry to me. I told him that I didn't want to catch up with them. Of course, he wasn't the least bit worried. After ten minutes or so, they could have been long gone.

We unlocked the gate to the nursery and went down behind the barn, the way we usually do. From the bottom of the hill we swing either right or left and make a loop back around a group of trees. That, it seems, turns out to be approximately a mile. This time we headed left and up the narrow track along the fence to the property. Across a field we caught sight of a deer. She ran when we began to walk again.

We were most of the way to the soy bean field when I heard what sounded like men's voices in the distance. My husband's hearing isn't as good as mine. He suggested that someone at the rent house was talking loud. But I didn't think so. I would bet the rent house was a good third of mile away. I continued to listen and look and then I spotted the men. They were walking up the road from the rent house that we loop back on. What is weird is that they were carrying trash bags with something in them.

This land is private land. It belongs to my husband's employer and family. I continued to look. Dang, if I didn't wear a bright green sweatshirt this evening. I saw them see us. It is difficult to hide in a brown landscape wearing bright green.

It scared me because after they paused looking our way, they appeared to begin to come straight across towards us. I have an excellent imagination and it never ceases to function. I wasn't going to wait around for them so I started back toward the nursery. Rather than going all the way to the regular road that goes north of the barns, we headed up a steep track that comes out in back of the green houses. I made tracks up that hill! I haven't been that winded in a long time.

At the top of the hill I turned around and I could see that they were still looking at us. I'll let you know if anything comes of it--since I didn't have the guts to check them out. Had I had on a darker shade sweatshirt, I told my husband I would have stalked those men to see what they were up to.

Unfortunately, I came out a half a mile short of my goal for the day.

I'm married to an Okie!

My son and I get a kick out of this. We shouldn't but we always do.

I made a quick trip to Braum's tonight and once there I wondered if we had any salad dressing in the fridge. I called my husband on my handy li'l cell phone, "Do we have any ranch dressing?"
After a pause I heard him answer, "Uh huh . . . but some Franch would be nice."
There was quite a lot of background noise in the store. To double check, I asked, "What did you say?"
"I said, uh huh, but some Franch would be nice."
"Franch? Oh, okay. I'll get that at the grocery store tomorrow. Just so long as we have ranch."
A few minutes later, I climbed into the car where Ike was waiting for me, listening to his tunes. As I backed out for the drive home, I told him about the call. By the time we'd gotten to the left turn lane and were waiting for the traffic light, we were having great fun with it.
"I guess that if it comes from France it must be Franch." Gut wrenching laughter.
"We're ranchers here, so we think the Franchers are ranchers, too." Another bout of hilarity.
"We go to the restaurant and he wonders why he got ranch dressing instead of franch dressing." Aren't we just pitiful! Don't tell him we do this.

In other news: It is spring! The daffodils bloomed.

"I am the vine"

I couldn't resist that title! I thought I would post a slightly closer view of the detail of the bottom of the walking stick. The color is truer in this photo, too. Click on it to see the detail even better.

Am I trying to encourage others to try carving wood? Sure! I have a couple of other wood carving objectives for when I have the time. Pick a beautiful spring day and sit outside under a tree . . .

Other than that, my brain is fairly fried today. Today was the annual bell choir festival here. An hour of playing bells can be quite taxing. Playing them from 9:00 to 3:30 is five hours beyond brain dead.

But it is beautiful. I didn't get the count on the number of choirs that made it this time, but imagine thirteen bell choirs all playing in the same room. Even with terrible accoustics, it is amazing. The sound was bouncing off the far wall and back into us and I finally figured out that it was messing with what I heard compared to what I saw written on the page. It threw me off several times. Perhaps I should just count and play and not try to listen!

Sadly, not too many people come to hear our concert at the end of the day.

Renaming blogs:

A friend of mine has set up a new blog with a new thrust for his new focus. Noting that, it occurred to me that I might do the same, except that I am not positive that I have a new focus. No, my blogs title goes way, way back. I've used it for my blog since '04 even as I have changed the location of it three times. Before that it was the title I used for my private journal.

I'm thinking of calling it, "The Walking Stick". I'm still considering the implications of the meaning of it. It is symbollic of my life and my view of life. My blog is like a walking stick for a journey over rough terrain. I hear an echo from way back even to poetry that I wrote while I was still in high school. I'm always thinking and speaking in terms of paths, crossroads, stumbling stones, climbing mountains and reaching summits.

Unfortunately, the photograph above doesn't do justice to my real walking stick. Creating such a stick was a spiritual experience. When the wood was new and fresh as its soft flesh created curls at my feet as I cut away the bark, I learned a new appreciation of living wood and our connection to nature in a way that I'd never experienced it before. The rest of the journey, and an interesting one, then took several more years.

As a Cub Scout leader, my husband and I walked out near the river to find young saplings we could cut for the boys to have an end of the year project to do. The largest was a recently dead pecan tree with a natural balance to it, although it wasn't straight. It was too large and too heavy. So, in an effort to trim weight off of it, it occurred to me that I could carve it. I picked up the various leaves I found and used them as patterns and worked leaves down the trunk of it. At the very bottom I copied the intertwined vines of a trumpet vine. The top, however, remained uncarved because I had no idea what to carve on it. Then one day I felt inspired to create wings. I had an hour to spare before I intended to go to the nursing home to visit my father and so I began to carve the wings. I just roughed them out. Then I heard the phone ring. I will always wonder about that particular moment of inspiration and why it turned out to be that day. Since then my son has given me some scouting emblems for it. It has a great big buffalo on the front of it from his visit to Philmont. I suppose that it will continue to grow as the years go by, a support for uncertain ground.

March Madness is coming!

It may be an exageration to say that March Madness is coming. It is really just a continuation of the February writing challenge, W.I.S.H. (writing isn't so hard--SEE Skateboard link at bottom of page).

So, dearest Carolyn (link below) has created an assignment: Write TEN (yes, 10) scenes--not just any old scenes, but the heart of the story. Novels are comprised of master, major and minor scenes. The requirement here is to write ten master or major scenes. And, since I forgot to save chat, I hope somebody will send a copy to me.

I can't plan a novel overnight! It takes months for me to do that. So, while taking my bath--my best brainstorming technique--I cooked up a little bit more on my poisoning story. I'm not happy about the idea. In truth, I'd say I'm fairly luke warm. I can get some tension built with what is flopping through my brain right now, but I have no idea where to take the ending. It looks like a fish out of water.

Sudden doubt! Can I develop believable scenarios and emotion? *Will I ever trust myself?*

My old English Comp II teacher would scratch a big red F on this simple brainstorming list. I'l;l have to revise it to satisfy the internal critic that she recorded on my brain. Each item will have to be parallel, of course. Off the top of my head and briefing through it, with every scene subject to change:

ACT 1:

1. Sickness in autumn
2. Health over Christmas
3. Return of illness in January

ACT 2:

4. First discovery of poison
5. Near death
6. Paranoia and suspicion run rampant
7. Previous suspect in doubt

ACT 3:

8. Who dunnit?
9. Angela
10. Escape!

As a backup plan when this thing fizzles, I promise to continue to revise my first NaNo novel. It isn't much better but it does have a plot and it nearly has an excellent ending. The funny thing about writing suspense is that it isn't my genre. Both of these ideas are suspense.

I have a long and dear history with suspense. It comes from two sources. I'm naturally inclined to worry about ridiculously bad things that can happen. I imagine gunmen taking over the school while I'm waiting to pick up my son or I see a woman sitting in a car on a residential street while I'm taking an afternoon walk and I imagine that she's on a stakeout.

Realizing that this tendency to daydream wild scenarios might have a useful application occurred to me one day more than ten years ago while I was reading a novel by Mary Higgins Clark. I thought: 'I could do this!' Not only that, but she even uses simple names. I have a terrible block against naming characters. So, suspense and Mary Higgins Clark brought me back to writing for the first time in twenty years. If I actually write both of these stories, I'll end up equally split between historical fiction and suspense, not counting short stories.

###