Don't look now but you have a big empty space inside of you.
Oh yes, you. No use denying it, all the psychology, self-help, zen-ish, Eckart Tolle (Oprah's flavor of the month) books remind us that we shall never be full and we must make peace with this emptiness within.
So, hey, you out there in blogger-reading land, just knock three times on the ceiling if you want me...oh, whoops, sorry, wrong Tony Orlando and Dawn Swan song...I mean, knock on that chest and tummy of yours and see if you hear an echo. Helllo in there! Anybody home?
Feeling empty within can mean a lot of things. In my case it often just means I am hungry. Yes, I am hungry often. There's the dreaded late night snack run to the kitchen (and in my house it really is a run...there is quite a lengthy hallway.) There is the mid afternoon "pick me up," consisting of anything with chocolate in it. If I continue with these late afternoon pick me ups, no one is going to be able to. Pick me up, that is.
There is of course the standard between meal snack that you have about 10 AM when your healthy oatmeal breakfast has taken the last train to Clarksville and you just have to hit the snack machine in the lobby (and hit it hard or that Almond Joy is not going to fall into your waiting hands.) Well at least an Almond Joy has fiber and something approaching a fruit component.
My inner emptiness was so great yesterday that I actually bought a bag of Kettle Salt and Pepper Potato Chips. Now, if you want to have a galactical experience akin to great tantric (not to be confused with frantic) sex, buy yourself a bag of these amazingly good chips (perhaps you prefer vinegar and salt or barbecue or jalapeno) and just sit down in a quiet place where you can be alone with your newly purchased beloved.
Communing in a meaningful way with a great potato chip takes a certain savoire faire. First you must open the bag respectfully, so that it can be re-closed (you *are* going to leave some chips in there, aren't you?) and not tear it the way you would rip off Brad Pitt's undershirt if he ever agreed to play Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire. Whew, let's just take a time out here for a moment. Kettle Chips and Brad Pitt, too much of a good thing.
These Kettle chips have a satisfying heft to them. The crunch is rewarding. No namby pamby paper-thin greased up processed chips for my empty space. It had better be Kettle or nothing. And the way my waistline has been expanding lately, I think many of my readers would vote for the "nothing."
But then I will be all alone with my emptiness within. How can I make peace with this internal space? Meditation can help. Reading insightful books is a must. Siddhartic yoga breathing while hanging ever so gracefully from a gravity boot or two might improve the situation.
Hey, while I'm down here with my head touching the floor, pass me that bag of Kettle's lightly salted crinkle chips, will you? Thanks ever so.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Lub Dub
Behold the beating human heart.
It is an awe-inspiring sight to some, a ghastly vision to others.
You might say beholding the human heart in its natural state is akin to gazing upon a newborn babe. Some are touched beyond measure. Others think it needs a good cleaning and one of those fuzzy caps, and the sooner the better.
I have not had a baby.
But I have seen my own beating heart and it could use a fuzzy cap, too.
All this came about because I had surgery for my prolapsed mitral valve in January of this year. A prolapsed valve is one that stretches too much. My doctor said most people have valves that don't stretch because they are similar to a fabric like cotton, but mine had too much elastic in it and was like panty hose.
Over the years the valve had begun to stretch out of shape and balloon in the wrong place (sounds like panty hose all right) and eventually it allowed oxygenated blood from my lungs to leak backwards with every beat. Once I had researched and thought about it for nearly a year I finally convinced myself that repairing the valve (in a surgery called a valvuloplasty) was the right decision... to stave off progressive weakening of the heart muscle and very possibly congestive heart failure. (By the way, if you have mitral valve prolapse, which is diagnosed in about 15% of the population, do not worry! Only about 1% of mvp sufferers ever have their valve progress to where it needs surgery. )
Aren't I the lucky one! I don't know why I don't beat these kind of odds when I buy a lottery ticket.
My surgery, at UCLA Med Center in Westwood, California, involved a couple of unusual things: a robot, and a Lifetime Television camera.
Lifetime TV was there to do a story on minimally invasive heart surgery, and had asked my surgeon (Dr. Richard Shemin, head of Cardiothoracic Surgery at UCLA) if they could meet one of his patients and follow him or her through the surgery. The Da Vinci robot enabled my doctor to perform open heart surgery without opening the chest. My incision is about 3 inches long and hidden under my right breast. My dreams of being a pole dancer have not been dashed. And besides, my recovery period was shorter ... and the risk to me less ... thanks to the robotic assistance.
My story appeared on the Walgreen sponsored "Health Corner" which appears each Sunday morning on the Lifetime channel. In fact, it you'd like to see the little 5-minute story of my open heart, bypass surgery, here is the link. http://healthcorner.walgreens.com/display/1812.htm
Lifetime's cameras were allowed in the operating room. On February 24, when it first aired, I was watching the little story of my Great Adventure when suddenly, ready or not, I got to see my heart.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about the experience. For one thing, I'm a bit of a heart phobic. I feel about my heart the way I feel about my car engine. Don't open the hood, don't explain how the pistons and the ignition and the doohinkeys work...just let me turn the key and drive off. I don't want to know much about the inner workings of my car or my heart. I just want to know they're going to get me where I need to go.
In another blog I'll share some interesting tidbits about open heart bypass surgery. It is amazing and a miracle and I am grateful and relieved to have it three months behind me. If anyone would like any more information on mitral valve repair surgery, e mail me - I'll be happy to respond.
It is an awe-inspiring sight to some, a ghastly vision to others.
You might say beholding the human heart in its natural state is akin to gazing upon a newborn babe. Some are touched beyond measure. Others think it needs a good cleaning and one of those fuzzy caps, and the sooner the better.
I have not had a baby.
But I have seen my own beating heart and it could use a fuzzy cap, too.
All this came about because I had surgery for my prolapsed mitral valve in January of this year. A prolapsed valve is one that stretches too much. My doctor said most people have valves that don't stretch because they are similar to a fabric like cotton, but mine had too much elastic in it and was like panty hose.
Over the years the valve had begun to stretch out of shape and balloon in the wrong place (sounds like panty hose all right) and eventually it allowed oxygenated blood from my lungs to leak backwards with every beat. Once I had researched and thought about it for nearly a year I finally convinced myself that repairing the valve (in a surgery called a valvuloplasty) was the right decision... to stave off progressive weakening of the heart muscle and very possibly congestive heart failure. (By the way, if you have mitral valve prolapse, which is diagnosed in about 15% of the population, do not worry! Only about 1% of mvp sufferers ever have their valve progress to where it needs surgery. )
Aren't I the lucky one! I don't know why I don't beat these kind of odds when I buy a lottery ticket.
My surgery, at UCLA Med Center in Westwood, California, involved a couple of unusual things: a robot, and a Lifetime Television camera.
Lifetime TV was there to do a story on minimally invasive heart surgery, and had asked my surgeon (Dr. Richard Shemin, head of Cardiothoracic Surgery at UCLA) if they could meet one of his patients and follow him or her through the surgery. The Da Vinci robot enabled my doctor to perform open heart surgery without opening the chest. My incision is about 3 inches long and hidden under my right breast. My dreams of being a pole dancer have not been dashed. And besides, my recovery period was shorter ... and the risk to me less ... thanks to the robotic assistance.
My story appeared on the Walgreen sponsored "Health Corner" which appears each Sunday morning on the Lifetime channel. In fact, it you'd like to see the little 5-minute story of my open heart, bypass surgery, here is the link. http://healthcorner.walgreens.com/display/1812.htm
Lifetime's cameras were allowed in the operating room. On February 24, when it first aired, I was watching the little story of my Great Adventure when suddenly, ready or not, I got to see my heart.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about the experience. For one thing, I'm a bit of a heart phobic. I feel about my heart the way I feel about my car engine. Don't open the hood, don't explain how the pistons and the ignition and the doohinkeys work...just let me turn the key and drive off. I don't want to know much about the inner workings of my car or my heart. I just want to know they're going to get me where I need to go.
In another blog I'll share some interesting tidbits about open heart bypass surgery. It is amazing and a miracle and I am grateful and relieved to have it three months behind me. If anyone would like any more information on mitral valve repair surgery, e mail me - I'll be happy to respond.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Time in A Bottle
Hey so here it is, Friday again, which brings up my thesis for the day - time sure flies when you're having fun. And also when you aren't. As we spring chickens get older we learn that there is no point in looking forward to anything; it's here and gone before you can work up a good whoop. I remember when I was a kid and had a dentist appointment (I promise I won't write "I remember when I was a kid" more than twice in any blog) ...it would come up on the calendar way fast, the kind of 'fast' we used to refer to some of the ninth grade girls who wore flats instead of saddle shoes and real lipstick instead of Tangee Natural. A can of Easy Off had nothing on them.
Ah but sitting in the dentist's waiting room, waiting to get drilled - well that would drag on interminably. (yes I know, and no, I am not going there)
Time and its mysteries...when we were v. young, our birthdays were definitely a year apart. Remember? There were 12 months separating one from the next. Now, several birthdays tend to hit me in the space of a couple of years. Seriously. One day I was forty and the next time I looked around I was fifty and menopausal. What happened to a nice year like 46, for example? I can't remember it at all. Talk about fast forward.
You know that time is passing too quickly when you start liking the same photographs you hated the day they were taken. You know the feeling - oh! I look fat! Oh! that is really an ugly picture! Then you take it out of the drawer or flip by it in a scrapbook and think,'hey I didn't look half bad, look how young I am there.'
Of course we aren't aging like everybody else. When I catch Sally Field or Meryl Streep in some recent appearance, I think, wow, they are getting a little old, huh? Not bad for their age but you know, no longer young, like me. I went to a high school reunion not long ago and when I was walking down the hotel corridor to get to the reception I thought "Wow who are all these OLD people? Gosh, pot bellied and bald, and that's just the women...there must be an AARP meeting or a funeral here somewhere," and imagine my shock when I realized they were all walking into MY high school reunion! I was almost sorry for all of them because I knew I looked at least fifteen or twenty years younger than they did. No one commented on it, of course, because they were all either jealous or trying to be polite. I think it was jealousy.
This time thing is freaky, the way everything speeds up. Makes me conscious of wasting any of it. Take today, for example. I took a walk, and then I was going to clean out some rooms, make some labels (you have to find a time to make labels every day or you can't call yourself organized), and instead here I am writing a blog, glancing at another "woman in the car trunk" flick on Lifetime, and reading Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth" (Oprah approved). At least I am multi-tasking but I feel guilty when I'm not accomplishing anything . Thankfully, Eckhart assures me that just "being" is accomplishment enough. Maybe he never spent time in a dentist's waiting room.
Ah but sitting in the dentist's waiting room, waiting to get drilled - well that would drag on interminably. (yes I know, and no, I am not going there)
Time and its mysteries...when we were v. young, our birthdays were definitely a year apart. Remember? There were 12 months separating one from the next. Now, several birthdays tend to hit me in the space of a couple of years. Seriously. One day I was forty and the next time I looked around I was fifty and menopausal. What happened to a nice year like 46, for example? I can't remember it at all. Talk about fast forward.
You know that time is passing too quickly when you start liking the same photographs you hated the day they were taken. You know the feeling - oh! I look fat! Oh! that is really an ugly picture! Then you take it out of the drawer or flip by it in a scrapbook and think,'hey I didn't look half bad, look how young I am there.'
Of course we aren't aging like everybody else. When I catch Sally Field or Meryl Streep in some recent appearance, I think, wow, they are getting a little old, huh? Not bad for their age but you know, no longer young, like me. I went to a high school reunion not long ago and when I was walking down the hotel corridor to get to the reception I thought "Wow who are all these OLD people? Gosh, pot bellied and bald, and that's just the women...there must be an AARP meeting or a funeral here somewhere," and imagine my shock when I realized they were all walking into MY high school reunion! I was almost sorry for all of them because I knew I looked at least fifteen or twenty years younger than they did. No one commented on it, of course, because they were all either jealous or trying to be polite. I think it was jealousy.
This time thing is freaky, the way everything speeds up. Makes me conscious of wasting any of it. Take today, for example. I took a walk, and then I was going to clean out some rooms, make some labels (you have to find a time to make labels every day or you can't call yourself organized), and instead here I am writing a blog, glancing at another "woman in the car trunk" flick on Lifetime, and reading Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth" (Oprah approved). At least I am multi-tasking but I feel guilty when I'm not accomplishing anything . Thankfully, Eckhart assures me that just "being" is accomplishment enough. Maybe he never spent time in a dentist's waiting room.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Writer's Blog?
Wednesday April 16
Did you get your taxes in yesterday? Neither did I. That's why God made extensions.
So man (woman?) created blog and saw it was good. Until, of course, she fell victim to writer's blog, which is the temporary - one hopes - inability to put written word to page. Or in this case, screen. Now, this is my first blog and brief intro to The Spring Chicken, and all I can think to say is, howdy. The Spring Chicken clucks, and having clucked, moves on...oh, no, she's quoting Omar Khayyam now.
I've been writing The Spring Chicken for quite awhile. I like to flatter myself that it's rather an Erma Bombeck-ish (or make that peckish) take on life for those of us great chicks who have reached a certain age of maturity (make it 50, or if you're in a hurry, 45.) There's so much to talk about, laugh at and cry over at this stage of life. For one thing, I can't do my toenails anymore without a weed whacker and a telescope. So I treat myself to a pedicure, only it's not really a treat anymore because I don't trust anyone's implements and just like Elaine in Seinfeld, I am convinced they are all talking about me and it isn't good. All of my insecurities come out when my feet are in a pedicure tub. I feel so exposed and vulnerable, and I can't make a quick getaway without slipping across the floor of the nail salon and falling head first into the hot wax (and then they'll charge me extra.) My feet are funny looking anyway. My big toe is big and the rest of my toes are little. They're perfect toes for pointy shoes but like many of us Spring Chicks I have given up wearing pointy toes, along with high heels (to me anything over an inch is a high heel) and anything that requires nylons of any kind, even knee highs.
Thank God for knee high nylons, but be sure to remove them before your pedicure.
Come back and visit me again soon. I'll share info on my web site, Thespringchicken.com as it takes shape. I'll love hearing from my sister chicks.
Did you get your taxes in yesterday? Neither did I. That's why God made extensions.
So man (woman?) created blog and saw it was good. Until, of course, she fell victim to writer's blog, which is the temporary - one hopes - inability to put written word to page. Or in this case, screen. Now, this is my first blog and brief intro to The Spring Chicken, and all I can think to say is, howdy. The Spring Chicken clucks, and having clucked, moves on...oh, no, she's quoting Omar Khayyam now.
I've been writing The Spring Chicken for quite awhile. I like to flatter myself that it's rather an Erma Bombeck-ish (or make that peckish) take on life for those of us great chicks who have reached a certain age of maturity (make it 50, or if you're in a hurry, 45.) There's so much to talk about, laugh at and cry over at this stage of life. For one thing, I can't do my toenails anymore without a weed whacker and a telescope. So I treat myself to a pedicure, only it's not really a treat anymore because I don't trust anyone's implements and just like Elaine in Seinfeld, I am convinced they are all talking about me and it isn't good. All of my insecurities come out when my feet are in a pedicure tub. I feel so exposed and vulnerable, and I can't make a quick getaway without slipping across the floor of the nail salon and falling head first into the hot wax (and then they'll charge me extra.) My feet are funny looking anyway. My big toe is big and the rest of my toes are little. They're perfect toes for pointy shoes but like many of us Spring Chicks I have given up wearing pointy toes, along with high heels (to me anything over an inch is a high heel) and anything that requires nylons of any kind, even knee highs.
Thank God for knee high nylons, but be sure to remove them before your pedicure.
Come back and visit me again soon. I'll share info on my web site, Thespringchicken.com as it takes shape. I'll love hearing from my sister chicks.
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