clear your own table...in this cafe .... and other thoughts on dining out...

Welcome to the local cafe.  It's a friendly, warm, inviting place, no? But I must inform you that for all this warmth and comfort, you must do a few things for yourself.  You see, the baristas are not paid to bus the tables.  That, my friends, means that for that wonderful cup of coffee that you paid less than $5.00 for, or if it is plain coffee -less than $3.00 for a large (there is no "venti" here!) you DO NOT leave the cup, or anything else on your table when you leave this cafe.  Do not be a pig.  Your mother does not work here.  You did not see the baristas come out and clear away anyone's trash off any tables.  What you are, if you do not clean up after yourself, is a rude pig.  You have made it difficult for the next person to find a seat, particularly if it busy. THE STAFF AT THIS CAFE IS NOT PAID TO CLEAR THE TABLES, that is NOT their job really.  It is nice in here, but clean up your own table mess. please. 

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The things people do in public places.  It can be pretty disgusting, sometimes even downright disturbing.  Anyway, don't be a pig, or a slob, or a rude, obnoxious asshat.  The staff is not paid enough salary to have to deal with asshats.  If you don't leave a tip for your server, wherever you have a drink or a meal,..well then stop right here, because you are not welcome here.  I think that I am a fair tipper.  I mean that I am actually a generous tipper.  I do not leave a giant mess on the table, I consolidate my trash onto the plate, I do not stack dishes or drink containers.  

But here's the thing about tipping wait staff.... You see, I usually dine alone.  As a female that can mean that I will not get the best service.  Some wait staff do not care -they give everyone good service, no matter what.  And sometimes,... yes, the wait staff sees a female dining alone and thinks to themselves "bad tipper".  And then they live right DOWN to their own expectations.

You can probably guess,... if I am waiting over long to even place my order to begin with, that server just lost a dollar off the tip.  If the server can only just get my drink and food to the table and then disappears, chances are that cut the remainder of the tip in half.  It can get worse from there.....  NO, no, I am NOT being unreasonable.... I don't expect the server to stand at my table and wait for me to dictate my needs.... but I do expect my server to be pleasant, to be reasonable quick --I want hot food to still be hot when it is set in front of me.  And I expect my drink, always soda pop, to be refilled or replaced regularly.  If I never find a server to refill the drink at all.... I might leave a 10% tip.  That's not fair to the server, but if they are not attentive, and pleasant....that's what they worked for.

Now, that said, I am an observer.  Especially in restaurants.  I am paying attention... it is busy? Did I overhear the host/hostess say that they are short-staffed?  I do consider those factors! and if I still got my drink refilled, at least once, I will tip accordingly.  My complaint is against those servers, wait staff, who see a female dining alone, and, as I described above -they manage to serve me a drink and my food as ordered, but then they disappear.  They think that I won't leave a good tip and they proceed to live right DOWN to their own expectations.  OR they make sure to have the person that is not in their little "in-group clique" to wait on me.,.... and that's fine, because that mousy girl that the other servers do not like -she gives me fantastic service, and if I have noticed that she seems to be picked on, or "out-group", I will give her a great tip.  Truly good servers or wait staff know that they should never judge any patron to be a lousy tipper.... 

Wait staff! Hear this: always remember, and please never forget, that the single person, who you think does not look "fancy" enough, may be the best tippers.  Please treat all of your patrons equally,... even the asshats.  Be the better person.

After all of that,... I must confess that I have a "trick", and it is very VERY effective.... ESPECIALLY when I am dining alone,... in fact, exclusively when I am dining alone... when my server appears at my table, hopefully seconds after I am seated.... I look that server in the eye and I place a five dollar bill in the center of the table.  And, voila! I have the most attentive server in the place!  If they begin to disappoint me the 5 is changed out for 4 ones.... and so on,... now a sudden attitude change -quicker drink refill or replacement and that fifth dollar goes back on the pile.  You see how that works.....  The difference just blows my mind, but it works like a charm,...placing the tip at the beginning of the transaction......  think about that.

And do not be an asshat to the server or wait staff.  Just don't.  Remember one of the golden rules: treat others as you wish to be treated.  Be pleasant to the server,.... 

....surely you have seen some "grandpa" sweet talk the waitress from the start.... just be pleasant. And remember too, that a small compliment goes a long way.....  make your dining experience pleasant yourself! 

(without a doubt I can take a few lessons from myself, having written this advice!)

traveling to Fox Lake II - the follow up

Late in the 1960's they paved The Crooked Road,....it went straight from a wide gravel road to a 4 lane concrete roadway, from Rand Road to Highway 68 (Dundee Road),.... not long after they also paved the rest of the route from Dundee up to Highway 83.... Father lived to see that.  It made us sad. No more Crooked Road.  I believe it was in the early 1980's that they put in the partial "s" curve, eliminating the need to make a left turn onto busy Dundee, and a block later turn right.

Father died, but most of you would know that.  He had the lake house for sale for several years before his death. Mother sold the lake house the year after father died. The kind lady who owned it with her brother did allow me to go inside on those very rare occasions that I was at the lake as a teenager.  In that way I can follow up for you on what happened to "the house at Fox Lake".

In the 1970's the lake house began to be transformed.  The new owners had a large deck installed on the front of the house --that being the side facing the lake.  The deck covered approximately half of the grass yard in front of the house, and was as wide as the house itself.  Father would never have done that to that yard.

The old, small, garage simply collapsed. A large, 2 -1/2 car garage was built on the property, following newer "setback" zoning rules, it was more than 30 feet from Drexel Boulevard.  This makes it unrecognizable to nearly everyone, except for me and a couple of people who lived in nearby homes, and stayed there long after we left.

Also in the 1970's the dining room inside the house was made into a beautiful, modern kitchen.  They installed a laundry room, where there had been one in the past, before my time,....  at some point they removed the concrete sidewalk addition that bore my tiny hand and foot prints.  The rock garden that Father was so proud of fell into disrepair,... no one weeded it or took care of it at all, and it gradually turned into a small mound of earth, no longer discernible as the rock garden/goldfish pond it once was.

In the early 1990's we visited the house at Fox Lake for a final time.  We arrived to the news that the kind woman who remember me had been laid to rest, just a few days prior to our visit.  But the brother said that he knew who I was, and he allowed us to come inside, look around and sit reminiscing for a little while.  As we wandered through the house it was quickly apparent to me that the house so many of us remembered was gone. 

They straightened the staircase to upstairs, which had had a little turn at the top.  That was where I stopped,... I climbed those now unfamiliar stairs, just to see the top, but then I descended again..... I was near tears. I managed to steady my voice just enough to tell the kind man 'thank you' and 'we won't be returning again'.

That was 1993,... late summer or early fall.....

in the years since I have driven down Drexel Boulevard a time or two,... just to know that I could still find the house, never stopping, 
but following onto Michigan Avenue, Lakeside and Ackerman -returning out to Grass Lake Road.



it is true, what they say.... you cannot go home again....
but I knew that.

You see, the home of my childhood,... the greenhouse, was gone,..we saw it demolished when I was still a child. I regret that father showed me the home of my childhood, with a bulldozer in the middle of where the kitchen had been.

I can never go home again, because that is a place that no longer exists.


And that is life,.... what you dream of as "home" .... it's gone.
You cannot recapture what once was, because it is no longer.

traveling to Fox Lake -a brief childhood memoir (the Crooked Road)

it is early,... father has been up for over an hour, checking on things. he is making sure that he is satisfied with the state in the greenhouses, where the carnations grow... that all is in line and that the boys have a handle on things.

inside the garages the car was loaded the previous day. filled with suitcases of clothing, jackets, miscellaneous items that are used daily,...clothing. A small Zenith television set sits, wrapped in a blanket, on the back seat, there are pillows, another blanket, and some jackets wedged between the television set and the rear of the passenger seat.  Next to the television on the seat is a booster seat, the 1960's equivalent of a child car seat,... the purpose is not to protect, but to allow the child to see out the window of the large, four door sedan.

Mother is putting perishable food items into a cooler.  That was a metal container, round in fact, that held perhaps a gallon and a half of items,.... just enough to see us through the day, so that no groceries would be needed until the following day.  A little lunch meat to make sandwiches for dinner, some cheese, milk for the child to drink. Perhaps a small container of orange juice.  Other food items are in a box that will go into the trunk of the car, next to the suitcases.

We exit the house, going down three or four steps into the garages.  Father is opening the garage door in front of the sedan.  We all climb into the car.  Seat belts exist therein, but it is not required to use them.  There are no seatbelts in the backseat, where I climb into the booster seat, which sits firmly in it's spot, in the middle of the backseat. From my perch I can see out of the side windows, and have a partial view out of the front windshield, so that I can see where we are going.  

Father drives, maneuvering the sedan out of the garage onto the gravel of the yard.  Straight ahead is the road, and father makes a right turn out of the wide driveway.  I look out the right side window at our yard and the sheds. We pass the home of father's eldest son, which is on our property to the north of the greenhouse building sheds.  That home sits closer to the roadway than the other building. In the rear view mirror father catches my eye... "sing for us" father says,... and so we begin. Perhaps I begin with the ABC's, or perhaps some song I heard on the television this morning, when the Today Show was on.  Whatever the song, I do not begin if I do not know at least an entire verse of the song I sing...

I have long since forgotten, but I imagine I may have sang the Roy Rogers song Happy Trails To You, or Down By the Old Mill Stream, possibly a hymn.  At that tender age I had to sing what I could remember, because I had not yet learned to read.  But I was the entertainment for a portion of the trip to the lake house.  I sang until I ran out of material, continuing only if father could think of some song I had forgotten.  Sometimes I simply circled back to my starting point and began again.

My young mind has already begun memorizing various routes to our destination.  Father never goes the same route twice in a row, prefering to wander a bit, sometimes leaving the usual path to investigate where does "this" road go to.  We travel north for 2 or 3 miles as father decides where to make the left turn, perhaps onto Route 14, perhaps not.... we continue on to Rand Road, this could be the road we travel on for more than 40 miles,... but no, as he often does, father only takes Rand as far as the crooked road.  This is a favorite of ours,..little more than a farm path, the crooked road is a gravel road for the next 3 or 4 miles. Lined with potholes, it is a slow and bumpy ride.  Here I am allowed to do other than sing... I can actually freely make noises associated with the bumpy ride, mouth open, just letting sounds escape in an Ahhahh..ahhAhh... of sounds.

Coming to the end of The Crooked Road (now known as Arlington Heights Road) we again turn left onto Highway 83, perhaps for a half mile and into Long Grove, or continue a few more miles up to Gilmer Road..... either way we travel west northwest toward Fairfield Road.... there to travel more northward, after another left turn, to make our way onto Highway 59... from there to Grass Lake Road... we are almost there, and I sit up straighter and pay closer attention at this point, the long ride nearly over.  We might stop in at the little store to pick up some item or another, perhaps a loaf of bread; whatever we still need to tide us over before tomorrow's trip into Antioch for groceries and other supplies. 

Exiting the parking area alongside the little store we travel southward on Drexel Boulevard.  It is not really a boulevard, which would be a broader roadway with a grass median between the lanes.... this is a simple paved road, blacktop, because they could never do all the work needed to make it concrete.... Drexel is mostly hilly -small hills,.. a little twisty, but not curvy at all.... it is a mile, more or less, an then we glimpse the lake, in little views between houses.... past the large Cape Cod style home,..past the neighbor's big white garage, there stands a small old garage, probably originally built to house a horse-drawn carraige... it is a small, grey structure... the sedan would never fit inside there! I am not allowed to go inside that little garage, and must never ever walk beyond it toward the roadway.

Father parks the car alongside the roadway, and gets out to open the gate.  Once swung aside, father affixes the metal gate to a post and walks on up toward the house... Mother slides across the front seat and slowly drives the sedan up the driveway -  two gravel paths through the grass, spaced just so that an automobile can drive without traversing onto the grass.  Up the last little rise, parking next to the rock garden.  Before us is the lake house.  The lake house is a large structure, sturdily built, spacious, comfortable enough to while away the summer months.  Thus is the summer of my childhood.


happy trails....

Trigger with Dale Evans and Roy Rogers

(I no longer remember the words to Happy Trails to You)


there are places I remember.....

snow softly falling

snow falling softly
from the sky
landing on the grass
pretty, sparkly, cold.

sounds are muffled in the snowfall
ground covered in a blanket of white
streets shiny slick with wet melt
frigid air mists with breath expelled.

holiday lights on homes and shrubery
bundle into warm coats, scarves, mittens
walk-slide, chuckle, tug down the hat
warm kitchen and hot cocoa await.

it's the Holiday Season....special memories.

warm memories of Andy Williams Christmas specials,.... Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,.... A Charlie Brown Christmas,.... family, turkey dinners,.... parties,.... Santa Claus.....

My Dad threw a big Christmas party every year.... I do not know when that began,.... But my Dad's entire family was invited -all 9 of his sisters and brothers, and their families,... children and grandchildren... quite a crowd, yes.  And many of my mother's siblings and/or their families too.... probably a friend or two as well.  Our house was not large,..but it had a very large kitchen/dining room combination,.. a large family space open to a formal sitting room.  The Christmas tree was set up in that formal sitting room area, off to one side (the right if you were facing it),... offset by the fireplace. 

Every year Santa Claus came in with a large sack of presents, and he sat in a comfy chair and each child, in turn, sat on Santa's lap and received a gift from Santa. Home movies, and photos were on-going. I remember the final Christmas gathering only slightly.  I remember in little snapshots, and very few moments of interaction.  There were a lot of people in our house, everyone it seemed, though I can only name off a few of them, as I was very young at that time. 

What I remember best is one of my father's sisters, and a brother-in-law,... sitting on the kitchen floor and attempting (each on their own) to put one foot behind their head.  Uproarious laughter --very loud.... attracting me and a niece of mine (Diane), only a year or two older than I,... holding hands, looking at the two, red-faced adults spinning round in slow circles, each clutching one foot in front of their face, and laughing too hard to accomplish anything.  I looked up at my niece, and I remember saying to her: "I can do that." She shrugged shoulders and replied, "me too."  We wandered off, wondering why it was so doggone funny to the adults. (They were all stinking drunk -that's why.)

The following year the party was cancelled because we had influenza (the flu) at our house.  The three of us were too sick to do any partying.  Too sick to make the arrangements, to haul in the groceries, have the liquor store deliver boxes of whatever was drunk at my father's parties.  Santa was cancelled..... except that.... he did show up!! in true Christmas, with all the fabulous magic of Santa Claus.

Santa Claus showed up at our kitchen door, right on cue, to make Christmas special for a 4 year old little girl.  I recognized him instantly..... it was the neighbor's son, Georgie L.,... in a Santa suit.  He winked at me, and I played right along.... I never let on while he was there that I knew it was Georgie..... I led him to the Christmas tree and pointed out "Santa's chair", sat on his knee for a bit, and then received several presents out of his large pack.  He "ho ho ho-ed" and "Merry Christmas-ed" and all that.... patted me on the head and said that he had to go, busy night, et cetera. And then he was gone.

My mother closed the door behind Santa, and I looked up at her and said, "Mommy, wasn't that nice of Georgie to come in Santa's place, so that Santa would not catch our cold?"  My mother looked down in astonishment, and after a beat, replied, "Yes. Wasn't that nice of Georgie."

Such a special, warm, wonderful memory, of the last time that I actually saw Santa in our home..... 

George Loeding, wherever you are, I have never forgotten your kind act. Because of you, the magic of the season, and of Santa Claus is close to my heart, and will always remain so.

.....and to all a good night!

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It's the Holiday Season...........

my dad's favorite,.. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!

memories back in time....

once there was a place.... 
there were ponies there,... and for a while horses.... 
it was a pleasant place to visit, any time of year.....
many days of youth were spent there....
it belongs to others now, and we no longer visit. unwelcome now.


there was a place. 
by a lake.
lazy summer days.
gone now....


I know where my family lived when I was small.  
That is all gone, many years now. 
Decades actually, 
but I can find it.
You have to know where to look.
There is a big stone monolith with the address on it there.
And the lilac bushes,... they told her she could not transplant those,
but there they are, and every summer they bloom. 
By the fence that is older than I.


These are memories the heart holds.
Happier days, better times..... 


Memories of the heart....
...faces of the heart......

a secret wish.....

so nice,...a man brings his dad to the cafe every Sunday,... they stay for about an hour.... I suspect that they only stay until dad says that he is tired and wants to go. It is so nice of the son to do that with his dad.... 

(a secret wish....)

"Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan

After you meet her family."

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I am sure that each of us has someone.... we have all lost a loved one, or a parent, or someone close..... someone we would spend an hour a week with, were they still "with us".  

I know that I have many questions.... there are so many things,...so many stories, that I either never heard, or do not remember.  I guess that I would like an hour a week with both of my parents together, to ask them questions and to hear their stories.  I mean I knew my mother so very well, and I still have things I would like to know..... more things every day.....  and I only remember having a few actual conversations with my father.

I am certainly grateful for the times I was able to visit my aunts and uncles, and hear their stories.... and still so much left unheard.  I guess that is part of what compels me to write.

I know this: I always loved to hear my father talk when he was enjoying reminiscing with his favorite sister and her husband.  Those were some of the best times.  I visited his favorite sister after he was gone, because she was my favorite aunt. And there were stories there too, that I missed out on. Things I could have asked her,...but it was nice to just chat about whatever was on our minds....

It is nice to remember all of my mother's stories that I do remember,... she was with me so much longer, we had time to talk and for me to ask quesitons.... for her to impart details that matter.  Who she loved and where she went,..and how she came to be my father's wife.  ... funny that I remember asking her, "when you and dad get married?" ....and she said that she did not know....!!!!  But I have a photograph of them together, on his mother's sofa, and on the back of the photo is written "married" and the date of their wedding.... justice of the peace I guess.... and there is nothing wrong with that..... they are smiling in the photograph, not in any special outfits,... just happy.  I have a few other photos of them, smiling at each other, or simply have fun adventures.  
That is nice. It helps, on the days when I wish I could ask them........... 

.........a secret wish...........

junk, junk, ...more junk.....

This is the story of the end of one storage unit and the beginning of another, much smaller unit.

636, a 10x30 unit.... that's BIG

Where did Lillian keep it all? I have to ask myself, because we started out in a ranch home with NO basement,..... I am mystified...as she had collected the majority of the stuff while living in that home.  Including tons of stuff from her sister Mae, who passed aways in 1972. Anyway, two basements and one temporary storage unit later,.... I moved out of a home with a large basement, and put most of the basement stuff into a storage unit.... 10 feet by 30 feet, climate controlled.... and FULL, with an aisle down the middle.  The photo above is the nearly empty unit.
That's right, what you see, fading into the darkness back there, is 1/3 of what once was.  I have another 1/3 of it in my house -so that's a MESS.  

This is NOT hoarder stuff,.... if you think that then you would never understand what my mother was trying to do.  Ask anyone who visited the house in Des Plaines, and they will tell you -they NEVER saw all of this stuff!!!  No one, especially myself, had any idea of the scope of it..... and I have to tell you that we threw out enough stuff to have filled the 10x30 unit back in 1987......  It is, indeed, incomprehensible......

7 hours of hard work, with a few pauses.... and it was empty.

The price of moving that stuff to a 10x10 unit? A very sore body,...I was in pain and struggling to walk after I stopped working hard and sat down for a few minutes.....  And I am saving some money.....  Meanwhile, I have a house full of boxes to deal with.... there is so much that I do not want.... I am looking into some options,...among them an estate sale, a garage sale, or a spot in an "antiques" mall in my town. My goal? to get that storage unit cleaned out by,...oh, let's say tax day 2018.

There is some really interesting stuff there, and some cool unique items.  I may share photos at a later date.... 

Among the finds: a letter addressed to my father -postmarked in 1929! at an address I was not aware of.... and whatever was there in 1929, it is not what we see today (on Asbury Ave. in Evanston).  If anyone knows what year the greenhouses on Mt. Prospect Road were built -please tell me!  
Other interesting finds include some very unusual and novel items that were gifted to my parents over their 26 years together.  I have 4 Mr. Newport drinking glasses.  A Snoopy and Woodstock glass rootbeer mug.... a lot of memorabilia from the greenhouses,,... yard tools that belonged to my dad (real wooden handles)... and a rather old -antique- push mower...

sharpen the blades and it is operable!

As you can see in the storage unit photo above I have old-fashioned "strap" lawn chairs.... I believe I have a total of 6 of those.  I have an antique "typing table" which has little wheels and fold down sides..... A box containing an old barbecue grill and tools for cooking out....  I cannot even explain or list everything that I found yesterday.....

At home? I have a ton of glassware, dishes, and myriad tchotchkes - dust collectors to display in your home......   My parents entertained,... and by entertained, I mean that we had frequent visitors, and a really big Christmas party every year until 1964.... I was a wee tot then, but my parents had been having such celebrations for many years before I was ever thought of..... 

People always wanted to bring a gift, so my parents collected a lot of unique and sometimes unusual items.  A collection of salt & pepper shakers,.... a can of fried grasshoppers (thrown in the trash in 1987, and it was very old then!) ..... interesting hats, cookout aprons, and a variety of the aforementioned tchotchkes.  

Myself, I have all of my vinyl lps, and a good collection of board games for all ages,.... legos, Lincoln Logs..... all of my original cassette tapes that were well used in my first car's cassette deck....  A shitton of vhs tapes, and I still have a player.... a huge collection of family photos,.... home movies but no working projector.....a Singer sewing machine from the 1940's with a broken leg....   A beautiful card table and the 4 chairs -all in splendid condition, which were a gift to my parents from my Aunt Elsie and Uncle Pete, way back before I was born.....  4 fiberglass snack trays that were a gift to my parents in the 1960's -I still use them.

Anyway, that is my life right now.... boxes everywhere, and the uncertainty of what, exactly, I will do with it all......  plus a full-time job........it's a good thing I live alone......

a narrow townhome, 3 floors,... appx 1,300 sq ft including basement

Sunday morning musing

It is early on a Sunday morning, the end of the Thanksgiving weekend. Back to work tomorrow, rising in the wee hours of the morning, leaving home while it is still dark.  But today I am in my usual seat, in the café, coffee before me.   The café is empty and quiet just minutes after opening.  I am preparing, in my booth, to enter my own little world.  These café days fly by, while I while away in my private world, not noticing most of the comings and goings.  Events external of my private world do not exist, for a little while.  And it is most peaceful, as I allow my muse to consume all thought.

Frequently this early hour is spent consumed in whatever song I woke up with.  I wake up with a song in my head…almost every morning.  Toughest are the days I must go to the job, because there is no time to find the song, whether owned or searched on the internet…. So I am stuck, either having to try to forget the music, or to find something else to listen to.  Later my music for the day is changeable, depending on what cds I have brought with me, or what someone else brings,… or a Beatles cd in a Nirvana case –irony, as the Beatles are a kind of nirvana….

Slowly the café grows busier. A few regulars have wandered in as I slip away.  I make my escape in the private world of my own making…..

This is NO allergy.... Celiac disease, an honest article.

It is a question that usually annoys me because it is an inaccurate statement….

"Have you always been allergic to gluten?" 

This is NO allergy.... it is an autoimmune disease, and it is very possible to die as a result of it.  

Yes, I have had this disease my entire life, even though I was not diagnosed until I was over 50.  

It is still a difficult diagnosis to arrive at: celiac disease.

My story really begins in my childhood.  For one thing I have had “dark circles” under my eyes my entire life… that is a symptom.  My teeth were never really white, because celiac disease means that my body does not retain nutrients, minerals, vitamins…. it is a symptom to have discolored teeth.

I had a lot of stomach aches.  I was besieged with environmental allergies…. I slept a lot… not really “normal” teenage stuff, but ‘dead to the world’ naps that could last for hours.  At age 12 I learned that my body, my digestive system does not digest some foods properly,…corn, hot dogs, white bread….. I stopped eating corn, but not hot dogs or white bread.  I was too young to understand the problem, and to comprehend the need for any deeper analysis.  

Until I was about 30 years old,…and I had chronic diarrhea ---for over a year! No health insurance, and certainly no desire to be forced to have,..unpleasant medical tests/procedures.  So I read and researched, and talked to the lady at the local health food store –who happened to be fairly knowledgeable when it came to homeopathic “cures”. I discovered that acidophilus (probiotics) helped.

I stopped buying bread to eat at home, switching to tortillas instead.  A friend who grew up in Mexico used to say that tortillas were healthier than bread, I took that to heart.  Unfortunately I still did eat bread in restaurants.  And I still consumed other grains, never making the final connection to wheat or gluten.

Every winter since my 26^th year I experienced horrible itching.  First it was just my legs,… tortuous, burning itching…. (imagine the fleas of a thousand camels….) No hives, no dry skin, no visible sign except for the marks left from scratching.  I talked about going outdoors and burying my bare legs in the snow.  That sounded/seemed like it would help… I never actually did it.

Later the itching came up on my back as well,…it is called formication….”Formication is the medical term for a sensation that exactly resembles that of small insects crawling on (or under) the skin”… it is torture, pure and simple,…scratching does not help,..where you scratch is not EXACTLY where it itches…. There is NO RELIEF from formication.  It is not good to scratch, and definitely bad to scratch until it bleeds,..and yet one does so – scratches until it bleeds –without realizing what one is doing.

click here to open the Wikipedia article on Formication

click here to open the Wikipedia article on Celiac disease

Another thing I did was to keep a food diary.  That means that I had a little notebook in which I wrote down everything I ate, every day,… for more than 6 years…..   I wrote down what I ate, and the time of day,… but not how much I ate, because I was tracking symptoms more than quantity… I wrote the symptoms in the notebook as well.  It helped to a certain extent….keeping a food diary can be a useful tool for anyone who is trying to lose weight, and to track symptoms and look for links to diet in those symptoms.

Eventually, without really thinking about it I began pushing away foods that made me feel unwell....I stopped purchasing anything that made me feel unwell…. Pasta should have been a sign –I LOVED noodles, and I was not buying any pasta…for several years! Another sign of dietary problems is cravings… while I did not actually crave bread –any time I was in a restaurant I ate a large amount of bread. (a basket full of bread was nirvana)

Winter came, 2006, I read an article about hypoglycemia, and decided that perhaps sugar was the problem.  You know those articles that say that “the average adult consumes 8 pounds of sugar a year”,… I used to laugh, but in the early part of 2006 I started to pay attention to my sugar consumption.  What I learned shocked me,… it was not funny.  I really was consuming a huge amount of sugar.  I took immediate steps to cut down on the sugar intake.  The itching went away!  This was a successful strategy, and it worked for me, but only for about 3 years.   

By early 2010 the itching had returned  -with a vengeance,..and the formication was worse than ever before.  I tried a rotation diet.  Meaning that I stopped daily consumption of bread and pasta (I did still eat pasta in restaurants)…. I allowed myself to eat bread and pasta ONLY every 4^th day. The itching stopped.  I made it through that winter with no more itching.  (and no, I have never figured out why it is so much worse in the winter)

When I realized that I had not eaten pizza in 11 months I knew that something had to be seriously wrong.  I did not WANT pizza!  That was CRAZY!! I used to eat pizza at least once a week.  I was not buying/eating frozen pizza, and I had not ordered pizza for delivery for 11 months. 

Meanwhile, several people I knew were fighting various types of cancer.  Adrenal cortical carcinoma, breast cancer, liver cancer, and other types of cancer.  At that time I read an article that informed me of a fact most people are unaware of: colon cancer is curable.  The only thing you need to do is get a colonoscopy! During the procedure they remove any polyps that are found. They analyze the samples and determine what, if any, further procedures are required.  

I never thought I would EVER volunteer for a colonoscopy.  But I did.  They did an endoscopy to look at my esophagus and stomach, and then a colonoscopy.  I did not know they did anything. I mean that the anesthesiologist did a perfect job, and the doctor clearly knew exactly what he was doing.  No pain, no discomfort afterward.  Prep for colonoscopy is as easy as drinking a specific liquid, and not consuming any solid food.

A couple of days later the doctor’s office called me.  The nurse asked me if I knew what sprue was. I was dismayed, but “yes, I know what you are saying to me.”  Celiac sprue was found.  That is celiac disease, which is an autoimmune disease.  I am one of the lucky ones.  Most people with celiac disease are not diagnosed until they are hospitalized, losing weight rapidly, and quite literally dying.

I was over 50. I was sick for most of my life.  It is a fact.  Looking back over my entire life, at my health condition, and all of the problems I can remember having,… I was born with celiac disease.  

Knowing what I do about my parents I believe that both of them actually had undiagnosed celiac disease.   Celiac disease is very tough to diagnose without the colonoscopy and blood work.  If they are not looking for it (celiac sprue) they will miss it.  If you have not consumed gluten in several days or weeks the sprue can be missed. 

I was not happy with this diagnosis, but I was very relieved to finally have an answer.  Celiac disease explains so much about my symptoms.  Never mind what medical “professionals” say, because they do not know everything.  After the diagnosis one of the first things I did was to ‘google’ it… Celiac disease.  What I found was Celiac.com, and forums where you can communicate with people who have had diagnosed celiac disease for more than 30 years.  At Celiac.com there is a long list of symptoms….symptoms that doctors do not see as connected.  I had itching, fatigue, “irritable bowel syndrome”, stomach bloating…. And myriad other symptoms.  Those symptoms, to a medical doctor, do not seem to be connected, and yet they are all symptoms of autoimmune disease.  They are all symptoms of Celiac disease.

Link to Celiac.com

By time I was diagnosed it was easy for me, because rather than eliminate foods I was able to add foods! because the whole world of Gluten Free foods opened up to me -at the same time the market for it was beginning to grow by leaps and bounds. I lack nothing!!! sometimes I do wish I could have whatever my head desires whenever I want it, but I am OK and I am Gluten FREE!!

Are there foods I miss? Well, there are,… but in most cases there is a gluten free substitute that is as good, or better.  And: GLUTEN FREE FOOD TASTES GOOD!!!   

link to: celiac.org/celiac-disease/understanding-celiac-disease

Links to brands I recommend:

Canyon Bakehouse bread -the BEST ever GF bread

Food Should Taste Good -excellent chips and crackers

Enjoy Life (excellent soft GF cookies, and tons of other healthy snacks

Kind snacks -excellent healthy protein bars and other healthy snacks

also look for Freshetta Gluten Free Pizza, Tres Pupusas, Pacific soups, Van bars....

AND ALWAYS, ALWAYS, READ THE LABEL BEFORE YOU BUY!!!!

Remembering weekend (evening) television of my youth

Lately I have been thinking, quite a bit, about my own adolescence.... not childhood, rather the teenage years,..more to the point from about age 11 or 12 onward.  The time of our lives when we really hold on to memories of things we felt and did. In my life the point from which the person I have become started to emerge, the influences in my life at that age.  One of the first things that comes to mind is The Partridge Family,... mainly because, a few days ago, David Cassidy died.
The Partridge Family was a television program about a family band, airing on Friday night. The performed, sang, before audiences. At that age it was pleasant to believe the illusion that the children were actually doing the singing,... the mother (portrayed by Shirley Jones) tried to keep her brood under control, but growing children rebel and have adventures, and being a television program, hilarity ensues....

 but the music....  Happy songs mostly, ...sung by David Cassidy (stepson of Shirley Jones). Various songs, some happy, and some sad, but songs I still enjoy listening to, and having stuck in my head.  Cheerfulness without which my life may have turned darker.  Thus I follow that memory with The Mary Tyler Moore Show...

link to the Theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show - Love Is All Around

"..you're gonna make it after all...."

When I hear that theme song I am transported...  in my mind I am 12 years old again,...sitting in a red, swivel chair, before a television set, in a living room in suburban Chicago-land.... innocent, absorbing ideas like a sponge.  Mary lives alone, she works, she struggles, and she takes care of herself.  She shares with her friends: Rhoda (Valerie Harper), Phyllis (Cloris Leachman); and coworkers: Murray (Gavin McLeod), Ted (Ted Knight), Lou (Ed Asner).....  It is a lesson that a female human can make it on her own.  That women are strong, capable, and still nurturing.

Following The Mary Tyler Moore Show was The Bob Newhart Show, a funny, fun program about a psychologist in Chicago, his wife, their neighbor, and featuring scenes of group therapy with a bunch of neurotic patients, a kooky office mates... innocuous and enjoyable... a little innuendo, some pratfalls, and just plain good laughs.

Bob Newhart, Suzanne Pleshette, Marcia Wallace, Peter Bonerz, Bill Daily

And, rounding out the Saturday evening viewing fun, this was followed by The Carol Burnett Show... which never failed to include a plethora of hilarious skits and segments, thanks the brilliance of Carol Burnett, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway, Vicki Lawrence, and a variety of guest stars....  And part of what made it so enjoyable was that the cast had a tough time keeping a straight face themselves.... seeing their glee made us laugh harder, like we were a part of the joke.  

Mrs. Wiggins and Mr. Tudball; the infamous Gone With The Wind takeoff with Carol wearing the drapes.... Tim Conway and Harvey Corman cracking each other up with whatever silliness they attempted to perform.... 

link: Mrs. Wiggins, The Intercom,..again...

link: Tim Conway -The Elephant Story  (Tim Conway keeps a straight face, while Carol breaks down.)

link: Went With The Wind (drapery dress)

From these I formed my sense of humor, irony, seriousness, and my self....

other life lessons were learned before this time, and many many more lessons came after.... but from this brief period of pleasant weekend evenings grew my identity....

the older we get.....

the older we get, the more nerve shows up.
we have the balls to ask for what we want, because we know that the worst thing that will happen is that we will be told, "no", and that's okay.

I realized this at an early age, but did not always put it into practice.
Now I am older, and perhaps a little wiser,...and I ask for what I want.  Phrase your question carefully,.... and I have to tell you that I hear "no" far more often than I would like, but that does not kill me.... nor does it make me stronger.  What is does is make me sad..... and more lonely.

Anyway, a friend of mine goes to a lot of concerts,... she likes a particular style of music, and she pursues those bands, and manages to befriend the musicians.  She may not fully realize exactly how cool that is! but she achieves it because she is not afraid to ask.  I know that she does not see the magic of it, but she is blown away when they tell her "yes" and then join her for a chat, or for an adventure.  (You GO girl!)

Back when I was still in school I had a friend who's mother had died some years earlier... so the dad was the only parent.  My friend had two younger brothers.  They were all teenagers at the time I am talking about here.  So, their mom had been the "easy" parent, and the thing they heard a lot was: "wait until your father gets home". Dad was the disciplinarian.  They were a little afraid of him.  They did not have conversations with dad.  One day they came home to find me having a conversation with their dad.  They were flummoxed.  "What were you doing?" they demanded.  "Talking about television programs." simple.  Their dad and I had a nice conversation about television programs we remembered from the 1960's.  But that was when it really hit home for me -they were afraid to talk to their own dad, who was a pretty good guy.  The three of them wanted to go out for the evening, with me in my car, and they were afraid to ask their dad if they could go.  I sent the 3 of them to the living room with instructions to ask their dad if they could go, and if they could stay out until 9:00pm.  They were shocked at his response, which was not only a "yes" but they were also told that they could stay out until 10:00pm.  It blew their minds.  I was delighted that they had learned this simple thing.

I learned something too..... Never, ever be afraid to ask for something.  Think of what is the worst thing that will happen.... no one gets killed for asking for something.  The worst thing that can happen is "NO".  If you cannot wrap your head around that idea, ...well, then I am very sorry for you.