CAFFEINATED!

(With apologies to the late Gene Amole, former columnist for the Rocky Mt. News, and his Idea Fairy.)

The jitters were still affecting me last night after having that cup of coffee at 9:00 am. I know, at 7:30 pm, it should have worn off long ago, but it hadn't, which was why I was still enthusiastic and excited, and why I was looking through business papers and paying bills, planning my next step for the business, and writing with long run-on sentences with lots of commas, regardless of whether they are needed, or not. The only problem was that it was hard to focus; which is why it took me awhile to notice the fairy that was sitting on top of my computer screen, looking down onto my work. I decided to be polite.

Me: Who the hell are you and where did you come from?

Fairy: I'm the Opinion Fairy. I've been watching you for awhile and thought I'd come and tell you what I think of your work.

Me: Isn't that supposed to be Idea Fairy?

Opinion Fairy: That's my cousin. She's nice. Now, are you going to tell me? What are you so excited about?

Me: I made it through the meeting with my vocational/rehab counselor and it went well, in fact, it went even better than I expected, especially as he started by telling me what I hadn't done that I was supposed to be doing, and which papers I hadn't turned in.

O.F.: You're doing it again.

Me: What?

O.F.: Speaking in long run-on sentences.

Me: But I'm excited! Just listen. I blew him away with my promo video and how clear I was with what I wanted to do with my business and how much I had sold already and my connections with wholesalers and authors, and how practical I am.

O.F.: You don't sound practical now. You sound manic. What's going on?

Me: I had a cup of coffee this morning. I said that already.

O.F.: This morning? Come on. I drink coffee every morning and it doesn't do that to me.

Me: But I don't drink coffee.

O.F.: You just said you did.

Me: I was invited over to have coffee with someone this morning and it was, like, coffee. Usually when I go out for coffee, I have tea.

O.F.: It'll take me awhile to work that one out. So, you had coffee this time.

Me: Yeah. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. I thought, “I'm an adult. Adults drink coffee. I can do this.”

O.F.: You've never had coffee before this morning?

Me: Of course I've had coffee! Thirty-two years ago, we went on a road trip through the midwest, in August, and we left at night so we wouldn't have to drive through the heat. I drank a half cup of coffee with lots of milk and sugar in it, just so I could stay awake.

O.F.: Meaning, of course, that there must have been a whole tablespoon of actual Java in there?

Me: Yeah. Something like that. I have weird reactions to things. My family still gives me a hard time for getting tipsy from drinking an O'Doul's. Don't worry about me. I'm okay now. It's starting to wear off. I'm calm. I'm calm.

O.F.: Calm!? You're like a chipmonk that's just gotten off a roller coaster, a hummingbird on speed, a person with Parkinson' disease who's forgotten her medication.

Me: Okay, now that's getting personal. I'll have you know I've taken all my meds today.

O.F.: If this is calm, what were you like earlier?

Me: Well, when I got home from my visit, my husband had to take me for a walk.

O.F.: A walk is good.

Me: Yeah, except I was walking backwards...

O.F.: Backwards...?

Me: ...and sideways.

The Opinion Fairy raised one eyebrow. She wasn't going to comment on that one. I was impressed. I've always wanted to be able to raise just one eyebrow.

O.F.: I'm glad you made it through. Now, can we get on with your writing? It's just that, I've got another gig tonight and I shouldn't be late.

Me: Someone more important than me, I suppose.

O.F.: That's classified information; and don't feel sorry for yourself. Now, I see you've got several ideas for articles written down there.

Me: Leave it to me to get an Opinion Fairy. Okay, I've narrowed it down to three – “choosing the right kind of pillow”, “the benefits of an afternoon nap”, or “sleep-a-thon raises money for Parkinson's research”.

O.F.: Sounds like you need another cup of coffee. I'll tell you what. There's another idea here that's worth exploring. “The benefits of low dose medical marijuana for Parkinson's patients”. I'm sure a lot of people would be interested in that.

Me: That's a good idea. Of course, that means I'll be coming out of the closet and admitting that I use it. There's still a stigma to that, you know, even if you just use it now and then. People don't realize that you don't have to get high or stoned. If used as a medicine, it's a medicine.

O.F.: Yeah, and it controls your startle reflex, takes the edge off your dystonia, and can knock out a migraine. People just need to be educated about it, you know that. It even has fewer side effects of any other drug you take for your Parkinson's.

Me: Including coffee. You have been watching me, haven't you?! I suppose you'll want to get credit for the idea?

O.F.: No, no. You'd better leave me out of it.

Me: Why? You don't trust my writing?

O.F.: Well, it's just that, if you tell people that a fairy helped you to write an article about medical marijuana, they might not take you seriously. At least, that's my opinion.

I sighed and admitted that she was probably right.

Making Friends with the Mirror

My dad has a wonderful attitude about growing old. He tells his doctor that, with all his aches and pains, he doubts he has more than twenty good years left. He just turned 87 last week. When he feels his age more than any other time, is when he looks in the mirror. Then he wonders who that old man is looking out at him. It's a shock, realizing that he is looking at himself. He doesn't feel that old. 

During my first year of kindergarten teaching, I had a young boy in my class whose father could do anything, at least according to his young son. I had the task of reading a story to the nap time group every afternoon and, no matter what the story was about, as soon as I finished reading, this boy would say loudly, “My dad can do that.” As his dad just happened to be one of my colleagues, I had a delightful time imagining him, in his white shirt and tie, fighting tigers, climbing high mountains, and capturing alligators.

In my own way, I tell myself the same thing all the time. When I saw home made brooms for the first time, I was immediately intrigued and looked hard at how they were made. My first thought? I bet I could do that. The same thing with binding books or sewing a diaper stacker for my new grandson. How are they made? I bet I could do that. I've gotten myself in trouble from time to time because I commit to doing something that I've never done before, assuring myself that “I know I can do that” before I realize what I'm doing or how large of a job I've just taken on. 

This is why I am now finishing numerous craft projects, starting a business, preparing to be a health mentor to a group of medical students later this week, and writing a novel. Can I do that? I have no idea, but that's not the point. If I don't try, I'll never know. 

Watching someone dance is beautiful, amazing, and awe inspiring, and it makes me squirm in my seat. I don't want to just watch, thank you very much. To be truthful, I am more likely now to say, “I wish I could do that”, but that's just my thinking. My arms and legs decide on their own and begin to follow along. I can feel it in my bones. My body decides it can dance and is just waiting for me to catch up. In my imagination, I look and move just as beautifully as the dancers whom I am watching.

Dancing in my Dance for Parkinson's class is even better than in my imagination because I'm really moving! I might miss a step or two and I might accidentally start walking the wrong way, but that's okay because I'm a dancer. I'm determined. I can do that. The music starts and I'm off. Plie, port de bras, tendu, brush forward, brush back. Even the words are beautiful.

Then we turn and face the mirror. Ohmigod. I don't really look like a dancer, do I? Who is that dumpy middle aged woman with Parkinson's disease, who is trying awkwardly to keep up with the teachers? Again I realize how much we, especially all of us females, are taught to dislike our bodies. Really, I don't look at anyone else and feel the need to be critical of their bodies. In fact, as an artist, I find myself savoring every wrinkle and all the wonderful oddities that make each of us unique. As a friend, I see you, not just how you look. I know my friends do the same for me.

Okay, my next challenge is to make friends with the mirror. That is who I am and I really wouldn't want to be any different. I rather like who I am right now. Along with learning how to dance, I'm taking on this bigger challenge. I'm going to learn to enjoy watching myself, as I am, moving and dancing, awkward as I may be, in the mirror.

I can do that.

This video is from our Rhythm and Grace dance class.  Thank you to the Parkinson's Association of the Rockies for the video and for sponsoring this class!!

Rhythm and Grace

A friend of mine once complained that his girlfriend had signed them up for a Jazzercise class so they would have something they could do together. My friend was less than thrilled. In fact, he ended up by saying that just about anything would have been better than a Jazzercise class. “If she had signed us up for ballroom dancing, that would have been okay. I would've done that, but not Jazzercise.”

I learned a good lesson from this. I had been going about things all wrong. Instead of suggesting, asking, or begging my husband to take a ballroom dance class with me, I should have simply signed us up for Jazzercise. Dancing would have been welcomed after that. I briefly considered telling him that I had done this, just to try it, but abandoned the idea quickly. He wouldn't have bought it. He knows my bladder wouldn't hold up to that kind of exercise.

Nevertheless, I have always been interested in dance, so when the Parkinson's Association of the Rockies decided to start a “Dance for Parkinson's” class in Denver, I was ready to sign up. Chris declined my offer to sign him up as well, out of the noble viewpoint that if he was to come, he would be taking up space that should go so someone else with Parkinson's. I accepted his noble excuse while noting the look of relief on his face.

Yesterday was the first class. I had looked forward to this ever since participating in the demonstration class last month. Because parking was limited in the area, I had the brilliant idea that I could drive to our school and take the bus back and forth to the class, arriving back at school in plenty of time to take our daughter home. In theory, this was a good idea. The bus dropped me off right at the door of the Colorado Ballet. After an hour and a half of vigorous exercise and another bus ride, I walked the two blocks back to where I had parked the car. I swear that each of those blocks must have been at least a mile long. It was my triathlon: walk, ride the bus, dance, walk, ride the bus, walk again. My timing was a bit off but, all in all, I didn't do too badly.

The class itself was incredibly fun! I can't even tell you what all we did, mostly because I can't remember what the steps were called. Our teachers, Private Freeman and Sharon Wehner, are professional dancers and we had a lovely woman providing live music for our efforts. And effort it was. I learned a lot of things yesterday.

First of all, I learned that I function quite well from the waist up. Okay, I knew that already. I know right from left and my arms generally do what I ask them to do. My legs, on the other hand, have no interest at all in cooperating with me. They refuse to obey the simplest commands, especially if it entails knowing which is the right foot and which is the left; or it might have been that they were competing and each wanted to go first. It's not just a physical workout. It also requires that we pay attention to the other members of the group and how we are moving. I am proud to say I did not bump into anyone.

Then the music started and we danced from our chairs, behind our chairs, and then across the room. It didn't matter that we weren't perfect. I was moving to the music and I felt like a dancer! I credit the teachers for this. They treat us as though we are peers and they make it clear that our movements, even if they are limited, are beautiful to them. They didn't have to say this, it was obvious in every way they interacted with us. This could be another benefit of the class.  Maybe, just maybe, I'll start to see my movements as beautiful, too.

It's not surprising that the class is called “Rhythm and Grace”.

Strings Attached

Standing on the sidewalk, I looked down at my feet and wished, not for the first time, that I had some kind of strings attached to my shoes so that I could simply pull the strings to get my feet going again. I was stuck, or frozen, as my doctor calls it. “How often do you have freezing episodes?” he asked me earlier today. I resisted the urge to point out to him that it was 95 degrees outside and I was hardly likely to freeze; however, common sense and exhaustion got the better of me and I answered truthfully. 

It happens almost every day now, at least once, where I will try to walk and not be able to, or I will stop after a few steps and my feet seem stuck to the ground. Sometimes I can get going again by myself. Often I need someone to help me take those first few steps. Is it time to up my medications or is this just the new normal? 

As my own ability to move becomes more difficult, I find myself more and more interested in movement. I love my yoga class and can't wait to start in the Dance for Parkinson's class. I watch movies like “An American in Paris” and “Singing in the Rain”. I also enjoy watching Cirque du Soliel, Peter Davison (the dancer), and parkour, especially if our former student, Dylan Baker, is on the team. 

A few months ago, my son brought home a DVD from the library. It was a documentary about Igor Fokin, a Russian puppeteer who performed in Harvard Square for a number of years until his death in 1996. His marionettes came alive as they interacted with the audience. I would strongly recommend the film, “The Puppeteer”, to anyone and everyone. Just be sure to keep some tissues handy for the ending. 

Here was another way of looking at movement and it looked like so much fun! I had experience making and working with silk marionettes when I was teaching kindergarten, but I had never had the opportunity to work with more traditional marionettes. I was determined to try and make my own puppets and learn how to work them. Perhaps my daughter and I could practice enough to have a small show for the school fair at Christmas time? 

I've now made two puppets and I am working on two more. The newest one is a life size squirrel monkey. Making the puppets isn't so difficult. Stringing the puppets and creating a simple controller that will allow the puppet to move naturally, that is something else again. I have to learn how to create joints that work, how to balance the weight, and how it is that this particular puppet needs to move. It's a study in movement. It's not simply a matter of the puppeteer controlling the marionette. As Igor Fokin points out in the documentary, he gives the puppet just enough string to stand up on the ground and “They take care themselves. All I do is hold them up and lend a hand.” He makes it sound so easy. 

There is something magical about puppets. I brought Pippen, my first puppet, to school with me, right after I finished making him. I was with the second grade reading groups and it was the last week of school. There were three boys in my group who were more than ready for summer to begin and they had no intention of sitting still to read for 45 minutes. I brought out Pippen and these boys were so drawn to the puppet that they ignored everything else. I finally told them that if they promised to be very quiet, they could puppet-sit in the little coat room that was within the classroom. They were silent for the next 5 minutes. Then one of the boys came out with a book under his arm. “Mrs. Reinhart, if we promise to be very quiet and whisper, can we read to him?” Of course, I calmly replied. Looking in on them a few minutes later, I saw all three boys lying on the floor with the book between them. Pippen was sitting up next to the bookshelf and the boys were taking turns, as seriously and quietly as they could, reading to the puppet. Even without the strings, they're magical.

As for me, I'm still wondering whether attaching strings to my shoes would help me to get unstuck or if it would make me fall flat on the floor. Either way, it would be entertaining.

It seems I haven't figured out my controls yet, either.

No Place Like Home

The old guy got it wrong. If there's something I can be sure of, it's that figuring out when the rapture is going to happen can not require math. In fact, all those people in California had it wrong, too. You don't analyze the Bible to figure out when God's going to call all the worthy people to His heavenly banquet, you just wait for an invitation. Mine came in the mail. The California dude missed it by a few weeks. I won't give out the exact date. I mean, really, if you didn't get your own invitation, it's not my fault.

I was honestly surprised to learn that I was one of the worthy ones. Looking back at my life, I didn't think I'd done anything that special; however, the letter I received left no room for doubt. It was impressive. It was written on real vellum for starters, and the capital letters were decorated with colored inks and gold leaf. I suspect God had plenty of medieval monks in heaven who needed to be kept busy. It read as follows: (...though more beautifully. I don't have medieval monk font on my computer.)

You are cordially invited

to be a permanent guest at God's Banquet

if you accept this invitation,

you will be expected to be ready

at exactly 10 am today.

An angel will be sent to escort you to your new abode.

 Congratulations on being one of the worthy!

It was two minutes to ten and I had two minutes to decide what I was going to do. To my great relief, all of my family had received invitations, even our grandson. We gathered together in the kitchen to discuss the matter. All important conversations happen in the kitchen. We had barely begun, however, when our escort appeared, also in the kitchen. It was getting crowded. The angel seemed disappointed that we were not more impressed with his entrance. We greeted him politely and invited him to join in our discussion. Nothing had been decided yet, we told him. The angel stood with his wings spread across the room, bumping into the cabinets on either side. My son started by asking a question.

“So, what does this mean for the earth?” He posed the question for anyone to answer, but he was looking at the angel.

“THERE WILL BE PLAGUES AND EARTHQUAKES AND THE EARTH WILL FALL INTO A FIERY CHAOS,” the angel intoned.

“That's nothing new,” said my husband cynically. He'd just read the op/ed page in the newspaper.

“YOU ARE AMONG THE WORTHY. YOU CAN ESCAPE ALL THIS AND LIVE IN ETERNAL BLISS IN GOD'S HEAVENLY KINGDOM.” The angel looked confused.  He wasn't used to people questioning him.

My other son asked, “If all the worthy people are taken from the earth, what will happen to the people here?”

“THEY WILL SUFFER AND DIE. THE WORLD WILL COME TO AN END.” The angel reached out his arms in a grand gesture. I think he was trying to look powerful. Our kitchen is small. We have learned not to use grand gestures in our kitchen. Our daughter fished the broken bits out of the sink from the dinner glasses that had been accidentally knocked over, and threw them in the trash. The angel looked sheepish, “sorry,” he said, in a small voice.

It was my daughter-in-law's turn, “I don't know. I think I'd feel selfish if I'd choose to leave the earth just when people need the most help.”

“BUT IF YOU STAY, YOU WILL SUFFER WITH THEM AND DIE ANYWAY.” The angel was losing his momentum.

“Ah yes,” said our daughter, “that's true, but at least then we'd feel useful.”

“BUT DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE THE GLORY OF GOD?”

There was a yell from the floor. Our grandson had finished rearranging the pots and pans in the cupboard and began talking to the angel. Obviously the angel understood the little guy's baby talk and knew that he was saying, “I don't know about the rest of you, but I just got here. I'm not the least bit ready to leave yet. Didn't God create this place? Isn't the earth part of God's glory?” He blew a raspberry in the direction of the angel and went back to the pots and pans.

The angel looked around to each of us in turn. “You're all going to stay?” The angel was sounding almost normal now.

We all looked at each other and smiled. With another grandchild arriving in August, the garden growing, and summer vacation just about to start, where else would we rather be?

“YES!” We all replied, in unison.

“I guess that's that, then. I'll have to tell the Almighty about this.”

Our grandson looked at the angel again and said, in his own baby language, “Don't bother. God already knows and says it's okay. God says for you to go back home.”

The angel said goodbye and shook our hands. We thanked him for coming to discuss things with us. Then he left in a puff of smoke. My husband went back out into the garden. My son and daughter-in-law started making a salad for dinner. My daughter finished her homework. My other son went out to the studio to continue working on his marionette. Our grandson took all the plastic containers out of the cabinet and exchanged them for the pots and pans.... and I took a nap.

There's no place like home.

The Truck - or How to Write a Bestseller

When I started to take my writing seriously, our son cleaned up his old laptop computer for me to use. This way, I could still write when our daughter was doing her homework on the family computer. The old laptop was perfect. All I really needed to use was the word processor and fortunately, that was one program that still worked.

There were a few challenges. The top of the laptop, namely the screen, was attached to the bottom of the laptop, ie: the keyboard, by two wires. Setting it up required having something large and heavy right behind the computer so the screen wouldn't fall over. I eventually solved this problem with lots of duct tape and a couple of large “L” brackets, putting one leg of each bracket under the keyboard so that the screen could rest against the other leg. True, the brackets were marring our wood table, but this was solved quickly by putting a towel under everything. It was a ritual I repeated several times each day.

The biggest advantage to using this computer is that I couldn't be distracted by the internet or other fun ways to procrastinate. Nothing else worked. The disadvantage to this computer was that, even after I set it up, it took another five to ten minutes to warm up enough so I could open the program. I was never quite sure that it was going to come on. Needless to say, I saved everything to my flash drive. Not having the internet helped keep me from getting distracted, however, there were times when I needed to research my topic and this would entail running over to the other side of the house, kicking our daughter off the computer for a few minutes, looking frantically for the information I needed so I could let her back on again, and then going back to the dining room to type some more.

It was okay. I could handle it. In fact, there's some precedent to using old beat up writing equipment in coming out with a best seller. J. K. Rowling typed the entire manuscript for the first Harry Potter book on a manual typewriter and look how well that one did.

I was on a roll with my story, too. One night I sat for forty-five minutes working when my husband came in to ask how it was going. I replied that it was going very well, thank you. He looked over my shoulder to see what I had written. “The truck. That's what you've written?” I could tell he was impressed.

Maybe he thought I could do better if I had a computer that wasn't held together by duct tape. The possibility must have occurred to him because a few days later, he gave me an early anniversary gift. It was, and still is, a little Toshiba notebook computer. I'm typing on it now. It's amazing! In next to no time, I was not only able to write, I was also able to access the internet! Now I could write, do my research, check my email, play hangman, and look up new recipes for dinner!

The last one is a nice benefit that the whole family enjoys. My cooking has improved greatly since I can set up my tiny computer on the kitchen counter. The other night we had cheese stuffed hamburgers. Tonight we had Curried Chicken Penne with Fresh Mango Chutney. This is great except my family is starting to expect good meals. With the old laptop, I would get into my writing and fail to realize that it was time for dinner. We had lots of spaghetti, chili, and tacos. No one complained.

I'm not complaining, either. Things are so much better now. If I get stuck with my writing, I can always play a game of hangman, or two, or three. Our daughter is undisturbed in her homework. My writing is coming along quite well. Having a more efficient computer may have knocked me out of running for the next bestseller, however, I am soldiering on. This afternoon I sat writing for nearly an hour. When my husband came out, he looked over my shoulder and read what I had written. I had gotten much farther. He read, “The truck is green.”

He's not complaining, though. He's looking forward to dinner.

Setting Goals

Several things occurred to me this week. First of all, I realized that it's been over four years since I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. Then I remembered, that is to say, I was reminded that April is Parkinson's awareness month. After that, it dawned on me that April is almost over. I think that's okay because I'm still very much aware of my Parkinson's disease.

There's more, though. When I was first diagnosed with Parkinson's, I had one major goal. That was simply to learn to enjoy life on this new path that I've been given. I didn't have a lot of other goals at that time. I was busy being totally overwhelmed by all the changes in my life and in our life as a family. Lots of things changed. I had to leave my job which I dearly, dearly loved. I couldn't take walks anymore. I couldn't make it through the day without two or three naps. I was alternately very UP and then, without warning, I would be down in the dumps for hours or days. My poor husband lived through all this and, I'm sure, often wondered who this crazy woman was and what did she do with his wife. Somehow or other, he made it through. I'm glad, 'cause I kinda like having him around.

I didn't feel depressed. All in all, I was and am happy with my life. A lot of the ups and downs were due more to the challenge of getting the medication balanced. That's huge. I did a lot of things during this adjustment time and I learned a lot about how to laugh at myself and appreciate the humor in the daily challenges of Parkinson's and Dystonia.

What I didn't do was come up with serious goals for myself. True, I did learn to swear. I also started writing and developing my art work. I tell people that I'm a freelance writer and artist; “free” as in unpaid. Beyond just the therapeutic value, I didn't set any goals for my art or my writing. I wasn't looking at creating a business or writing a best seller. I was living in the moment. Wow. That's something I had to learn how to do. It was the first time in my life I had been able to let go of the baggage (or at least much of it) that I had carried around for so long. In this way, my diagnosis of PD was incredibly freeing. I stopped worrying about little things.

I was living in the moment. That's a wonderful place to be sometimes. It's nice to know I can go into that space when I need to rest up a little. It's not a place to stay all the time. I need to look back and look ahead, too. It's time to see where I've been and where I want to go. It's time to set some goals.

My first goal is to retrain myself to walk again. I wouldn't have thought this was possible even two months ago, but I've started in a physical therapy treadmill walking study. This study is just for us folks with PD. I've been walking for 30 minutes, twice a week, for four weeks now. I have two more weeks to go with the study. My speed has increased, my dystonia doesn't kick in nearly as much, and my arms have started swinging again. I don't even have to consciously think about it. My therapist, Barbara, has me walking around the neighborhood, too; at least around the block. I'm up to walking half a mile in 14 minutes. That's down from walking a quarter of a mile in 17 minutes. The first step in meeting my goal will be to continue the treadmill walking twice a week, even after the study ends. A mini goal will be to walk three quarters of a mile, or one lap of the walk-a-thon, before I need to use my walker.

 Yesterday, I went to the Vocational Rehabilitation office to see if they can help me figure out a way to go back to work. This is my second goal. I'm not sure what that look like. Regular job hours would be a challenge for me. A better choice would be to turn my art work into a business. I could be official! The Vocational Rehab folks would support me through this and help me learn the ins and outs of being a real business.

My third goal is to finish writing a novel that I started a few months ago. The goal doesn't insist that it be a New York Times best seller, nor does it have to be made into a movie that wins an academy award. I just want to finish it. I've never written a novel before and have no idea whether anyone but myself will be at all interested in what I write. With any luck, it'll be just good enough that I'll still be interested in it when it's done. The process had taught me a lot and I have met a lot of wonderful people along the way.

My last goal is to continue learning how to laugh at myself and find the humor in my everyday challenges. Oddly enough, as I start looking at where I've been and where I'm going, suddenly things can seem overwhelming again. My self confidence has plummeted in the last few weeks. Find the balance, that's what I need to do. Make my goals but be flexible. Live in the moment but don't forget where I've been. I'm incredibly lucky! That I know. I've got a wonderful family and amazing friends. I can't depend on them for my self confidence, however. That's up to me.

Maybe I should shoot for that academy award. If I accomplish my other goals, at least I won't trip as I walk up to accept it.