Road in Retirement

Scripture Memory When I was in college, I memorized the entire book of Philippians in the Bible. A scripture came back to me from that well of memorization that helped me change my attitude. I had been battling the May 16, 2023 surgery dysphagia and seemed to be losing. In the third chapter of that book, the author Paul, who is in prison for preaching Jesus, finds repose in the thought of his future resurrection. Jesus promises all who believe in Him a resurrection. My Parkinson’s-ridden body will become brand new in heaven. Just before July 4 in 2023, and in my second rehab facility I was starting to think of this Bible chapter. Paul says, “I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it [his resurrection body] yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” As an English teacher most of my life, that verse has an abundance of action words. It was time fo

From a Hallelujah to Hope. So the early days of my dysphagia and inability to speak, chew or swallow were scary indeed. I was raising a hallelujah and fighting to get better, but I had setbacks. After three weeks of short rehab sessions, nasal tube feedings of food and crushed meds, and medical staff checks, I was not making much progress. Around Memorial Day both of my sons and a daughter-in-law were visiting and we spent large portions of that time trying to improve my ability to communicate. I was just so happy to see family. But after a few days, my older son and his wife left and I had a gripping bout of sadness and despair. My younger son stayed a couple days longer and I was sort of weepy, missing my older son already, struggling with the slow progress and losing hope. It was sinking in that this could be very serious and the brain operation that helps so many may have caused an opposite effect for me. My younger son who was still around, came into my room on one of those tough

Out of It. Continuing my last blog about my May 16, 2023, deep brain stimulation surgery and ensuing dysphasia, I woke up in shock that I couldn't speak. I was able to respond to prompts by medical staff to raise this finger, wiggle this toe, and so on. But verbal communication was nil for me. I knew I was all with it, but anyone looking at me pretty much thought I was now "out of it." It was a few days post surgery on a Sunday morning that God broke into my life.   Shattered Shoulder. Back up three years to April of 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic. I had taken a Parkinson's related tumble in the kitchen and shattered my shoulder in eight places. I lay in the hospital, new fake shoulder firmly in place reminding me that the old shattered one was all dug out with knife and forceps. There was no one around, as Covid protocols called for no visitors. It was just me and my God. After the "why me" prayer and "what else can happen to me" outcry I looke

 Change. It's been over a year since my last blog post and I guess for good reason. On May 16 last year, things really changed in my life. I underwent deep brain stimulation (DBS) surgery. Yes, it sounds sort of Frankensteinish, but actually tens of thousands of people in the US reap great benefits from this surgery each year. It helps bring back or maintain some physical functionality that is taken away by various neurological diseases. I've been battling Parkinson's Disease (PD) for 15 years and this surgery was to return to me new physical abilities lost to PD. Shock. So I awoke from surgery on May 18, 2023 (alarms should be going off) and I experienced shock, of a scary kind. I was fully aware (as I still am!!) but I couldn't speak. As a matter of fact, I couldn't chew, swallow or speak. I was a prisoner in my own body. Maybe like those movies where someone has been in a coma for days or weeks and then wakes up and tells their loved ones that they heard everythi

    I think I married Elmer Fudd, Chris isn't goofy looking like Elmer. He still has most of his hair. And there's no comparing physiques. Chris looks much the same as he did the day we wed. Elmer's lumpy. They do share a commonality, however. They both are obsessed with something. With Elmer it's his nemesis, that, "Wascally wrabbit." With Chris, his obsession is over birds... blackbirds  in particular. It all began innocently enough. I had decided one day to see if we could attract any birds and wondered out loud about getting a birdhouse. I thought it would give me something new and interesting to look at during the day. So we bought a bird feeder and bird seed and waited for the birds.  I was hoping for finches or nuthatches. What we got along with the nuthatches were blackbirds, dozens and dozens of blackbirds.       In the middle of a conversation Chris would whistle and bark out a sound  in an attempt to startle the birds. I don't know about the

    I have a new four-letter word that is pure evil--at least in April anyway. Sno*w. The word that shall =not be named is fluffy and white and oh so pretty in November and Decembr, but gets a little old in April.        Spring. This year that word has been an intangible. Here it is April 5,  and I've yet to see any green. Certainly not grass .I'll be the first to admit this has been a long winter.  November 9 was the last time 40 degrees came calling. November 9.     My friends and  family query me often about my choice of residency. When a spring snowstorm dumps a foot of snow on ground that's already white with frozen precipitation. they tell me I'm crazy for living here Pre-Christmas, this white stuff is welcomed anticipated even. But not in April. Certainly not in April.     I dream of escaping this land. A land I was only going to call home for five years. My husband and       I had it all figured out. Until five years became fifteen, and then twenty-fi