Good, Better, or Best

I listened to a fantastic talk almost 9-years ago that hasn't left my mind. It's nagged at me and, in many ways, rules the decisions I make daily.

  "Most of us have more things expected of us than we can possibly do. We should begin by recognizing the reality that just because something is good is not a sufficient reason for doing it. The number of good things we can do far exceeds the time available to accomplish them. Some things are better than good, and these are the things that should command priority attention in our lives."

As you've noticed, it's been months since I've touched this blog.  I love writing.  It's one of the "good" things in my life.  I've had many ideas to share with those interested in reading this and couldn't wait to put it down.  But Life happened.

As with us all, we have to make a decision in our lives of what is Good, Better or Best.  Life for me was starting to feel like a Merry-Go-Round spinning out-of-control; Time and Priorities desperately to be assessed or I would lose what was left of my sanity.  I had to do more than mentally write down the GBB (Good, Better, or Best) in my Life.

When I did that, the carousel slowed down and I was able to breathe again.  Family and Health  won the Best Category.  These are first and foremost in my life.  I'm reminded, again, they always are and always should be.   I try to squeeze in a few Better Categories-Gardening or Family History (I have to replenish myself)-but right now, in 2016, the focus is on the Best. Maybe someday, I'll have time for the Good Category again.

Just like in the story of The Mayonnaise Jar , you need to put your energy on the things that really matter.  And that's what I'm doing for now, focusing on GBB.  This will be the last post from the Rambler.  It's been fun; I've enjoyed the friendships I've made.  If you still want to reach me, you can.  Just reply to this post, and I will send you my email address.

Brenda

One Holer or Two

You may want to close out and not finish reading this, but again, you may not.   I feel this topic needs to be addressed. 

Where I work, the floor has three offices-the IT Dept. (mostly men); 4-H (mostly women); and the County Extension Agency (mostly women).  The Women’s restroom is by the IT Department.  The Men’s is by the other two offices.  It isn’t a short trek to either restroom for either office.  So whom every designed the building or assigned the offices obviously hadn’t Nature’s business in mind. There are many times workers have wished, ranted, or cursed the locality of their prospective facilities.  I’ve even had a coworker stand guard as I bolted to the Men’s Room knowing full well I wouldn’t make it down the hall. It shouldn't have to be this way.

While traveling around this beautiful country of ours, I have issues with restrooms across the land.  I’m obviously not the only one, since there are several phone apps out there helping you with anything from cleanliness ratings to locality.  I have one on my phone.  Which, I got razzed about on my last trip with my parents (and my mother was grateful for, btw)!  Regardless of popular belief, I DO NOT know every potty stop along the I-15 Corridor (almost, but not quite), so this app comes in handy.

One of my pet peeves is going into restrooms that are one-holers or just have one toilet.  Usually, there is a line of women wrapped around the store or rest stop waiting.  Some have small children doing the potty-dance.  Others, like me, are doing the potty dance.  While the poor woman who has finally got her turn is thinking about all the others standing out there with crossed legs.

 

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I simply can’t go with others ‘out there.’  It’s almost like you’re camping and sitting on that outhouse toilet with cold air whooshing up privates—instant shutoff.     Men—don’t laugh.  Your plumbing’s different. Please don’t judge us, because it is a problem!  

So, I try to avoid one-holers at all costs.  I just can’t relax.  I know others out there lurking.  If I’m forced to use one, nothing is worse than showing up right before a bus unloads.  Then the race is on!  I need to be washing up before the first old lady tourist is banging on my door or that’s it for me and my travel companions.  We either wait until the bus pulls out for me to relax, or we stop at every available bathroom for the next hour.

Two-holers are almost as bad as the one.  There may be TWO toilets, but you never knows what you’ll find in (or on) that one.  Let me give you examples of what I’ve found:

·         Clogged holers

·         Flooded holers

·         Smeared holers

·         Peed-on holers

·         Paperless holers

·         Lockless holers

·         Broken holers

·         Peep Hole Holers

·         Made-for-Toothpick Holers

Are you getting my drift?  And it never fails, if there are TWO stalls, the one I dash into, is usually a Made-for Toothpick and a Paperless one and the individual in the other one has only one square herself.  None to spare.

I have learned to carry rolls of TP in my car for this very purpose.  One day, while driving in the mountains, I was the hero of all the women (and some men).  I was the only one who had TP and hand sanitizer for the almost overflowing outhouse by a popular fishing hole.  Thank you, Mom, for teaching me this habit!!!

For many with MS, bladder issues are a problem, me being one of them.  But even before I was blessed with this illness, Rick has joked with me I have a bladder the size of a thimble.  I can’t help it if having children messed up the my waterworks.  I have a few suggestions that help me get from Point A to Point B without having to stop every 30 minutes.  Mind you, these don’t always work, but it’s usually enough to get me to a multi-stall unit.

1.       Don’t dehydrate yourself.  I’ve learned the hard way by going with minimal liquid for the whole day before and on the day of travel.  Boy, you want to talk about being sick and light-headed.

A.      Drink lots of fluids-just not caffeinated ones.  My drink of choice is Diet DP.  Giving it up while traveling is very, very hard.  But also running to the bathroom every 30 mins OR the thought of not being able to find a potty stop in time was enough to cure me of in taking the Nectar of the Gods for a few days.

B.      By lots of fluids, don’t be switching your 100 oz of MT Dew for 100 oz of Blue Powerade.  I always told my son he was drinking blue toilet water when he switched to this.  Trust me, if you drink 100 oz of it, you’ll be peeing it.  Not good.

C.      Avoid foods that will make you want to drink more.  Snacking while you’re driving is a great way to stay awake, but when I eat beef jerky, sun flower seeds, and Gardeto’s I always need to drink more.  Don’t you?

2.       Sometimes the food you DO eat makes you stop more.  My absolute favorite food in the whole world is spicy Mexican food--the hotter and spicier, the better.  While I was in Mexico with my husband, finding clean bathrooms you didn’t have to pay for was very difficult.  AND, you had to pay a separate fee for the TP.  Like I am going to use the toilet without TP?!  I didn’t even want to think about people who didn’t have money to pay for TP.  Maybe they had a few tissues in their pockets like I did when I had to use a cathedral’s restroom-free but no TP.

A.      Spicy foods

B.      Citrus-like orange juice

C.      Tomato-based foods

3.       Concentrate on something else.  As a young girl, I used to hate it when my mother would tell me to go into the bathroom and try to go.  I would whine and say I didn’t have to.  She would tell me to just think about it and I could go.  Well, there is no amount of thinking that will get me to GO now.  But there are a few little things that will help me NOT to go.

A.      Reading a book.

B.      Playing a mind-numbing game on my phone.

C.      Talking to someone in the car.

D.      Falling asleep.

4.     If you see a rest stop sign, DON’T second-guess yourself.  STOP!!! Here is one of my scenarios: Rick asks me if I need to stop.  In my mind, I waffle back and forth thinking, “Do I? Don’t I?  Can I make it? This is the yucky one with the one-holer and sticky floor.  The next one is only 20-miles ahead.  Ya, ya, I can make it.”  Only to have my bladder give the tell-tale twinge as the car is speeding by the on-ramp.  Those 20-miles are grueling even when he’s speeding and griping at me about not pulling over, even though he asked.  Every bump feels like a crater the car is bottoming out in and I just know I’ll be flooding the front seat as we’re pulling off in the 10 minutes it takes to drive the 20 miles.

Have a learned my lesson?  No.  I still think I can make it.  Do I?  Yes, but by the skin of my teeth with Rick dragging me and my bum leg to the women’s (or men’s) restroom.  It is SO not worth the stress-his or mine.  So why do I do it? 

A.      Positive thinking? Yes.

B.      Pride? Don’t think so.

C.      Not wanting to be a bother? Most definitely.

D.      Want to get to my destination? For sure!

E.       Better,cleaner bathrooms?  Sometimes.

Whatever my reasons are I’ve learned to deal with my bladder issues.  I’ve staked out the terrain on the roadways between my destinations most traveled, so I no longer have to deal with minimal holers.  And if the time comes where I do travel to uncharted territory, I have my trusty app by my side to protect me from unsuspecting dancing partners, long lines, and shortages of paper.

The Land of Nothingness

Being one who suffers from depression has made me leery of writing this.  The title came to me at the end of June as my husband and I were scrambling to finish the remodel of the downstairs bathroom for my in-laws who were arriving the next day.

I was wiped out and could nothing else to help my husband, who was as exhausted as I was, and there was still more to do.  I sat on our couch looking at the little slits made by my son's butterfly knife-"But Mom, it just slipped."  I could definitely tell the dog had been sleeping on there as his 'man-scent' overpowered me almost making me gag.  As I turned my head to get a breath of fresh air, I saw stuffing coming out of the back cushion where the kids used to slid over the couch because "it was faster than coming around."

The more I dwelt on that couch and the shabbiness of the basement compared to the newness of the remodeled bathroom, the further I sunk into darker thoughts.  And being a woman, one thought led to another (for all of you who have not seen the comedian on women's brains vs men's brains please go here now now) and soon I found myself where I try not to go-The Land of Nothingness.

Why do I call it that? It's a place that does no one any good.  I've been there before many years ago.  I was there for a long, long time.  For many people it's a different kind of place.  But for me, it was a dark, lonely place.  I felt no one truly understood or loved me.  I felt that every thing I did was always wrong or never good enough; I was never beautiful enough, or thin enough; or the house wasn't clean enough. It was a place of my own imagination.  It took my husband being worried about me, caring enough about my well being to help me.

I wouldn't listen to him to go get help, because I didn't think I was lost in The Land of Nothingness.  I jokingly referred to it as my Eeyore Day; PMS Day; Rainy Day; Cave Day; Gloomy Day; and I'm sure this list went on.  I even had an Eeyore shirt which I think I wore almost every day.

I remember the day like it was yesterday.  We'd had a little disagreement about something, and he said he was taking the kids to see his mother.  He'd be back later.  Only later didn't come.  I called him wanting to know when he was coming home, and he said he was coming but without the kids.  I had a complete meltdown.

It was then he and I had a heart-to-heart about his worries for me, the children, and him.  I went and got help.  First, it was anti-depressants, and then, three years of counseling.  That was twenty years ago.  Since then, I've gone back to counseling oft and on when I feel the call of Nothingness again.

Just this January I went back for a small session to help me cope with a few issues.  Depression is an illness no matter what others say.  It is nothing to be ashamed of, so don't let others belittle you or back you into a corner.  I'm told everyday my smile is bright and how does one with MS stay so positive.  I try not to go to The Land of Nothingness.

My tips of staying away:

1. Count your blessings-I have a notepad where I write down blessings and positive things that happen each day and when things get rough I go back and read it.  It helps my mood.  One funny thing I wrote down once--Thank for dishwasher (that was after having 14 house guests)
2. Take a walk-Even if you are disabled, find away to get outside and get some fresh air.  Nature and sun chases away the blues.
3. Listen to some awesome music-I love Zac Brown Band.  I can never stay in a dark place listening to 'Where the Boat Leaves From.'
4. Talk to a Friend-Call someone or go out to lunch.  When you have company, you're not alone with your thoughts.
5. Serve someone-I find service of some kind does wonders for my soul.  Helping out a neighbor, volunteering in the community, whatever you can find to do gets you off yourself and helping others.  There are so many places that need help.  Reach out of your comfort zone.  Don't think you can't do it.  You can.  I work with a bunch of MS patients, most in wheelchairs with limited abilities and they are all helping do something a fundraiser.  And having fun doing it!
6. Have a hobby-I have many hobbies.  And as my disease make it hard to do one, I learn another.
7. Teach your self something!-I am constantly taking some kind of class.  There are always inexpensive classes offered through your County Ext.  Check it out.

These are just a few ideas.   It's still hard for me not to be drawn by the siren call of that land, but I don't want to put my family through that again.  I hope I may have helped someone out there by opening up a private part of my life.  These helped me; I hope they help you.

Ruby Red Slippers

I have always loved shoes. Which probably seemed weird to those who didn't know me well, since I was almost always not wearing them.  I used to own a pair to match every style outfit I had--spiky heels; strappy sandals; casual loafers; driving moccasins, easy slip-ons, etc. I usually bought the shoe first, and then, the outfit to match it.

I had two favorite pairs of shoes--a 6" pair of glossy red heels that showed off my calves nicely and made my skirts swish around the knees; and a worn-out pair of slip-on Birks.  Yes, I know.  Two extremes of the wardrobe here-sexy and hippy.  If I couldn't go barefoot, I might as well be one or the other. I was a Montana-girl and reserved the right to go into my hiking boots, cowboy boots, snow boots,  running shoes, etc., anytime I wanted.  Needless to say, I almost needed a separate closet for my shoes (I wasn't as bad as Imelda Marcos, though).

It's been eight years since I've worn heels or run barefoot on the sand (I haven't RAN with shoes on, either, since I was diagnosed with MS, but that's besides the point).  Since I have developed foot drop (general term for difficulty lifting the front part of the foot/dragging it on the ground causing one to trip), I have to wear good, sturdy shoes to support the brace I wear.

In the beginning brace days, Rick brought me back pair of Birkenstock's from his trip in Europe (he thought they would work).  They were soooooooo cool.  I loved them and wanted to wear them everywhere.  But with the AFO (brace) , I had to slide the footplate under the insole of the shoe. Some shoes, I could put the brace on top of the insole, but since the Birk is contoured, I couldn't do either. Devastating! I sold my brand new shoes on E-Bay.

For the first few years, I wore big, wide-bottom sneakers just about everywhere. Church shoes were interesting.  I found a Mary Jane style that wasn't the big diabetic clunkers and used that.  I now owned two pairs of shoes-one for everyday and one for church.  I hung on to my closet full of fancy shoes just in case I could every use them again.

I made a few discoveries.  I went through shoes faster-about six months (that happens when you wear them almost 16/7).  I really needed two styles of sneakers so my feet and hips could change elevation and angles.  Ones body really takes a toll when the shoes are broken down.  One color and style of shoe doesn't go with all your clothes-although you can wing it. I did make some fashion statements. And there are some places that have a 'no athletic shoe' policy.  I've also decided I don't like wearing the same shoe to church every Sunday.  And I detest flats, but, I can't go any higher than a 1" heel.

So how did these discoveries come about?  Some were trial and error.  Others where right in the aisle of the shoe store.  You can learn from my mistakes.

• At the store, if you cannot walk down to the end of the aisle and back without teetering, wobbling, or just plain falling over, DO NOT BUY THE SHOES!                                             
•  No matter how cute the shoe is you will just end up bring it back to the store when your sanity returns at home.
• If your foot is pinched, cramped or uncomfortable, see bold print above.  You will get blisters, corns, or curse the day you spent good money on crappy shoes.  Even if they were on sale!
• Never order on line.  You won't be able to do the 'aisle test.'
• The wider the bottom of the shoe, the more stable you will be.
• My children have told me I would fail a sobriety test in some of my 'cuter' shoes.
• YES!  They do make sandals for my type of AFO.  Just make sure you don't walk like Frankenstein in them. Even normal walking women aren't appealing walking like that.
• That goes for any shoe you buy.  You don't want to be stomping around in it.  Not attractive.

The most painful discovery was I'd never wear those strappy sandals or 6" heels again. The day I finally cleaned out my closet was a hard one.  My favorite shoes were put in a large paper bag and left there on the closet floor, taking up room and gathering dust; the glossy, crimson heels sitting on top winking at me every once in a while.  Finally, the day came when a several people came to the door wanting shoes for a charity gathering.  I'm sure they couldn't use the ruby slippers, but I had them wait at the door while I rushed into my room, Before I could lose my nerve, I gave them the entire bag of shoes. They were astound at my generosity.  I was grateful my shoes were going to good use (except maybe the flashy stilettos).

I have yet to find another pair of ruby, red slippers.  I guess one-inch or lower heels only come in three colors-black, brown or white.  But, I've received compliments on the shoes I do wear and have had the privilege of helping other 'poor, unfortunate souls' like me (name the movie-hehehe) to find cute, stable footwear. One of the greatest compliments to me came from one of the 16-year old girls in my church.  She was looking at my sandals one Sunday and said, "I was just admiring them.  I love flats and was wondering where you got those cute shoes!" And everyone knows teenagers will tell you how it is!!  And like Cinderella (or Dorothy), I will continue to look for my allusive slippers.

Hoops

There are days when I feel like I'm jumping through hoops--hoops I set up for me; hoops others expect of me; and hoops my disease puts up in front of me.  I'm learning slowly but surely not all of these hoops need to be jumped through.  Some can be climbed through, some can be walked around, and some can be just ignored.

Take for instance, the Hoop of Healing.  Who is giving the healing?  Is it necessary?  Does it really work?  Does it add to my energy or take away?  Each hoop needs some important questions asked before jumping, leaping, walking, or ignoring is done.

Just this week, I was at conference for work-Hoop of Horticulture (one I love jumping through).  A gentleman attendee honed in on me, seeing my cane and limp.  He obviously found a kindred spirit, since his gait was impaired by a stroke. He followed me everywhere on break, during lunch, and even whispering to me during the speaking engagements all about Hoops of Holistic Healing. You really need to try these. The best one is the Hoop of Hemp.  I tried to be nice and find common ground, since I do use essential oils, but it just seemed to encourage him.  I found this draining to me.  And as I was leaving the conference, with his information stuffed into my hands, I realized this was a hoop I was going to have to ignore.  No matter how well intended this information may be, it just wasn't for me.  It was draining to me, a lot of info scribbled on his tiny piece of paper, and there was no reliable information out there (yet) on it for me.

Next is the Hoop of Home life--aka your family.  Lately for me, it's been a fast-rolling hoop, racing downhill, and I'm trying to hop along through it with one leg. Can I say, it isn't working? My kids are grown and gone; they've created their own problems; and while they may come to me for help, I can only be there to love them and help them pick up the pieces.  On some of the issues, it's deserved-good or bad.  On others, my heart aches for them.  But this all goes back to me (and I'm not being selfish here): Does it add to my energy or take away?  Is it helping with my peace of mind?  So, I need to decide, as I did when they were young, is this a battle I want to fight?  Or is this a hoop I want to ignore, crawl through, or help them jump through?  As much as my motherly instinct tells me to run and scoop them up, wipe their tears, and tell them it will be okay, I know this is a battle I should not pick.  I should let that particular hoop just roll on down the hill and not drag me with it.

The last one is the Hoop of Hope.  I always believe in hope.  Hope is what makes me get up in the morning, knowing that even though I'd a night of insomnia, a day of sunshine is waiting.  I have friends waiting for me at physical therapy.  I've a husband who loves me.  I've two beautiful children, on good days or bad,  who have two great spouses.  I believe in the afterlife where I know I will walk without tripping over my toes and I'll be able to pay my violin again. Hope is what keeps me smiling and laughing.

And it's hope that has me helping where I can with other MS patients. I talk with them and encourage them.  It got me involved in the community.  It helps me inspire others to jump, crawl, or ignore those hoops and not to feel guilty!  And through this physical therapy facility, I've come to make a difference with one important Hoop.  Right now, I'm putting a call out to all of you who have struggled with hoops of any kind for your help out. I don't usually ask for much but this is a cause I believe in:

Spoons

Work usually ends the last week of September and for me it's a bitter-sweet time. I look forward to catching up on the canning, housework, and free-time I've missed the six months working.  But, I also miss the laughter, jokes, lunch dates, gossip, and friends from the office.  It's a long six months wait to head back.  But this was an Indian Summer so, work kept on through to the end of the October.

I  just barely finished up with my classes in the Master Preserver Course in mid-September when I started up with the Horticulture Diagnostic Classes.  I had my work days switched from Wednesday to Friday so I could attend. To add to my bulging schedule were my duties as the  President of the Utah County Master Gardener's Association. The Fall Social was around the corner, and I had to make sure everything was running smoothly.  Even though it was in November, there were several meetings I was in charge of, emails to send, phone calls to make, and volunteer hours to count.   

One Wednesday, I arrived late to Diagnostic Class looking like death warmed over. Lecture had been going for 15 minutes.  To give you a quick picture here, class is held in the basement of a building by massively beautiful gardens located in Northern Utah County.  It is a good, brisk, ten-minute walk for me on a good day.

This was not a good day, and the parking lot seemed to be out in the back 40. For those who aren't familiar with the farming term, that means the back 40 acres of the property or in other words, a long, long way.  I silently cursed myself for even coming to class and contemplated just crawling back into the van and driving home. But, the drive home would've taken twenty minutes, several gallons of gas, and I really wanted to go to this specific class.  Scooter it was. 

I sat through class thankful I'd stayed, but all the while dreading the poweride back out to the car.  [At least it was a ride and not a walk, or crawl].  My co-worker and friend, Meredith, must have been watching me because when class was finished, she leaned over to me, "So, you finished all your spoons for the day."

Blank stare.

"Your spoons.  You know-the spoon story."

"I've no idea what you are talking about."  Meredith was always the sane, older one.  Maybe she was talking about something for the fall social I had forgotten about.   

"You know my daughter has Lupus, right?"  I nodded and she continued, "While I was visiting her this past week, she share the spoon story with me.  You and her are a lot alike."

She then proceeded to share the spoon story with me.  I wish I had been smart enough to come up with this analogy.  But I wasn't.  I do thank Christine Miserandino for her insight though.  I have shared this with everyone I can-whether or not they can benefit from it.  It hit the nail on the head.

There are a few items I'd like to point out to non-MS people out there (well, anyone with a full day with 12 spoons).  Please read the story first.  It is really hard to explain that just taking a shower (not getting dressed or fixing  hair or all the good stuff that comes with it) can use up 3 spoons if I'm not careful.  Or how on other days, I feel so fantastic I'm buzzing around 50 mph and use up all 12 spoons + 4 of tomorrows and regret it the next day.  Christine did a great job trying to write a visual for others to see it.

One time, while I was sitting in my psychologist's office and crying to him about the loss of feeling in my fingertips, he nodded his head.  He was scribbling something on his pad, and I got angry.  I took his nodding for him knowing how I felt.  I stopped my boo-hooing and started yelling at him.

"You do not know how it feels to not feel anything-not to be able to tell if your kids are running a fever; or stroke their cheeks and feel baby soft skin!  You can't tell when you're burning your fingers on the stove until you smell burning flesh!  I couldn't even change the heater knobs in the car on the way over here.  And it wasn't because they were cold.  It was because I. CAN'T. FEEL. THEM!"

He looked at me, and, in the stupid, soft voice of a shrink, he asked, "Then, explain it to me."

I thought of someway to tell him what it felt like. I looked at my thumb, where a large bandage covered a wound from slicing tomatoes.  "It's like having a bandage on every single one of your fingers.  Try living life every single day dealing with that.  Try typing, writing, cooking, driving, whatever! Bandages on all ten fingers."

I finished the session and didn't think anything more of it, until the following week, when my doctor informed me he had tried it.  Tried what?  The bandages on his fingers.  Not intentionally, but he had cut three of his fingers chopping wood so instead of taping up just the three, he did all ten.

"And?"

"I don't know how you do it.  Everything took twice as long, and somethings, I just gave up.  I have to say, I admire you for not giving up."

To be honest with you, I have given up in frustration. But I've also have picked 'it' up again, knowing if I don't keep trying to do 'it,' I will fail. There are times I don't give up, even when sometimes I probably should--like maybe when I am out of spoons for the day.  But if I had given up way back when I couldn't do anything with my fingers (1998), I wouldn't be writing, typing, sewing, tying my shoes, and the list goes on.  I will say it was extremely frustrating.  I taught myself to do all of that on my own again.  I was in between neurologists and had nobody but my family to encourage me.  It was the thought of my family, my little children,  and all the things people told me I couldn't or shouldn't do, that spurred me on.

There are things I've accepted I can't do anymore, so I don't throw away my spoons away needlessly. But, there will always be other times when I can't help myself by saying, "Maybe just one more spoon."

.

Rantings

Recently, I was away from my main PC and was trying to get into my blog site.  I just Googled "Ramblings of a Domestic" and was expecting my page to pop right up.  Now about a year ago, this would have been the case.  But not today.  I was in for a surprise.  I got things all domestic in it but with variations of what type of ramblings or goddess.

Heartfelt
Midlife
Bad
Sorta
Southern

Really?!  Stealing my name and idea?  Can't think of your own blog title?  And what do you mean by Bad? Or Sorta?  Is Bad like in naughty or as in terrible?  And is Sorta, like you are into it only half-way?

I know Domestic Goddess has probably been around for a long time, and I don't have the patent on it. But Rick gave me that nickname a long, long, time ago.  I even have a pair of PJ's with the name on he gave me one year for Christmas.  He likes to joke with me: I'm his stay-at-home Goddess, hence my superhero name-'Domestic Goddess'.

I came up with the 'Ramblings' since I don't have specific topic on any given day; I don't have set times or days I post; and I wanted to have the freedom to post  whatever I darn well please.  AND I chose 'DISABLED' because I feel handicapped is so lame.  I'm still perfectly able to do a lot of things. The dictionary defines disability as the lack of adequate power or strength to do something. That doesn't mean I can't still do it. When you call people with MS (multiple sclerosis) or other diseases handicapped, you are putting a cap on the things we can do.  So derogatory.  The dictionary says the word handicapped sometimes offensive and gives the synonyms for it as hinder, impede, cripple, incapacitate.

So... all those out there who have piggy-backed on my great name, I'm here to let you know you're in no way 'handicapping' this Disabled Goddess in anyway, shape or form from Rambling.  'Rambling' the way it was intended--to share information;  help others know someone else has been there, done that; and hopefully help them feel good about themselves!