It's easy to make the mistake of blaming God for what men do.

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Take THAT Anxiety!!!

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Something that not many people know about me is that I have dealt with anxiety and panic.  I have been told that it is unusual for panic to surface so late in life, but I experienced my first panic issue in my early forties.  I knew immediately what it was, and I sought the help of a doctor.  I also devoured a number of books and listened to relaxation tapes.  I practiced breathing exercises.  I took the initiative and brought the situation under my control.  I took pride in the fact that the doc prescribed Xanax, and I only ever took it two or three times--and that was half a pill.  I hated the feeling it gave me, kind of like being a zombie. There is a misnomer about such attacks.  Perhaps panic is not the best description of what actually occurs. I saw a reporter on the TV a few nights ago.  They showed a clip of him in the midst of a panic attack while reporting live.  He looked down and appeared confused.  He stumbled over...
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Trust Me. I'm the Doctor.

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I heard on the news today that the average life expectancy for women living in rural areas has dropped.  This was not good news to me as I am a woman living in a rural area.  The report cited lack of education and obesity as determining factors.     The study did not specify what is meant by lack of education.  But there are two possible ways to interpret this idea.  Perhaps the suggestion is that the women who are dying younger are not college graduates and, therefore, have lower incomes and cannot afford good medical care--a truth that I have experienced first hand.  Another way to interpret the “lack of education” might be a lack of knowledge about health and nutrition. I don’t challenge the accuracy of the report, but I am offended (maybe appalled is a better word) by the causes.  So it is coldly reported that fat and stupid middle-aged women, like myself, are kicking the bucket earlier--and it is because we are fat and stupid and poor....
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The Amazing Thing About Christmas Trees

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     Babci (Bopchee: Polish for Grandma) lived with us until she passed away in 1984. I was 17 years old.  One of my sweetest memories of her is the way she decorated her Christmas tree each and every year.      Not sure where it ever went.  It seems like it disappeared around the time that she did.  But it was a small white plastic tree.  And every year she would break out her old cookie tins and dig inside.  Ribbons of every color she pulled out.  Her hands were old and arthritic, but faithfully did the work.      I wish I had a picture to post, but I can only describe what is so vivid in my memory.  A Christmas tree like no other I have seen.  Completely covered in colorful ribbons and bows.  Absolutely happy and charming and delightful.      And so, I guess I blame it on Babci that my tree is a hodgepodge of everything.  It is the one object that looks better and better ...
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