PD
The yellow finches appeared as bouncing colorful orbs seeking the fresh seed that filled the feeders just a few yards away from the deck. Although hot and humid, the extreme heat was sheltered high above the scattered clouds that moved slowly with the breeze traveling from west to east. The hearty cows about which we were to be learning were grazing steadily on the dark green vegetation that proves to be among the source for the nutrient rich beef. As refreshments were being prepared for the soon to arrive entrepreneurs, this aging and somewhat resigned host to PD engaged full-heartedly in games with his three and four-year-old granddaughters. Giggles, screams, and uncontrollable outbursts of laughter permeated our presence as we cherished these moments of sheer joy. The “joy” is in the ability to engage with the precious girls as they are, where they are and, in the process, imprint a memory of fun time with “Popi”. Soon the hosted group arrived and the opportunity to learn about turning land resources in one of the geographically healthiest regions in the Eastern US into an environmentally and nutritionally healthy product that promises to be self-sustaining got underway. As part of the learning experience, the group got the opportunity to meet the nutrient rich contributors to Middle Border Beef, that give back more to the environment than they take. The experience reminded this PD participant that there are still opportunities for positive change and life enhancements that can flourish with our grateful attention to them. Another window opened to the fresh air of thankfulness in which the richness of opportunity for renewal came flowing through.
The graveled driveway almost glistens as the bright sun shines down on it. The recently mowed grass embracing its length gives a highlight and a look of distinction to the drive leading from the highway to the houses and sheds. In the distance a shadow of dark clouds casts an ominous warning of a possible storm, wind, and rain that may be heading this way. Rather than fret over what may come our way, this possessor of Parkinson’s Disease and its manifest symptoms under moderate control, looks gratefully out upon the bright shining deck and the plants and flowers growing thereon. Captured in the glow of the bright sunshine are the roaming chickens, grazing goats, and fine ripples in the pond as fish nibble at a morsel dropped by a bird flying by. Around the corner, a hungry and determined raven pounds soundly and directly onto a pecan it discovered near the giant tree. The shell of the nut is no match for the strength and stamina of the Raven’s beak as the bird gobbles down the meat of the nut before flying off to its next challenge. Gratitude fills this heart as the vision of beauty and the wonder of nature are manifest even in the shadow of a looming storm. The prognostication for PD is a slow progression of symptoms to a near state of dysfunction, which may lead to any number of secondary challenges. Nearly each of the potential effects has found its way to this walker’s path and has confronted him with the challenge customarily brought. For the weeks, days, and hours lived in the freedom from the dark clouds of this disease, we give thanks and cherish those times with a hefty dose of gratitude. It appears that gratitude is the best medicine to treat the source and symptoms of an otherwise cloudy experience!
Bright and crisp was the sun that shone after several days of cold and often freezing rain. I gathered my keys, my cell phone and my wallet as I headed toward the slightly muddied truck for a short run to secure some groceries for the next few meals. The cows were chomping away at the newly sprouted grass and early clover as I drove the pot hole spotted driveway toward the once quiet country road from the family farm to the bustling city. The cows seemed to glow in the bright sunshine with which we were being blessed. I turned onto the well maintained and sturdy country road toward my city destination. A bright shine in the distance by the edge of the road caught my attention. As I got closer, the black garbage bag overflowing with pinkish substances became more evident. Then, I saw the Styrofoam cup, and a few feet away two soda cans on the right side of the road. A short distance further my eyes were met with more strewn cups of Styrofoam, translucent plastic and what looked like a bed cushion soaking up the abundance of water left by the multiple days of rain that came before. Now my attention had been drawn from the blessing of the bright sunshine illuminating the fields and woods along the roadway to the plethora of cast away cups, cans, and plastic bags lining the sides of the road. It seemed the distractors were strewn every twenty to thirty feet, on ether side of the road. I remembered that in late Autumn, “road crews” were busy along the side of the road collecting trash and garbage that had been strewn haphazardly during the summer as well. Now having seen the accumulation of discarded objects along the way, I found it harder to refocus my attention upon the blessing of the bright sunshine. PD has a way of sneaking its “trash” in the form of stiffness and rigidity in the way of an otherwise routine, but painless day. Likewise, I find it necessary to re-focus my thoughts on the temporary increase in dosage of dopamine assistance to help “clean up” the distraction of movement from the otherwise bright and cheerful day. Both the clutter of symptoms and the collection of rudely discarded cast away objects requires an intentional focus to maneuver past. With whispers of gratitude and the faith to move beyond the bits of a cluttered day the bright light of sunshine illuminates another thanks filled morning!
The foot and a half of snow brightens up the overcast sky as the temperature rises as predicted. Slush from the melting white covering fills the tire tracks along the driveway. Birds have nearly emptied their feeders and the chickens are scratching away in every patch of exposed earth. The newly acquired cattle are devouring the hay delivered just before the near blizzard. The white covering is slowly making its way down the slope of the roof as internal warmth penetrates through the old insulation to escape into the cold air above. Gracie steps precariously on the nearly ice-covered inches of snow as she seeks that otherwise perfect spot to deposit her well kept bladder and intestinal content. All seems well as this often-unwilling host to PD reflects upon the past few days in the warmth of his sturdy recliner. Just two days ago, attempting to run errands while in town, I pulled up to the gas pump at the discount store used often to replenish the tank. All looked clear except for a few white patches of well compacted snow. Switching off the engine and placing the keys in door holder, I opened the door and stepped out as my feet went flying forward toward the gas pump. Stunned and somewhat numb from the body slam against the floorboard, fear and anger began to raise their heads. As I sought a non-slippery spot to give my feet a grip, I slide deeper toward the pavement. Determined, a foot caught hold of a white snowy spot that had remained rough enough to sustain the feet of an old codger. Moaning and groaning, I managed to get myself to a standing position and proceeded to fill the truck tank with fuel, the intent of the stop in the beginning. Bruised and just a tiny bit sore from the slam against the floorboard of the truck, I finished off the tank holding at least a cup of anger at the ice trap into which I had just stepped and emerged. As I climbed back into the truck, being ever so careful not to step on ice, I sat taking deep breaths as I let the anger and fear pass and began the process of healing as I whispered words of thankfulness for that, as far as I could tell, nothing was broken, and my head had been spared a pounding with the fall. As gratitude filled the space between my ears and the depths of the heart still pounding in my chest, I drove away counting the multitude of blessings for which I was reminded to be thankful. Even the most challenging of experiences offer opportunities to recall the gratitude that fuels a thriving heart!
The frosted fields glisten in the morning sun as the new day arrives. The small herd of cattle grazes ravenously on the whitened grass covering their now familiar abode. Prognosticators proclaim that a coming storm will cover the landscape and highways with multiple inches of snow and a potential mixture of ice. Sitting in the well heated den gazing across the sun lighted fields seems a long cry from the forecasted storm. Past experience heightens the awareness of this PD hosting old codger who has made his list and is checking it twice, regardless of niceties so as to be as prepared as possible for the stormy weather arrival. Likewise, past experience heightens awareness of the potential for slower and shaky movements as anxiety rises over challenges to come. Reminding myself that “fortune telling” is not a spiritual gift, I settle down to a place in my thoughts that taps into the generous well of gratitude and then begin to dip out cups of thankfulness. As this now thankful trustor in the One who provides the substance and meaning of the well from which we draw, contemplates the day at hand, I do so with a mind heightened with optimism and a heart lifted in anticipation of thriving moments! This is truly the day that the Creator has made, and we will rejoice and be glad in every aspect of it!
The date indicates that Summer should be near its close. The temperature and humidity indicate otherwise. Placing the tarp over the passenger seat of the truck in preparation for Gracie’s transport to the groomer left this PD hosting Boomer with a sticky neck, forehead and overall overheated body. Gracie had already left about three of herself lying all over the floor of the house as she shed her golden hair with little effort and spread it around generously even on the mantle after rolling on the floor and then shaking herself vigorously. Her majesty is not accustomed to walking leashed, since the farm yard is her playground and she never wanders far from the comfort of her shelter. A walk to the groomer, however, is fraught with commands to slow down, as my arm is outstretched, and my shuffling feet are forced to hobble haphazardly forward. The two-hour duration of her nose to tail-tip grooming procedure left me with time to try some shopping and a leisurely lunch at one of my favorite eateries. Even with the full dose of dopamine replenishment in place, these feet attached to these aging legs shuffled ever so slowly to stroll through a couple of nearby stores. Lunch was delicious, but the task of shuffling to order and then taking a seat for its delivery left me challenging my thinking about “eating out” while the pooch was prepped. Soon the text came that Gracie was groomed and ready for her departure back to the home she so dearly loves sharing her fur within. A groomed and less-haired dog prompted the thought that the few days of shedding deposits occupying the floors would best be hosted in the trash by way of the vacuum cleaner. Emptying the canister numerous times amid raging resistance from a body hosting on what has become known as an “off day,” reminded me that life is NOT like it used to be. This disease is real and its manifestations can be at times daunting. The plans I had for the rest of the day and evening were soon “tabled” for a time of relative quiet and intended relaxation to allow the pain and stiffness to subside. This prideful participant in the sometimes-painful Parkinson’s Disease process is frequently faced with what sometimes appears to be the choice between “giving up” or “sucking up” in the throughs of disease symptomology. I have discovered, however, that there is yet another response that serves this host better. That is the act of “offering up” with a grateful heart those expressions of thankfulness for so many things that bring us through challenges. The list would fill a lifetime! A grateful heart is a thriving one!
Over a hundred acres surround the old farm house that my father and mother built about fifteen years after their purchase of the acreage at the time of what was termed the great depression. As a small child I roamed the fields, hills, and forest with bare feet and shorts, with no fear of predators. I remember my mother instructing me to stay in site of the house, but I interpreted to my own satisfaction any of the structures that may be occupied by tenants or sharecroppers to be “the house” to which the motherly instruction would apply. We had one milk cow, one horse, two mules, a hefty flock of chickens, one hog (most of the time) and lots of plows, wagons, and in later years a hefty tractor to harvest hay and give the mules a run for their money. All of those are long gone except for their memory in this aging possessor of PD. Returning to the farm after years away has been a blessing that has filled this heart with gratitude. Memories have been flowing back recently as we entertain and begin an action plan to revitalize the old farm as a host to a unique breed of beef cattle. The old pastureland has long ago decayed and slipped away to rust and rot, but new fences will soon go up as the new plan and lively stock begin to occupy the space of open fields and grasses. Children and grandchildren will have the opportunity to “tend” to the farm in ways never imagined by my parents and ancestors. The wisdom of choices will be afforded those of emerging generations and the heart and mind of this grandpa, once the child in awe of the farm, will continue to be filled with the peace of gratitude, the thanks for which may endure far beyond this memory!
The breeze beneath the old pecan tree was blowing from the west and feeling like someone opened a sauna door. Just three days from the official declaration of Summer and the temperature and humidity combined was breathtaking. Just a swift visit to the garden to gather a few cucumbers rendered this septuagenarian worthy of a visit to the clothes dryer for a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt. As the recliner in the air-conditioned den embraced this somewhat stiff and slow-moving host to Parkinson’s, I had a flashback to days gone by when as just a young boy I sat in this same room in the middle of summer trying to cool down from the swelter outside with the assistance of only an electric fan blowing the semi fresh air drifting through the open windows. During that time, summer on the farm was fraught with constant daily chores interspersed with an early afternoon respite (and nap, if one could endure the heat while sleeping) from the burning heat and sun outside. Perspiration was one’s companion, but it never seemed to be a deterrent to the ever-eager activities of the then young and restless farm boy. Clad only in shorts, without shirt or shoes, this browned and secure youngster roamed the fields, pasture, and woodlands finding arrowheads, crayfish, terrapins (box turtles) and an occasional salamander. Many years have passed since then and this blessed adventure called life has taken me around the world to places I only dreamed about in the days of my youth (and many I never knew existed). The joy of the childhood memories is enhanced as I look thankfully upon the walls wherein those memories were made and offer up my heartfelt gratitude for the young life experience as a farm boy. The barefooted youngster has become a want to be secure footed oldster living in the air-conditioned abode from which it all began, filled with a heart of gratitude for not only this place, but also the gift of others with whom I share the richness of this humble place called home!
The ominous black clouds roared their way toward us from the storm trodden west bringing with them the flood inducing downpours that clogged the streams and river, engulfing all within its flowing path. Otherwise stated; The skies darkened as the predicted storm passed through, relieving itself of the burden of moisture it had gathered along the way and filling willing sanctuaries to overflowing as they sought to accommodate the overabundant gift from above. Pausing to reflect upon the two statements it becomes apparent (to me) that the second version of the event leaves one’s interpretation of the same event less ominous and threatening than the first. Words make a difference in the way we view our world and experiences. Recently, I’ve been viewing several different websites and “social media” resources that address issues of Parkinson’s Disease. Whereas some report factual research findings and or clinical observations, others convey a plethora of negatively interpreted experiences of patient observation or caregiver reports that paint a dark and ominous portrait of caring for those who do or of those who live with Parkinson’s. PD is not a pleasant dis-ease! It is a mal-function of the pyramidal cells of the substantia nigra, rendering a less than adequate supply of the neurotransmitter dopamine required for what we interpret as “normal” movement and support of certain “moods” we also interpret as being normal. (Some would argue it is much more, but this is quite enough for the conversation here engaged.) As one who is “host” (not victim) to this “challenge” (not tragedy), I have discovered that the way I frame my thoughts makes a great deal of difference in how I experience and live with/through the challenges of this disease. There is no proven cure for PD. There is no known prevention for PD. There are numerous treatments for PD, all of which carry the risk of their own somewhat challenging and sometimes debilitating side effects aside from the side effects that treat the disease. Living with PD and addressing the issues that become challenging in its presence grows to be a full-time occupation for the host and often puts strain on the person(s) who see their way clear to be a helper. The occupation becomes a more fulfilling calling in the presence of gratitude for the wherewithal to address and frame every precious moment of life, granted by the very Giver of life. Words matter! And, they make a difference is life’s experience!
This swinging weather, from hot to high winds to freezing cold, in what would otherwise be described as springtime, leaves this possessor of PD grappling for words to express this body’s not so thrilled desire to be let loose! Stiffness, rigidity, slowness and poignant fatigue at unexpected moments set’s this old one toward a shuffle and a shake. An intentional “stride” forward in an exaggerated but correct walk from front door to back get’s this old mind whirling. Suddenly, I’m talking to Miss Gracie, the Golden, as though she’s understanding every utterance out of my mouth. Suddenly, I crack myself up with laughter at the pun just spewed from my lips. Encouraged by my own enjoyment, I continue full force in “thinking out loud.” Amazed at what flips from my lips as it has bounced through my brain, I embrace my moment with awe and laughter. It’s not that I think my humor is so great (although I am my greatest comic fan), it is rather with wonder and gratitude that I embrace this time alone during my day, giving thanks for what I recognize as sanity (at least my version), enthusiasm at life and a mixture of occasional sadness at the seemingly short duration of it all. Lest one think this PD affected mind is all possessed with crazed humor, I attest that from these lips unbridled comes words of sorrow as moments are recalled of times past where I regret not having let pass through these lips words of love and encouragement to those who meant so much and who have now no chance to respond. Laughter, love, loss, happiness, joy, grief, sadness, contentment, and gratitude for the opportunity to experience each of these life expressions now lifts this humble heart to a place where words spoken or embraced are understood and the Divine guide on this journey has won the race!