Comfort Food

Last night I had a dream about my Aunt Jane and Uncle Phil. It was warm and comforting. I woke up thinking about my family. As per my usual, if I think about it, I end up writing about it.

As I was going about my morning, I rewound the dream in my head. I thought about Aunt Jane, Uncle Phil and began to reminisce on each Aunt and Uncle. Then I narrowed it to the women.

When I was a kid, we would gather for family functions that usually centered around food. I have many, MANY fond memories of family activities. I treasure the family reunions, the gatherings for new babies that have entered into the family, I hold tightly to the recollection of fishing trips with Grandma and Grandpa. I think back to times of late-night talks with Aunt Joanne and there isn't much that makes me happier.

I have always admired my family. I would watch my Aunt's being mothers and wives and friends. And I learned. Kindness, love, strength and sacrifice are characteristics that are cemented in my mind.

When I was divorced, each played a key role in "helping Linnette help herself." I wish I could find the words that would describe how important these women are to me. I wish I could sit each of them down and simply tell them "thank you" for believing in me and teaching me how to "be".

Here's to my comfort food.

Popcorn with Aunt Joanne. Okay. I do LOVE popcorn, but really the chats that came WITH the popcorn made it taste even better.

Aunt Jane's salsa. She always says how easy it is, but you can't buy her southern zest on a shelf.

Broken Glass candy. A staple for us kids at the family reunions. Sweetness that only Aunt June could provide.

Listening to Aunt Jeanne play electric piano. More satisfying than mashed potatoes and gravy. Trust me.

Aunt Nina's smile. Chicken Soup for my soul.

Hugs from my Aunt Patty. Imagine Hot Chocolate with TONS of marshmallows. Her hugs warm me just like that.

Grilled cheese sandwiches from Aunt Ellen. The story goes: Tyson was sent to the U of U to help determine why he CONTINUOUSLY quit breathing. Mark and I stayed with Uncle Pete and Aunt Ellen. She made me a cheese sandwich. I don't know why, but it meant the world to me. I still find comfort in grilled cheese.

To me, my Aunt Sue is a hearty beef stew with warm bread. When you are around her? You know you're home.

The only way to describe Aunt Marie is hot apple pie with LOTS of ice cream. You would have to hear her laughter to know exactly what I mean. Sweet and warm with a dash of cinnamon. 

So, Thanksgiving is upon us and my plate is already full. I TOLD you that I'm the luckiest girl alive. If you're going to have food, it might as well taste good, right?

How big is your brave?

Sara Bareilles has a song that plays regularly on the radio station that is programmed on my jeep stereo. "Brave". Love it. It was the song that was playing when I pulled in to my work this morning, so I kept the engine (and heater) running and sang along at the top of my lungs. I have a soft top on my jeep, so I am sure everyone around heard me. What can I say? I like the song and I HAD to sing along.

I have always struggled finding my voice. I still struggle with the balance of saying what needs to be said and the feelings of the person with whom I am speaking. I am ALWAYS telling my kids that "Sometimes what you have to say isn't nearly as important as the person you are saying it to." Except SOMETIMES it is.

I have always made sure that my kids have a voice and that it is heard. I have found myself talking to multiple teachers, principals and coaches through the years. I would sigh and tell each of them "When they are adults, you'll appreciate their honesty. You're just bugged that you are the target of it right now." Then I would get my kid alone and let them have it. Or tell them they were right.

Things didn't always work out as planned. I haven't always dealt with rational human beings. I am not typically profound when I am under duress. I used to lose my head and become part of the argument. I HAVE learned to keep silent about the things that don't really matter and try VERY hard to deal exclusively with the facts. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. I guess the important thing is that I try.

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

~Lyrics from "Brave"

Find your voice and speak. Loud enough to be heard. Scream to the heavens. Speak in a quivering whisper. Be brave.

Intentional Acts of Kindness

I admire kindness. I immediately hopped aboard the Random Acts of Kindness train when it became a buzz word.  I watch people constantly. It inevitably brings a smile to my face when I see little acts that make someone's day. I listen for the "thank you" and "have a great day" and watch as eyes light up and gratitude takes the place of angst.

As of late, although random acts of kindness still strike me, its the INTENTIONAL acts that are taking center stage. And I have been the benefactor of these acts.

I have said it before. I don't do well in the whole "asking for help" stuff. I don't really know why. I think that I'm stubborn and I tend to view this whole "needing help" thing as a sign of weakness. I know that's not true, but I'm not always known for my level head and rational thinking.

Soon after I was diagnosed, acts of kindness have become an every day occurance.

My friend, Korby, brings me dinner once a week EVERY SINGLE WEEK. She works full time and I know this is a huge sacrifice for her. I tell her not to. I have told her that it's too much. I have given her every out possible. Her answer?  "I don't know what to do. But I know how to cook." So she cooks. And I get terribly embarrassed and incredibly grateful.

Laurie texts me every single day now. The texts are light and silly and consistently make me grin. Sometimes she'll ask me random questions:  "What's your favorite color, and why?", "Did you ever have a terrible perm when you were younger?" I did. Ugh. THANKS mom.

Dawn knew that I was having a bad day. I didn't really say anything to her. She just knew. She CONSTANTLY tells me that I need to live in the "now" and take advantage of the life that I have been given. She bought me a canvas with the saying:

"Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

that I hung in my bedroom so I can remind myself every single day to live my life to the fullest.

Diane and Mark consistently come by to bring treats and love and good wishes and offers of help and support.

Lynnette and Pat and Shannon email me weekly to touch base and let me know that I matter.

Brittany sent me a card with a little golden key inside. She had written the most beautiful note to me. I bawled like a baby.

I have received so many letters and texts and cards and gifts and messages and phone calls. My loved ones have gone out of their way to check on me and let me know that they are thinking of ME and offer any love and support that I or my family might need.

How do I even describe the changes in my family? Little random notes, calls and texts have become every day occurrences.

Because of the thoughts and prayers and good wishes, I am becoming an aficionado of intentional acts. I periodically go through my texts and reread the good wishes. When I'm feeling gloomy, I sneak a peak at my facebook messages and remind myself that I'm okay.

So THANK YOU to my dear friends and family that consistently send love my way. Never, ever EVER will I take your love for granted. 

I have learned a big lesson in life and it is time to put my money where my mouth is. Take a moment in your busy schedule and let someone know they are loved. INTEND to send good wishes and thoughts their way. It only takes a minute and it can change someone's day.

Loyalty Makes Us Family

Shannon and I have been friends for many years. I met her through my awesomely cool friend Lynnette.  Years ago, Lynnette, Shannon and myself gathered at the home of Lynnette's mom and we made jam. I didn't see Shannon after that. We didn't live in the age of texting or facebook. Although we were "friendly" we weren't necessarily friends. She was that "cute gal that made jam with me that I had a good time talking to" type friend.

Later, Shannon met Mark's brother Tim and their story was written. Shannon became family.

Without going into detail and revealing information that is none of my business to reveal, Shannon is currently separated from Tim and quite possibly looking at divorce.

Thus begins the topic of my conversation with you.

Tanna was a baby when I met Shannon.  After Shelby was born, Shannon and Tim were one of the first in the family to meet her. Shannon has sent me surprise gifts in the mail, spent vacation days visiting our family, moved to Utah to be closer to family. Jaden and Devin were born within 6 months of each other. We went to movies every Friday night for a few years. Spending every Saturday at the pool with the kids was routine. We have laughed and cried and yelled and then cried some more together. Our friendship has been tried and tested and we came out on top. We are sisters. I will say that again in case there is some kind of misunderstanding. WE ARE SISTERS.

I have anguished and pondered and worried and fretted about Shannon. Trust me. I understand divorce. Don't forget that Mark and I took a "break" for a few years while we tried to "figure things out."  I know that, at times, it is a better option for the parties involved. EXCEPT what about the rest of us? What about the family members that sit in uncomfortable silence waiting to find out what the end result is going to be?

A couple of Saturdays back, my super amazingly wonderful friend, Diane, brought me some chicken soup. Not just ANY chicken soup, mind you. HOMEMADE chicken soup with HOMEMADE noodles and hand cut veggies. OHMYHECK it was nummy nummy NUMMY!

Oh yeah. Back to Shannon...

Shannon happened to be visiting. Introductions were made between Diane and Shannon when I popped in and said something to the effect of "Shannon used to be my sister-in-law, but she is going through a divorce. She's not just a friend though. HEY! I know. She's the mother to my nephews."  Giggles all the way around. Guess what. Shannon thought and thought about that stupid statement and didn't like it.

I look back now and I understand why it hurt her feelings. She's not upset at me. She's upset at circumstance.

What happens when the Aunt to all your kids that has been to ball games and graduations and weddings and baby showers and hospitals and surgeries and Thanksgiving dinner and Easter Egg hunts can't come to family events any longer because of some STUPID technicality like different blood coursing through their veins?

Years ago Dawn decided that all the Deason girls needed to get together. Regularly. She divided us into partners. Dawn has Shelby, Carissa is with me, and Shannon is partnered with Tanna. Randi and her daughter, Camryn, are in California, so they have yet to experience the awesomeness of our group. Daulton and Diana and Denise have been added. Hailey has to wait until she is 16 in order to be inducted into TRUE Deason Chick-hood.

I created a Deason Chick logo. Everyone has their own personalized chick. Dawn's chick carries a purse and has high heels. Carissa's is dressed as a cheerleader. Shelby's has a flower in her hair and high heels to represent the ballroom dancer in Shelby. Tanna's sports a bikini and sunglasses. Daulton's carries a violin and is wearing a skirt and necklace and Diana's chick has a feather (Duh. She IS an indian after all) and a flower pot at her feet. Shannon is the cowgirl of our group so her chick has a cowboy hat and boots. I gave my chick boxing gloves. Denise just became part of our group so her chick is yet to be developed. I'll get busy making her a cool chick that represents who she is.

I put our logo on shirts and keychains, blankets and bracelets. I gave my girls Christmas ornaments one year with their own chick on them. My chick adorns my jeep in a hot pink vinyl cut out. Being a Deason Chick is a pretty cool thing.

We have camped together. Crafted together. Danced together. Got in a fist fight (I'm not lying) together. We have gone to dinner and plays and dance productions. We laugh and giggle and tell stories and laugh some more. It has bonded us in many ways that just "normal" family get-togethers could never have accomplished.

Last weekend the Chicks all gathered for steak dinner (thank you Uncle Mike barbecuing for us) and to attend a dance production in Salt Lake City. After the festivities, we had a sleep over at Carissa's house.

We were all in the front room chatting when Shannon shared the story of being introduced to Diane and how it weighed on her. She is worried that we are going to somehow forget about her or leave her out or let her go. NEVER. I'll just get that out RIGHT NOW. NEVER. I know she worries. I understand her concern. But I'm not the only one saying that it won't happen. We ALL agree that Aunt Shannon is a chick to stay. We love her. We need her.

Shannon made a pic that (I think) she keeps on her desk. It's a pic of all the Deason Chick gals at one of our gatherings. Shannon typed on the pic:

Blood Makes You Related. Loyalty Makes You Family.

I realize how difficult this is for her. This divorce is uprooting all that Shannon has known for many many years. I've stated that my family is a force of spirit. I have to say that the ENTIRE Deason family has strength beyond measure. Shannon is part of that.

Shannon will learn to fly with her own wings. I do know that. She'll find a rhythm and it will become familiar and safe. Time will pass and much of this hurt will fade. I know she doesn't believe in tomorrows' promises right now, but they will come.

I will find a way to make sure that she celebrates events with us. The most important task at hand is assuring Shannon and the boys that, although they feel displaced right now, they are Deason. And Deason's don't leave anyone behind.

Living The Legacy

If you were to go through the history of the Deason family, you will find generations of hunters and fishermen. This family loves the outdoors and hold an unfailing respect for nature.

This last weekend was the muzzle loader deer hunt.

What this means to our family is after a YEAR of preparation, talk, shopping, planning, all hour phone calls, map reviews, GPS-looking-ats and event coordination, the mighty hunters are off to stock the freezers for the upcoming winter and revel in all their manliness.

I'm not a hunt fan. Need I say more? I used to enjoy a tasty elk steak or venison roast but while pregnant with Jaden, I cooked myself up an elk steak for lunch one day. I ate about three or four bites when my stomach began rumbling. After a few moments, I began vomiting profusely and continued to do so for three days. Much to Mark's chagrin, I no longer enjoy elk or venison of any kind. I don't touch it, cook it or eat it. Nope nope nope. Ain't gonna happen again. Ever.

My boys are all big hunters. During one of the strategizing/planning meetings, the Deason men decide if they are going to muzzle loader hunt for the year or if they are feeling the urge to sneak around and hunt with a bow and arrow. I prefer the bow hunt. It is in August. MUCH warmer than the end of September muzzle loader hunt when it inevitably snows on us and I complain and freeze and complain WHILE I freeze.

Mark developed a love for the outdoors at a very young age. Grandpa Jack was a big hunter/fisher and did a swell job of making sure that his off-spring knew how to take care of themselves in the great outdoors.

I remember the family gathering for BIG family hunts in Montana. We lived in California. Would that stop Mark from answering LOUDLY to the call of nature? No way. We would load our family up with Dawn, Mike and their kids and off we went to Arasta Creek, Montana. Little kids. Tents. Lots of dirt. Warm clothes and plenty of excitement to spare.

The men hunted. The women cooked and kept camp and monitored the kids while they investigated and scouted and practiced for the "show" that they would be performing after dinner. Tyson would watch in disdain while the other kids would practice their song and dance. My niece was the ringleader for these performances. She would line the kids up and give them all their cues. They learned VERY young that they could charge an entrance fee for these shows and people would pay BIG money to see the kids in their mismatched clothes singing monotone (Goose), dancing on logs and bouncing to the beat of the song in their head.

This last weekend Dawn and I were talking about our family hunts. Remember how Uncle Paul would set up camp before we got there? He would build chairs for the kids out of logs. He built a potty, a shower and a kitchen. The wood was gathered and split and a firepit was made. He was the patriarch of our family and we didn't want for anything.

Mark is venturing into the patriarch role. He loves the hunt and the camping that goes along with it. He has worked hard to teach his kids to respect nature and experience all it has to give. He plans and gathers and prepares all for the benefit of the family he so loves.

The hunt this year was not as well attended as I would have hoped. Schedules are busy. I get that. BUT we as parents are passing a cherished memory on to our own legacy. I told Dawn that I FEAR that when we "big kids" leave the earth that the Deason hunt/family reunion will subside. It frightens me. It worries me.

Ray Bradbury said:

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies . . . Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die . . . It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.

So we will leave our gift. My hope is that our kids, our grandkids and the generations to come will hold tightly to it; that the Deason legacy will continue.

I Think It's Going To Rain Today

Oh! the things I have thought of to blog about over last couple of weeks. I haven't dropped off the planet! Promise. Just been crazy busy with work and yard-scaping and funerals (yuck) and family events (Hailey turned FOUR) and etc., etc., etc.

I have had ideas to write about. I've gone over words. I've almost decided to write about one of the different topics that seems anxious to get out of my head. However, I'm not going to write about a single subject that has crossed my mind.

I'm going to write about me.

I have been diagnosed with a rare brain disease called OPCA. According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke:

Olivopontocerebellar atrophy (OPCA) is a term that describes the degeneration of neurons in specific areas of the brain – the cerebellum, pons, and inferior olives.

In other words, my brain is slowly going to quit working. If all goes the same as other patients, I'll eventually land in a wheelchair and lose ability to speak, etc. Life expectancy? They say 15-20 years from diagnosis.

Worse things have happened to better people, right? Ugh. I still get a stomach ache when I think about my future. It freaks me out that there is a 50% chance that my kids will have it. I know all the right words. "You didn't know.", "It's not your fault.", "They are not mad at you." I still feel guilty. I still feel overwhelmed with sadness. I still wish that I could take the worry and fear and stress and dissolve it into nothingness.  I just feel guilty.

From the time I was pregnant with Goose in 1986 until just after Tanna was born in 1989, I lived in Ojai, California. I LOVED it there. One of my favorite people in the ENTIRE world is Michele Skankey. I met her in Ojai. Michele, her husband Wayne, Mark Deason and Mark Allman were in a band together. Her boy Nathan is the same age as Tyson and she and I were LARGELY pregnant gals at the same time with Casey and Goose.  Michele can sing. I don't mean just carry a tune. She can SING.

Back on subject

In 1988, the movie Beaches came to the theaters. Because I LOVE Bette Midler and because it's a perfect chick flick and because I needed to get the crap out of my house, Dawn, Michele and myself went to see Beaches. I'm getting old and there MAY be other gals that went, but Dawn and Michele have stuck in my brain as my sisters in crime for the event.

Loved it. Sappy. Sweet. Predictable. Emotional. LOVED it.

IMDb describes the movie as:

A privileged rich debutante and a cynical struggling entertainer share a turbulent, but strong childhood friendship over the years. 

I suppose that is a decent synopsis of the movie. The debutante, Hillary, is played by Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler embraces the character of C. C. Bloom as an entertainer in every degree.

In the movie, Hillary is diagnosed with viral cardiomyopathy. This requires a heart transplant if she is to live. Having a rare tissue type, she realizes she will most likely die before a heart is found. Hillary is sitting in a medical reference library when the Bette Midler begins to sing "I Think It's Going To Rain". The song wraps up with Barbara Hershey staring blankly ahead as she is struck with the gravity of her illness.

This scene has always stuck with me. It seemed so sad. I used to wonder what it would feel like to hear the words that your life has just changed enormously. When I learned the wheels were coming off my own bus, that song is the first thought that went through my head. It thundered like a freight train. Trust me.

I searched and searched for the version I wanted to post. I found a direct link of the song from the movie, but it is poorly made. I settled on this one. Not happy with the "look" of it, but the sound is more clean with much less background noise.

I have always taken pride in being a "smart" girl. I've always been independent. I HATE asking for help and will find every avenue possible to avoid asking.

It stinks that it has become necessary to ask for help with something as simple as walking on uneven ground or maneuvering up and down stairs. I am angry that my family automatically waits for me and lifts their arms for me to hold while I shakily walk and THEN I'm angry if they don't and I have to ask them for aid. I see people playing basketball or running or biking or dancing and I'm jealous. I mark days in my mind when I say "I'll never do THAT again."  And it makes me sad.

So many people have shown me love and support. I am such a lucky girl. I have never denied it. I am surrounded by friends and family that love me EVER so much. I have received calls and cards and messages and offers of help and thoughts and prayers all to ensure that I know that I'm loved and that they are so very worried about me and my family. Me too. 

So, yeah, right now I'm angry and sad and frightened. I'm getting pelted by rain and can't move fast enough to escape. Instead, I have to charge into the storm with fists held high and pray that I find the courage to fight the good fight. And win.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I have a lawn to mow. Dog poop to scoop. Laundry to do. Walls to wash. Rooms to vacuum. Instead, I felt magnetized to my computer. To my blog page. To this posting.

Somewhere in all my "words" I have found a sort of therapy in writing. I think it's just getting stuff out and letting go, but whatever it is, you're cheaper than therapy and I don't have to hear how messed up I am. Win-win for me! And since you are cloaked in anonymity, I don't have to be embarrassed by my thoughts. Chalk up another win! AND you don't have to read my ramblings if you so desire. See? We ALL win. I get more wins, but it IS all about me anyway, right?

A disease runs dominantly through my biological mothers side of the family. It's a disease that hits your brain. It's called OPCA and I have been showing symptoms of it over that last few years. Little things. I don't run any longer. I can't. My body doesn't work that way. I stammer in my speech. It requires cognitive thought to master stairs. Blah. Blah. Blah. The list is long and cumbersome. In the whole scheme of things, who cares? It wasn't like I was some high jumping, run everywhere kind of girl to begin with. Right?

Who needs to close the garage door and try to jump over the sensor just to end up ramming their head into the garage door and rocketed to the ground so hard that their body bounces upon landing and looks around to make sure NOBODY has seen the theatrics and climb humbly into their jeep humiliated beyond words and then tells the family to gain a bit of sympathy and have to leave the room because they are laughing hysterically at you? Not me. I don't need that.

I went to doctor and was referred to the University of Utah to be seen by a neurologist. I had to gather all my medical information that I could find, fax it over to them, then a team of VERY qualified doctors go through the cases and the physician best suited to take your medical dilemma gives you a call and gets the ball rolling. Doctor Summer Gibson is my new best friend.

Young. Smart. Empathetic. Did I mention she was smart?

My family attended the appointment with me last Tuesday. I'm not sure if the office workers were prepared for the Deason entourage. There was standing room only as I spent about an hour with her asking me all sorts of questions and then pushing here, pulling there, "let me watch you walk", "can you feel this", "can you do that".

I kept my eyes focused on her. At one point when I "performed" poorly on a test, I glanced over to my family. I lost it for a minute. I hate seeing the fear in their eyes. I DESPISE that I am putting them through the pain associated with my ability to do less and less.

When the doc was done questing and testing, she said "Although you show many symptoms of OPCA, you have many that are not classic OPCA. You have symptoms of other brain diseases." I wasn't prepared for THAT statement.

I have dreaded getting an actual diagnosis of OPCA. It's such a nasty disease. But when I asked what she might be looking for, her only response was "they are diseases you don't want to have." Ugh.

I left with even MORE questions and less answers.

So I have cried and worried and fretted and raged and pondered and wept and hoped and believed in better this week. I have tried not to feel guilty when my family struggles or cries or yells.

I haven't been afraid of much in my life. I fear this. At times I am frozen with fear. I learned to fight many, many years ago. I'll continue fighting. I need my family and loved ones to know that. To believe that I won't give in. I still dream of a fairy tale ending that finds me old and feeble watching my grandkids rule the world. I plan to be a "based on a true story" event that requires good popcorn and a large coke.