Looking Forward

Someone recently told me that you should ALWAYS have something to look forward to, even if it's something small.

I think this is really good advice.

What are you looking forward to?

Outside The Bubble

Yesterday I was out in the world with my husband, aka The Birthday Boy. We had a good time, but I had two incidents as a result of my visual impairment.

First, we stopped for coffee at Wawa. For those of you not familiar with Wawa, I am sorry for you, but you can learn about it by clicking here. The Birthday Boy offered to help me with the self-serve coffee, but I assured him I could do it myself. I found the regular coffee because it was printed in very large font on the coffee urn, and I placed the cup and burn sleeve, which I had gotten on my own, under the tap. I have a problem with depth perception, and although I didn't overflow it, the cup was so full not a milli-drip would have fit. Help, Birthday Boy!

The second occurrence was in a ladies room stall. I misjudged the door opening, and scratched and banged my arm on the door latch. I've got a bad scrape mark and a bruise will no doubt be arriving soon to an elbow near me.

It'd be easy to stay home where it's safe and comfortable. Sometimes it's tempting, but I won't give into that temptation. I'm going back out there today. So what if I'll be covered in bubble wrap?

Pimp(le) My Arm

Could someone please tell me how a 50-year-old woman gets a pimple on the side of her arm between the elbow and the wrist? I know this is called the forearm but I am too upset about my pimple to use proper body part verbiage. I mean, I am to upset about the 50-year-old woman's pimple. And SHE says it hurts!

Gotcha Day

Three years ago today. Welcome home, Piper. Your forever home.

A Love Story - Part 8

I told the woman at the rescue that we would love to adopt one of the two birds we were considering on a Tuesday. I made arrangements with her to come to the rescue that coming Sunday, August 26th, 2012 to bring him home. We discussed what type of cage and travel cage we would need, as well as food and toys that our bird liked. OUR bird. I already thought of him that way.

I called my husband as soon as I hung up with the rescue. I had a crack in my voice as I told him everything that had been said and that we had the rescue's blessing to adopt. The woman from the rescue had reiterated to me that this bird had never responded to anyone but my husband and me. This and the interactions with him during our visits to the rescue had made our decision for us. Also, when we found out he had been at the rescue for two years as compared to the newer arrivals, my husband especially found this to be the scale tipper.

That Saturday, we headed to Burlington, NJ to a bird store we had heard about, Bird Paradise. Its website boasts it is "The World's Largest Exotic Bird Super Store", and they ain't lying. We were picking our feathered friend up the next day, so we were under the gun to get everything we needed. I took a list of the things the rescue had recommended, yet even with that in hand, and pictures of our bird's current cage and toys, I still had to call and text the rescue several times. Although we had to move quickly, I wanted to do everything possible to make the move as stress-free as possible for this little guy, who had been through so much. His leg band showed he was hatched in Florida, had somehow ended up at the rescue in New York, which eventually moved to New Jersey. And now, his last move, to Pennsylvania.

We were at the bird store for several hours and left with food and toys and a huge cage that would need to be put together that night. Its box barely fit in my small SUV. We made one more stop at a local pet store to pick up a small travel cage. We spent the night putting together the cage and pimping it out with toys and perches. When we were done, the size of this cage, coupled with all the things for our bird to play with, warranted a name that has replaced the word 'cage'. It was christened that evening as the 'mansion'.

Everything was ready. We had provided our application to the rescue on our first visit. It included references and our history as bird people and other information about our lives. Normally, the rescue does home visits before approving an adoption, but given our distance from the rescue and our experience with our first bird, Cato, the rescue asked us to please bring some pictures of our home along when we came to pick up our boy. 

This was a huge commitment. We knew it and we were ready. Only 25 days had passed since I found our bird online, but that last night without him seemed infinitely long. 


To be continued . . .


Previous chapters of 'A Love Story':
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A Love Story - Part 7

We returned to the bird rescue the following weekend, on August 18th, 2012. My husband and I spent a lot of time thinking individually and then discussing the three conures we had met the week before. Piper, T and G were all beautiful birds, but ran the personality gamut. T wanted nothing more than to have his head and neck rubbed constantly. I caught a tear in my husband's eye on the first visit to the rescue, as he watched me rub T. I had done this with our first bird, Cato, when he was still wth us. G was a character and would sing and talk a few phrases over and over. And Piper, the orange-fronted conure I had discovered on petfibder.com and brought us to the rescue, was a bit standoffish. All were nippy at times which was to be expected. They were living in a rescue with 200 other birds, after coming from families or pet stores or God knows where. 

During our discussions during the week, I told my husband I was disappointed in Piper's unfriendliness, although he did 'step up' for us and allow us to pick him up . . . after out tentativeness rewarded us with some bites. I certainly wanted the right bird for us and to be the best family for the bird, but I did feel an allegiance to the bird that brought us. I told my husband of my disappointment that Piper didn't seem all that into us. My husband told me that when Piper was on the play stand and hadn't wanted to be picked up, he was watching our every move as we interacted with the other birds. It both broke my heart and made it soar. I was not giving up on Piper. 

All three birds were around the same age. We knew that conures live 20-30 years and all three were around the same age, five or six years old. After much discussion, we decided G wasn't quite what we were looking for, but this elimination of him from the running made me sad. I wanted to save them all. My husband didn't have a doubt that G would find a good home. 

When we arrived at the rescue on the 18th, we told the woman at the rescue we had narrowed our search to T and Piper. We spent the afternoon there again, getting to know both of them better, and asking questions about their histories and their habits. We rubbed T until our fingers cramped and let Piper climb all over us. We got nipped again, a lot, but we weren't deterred. We understood these birds were defensive because whatever had brought them to the rescue, had to be traumatic.

We left after several hours, with so much to think about. We were both quiet during the two-hour drive home, then finally asked each other which conure we thought we should adopt, which bird we would be best for. It was very important to us that we be the right choice for the bird too.

We spent the next few days discussing and thinking and feeling. There were a lot of factors to consider, including the way the birds had connected with us, how long they had been at the rescue, what we were liking for personality-wise, what the women running the rescue thought about each bird. I was, at times, so worried about the bird we wouldn't choose that it clouded my decion-making process.

Finally. after much soul-searching by my husband and me, we knew in our hearts which bird had chosen us. Three years ago today, I called the rescue and told her, that if he would have us, and if she gave her blessing, we wanted to be one of the conure's forever family.

And through this wonderful woman, he said yes.



To be continued . . .


Previous chapters of 'A Love Story':
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

A Call And A Prayer

I did something big today. I called my neuro-ophthalmologist's office. I am a patient at one of the top ophthalmology hospitals in the country, and I was supposed to phone them at least six months ago. The purpose of the call was to see how the clinical trials that could lead to my full vision recovery are going, and also to see if there were any other new treatments coming down the pike for me.

Initially, my reluctance to make the call was a self -defense move. I couldn't make the call because I was afraid there would be no good news. I realize there could very well be new options for my sight, but the chance of disappointment outweighed any other possibility in my mind.

As time went on, I didn't even think about making the call until someone would ask me if I had. I have been so focused on creating a new, full life for myself, that I didn't know how to attack the future and yet also hold on to the hope of regaining my sight. I didn't know how to work hard, every day, doing new things to take the place of the old things I can no longer do, and also put the time and energy into hoping for a cure. I'm either all in with this new and very different life, or longing for the old one. It's a very weird place to be.

Of course, I want nothing more than to have my full sight back. It's what I wish for at every birthday and at every superstitious, old wives' tale moment. And yet, what I pray for every night is that I find a new life for myself, as a fulfilled visually challenged person, for that is my current struggle.

But today I made the call. I felt strong hitting the call button on my iPhone. As everyone close to me knew, one day I would just do it. Today was that day.

Sadly, there is nothing right now as far as treatments or clinical trials for me. I'm supposed to call them again in six months, as the world of medicine these days is a world of miracles.

Between now and February, I will continue to reinvent myself. I'll also add 'full vision recovery' to my prayers. Writing this blog post has made me realize that I've stopped praying for a miracle. And I can't give up before the miracle happens. Even I can see that.

First Doctor Appointment Since Turning 50

SH*T!

A Love Story - Part 6

When I spoke to the woman who ran the bird rescue about Piper on August 2nd, 2012, I explained our bird parent history and how we had come to the decision to adopt five years after the passing of our cockatiel, Cato. We chatted a bit longer, and then she indicated there were two other conures at the rescue we might be interested in, instead of Piper. As is often the philosophy in animal adoption, the thought was the best bird for us would choose us, so it was best to meet and interact with a few birds, to find the best connection.

I made an appointment to visit the rescue on August 11th and she asked me to print and fill out the application that was on their website, and bring it along.

I was fully sighted back then, and I did the driving. It took us almost two hours and the ride was filled with nervousness and excitement. Now that we were on our way to the rescue, we wanted it all to go smoothly and find the right bird for us.

As we drove up the long driveway, even with the car windows up and radio on, we could hear birds squawking and talking and whistling. We met the woman who runs the rescue, which is also her home. She went to get Piper from one of the buildings on the property as we waited near her house door. She returned quickly, holding a towel to her chest. As soon as we got in the house, she removed the towel, and there was Piper.

We went into her large living room, lined with bird cages and full of birds of many different sizes and species and noise levels. My instinct to save them all kicked in, but I forced myself to focus on the orange-fronted conure who had brought us here. He had been put on a bird play stand as he readjusted his feathers after being scooped up in the towel. I spoke to him quietly while he preened and seemed to have no interest in us. Or so I thought.

We also met two other birds that day, a red-throated conure I will call T, and a blue-crowned conure I will call G. G already spoke some phrases and T just wanted his neck rubbed. Piper was the most indifferent, although he too knew the "step up" command and would come to us easily. He liked to use my hair to climb up onto the top of my head, perhaps to show us that he was in charge, above us all.

We were there all afternoon, spending time with these three birds and others, a bit overwhelmed by the number of birds needing homes and the work this rescue was doing. We made an appointment to come back the next weekend, and we were asked to narrow our bird pool from three to two by then. Piper was placed back in the towel to be returned to his cage in the other building and we all walked out of the house together. I said goodbye to him as we got in the car. We left with some sore fingers from being nipped and spinning heads, thinking of Piper, T and G.



To be continued . . .


Previous chapters of 'A Love Story':
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part 4, Part 5

Quiet Saturday Morning

My Situation

During The Jersey Shore frenzy, GTL (Gyn Tan Laundry) became a popular expression representing what the cast of that reality show did everyday. In looking at my daily To Do list, I realize I have my own everyday musts:

BWR

Blog

Workout

Read

I'm not expecting BWR to take any boardwalk by storm, and I'm not going to see my daily routine printed on any t-shirts. But the fact is, six months ago, two of these three items were impossible for me. I couldn't read and I couldn't blog because of my vision "sitch". But now, with the equipment I have recently received, both treasured activities are back in my life and ever-present on my agenda. 

Unfortunately, the exercise portion of my day was always possible. When I see that "W" on my docket, I know it means workout, but in my head I hear "Waaaaaaaaa!'.

A Train Ride

A friend emailed this to me, and I wanted to share it with you. I apologize for not being able to cite the author or its origin.

*********************************************************************************

A Train Ride

At birth we board a train and meet our parents. We believe they will always travel by our side. However, at some station, our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone.

As time goes by, other people will board the train, and they will be significant - siblings, friends, the love of your life, children, and many others. Some will step down and leave a permanent vacuum. Others will go so unnoticed that we won't realize they vacated their seats.

The train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos. goodbyes and farewells. A successful ride requires having a good relationship with all passengers.

We must give the best of ourselves.

The mystery to everyone is, we do not know at which station we ourselves will step down. So, we must live in the best way, love, forgive and offer the best of who we are. It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty, we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.

I wish you a joyful journey on the train of life. Reap success and give lots of love. More importantly, be thankful for the journey.

Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train!

To The Next 500

This is my 500th blog post. 

So much has happened since I began this blog in 2010 to document searching for a job during difficult economic times. Now my wish is to tell my story, in the hopes that this new journey I'm on will touch readers but and also make them laugh. We have to laugh people!

Life truly is a novel but we can't skip ahead to the end of the chapter or to the last page of the story. As I write this, I'm struck by the thought that maybe all we can really and truly hope for in this life is that we get up each day and survive it. I realize that sounds dire, but what I have discovered during the last three years is that, unfortunately, sometimes the bad times do outweigh the good ones, and all we can do is still be here through it all. 

It was touch and go there for awhile, but this blog is a survivor. And allow me this moment to say, I hope it gets that from me. 

A Love Story - Part 5

The phone call with the bird rescue was scheduled, via email, for the afternoon of August 2nd, 2015, which meant I had better call my husband and let him know what I was up to. If I was seriously interested in adopting a bird, I needed to get him on board. Seriously.

I left my desk and went out to the parking lot. I called my husband on his cell, and exchanged niceties in a voice at least twice its normal speed and a few octaves higher than usual Although I honestly wasn't 100% sure I was ready to bring another feathered friend into our family, my actions showed that I was pretty darn close. I am deliberate in everything that I do.

I got straight to it, and in seemingly one long breath I said, "I went on petfinder.com and found a young male conure at a rescue in New Jersey and although I'm not married to the idea I really like him his name is Piper."  There was silence on the other end of the phone line, but this is not unusual when you spring something on my husband, even something as innocuous as should we have green beans instead of corn tonight? I am sure that anyone watching me out their window, pacing. would have been itching to shoot me with a water gun as if at a carnival's duck shooting gallery.

He finally replied, "Send me the link. We can talk about it tonight." I sheepishly responded, my pacing now exchanged for kicking a stone with my feet, never looking up from the ground, as if my husband was standing right in front of me, "I emailed the lady at the rescue this morning and she wrote right back to me and we have a phone call scheduled for this afternoon." I was becoming an expert at cramming as many words into one long sentence as I possibly could.

More silence, followed by, "Oooooo-kay."

We said our goodbyes after I assured him that I was just checking things out. I went back to my desk to look at Piper's online posting one more time, and to send the link to my husband. I couldn't wait to speak to the rescue a few hours later, despite promises to myself to pull back on the reins.



To be continued . . .


Previous chapters of 'A Love Story':
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part 4

Visually . .

When I write my blog, I sometimes pause before I type "visually challenged" or "visually impaired". I have also heard "visually different". I don't know what the correct terminology is, so I use the phrase that's in my heart at that moment.

This morning, I have identified two new terms.

I was having breakfast with my dear friend and breakfast buddy this morning, before she went to work. I had a few minutes to get something done off the To Do List before she picked me up at 7 a.m. I went to scan an old picture to a flash drive using our all-in-one, but I couldn't find the USB port. I felt around, then used the magnifier app on my phone to try to see it. I found the trap door, but there was only SD card slots in there. I finally saw what looked like a USB port, but the flash drive didn't fit. I restrained myself from forcing it into the hole. I couldn't see the model of the all-in-one, so I pretended I was going to print an email from my phone, and selected my printer and then did a screen shot so I could enlarge it to see the model number of the all-in-one. New term:  visually creative. 

I then went down to the kitchen to make my sleeping husband coffee in his travel mug. Preoccupied with the scanning issue, and annoyed already at this early hour, I didn't realize I had left the lid on the travel mug until I heard the Keurig stop dripping and I went to get the mug. By some great providence, the lid hole was open, and all the coffee went into the mug.

This is all before 6:30 a.m.  New term:  visually frustrated. 

I sent my husband several texts for when he woke up, asking him to please look at the all-in-one and locate the USB port for me. He texted me back while I was at breakfast, saying I had correctly identified the USB slot, but for sone reason, the flash drive I was using was too big.

I am hone now after breakfast, and I found a different flash drive. Using my portable magnifier, by holding it up to the all-in-one little screen, I attempted to scan to the flash drive.

Was I successful? Honestly, I had to take a break from it. The next step will require that I check the flash drive via the laptop, and that will no doubt require more creativity and yield more frustration.

And maybe another new term.

I'm Feeling Sick Tomorrow

Like quite a few people that I know, I am fighting a summer cold, thought by many to be the worst cold of them all.

I had plans with my mom-in-law to meet my husband for lunch and then she and I would do a little shopping.

I had texted her a heads up last night that I wasn't feeling right, and we agreed I would let her know how I was doing this morning.

I woke up around 6 a.m. and knew I wasn't well. I texted her to let her know, and as I did I flashed back to calling in sick when I worked.

"I'm not feeling well and won't be in today."

The difference now is that I was really disappointed to have to cancel our plans and, of course. I don't think of my mom-in-law as my boss. Come on now. I'm 50 for goodness sake! A grown woman!

Ok, maybe she's kind of my boss. 

Better her than her son. 

Don't Call Me Surely

I have lost a pair of tweezers. I am a maniac about organization and everything having its own place where it should be returned to after use. It has served me well never moreso than since the change in my vision.

As mindful as I am about things being where they belong, I do lose things more often these days. I'm not entirely convinced it's not an age issue rather than a sight situation. The victim du jour was the tweezers.

I was looking for the tweezers in my bedroom last night. I was on the floor, feeling around under the bed. When I got to the bottom of the bed, I noticed that I had tucked the dust ruffle there between the mattress and box spring when I changed the sheets yesterday. Before I pulled it out, it gave me a good view under the bed and ample room to feel around with my hands.

What did I find under there? My tweezers? No. Money? No. I found a slightly used Sure deodorant. This makes no sense! I haven't lost a deodorant, and I only have one in rotation since I no longer travel for work.

Is it a sign? Is the universe telling me I'm stinky? Or is the universe providing an answer a la the once popular Magic 8 Ball? Are my frequent questions of "Will I figure out my new purpose?" or "Will I persevere through this challenge of becoming suddenly visually challenged?" or "Will I ever reach my goal weight?" being answered with a "Sure"?

Highly doubtful.

It's just one of  life's little mysteries, like how socks disappear in the wash. Or where do tweezers go to hide? Surely not under the bed.

Lynne

A very close friend of mine just lost a dear friend of her's. I knew my friend's friend only from passing her in the halls at a company we all worked at years ago. But I feel like I have been on this woman's journey with her, through our shared friend. And my heart hurts for my wonderful friend, and the woman's family and other friends.

Today is her funeral. Her name is Lynne. Now you know her too.

We really are all connected, aren't we?

A Love Story - Part 4

The next day after first seeing Piper's posting on petfinder.com, I decided to email the woman who ran the rescue where Piper was living. I told her in my email about our household and our experience in caring for our beloved cockatiel, Cato, from three months old until he passed away at 15. I explained that after his death it took us a long time to be ready to open our hearts again. But now I was inquiring about Piper.

It's amazing the feelings you can get just from clicking the 'Send' button. We do it everyday, many, many tines, without thinking about it. This click was deliberate and filled with excitement and nervousness. In my mind, there was a lot of weight behind the pressing down of my right index finger.

It was only a few minutes later that I received a reply from the rescue, but I kept checking my inbox Luke a lunatic during that time. The woman at the rescue asked if I would be available to talk by phone that afternoon and proposed a time to do so. I responded immediately, replying that, yes, I would love to chat that afternoon. (Thank goodness I am married because obviously I have no game.) Things were moving quickly and I'm sure, subconsciously, I thought this was a sign.

Now that a phone call had been scheduled, there was only one thing left to do. Let my husband know what I'd been up to.

To be continued . . .


Previous chapters of 'A Love Story':
Part I
Part II
Part III

A Love Story - Part III

On the evening of August 1, 2012, I went onto petfinder.com for the first time. I had avoided the site until I was ready to find a bird to love, because looking before it was time would have been torture. My husband tells me I can't save them all, but, oh, how I wish I could. I knew I wanted a bird from a rescue but had no idea where a bird rescue would be or if there even was such a thing.

I entered the criteria of young, male and conure, which is a small to medium-sized parrot. I had read a lot about conures, and that was the type of bird at the top of my list. I typed in my zip code and hit enter.

I scanned the listing of results and discovered that the closest bird rescue was A Helping Wing Parrot Rescue and Sanctuary in Blairstown, New Jersey. Further reading indicated I was 62 miles from my the rescue. So far, so good. 

I selected the first listing from A Helping Wing that matched my specifications. The posting included this picture:

The information provided with the photo said that he was young but didn't give an age. It listed him as male. His name was Piper.

The description went on to say that Piper was spunky and had a big personality. The run down also provided a few more facts about the little guy, including the type of conure he was, an orange-fronted conure. I could see why when I looked at his picture.

I wouldn't say it was love at first sight, but I kept going back to the website to look at his photo and re-read the blurb. I read it so many times, I knew it by heart.

Twenty-five days later, Piper came home with us. His forever home.