Famous in a foreign land

While wandering Bologna's central market zone, we were approached by a very attractive Italian woman and a camera man.  

"Garble blah blah blah" in Italian.  

We shake our heads.  No speak Italian .

She switched to English.  "What do you think of this thing kamut?  What is it?"

More questions followed before I figured out I was supposed to play along in a guessing game.   

Dessert I said.   What kind?  Panne.  And latte.  Like bread pudding.    

Dodie said it was a small animal.  Played in the yard.  Went anywhere it wanted.  Like an elephant.

Meanwhile I spoke to the producer who said she was making a promotional film for an Egyptian exhibit in town, and kamut was an Egyptian grain found in a tomb.

Selfies followed. 

Then we gave permission to be used in the film.  It's on Bologna tv in June.  Look for us at www. Didn't get the name.  Of course, you will need to pronounce www. Woo woo woo in Italian before anyone can help you find us.  

Holy Agricola

We arrived today at Il Sarelle , an agritourism accommodation with breakfast and dinner included in Northern Umbria.  Everything served tonight was raised here or in the area.   

First course. 

Bread and wine with farmed raised olive oil, carafe of red wine, bottle of still water.

Appetizer home grown Parma ham and sausage with olive oil and Brusetta with a tomatoe confit.

Then ravioli with pecorino cheese (we could see the goats but not sure where the sheep were). And sautéed sage and more olive oil.

Then insalade of farm greens with farm olive oil.  

Then thin sliced roast pork loin with roasted potato.

Then a slice of shortbread pastry with chocolate and cream cheese and desert wine and limoncello.

Never mind the offer of coffee.   It's 10:30 pm now.  

Tomorrow we will maybe make gnocchi with Sara , who came from Venice and married a Roman with the crazy idea of raising a family on an organic farm.

Buon notte!

Miracles/karma

Monday night the phone rang with an invite to Italy on....Friday!   Would I replace a member of the trip who was ill?

I had a million reasons why not, but Carl struck them off one by one, and  a week later I was on a plane to join Girl Scout Rebecca and family at lake Garda Italy, to be followed by Venice with Verdi.  I think I landed in heaven.  

Here I am having coffee overlooking Lake Garda in a lovely villa with six bedrooms, three and a half baths and fabulous company for day hikes and shared meals.  The seeds I planted for my next life are growing right here in my present one.  Karma ripened early.

Today we visited two villes one with castle and one with a hike to a lake, complete with pastoral cows and hay meadows and vineyards along the way.

This is one of my favorite shots of some of the group.

Lunch at an agritur restaurant was the freshest gnocchi in  butter sauce that ever melted in my mouth, and at fellow traveler Dave's suggestion we all drew on our placemats.

Food and art, my favorites.

Bon sera!

iPad?

Oi!  It makes my head hurt to think about replacing my stolen laptop for my summer blogging.  So I'm thinking iPad but trying the phone to see how it goes first. 

How's that for the most uninformed post known?  At least a funny for your trouble....

No MS 150 ride for Carl this year

Around Christmas Carl had a neurological event either related to his Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/cidp/cidp.htm or Guillain Barre http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/gbs/detail_gbs.htm but more likely a cousin to one of these as his symptoms do not fit neatly into a box for either. The treatment for either problem is the same, and today he starts his third monthly round of three day infusions of Gammunex.
http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=gamunex&source=web&cd=4&cad=rja&ved=0CEwQFjAD&url=http%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FGamunex&ei=YEUiUan_C4_c8wSi1YGYCg&usg=AFQjCNHRnCOohM8MxluDOMoPyzNO-nyVaQ&bvm=bv.42553238,d.eWU

His October surgery for lumbar bone spur issues fixed his left leg problems and he was rebuilding strength in the left leg. Then at Christmas he lost strength in the other leg. He has the same leg quad failure as before with falling because the main nerve in his right quad is not communicating with his brain. He probably has an auto immune disorder with his antibodies attacking his nerve insulation instead of protecting it, and the infusion attempts to overpower his antibodies with others gleaned from donor plasma. Very expensive. Thank you all who are still working for paying your medicare taxes.

We are hoping that his problem is acute rather than chronic, but only time will tell if the disorder will be short lived or long term. In the world of strange but true medical opinions, the two events in his legs could very well be only slightly unrelated.

He uses a walker to stabilize his walking and last month we bought a wheelchair so that we could attend events without fear of falls. He is in aquatic therapy to try to keep his muscles going.

All is not negative. Thank heavens for living near a major medical center with so many options We have discovered a new appreciation for our relationship and an acceptance for “it is what it is”.  In the world of medicine and therapy there are so many kind people, people who go out of their way to help and make things better.  It never ceases to make me appreciate what we have, from the physical therapist who gives guidance and pep talks to the security guard who walks Carl in to infusion therapy to the technicians who do their best to serve every day. 

Carl  tries as hard as is humanly possible to stay positive, and we are both sure that we will look back on this event as a bump in the road. It has given us so much insight into the life of handicapped people.

Carl is really dedicated to continuing to raise money for the MS movement even though he cannot ride.  This condition has made it more important than ever to help other people out of their wheelchairs.

If you want to help us on our MS 150 campaign for this year, visit http://main.nationalmssociety.org/goto/TeamLincoln2013

We also welcome and appreciate your well wishes and prayers.

Faith

My walking buddy says she met a man who called himself a Possibilitarian.  When it comes to the divine, no one can prove or disprove anything, so anything is possible, he said.  I like the thought of that, believing in the possibilities. 

My husband Carl has always believed in the existence of the divine.  He believes that many chance occurrences in his life are evidence of the guiding hand of the divine.  As for myself, I have always considered good things in my life evidence that I am lucky.  True, much of what I consider luck could be the result of trying to do the right thing.  But how can I not believe in luck when I was born female in an age and a country where a woman could actually get somewhere by doing the right thing?  A Buddhist would say this is my karma ripening from the spiritual work of a previous life.  Who really knows?  After all, anything is possible. 

I believe it is possible that Carl’s Dad Fred came to see him right before his back surgery to tell him everything would be all right.  Why not?  Fred certainly was correct that things were going to be okay.  Things that have bothered Carl for years are cured.  Carl even calls it miraculous. 

This much I know to be true:  angels have been watching over Daisy lately.  During the days before surgery when Carl was in pain, he got an urge to take Daisy to the blessing of the animals on St. Francis Day.  We’ve never done this, so I don’t know why it was so important this year.  Maybe Fred was working on him again.  Fred dearly loved St. Francis’ prayer.  But an outing that day proved to be too much for Carl and the day passed without a blessing for Daisy.

Then two little miracles happened.  One, Girl Scout friend Rebecca volunteered to take Daisy home for a slumber party the night of Carl’s surgery.  I knew Daisy was loved and taken care of, and this was a gift.  Then, a few days ago, a letter came from Rebecca’s Mom in New Hampshire.  It read:

“I thought you’d enjoy seeing that I used a nice picture of Daisy from our Christmas visit in an ad I prepared for St. Andrew’s Blessing of the Animals.  Although Daisy wasn’t present for the event, I think you can consider her well blessed. “

Yes, Daisy has been blessed, and so have we.  With a little faith and many good people doing the right thing, anything is possible.

How the Medical Center is like Paris

Today I would be touring Versailles if not for the very necessary lumbar surgery that came up for Carl.  His nerves are so restricted that he can’t walk and today is fix it day.  A friend suggested we not cancel the trip and just take a side trip to Lourdes for a miracle in lieu of surgery, but before we could have gotten to Lourdes, god the Neurosurgeon is at work.

Carl came home from our summer of 250 miles of bike riding at elevation in Colorado to find he couldn't shift his standard Corvette.  Things deteriorated from that point to unbearable pain, lots of falls and total loss of his left leg. We met god the Neurosurgeon after a steroid pack, five steroid infusions and a steroid epidural failed to get Carl back to normal, these accompanied by three MRI's and a CT scan.   His neurologist made the referral and said that the surgeon had god status in the medical center.  I've chosen little g, and big N.  god the Neurosurgeon says he's pretty sure he can fix him. I'm counting on it.

I am struck by the beauty of the medical center not three miles from my home.  It has its own arch de triumph and fountains, le Metro, and The Sorbonne on Main just across the street.  Not Paris, but majestic in its own right.

After Carl gets wheeled into pre-op I take a walk on the Rice campus (the Sorbonne on Main) and just like an old timer marvel at the changes in the last 40 years.  Almost no open spaces remain.  I wander by the new Weiss College, on to Tudor Field house (didn't that used to be called just ‘the gym’?) and across to the Turrell sky-space installation.  From there it is an easy stroll to the RMC, where I could have stopped in the coffee house, the convenience store, or at the fresh Chinese food stand.  Instead I stroll into Sammy’s where Droubi’s Mediterranean serves a pretty decent hummus with fresh pita.  

I take my time wandering toward Main Street and pass an amazing temporary pavilion being erected for the 100th anniversary homecoming in the space in front of Lovett Hall.   After being temporarily distracted with this faux structure, I head toward my nostalgia stop, Brown Commons, to find it converted into a student health center.  The new commons is an architectural marvel, a three forked dining facility for Brown, Jones and Martel, separate dining halls all sharing a central self serve cafeteria.  Fresh fruit salad on the salad bar, can you imagine that?  Probably tastes the same in a week, but it looks more appealing than the one entrée food service of my past.  I enter the commons by tailgating on the kindness of a student.  Keys and pass cards are required for entry into the residential areas.  No more wide open doors.  Oh to have attended Rice in the coed era.  Guys and gals eating and sharing friendship is such a fine idea.

After a two hour walk, I settle back into the family waiting area looking at the Mediterranean Sea pasted over the windows, glimmering with back-lighting   I'm not supposed to get to the Mediterranean on my France trip till sometime next week.

If I don’t get any news soon, I’ll take a stroll down to the lobby of Methodist, which rivals most fine hotels.  Maybe someone will be playing the grand piano like they were the other day when we came for a myelogram. 

I’m struck by the tradition of the family waiting room.  Some patients bring an entire village along to wait.  I’m sitting by Chester’s contingent from Orange holding bibles and wearing Texas Temples windbreakers, and I can’t help overhearing their lawnmower discussion.   Somebody’s in the market for a new one and Chester’s brother, the only male with four women,  is recommending a trailer that works great for his riding lawnmower.  The lady chewing Nicorette listens intently to his advice while Grandma is looking as uncomfortable in the Methodist loaner wheelchair as Carl did the other day when I wheeled him all over for his pre-op visit.   They say Chester is here for colon cancer surgery and the surgeon got it all, but he’s having trouble waking up so they can talk to him.   Chester’s a lucky guy to have all these people cheering for him.

Sitting in the waiting room is a bit like taking an overseas flight.  We were required to check in three hours before boarding and were told there would be a delay of undetermined length.  Finally we boarded pre-op three hours and forty minutes later.
   

I’ve been on this flight seven hours now and feel like surely it is time to land.  I’m definitely feeling jet lagged.  Why we continue this waiting room ritual in the age of cell phones is beyond me.  Maybe the surgeons like the walk of triumph, strolling in to inform the family that the loved one is just fine and they fixed everything.    I think texting would be fine in the case of a successful outcome.  On occasion the news is not so assuring, but I have not witnessed one of those events today, thank goodness.  I can remember my mother reporting such news about a distant relative:  “They got in there and when they saw how bad it was they just closed him right back up and sent him home.”

I have a very strong urge to press a call button and scream, but that would wipe out all the merit I have accumulated being patient.  Only so much being still that I can take.  Instead of pressing panic,  I wander over to the coffee maker and select the flavor named Eiffel Power.   Then I check in at the desk and the concierge calls OR for me.   Some surgeons mind a phone call, some don’t.   Our god the Neurosurgeon is not on her no call list. The word is they are still working on Carl and he is fine.  Wow.  Long procedure.  The female anesthesiologist from Uruguay has a big job today keeping Carl just below the surface.  And I can see how there’s little pleasantry left for office visits at the end of a day like today.  Don’t care if the surgeon has no touchy feely in him.  Just give him good hands and eyes and stamina.

***

Eight and a half hours after our check-in, god the Neurosurgeon says he is finished.  Lots of work done on three lumbar to open up the space for the nerves.  The technical explanation with details does not follow.  Man of few words.

Carl will be in recovery about an hour.  Guess I’ll take that lobby stroll now and soon enough I will know if his leg works or doesn’t.  

***

POST SCRIPT:  god the Neurosurgeon was right; Carl is fixed.  Amen.