A Finally "Feel the Love" Potion

I didn’t know if it was day or night…
I felt like kissing everything in sight…

Remember that old song? And Love Potion No. 9? Well several years back, I got a dose of that. It happened after: I had survived cancer and thought it was all the side effects of too much surgery, too much treatment, too much stress. I was a nervous wreck, inside and out. Inside I was a quivering mass of jelly and outside I shook like a leaf. I could not sleep. My hair was falling out in clumps. My skin was dry. The only good thing going on was that weight was falling off like crazy…but I did not know why. And then I learned why.

Graves Disease. And the disease I had never heard of had my thyroid literally off the charts.

Enter radioactive iodine treatment to kill half the thyroid. Enter “Love Potion No. 9”…synthroid for the rest of my ever lovin’ life and every single day of it if I intended to live, much less live a “normal” (whatever that is) life. It has entered my mind more than once, so what if there is some worldwide or national crisis? What if I am stranded on a desert island? What if I actually do win the lottery someday (never mind you have to play to win…and I don’t) and get kidnapped and held for ransom? What if I develop amnesia and don’t know I am sposed to have it?? Duh…rather paranoid thoughts I know. But if you know you have to have something every day or else…well, you are prone sometimes to paranoid thoughts.

And sythroid to me was “Love Potion No. 9”. Cured it all. Sanity restored.

So…I should have known. I should have but I didn’t. I didn’t because I have been dutifully taking my synthroid. I didn’t because it has not been all that long ago since I had seen my endocrinologist…less than six months actually. I didn’t because …well because, shhhh! I am menopausal.

So I figured it was that kind of hot flashes only. I figured that was the insomnia. I figured that was the mega meltdown crying jags (I NEVER cry usually...well not except for some moist eyes during sad books or sad movies). I figured that was why I sometimes had the “shakes”. I figured that was why everything some days seemed bigger and more horrible than it was…the middle aged “mellow me” had gone into hiding…and I figured that was why. I figured that was the …well everything.

And it kept getting worse instead of better. I mean one year of this stuff is enough, right??? Shouldn't it be easing??

Well scuse me…but today I was assured the panic attack earlier in the summer was not such at all and should not have been diagnosed as such. Today the mantra of symptoms suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Suddenly I made sense. Today I was assured that my synthroid dose was not only not working for me, but has been working against me…and probably a whole lot of the problem. In other words? My system had gone topsy turvey and I was NOT crazy. You have to understand that this was a HUGE relief to me. I was seriously starting to wonder about myself. I got a brand new prescription matched to the changes my body has undergone in the last six months.

I feel like I have been given a brand new “Love Potion No. 9”. And from this day forward if/when my moods seem “outta whack” I will be hightailing it back to that endocrinologist who finally got to the bottom of it. I will never again figure since I was in his office “not long ago” that means I am still “ok”.

Bottom line? I got to thinking….how many people out there have symptoms of this and have never had it checked out?? Many probably. So this is my little offering to those out there who need to check it out…please do. I know what it is like…insanity…and there really is a Love Potion No. 9 to cure it.

From My "To Pen: Perchance to Scream!" collection...

Passion, After a Fashion

Come live with me and be my love,

The apartment for rent is right above,

And if you will just pay my share

And kindly wash my underwear…



I will promise undying support

And promise never ever to court

Another finer lass than thee…

As long as you take care of me!


(apologies to Marlowe)

Original version: Christopher Marlowe, "Passionate Shepherd to His Love, 1590's"

And yet another from To Pen: Perchance to Scream!

I Love Thee! O Desperate Plea!

"How do I love thee?

Ah...let me count the ways!"

I love thee each date

Of all the calendar days!



I love thee so much

It swells my fair breast.

I love thee more than

The span round your chest!



I love thee more than the

Hairs on thine own head.

Tho they be few,

Still I would thee wed!



I love thee the number

Of zits on thy back,

I love thee despite

Quickies in the sack.



I love thee! O I love thee!

And these words are for you!

Written in desperation!

Won't you please love me too??


Apologies to Elizabeth's Parrot Browning..oops....I mean Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Original version: Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861), Songs from the Portuguese, "How Do I Love Thee?"

GOSSIP

The ghastly whispers came creeping around us

Like cold fingers

Touching, lingering, ever grasping

Grasping in the corners of our minds,

Reaching without ceasing, reaching while

I waited breathlessly

To see what they would find.

Would they find my deepest darkest fears?

The ones I kept wrapped in so many snowy blankets?

The ones I never unwrapped, and liked to see

All wrapped up like little neat bundles, so neat

No one would ever think, or even want to

Disturb?

Would they linger over the bindings of all those

Snowy swaths? Would they caress the smooth

texture, run fingers around the strips of snow?

Could they feel? Could they feel that though

The texture was fleecy, soft, it was also cold?

So cold no fire could ever warm it? So cold

The swaths of cloth must hide remnants of some long ago

Ice Age?

Would they feel it? And if they did...

Would they have to explore, unwrap, layer by snowy layer?

Layer by Ice Age layer?

Would the fingers peel back the layers to expose

All the truths of a long ago past,

Oh so many eons ago, so many mammoths ago,

So many wooly mammoths ago.

Would the fingers pause as they came to that last layer...

And feel the cold so deeply it burned the flesh

And burned the bones of those ghastly whispers,

And ached to creep into the voices of them?

And what of the others?

Did they wrap their eons, their ages, their mammoths

In snowy blankets too, and push them back,

Far back, into the dust and cobwebs of forgotten yesterdays?

Did they do that too? Was this universal?

This cloaking of truth in softness, in purity,

In hidden places that even they could not discover again?

Well I can tell them...

Ghastly whispers come creeping.

They come creeping around us all

Like cold fingers

And they find us all out,

They peel the snowy layers of all that is hidden,

And they ache, they burn

Until the whispers grow in strength.

Cold fingers are attached, you see,

To cold hearts.

A Lover's Vow I Give to Thee!

A lover's vow I give to thee!

A lover's trust that thou might see

My love is thine! And thine alone!

I love thee and I love thy bone!

I love thy sloppy slobbery kiss!

I love it that thou dost so miss

Me when I am gone and come to greet

The owner that gives thee a juicy treat!

I love thy big fat thumping tail

I even love thy hound-dawg wail!

I love thy flopping ears with ticks

And the way you fetch those big ole sticks.

I love thee, dawg, for thou art true!

Of all my loves, I love most YOU!

The Grass is Greener On the Other Side of the Road...

So pardon me if I deviate from my agenda of enlightening you on the life of a campground attendant...my attention span is....oh look!!! A butterfly! Anyway, I can write about whatever it was...what? The Grass is Greener? OH! I remember that old saying...

Yes...let's have a little fun with that... found one my manuscripts (stuck to the fence).


Paris Hilton: Ooooo! It is? Well take my little dog over there to use it then!

Bill Clinton: I only inhaled once. So it really doesn't matter.

OBama: That's right! So get your gr-ass over here to my side of the fence!

McCain: You are deceived. It is not green. Let's all be real Americans and mow it down.

Bush: Ain't no grass in Texas. But I know where there are some damned fine tumbleweeds. (and a few oil wells)

Brittany Spears: I am really not even interested in that anymore.

Brad Pitt: That is exactly what we have been saying. So don't adopt locally.

Sheriff: Fire up the helicopter, boys, and let's go!

Willie Nelson: Grass? Where?

Cow poking his head through barbed wire: Yup.

So...You Think You Want to be a Campground Attendant...Part I

Never fails. All summer long we get probing comments/questions and sidelong envious glances from folks who have idealized our jobs and think they want it. About this time of the year they even get downright pushy, breathing over our shoulder like rabid vultures waiting for the season to end and wondering if we "will be back next year".

Since we are too old to sweat, know we do a good job at what we do, and we were't looking for this job when God saw to it we had it in the first place ...we manage to smile without grinding our teeth. Besides, the fact is...we used to do the same thing!

The truth is...running a campground is NOT like "getting to camp six months" out of the year. If you are outside you are on duty. Period. Regardless of what the sign says on the gatehouse. That is why we have had exactly one campfire in the last five months. The truth is, if you are INSIDE you are also on duty. No matter what time it is. Pick a time in the wee hours: 2:00 AM, 3:00 AM, 4:00 AM...I don't care what time you choose...because whatever it is, someone has come banging on our camper door and usually for something inconsequential.

I don't mean to discourage those who think our job is the "next thing to heaven". Clearly there are benefits. And we DO work with and for some of the best people I have ever had the pleasure to work with. The majority of the regular campers have become almost like family. In fact most people who stay at this campground are family oriented/fishermen and really are not a great deal of trouble. But there are a few thunks to think too:

a) Do you mind sitting outside your camper on your off hours and being interrupted at least once every five minutes? Can you still be courteous, professional and smile?

b) Do you mind being awakened at any hour of the night or morning by someone who has either not read the hours on the gatehouse or does not care? Can you smile even though your sleep apnea machine is tangled around your ankles?

c) Can you live with your spouse in a camper or motorhome for six months without being indicted for murder in the first degree?

d) Can you live without a single day off in six months? If you manage to slip off for a day or so, can you be ready to return at the drop of a hat if your spouse (who is left running it) gets sick or the campground gets suddenly busy? And forget weekend slipping off at all. Ain't gonna happen. Also isn't allowed.

e) Are you prepared to miss family birthdays, reunions, funerals, weddings, etc.? The campground must go on...and this is what you signed up for. Family just has to deal with it. And you do too.

f) Are you prepared to work fourteen hour days through the holidays and busy season? (That is "on the clock" hours...it may actually be more like sixteen to eighteen).

g) Are you prepared to plan your dental procedures and medical complications around the number of campers expected in during a particular time of the week...and probably attend to your own surgery or root canal without your spouse there to hold your hand?

h) You do realize you are paid the same regardless of the hours worked that week, regardless of the extra things that occurred, regardless of the number of times you had to attend to someone/thing on your "off hours", regardless? You do realize you are given no medical benefits, sick leave, personal leave and are responsible for paying your taxes and social security on your own?

i) You DO understand you are working SEVEN days a week for SIX MONTHS and there is no one to "fill in", don't you? That's right. We have not had a day off since April. Or a night.

Ok, if you read all this and you think you can still smile and be professional through it all...and it is possible. Hubby and I do. If you read all this and think that, then you MIGHT be material for a job like this... But hang on. I have some fun to share with you.

The writer in me couldn't resist. And as we have had this adventure, I had to document... :) Check back tomorrow!

Spousal Conversation: Midlife Changes

"Honey, we have to talk."

"For heaven's sake. Do we have to go into this again??"

"Why won't you listen to reason? We agreed on this when we got married!"

"And that was twenty years ago, and you haven't let up in the last ten! I changed my mind!"

"We aren't getting any younger."

"Look....I just can't go through all that again."

"I will get up at night."

"I am too old to cope with the stages."

"I will cope with the stages."

"Uh huh. And you won't cope with what starts to happen when it turns thirteen."

"At this rate, I won't live long enough to remember!"

"Honey, honestly...I can't do this."

"Then what if we just get a small one? Say...a dachshund?"