The Month of Sweet and Savory Salsas

July. Heat. Porches. Late afternoon thunder showers. Weekly Farmer's Market. Tomatoes. Strawberries. Raspberries. Peaches. Fresh Herbs. 

I am declaring July the month of SALSAs. I already make a mean traditional salsa--finely or coarsely chopped tomatoes, onions, avocado, cilantro, and jalapenos tossed with lime juice and salt, but I want to branch out. More specifically, I want to experiment with both sweet and savory salsa by having each salsa highlight both a main ingredient and an herb. Tentatively, I am thinking: 

*Peach salsa with finely chopped red onion, ginger and/or mint and lime juice.  

*Green olives, black olives, and caper salsa with freshly chopped rosemary and maybe thyme.  

*Roasted pepper and tomato salsa with cilantro and basil. 

*Cherry salsa with green onions and adobe chiles. 

*Roasted beet salsa tossed in dill and a tiny bit of balsamic vinegar. 

Paired with the right kind of excellent cheese, melted in a quesadilla. Oh, my! 

This quest is as much about the process, as the end result of deliciousness and delectability. The weekly trip to the farmer's market, the conversation with the farmers, the picking out of just the right fresh ingredients, the carrying gently home, the chopping, combining, tasting, and testing. 

Stay tuned for a mouth-watering report!

Put the Book Down and Back Away (Part 1)

The advances that have been made in diagnosing and treating MS in the last 30 years alone, are heartening and impressive. Yet, in so many ways, MS remains a mystery and has generated many theories of how to best and most successfully manage the disease. The sheer volume written on, for example, possible dietary solutions, overwhelmed me. Moreover, the dietary principles are often not just contradictory, but also controversial and based on personal testimony, not scientific studies. To name just a few of the options:  federal nutritional guidelines,  anti-inflammatory diet, and the gluten free diet.

My initial reaction while reading a book on the gluten free diet, was panic. I felt an immediate urge to rush frantically around to toss the loaf fresh farmer's market whole wheat bread, the stack of tortillas, and the package English muffins. I felt the franticness of imminent, immediate, and unthought-out radical change. 

Ultimately, though, I resorted to a motto that I had created to respond to self-help induced panic of any sort: Put the book down and step away. 

I am not ready for radical change just yet.

I do know that I make many healthy choices. For instance, a snapshot of my meals on Saturday included for breakfast a fresh fruit salad with a dollop of yogurt, for lunch a veggie burger on a bun with avocado, blue cheese, and veggies, and for dinner a vibrant black bean salad with onions, tomatoes, corn, and beets seasoned with lime juice, cilantro, and a jalepeno over a bed of mixed spring greens. 

If this were the whole story, I would be good to go. 

Unfortunately, my complete dietary picture on Saturday also included: a giant piece of chocolate cake (split with a friend); a 16 ounce soy caramel mocha latte, a 24 ounce soda, 1 Stouffer's french bread frozen pizza, splitting a 32 ounce soda with a friend at the movies, and finally, as a late night snack, a small yet decadent brownie and a tall glass of soy milk.  

Since I struggle with a serious and significant weight issue, which complicates any dietary goals I might set to handle the MS, my first and most sensible step is, I think, to observe my current patterns and commit to small changes first. More specifically, I am a big believer in a strategy I developed a few years ago called, to the left. Since it as as easy for me to reach for whole wheat pasta as it is for white, I reasoned, why not choose whole wheat? 

This strategy has worked well at the super market, where I can, and do, choose the healthier option. Yet, I find in certain settings and for certain motivations, I do not resist temptation. I often make choices based on convenience, a desire for comfort, to combat stress, and as a way to socialize. 

There are, of course, many to the left options that I could utilize including: downsize by one or more portion sizes, switch to calorie-free beverages; eat mini-meals instead of snacks In terms of stress, Moreover, I could choose to handle my stress in the following to-the left ways: take regular stretch breaks, stop working while I am ahead, plan a regular daily play and self-nourishing activity.  

I am not ready just yet to commit to a course of action, even if they are baby steps, but I have strategies in place to choose from when I am ready. 

Sanctuary

In our session few weeks ago, when my therapist pushed me to identify how I was feeling about the implications of a potential diagnosis, I  bristled. That's how I first became aware of how angry I was to be facing this potential diagnosis. 

This potential diagnosis has triggered a spiritual crisis for me. Yet, in the process, I realized that who I most want to share my anger, confusion, and grief with is God herself. Although I long struggled not to feel that anger is sinful, or that expressing my anger to God is blasphemy, I am taking the risk now to bring my whole, imperfect, emotional self to God himself because: 

In the face of this crisis, I need sanctuary. 

In the face of this crisis, I need to be comforted. 

In the face of this crisis, I need to be held. 

In the face of this crisis, I need to express all of my anger. 

In the face of this crisis, I need sanctuary. 

I have begun to think about both the traditional and non-traditional ways I might find the sanctuary I am seeking. I found a prayer meeting at the local LGBT friendly St. Andrews Episcopal Church that meets daily. I have downloaded the directions and bought the yarn for a prayer shawl, one for myself. I plan to take regular walks--seeing the splendor of unruly wild grapevines and the prickly tangles of raspberry bushes, and the vast green tree-line are also a sanctuary for me. 

In addition to these more grand sanctuaries, I have also begun to think about smaller, more subtle ways to encourage myself to find sanctuary--peace, serenity, quietude by: establishing wellness routines (flossing, going to bed at a decent hour, eating breakfast); spending a few minutes each day being quiet; purposefully unplugging from my computer and phone...

Yet, I don't want to forget that a genuine sanctuary makes room for all of me and therefore I need to find meaningful ways to express my anger. Just the idea of letting my anger show is unnerving. But, I know, I need to find visible and visceral ways for show my anger--to be truly vulnerable in the face of this turbulence. Even thought it might be challenging and certainly unfamiliar, I believe it is important and necessary. 

Water Therapy

Yes, that baby is me! To this day, each time I am at the ocean, on the lake or river, or even just near a pond, I feel absolutely giddy and gleeful. 

This weekend, at the outdoor pool, as I splashed, floated, swam leisurely around the pool under the hot, cloudless sky, the blues I had been experiencing throughout the weekend--a deep variegated cobalt, indigo, dark blue sadness, lifted. 

Floating in the pool gave me visceral reminder of just how good I feel in water. Moreover, since MS is a disease that is managed, but certainly not cured, all of the literature I have read stresses the importance of regular exercise to help manage the disease and the depression that often accompanies chronic illness. So, this weekend in the pool, I made several summer-time resolutions, which will serve me in good stead regardless of whether I ultimately have MS or not. I decided to sign up for the water aerobics class and to register for swimming lessons, too. 

On Monday, I pushed through all of my internal reservations, and participated in my first water running class. Much to my surprise and delight, I. loved. it. Since, I don't even run for the bus, I had imagined the class would be dreadful and tedious. To my utter delight, I couldn't have been more wrong. In the water, I am weightless, buoyed up by the water and because class is held in the deep pool, my feet didn't even touch bottom. Instead, I pumped my arms and my legs in a running motion first more slowly for several pool-lengths of warm up and then fast, faster, fastest for an energizing workout. The height of the class were interval training and a series of relay races. I certainly got a work out. Yet, because of the games, it was more playful and interactive than just a regular water aerobics class. 

The water aerobics class I took on Wednesday, was a challenging workout, too. My muscles have that pleasant ache that confirm that I have indeed worked out and the past few nights I have been sleeping solidly for the first time in weeks. My next step is to advance my swimming skills by taking individual lessons in in order to learn not only how to crawl, butterfly, but also how to execute that sweet underwater turn that allows a swimmer to reverse and complete a lap. 

Still, it is important for me, and, for that matter anyone with a chronic illness, to remember that managing a (potential) disease, is not curing it. On Tuesday, for example, even after the elation the night before of water running, my blues returned and lingered throughout the day. I let it lay there. I was tender with myself throughout my sadness. I did not push myself to just get over it or berate myself for feeling better the night before and now feeling sad again. Instead, I acknowledged the depth of my sadness and yet tried my best to maintain my work schedule. 

I appreciated The National MS Society reminder that "wellness is a dynamic state of physical, emotional, spiritual, and social well-being that can be achieved even in the presence of a chronic illness or disability." For example, in response to my sadness, by Tuesday evening, I had had a good cry, shared openly with a friend about my sadness, and had a deeply satisfying phone conversation with a long-last friend. By the end of Tuesday, my sadness had again eased and lifted. 

Over the last few weeks as I have gotten more in touch with my emotions--after an initial period of pure jubilation over regaining my mobility-- I have been immensely angry, sad, grieved, and heartbroken over this possibility. What helps me most, in the face of the reality of these feelings and experiences, is to reach out. And, because I value conversation--a genuine give and take--and because I gain so much by the sharing and building community in the face of the toughest parts of life,  I'll invite the other person into the conversation by asking questions such as: Have you ever experienced this kind of sadness? How did you cope? 

A burdened shared is a burdened halved. True, indeed. 

 

The Waiting Period

Originally, I had decided to stash the potential of an MS diagnosis in  a folder labeled "August 12th," the date of my next neurology appointment. "Why panic?" I asked myself.  "When I don't know for sure yet?" 

Yet, of course, the limbo of waiting for a potentially life-altering diagnosis is, in itself, scary and terrifying. 

In fact, since there is no single test for MS and, by definition, it requires two episodes to be officially diagnosed, almost all people eventually diagnosed with MS go through a waiting period. Fortunately, unlike years ago when people sometimes waited years, often suffering increasingly debilitating attacks before being officially diagnosed, currently there are clear diagnostic standards, the McDonald criteria, that neurologists rely on to make a diagnosis. So, the next step is to wait to see if I have a second attack. It's certainly possible to only have one attack, called Clinically Isolated Syndrome, without ever developing full-blown MS. 

And hence, my dilemma, to what extent do I acknowledge and address an illness that I might not even have? Yet, if I do have it, wouldn't I want to use this time to "prepare"?

As I have grappled with these questions, I was reminded of an anecdote from the feminist therapist and author Harriet Lerner. On a team-building white water rafting trip, Lerner, who was terrified, repeatedly voiced her anxiety until she realized it was not only escalating her own anxiety and interfering with her ability to work with her team, but raising her team's anxieties, too. So, she pulled aside one of her very good friends, and shared exactly how petrified she really was.  She even gave him instructions on what to do and who to contact (her husband and two sons) in case of her death. Once she had addressed her fear and anxiety, Lerner was able to make a conscious decision to tap into her competence during the remainder of the trip and therefore was able to become a fully functioning, skillful member of her team. Brilliant, sanity-saving strategy, indeed!

For my part, during this emotionally and spiritually turbulent time, I have decided to follow Lerner's lead. I have shared with good friends and God, too, exactly how afraid I really am, and, truthfully, also how angry and at times sad I am, and I will continue to do so as necessary. At the same time, I am tapping into my core competence, to handle this potential diagnosis. On a practical level, this has meant copying my house key and giving it to friends, programming my Dr.'s information into my phone, and doing a little bit of reading (but not too much) on MS. As a dear friend, whose daughter suffers from MS, advised me, "Be informed, but not alarmed". 

Additionally, I have made an intention to enjoy my summer--I live in a visually stunning area--a small town surrounded by dark green mountains--and I simply do not want to miss out on all that the summer here has to offer: back yard barbecues, visits to the outdoor pool, summer bike rides, the Farmer's Market, and late summer nights. So, while I wait, I plan to dig into my summer with gusto.

Re-Assessing, Re-Stocking, and Heading For New Territory

It's true. These last few years, as I have entered my thirties and life has thrown me around, I have become a bit bitter, cynical even. But, the most recent crisis, three weeks of a "neurological episode" that severely impacted my mobility--I had difficulty seeing, walking, and thinking--jolted me. The potential of an eventual MS diagnosis makes me both deeply grateful for what I have and poignantly aware of how precious my mobility is to me. 

What became so clear to me during my episode is how quickly a chronic illness can shrink your world. And, so, I decided to embrace all the modes of  "travel"--reading, cooking, sight-seeing, traveling, listening to music--that enrich my life daily in an intentional way through this blog. It's a way for me: to actively engage in activities I enjoy, to affirm my zest for life, to strengthen my sense of community, and to live in the questions. In the process, I will interweave my daily reflections with a discussion of the books I am reading, the meals I am cooking, and the traveling I am doing. 

Perhaps most importantly, I want to use this blog to purposefully embrace the spirit of mobility--joy, freedom, meaning, playfulness, curiosity, integrity...and, of course, the pleasure of excellent company. 

Andale! Vale!