Pillowcase Adventure Project

I thought I knew what poverty was. I've traveled the US and seen depressed areas. I've seen the homeless in the big cities. I've seen ram shackled homes in the country. The cycle of poverty is difficult to break and I always worry most about the kids.

Which is why my life plan is shaping up the way it is. I had to go all the way to Belize and Honduras for it to make sense.

Belize City, where people are proud and happy. And poor. A place where education is important. Where the windows and shutters of the schools are wide open and have no screens but students are learning English. Where a little boy ran to the school fence and waved to me as we drove by.

Roatan, Honduras, where the level of poverty is beyond what I ever could have imagined. Where kids don't have much of a chance. Where five year olds have already started walking the beach, trying to hit up tourists for money in exchange for their trinkets.

Then throw in the sewing. Throw in the need for adventure. The need to give back to others. And this pull I have to quit my job.

It's all falling into place. Soon I'll be visiting an orphanage in Honduras, delivering homemade pillowcases to the kids. I haven't forgotten about Idaho, either. I'll be delivering pillowcases to a children's home here, too. A home full of failed-adoption kiddos, kids that no one wants.

A year of love, gratitude, and giving. Of being happy everyday. Might just call it the Pillowcase Adventure Project. (Still working on the name.)

Soon I'll be up, up, and away. Like the planes in the morning.

Leaping Lizards, Icky Iguanas

It's so hard.

With most chronic diseases, drug companies are actively marketing management treatments, not cures. That means two things. You're stuck with the disease and you're stuck paying drug companies astronomical amounts of money over the course of your lifetime. 

When you are fighting said chronic illness you feel trapped. You are more than willing to do what the experts say to do in order to add normalcy to your life. 

It can, at times, feel like the illness is winning. It takes control of your life. Your day's activities revolve around the pain associated with it. On good days you think you just might be able to make it. On bad days (mind you, when I say bad it's not just a regular person's bad day - it is an all out fight to move kind of day) you are certain you won't make it. 

Then there are those other days. Days of clarity. Days where it all comes into perspective. Usually on those days there are no answers, but there are gut feelings.  Hunches. Intuitions. About what is right for you in that very moment. 

One of those hunches led me to face my fear of lizards by feeding huge iguanas. 

It's a soul thing. Throw caution to the wind. Take a chance. A way to heal myself. Thumb my nose at the doctors and drug companies. And in the meantime maybe discover who I'm meant to be. What if by chance I'm not meant to be sick after all?

Hunkering Down

As I continue with my chemotherapy medication that makes me sick, as I wait for approval for the new, aggressive rheumatoid arthritis medication. As hubby waits to see if he will have any income this month. As we wait for new carpet to arrive and Internet and phone to be installed in our Boise home. As we wait for our Marsing home to sell. As we work through the emotional and physical toll these last few months have taken on us.

As we wait we have decided to hunker down. Keeping our feelings and thoughts to ourselves, no talking and no visiting and seeing no one. Just the two of us taking a break from the world for a little while. 

We'll be back in society and back to responsibilities and obligations when the time is right. But that time is not now.  Midlife crisis? Physical breakdown? Mental breakdown? 

Maybe a combination of all. Time to take advantage of this sign:

Emotions

The emotions that have accompanied the life changes we've been experiencing have been stronger than expected.

Husband sitting home all day, every day, with nothing to do but watch TV. His identity - high school teacher - has been lost. 28 years spent in the same school district, in the same building, teaching the same subject. How could it not be an emotional draining situation for him?

Losing kitty, my companion. Having to put her to sleep was difficult. 14 years of knowing when I wasn't feeling well, climbing onto my lap to keep me company. Sitting in the window as I sat sewing at the machine. Still feels like a part of me is missing.

Then teary eyes in kiddo's room when I was cleaning out and boxing things up to make room for the painter. From elementary school to middle school to high school to college to married life, her knick knacks and clothes and medals and posters that had been collected had remained.

The house is now empty. Painting is finished. Doing a walkthrough last night brought more tears to the eyes. And while it won't officially go onto the market until Wednesday, we now have a sign in the yard. Anyone looking for a four bedroom three bath house with a river view in Marsing, Idaho? I know someone selling one.

An emotional time.

Timing

At 8:49 AM I made a phone call. Pouring rain, side of the highway, heading back to Marsing for the last time. With a flat tire.

At 9:11 AM as I sat in the cold car waiting for AAA to arrive I received a text. It came from someone I work with, someone who had no knowledge of my current side-of-the-road situation.  

"Today is going to be awesome!" 

How's that for timing? Such a good reminder that we can choose to be happy even in the pain-in-the-rear situations. 

Thank you, you-know-who for choosing that moment to connect with me.