How Did a Middle-Aged Civilian in Texas Get PTSD?

Posted on June 26, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

I first noticed it way back on Memorial Day, before heading home from the triathlon in Austin. Heather and I had stopped for a late lunch in Round Rock. When I got up to find the ladies’ room, I asked a staff member where the “radies’ loom” was.

We figured it out, and I chalked it up to being tired and hungry. Soon I was back at the table, commenting on how nice it was to be sitting down, eating salad and quiche and drinking watts of lotter — I mean, lots of water (I don’t think Heather noticed that one).

We got back to Heather’s house, unloaded her stuff and got cleaned up. Then it was time to load my car. I put my suitcase in, then remembered I had left my gear bag inside. “Ah — my beer gag,” I reminded myself. “Beer bag. GEAR BAG.” Sheesh.

It kept happening even after I had been home for days. I was talking about an error somebody had made, but giving them the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sure it was well-meant” became “I’m sure it was mell-went. Uh, that’s ‘mell-went.’ I mean, ‘It was MELL-WENT.'” At this point I thought it best to stuff my mouth with chocolate before I could say the silly phrase wrong again.

I noticed my son’s new car has heated seats, but I could only manage “seated heats.”
Later, I got out the bixing mole so I could cake bookies. Book cakies. Bake cookies. whew!
My tangue got toungled up almost every time I said anything.

This could only mean one thing: I had contracted

Post Triathlon Spoonerism Disorder.

What to do?

As it turns out, no cure exists. Fortunately, the disorder eventually goes away by itself. You can help the process along if you slow down a little while speaking (perhaps I had experienced a two-week adrenaline rush) and get enough sleep (ditto the adrenaline rush).

So, if you’re reading this at your “taplop” computer and realize you have been wixing up your murds, don’t worry. Just relax and take a nap.

And maybe stay away from triathlons.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan

Linking up this week with Rachel Anne and the Company Girls. Hop on over for some cool summer fun!
Also with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters! Once you visit Jen’s blog you will likely want to sign up for the women’s retreat in Austin this October.

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It’s the Pits (But I Love It)

Posted on June 15, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

I don’t know whether anyone has noticed, but I have been seriously off the grid for the past week or so. Sporadic Facebook checking, maybe 15 seconds at a time. Two or three blog posts started but none finished. I’ve added only 250 words to my novel this whole week. Really, I’m not just being lazy. There is a perfectly good explanation, which I can sum up in four words:

The peaches are ripe.

We have one peach tree in our back yard. In last summer’s drought, the peaches were skimpy and ugly, plus we had to arm-wrestle the bugs for the few that ripened enough to bother with. We ended up with just about enough peach fragments to top a couple of bowls of ice cream.

This year is another story. A mild winter and timely rains have loaded our little tree with beautiful, fat peaches. Some of the branches bend almost to the ground.

As yummy and pie-heavenish as all this may sound, I’m not gonna lie… it’s a lot of work, too. As a matter of fact, I can’t keep up with even this one tree.

Every morning I look out and see anywhere from one to a dozen peaches on the ground. Most have fallen because they were moldy or damaged, and they have splatted on the grass. I collect these with a trowel. Scanning through the tree, I knock down any additional moldy peaches that I see, so they won’t fall on my head while I’m under there. More work with the trowel. A plastic grocery bag, filled with reject fruit to where I can still tie it shut, weighs 15 or 20 pounds. (I’m guessing here… excuse me for not taking our bathroom scale outside to get icky peach juice dripped on it!) A kitchen trash bag will take two or three grocery bags’ worth before it gets too heavy to pick up without tearing.

The ground cleared, I turn to the branches and start tugging on the fruit that looks ripe. If it comes off easily, it’s ready. Some peaches look all red and juicy but they’re still rock-hard, so I leave them for another day. After I’ve checked the fruit within reach, out comes the stepladder and I repeat the process higher up. Of course, as I move the ladder around I keep knocking it into the tree and occasionally downing more moldy fruit. But the good stuff is up there! Just yesterday I filled my two biggest bowls and a tray with perfectly good peaches.

Once you lug the fruit inside, then what do you do with it? Well, I’ve been peeling / slicing / freezing quite a bit, which takes forever and leaves me with veggie-peeler writer’s cramp and sticky hands. And sticky countertops, floor, clothing, appliances…

Yesterday I took the “scratch-and-dent” peaches that I had just picked, the ones with a soft spot or a bird bite out of them, and sliced the good parts into a bowl. I ended up with enough for two or three pies. Those slices are in the fridge, waiting for me to make a crust.

Meanwhile, I keep filling more grocery bags with peach skins and pits. I’m running out of grocery bags, and I can’t go to the store because there’s no room in the fridge or freezer for any more groceries. This morning the rolling trash can was almost too heavy to roll to the curb. I felt a little guilty about the sanitation crew having to hoist those heavy kitchen bags that I can barely lift, so I met the truck and gave them a bag of fresh peaches for lunch.

Lunch-bag by lunch-bag, I’m taking peaches to the neighbors and making room in the fridge for tomorrow’s picks. The bounty is overwhelming and keeps me from writing as much as I should, but I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. After all, I can always spend more time writing when the tree is covered with nothing but leaves.

How about you? Do you ever have to suspend a favorite activity for a season while you take care of something else?

Well, I guess I’d better go roll out some pastry. But first, it looks as if I need to grab the trowel again. . .

Thanks for reading,
Jan
Linking up with Jen and my Soli Deo Gloria sisters!
and with Rachel Anne for some Company Girls Coffee. With peaches, of course.

Posted in I Remember When... (my OWN stories) | Tagged , , , , , | 12 Comments

Leno’s “Headlines,” or Elegant Metaphor?

Posted on June 4, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

I can just hear Jay Leno ragging on this headline in today’s Dallas Morning News:

Rains Reduce Risk of Drought Sequel

Oh sure, it seems redundant, since the word “drought” refers to a lack of rain. Duh. But the Associated Press article isn’t goofy, as the headline makes it sound.

Last summer, Texas dried up into a smouldering tinderbox that left dead cattle and wildlife all over, even in acreage that didn’t literally burn, which a lot of it did. But why didn’t we get any rain all summer? According to the National Weather Service, it was the unusually low rainfall throughout the spring. The dry land allowed temperatures to climb higher than usual during the summer, which led to even less rain, which led to higher temperatures, and so on through a deadly spiral.

A drought.

This year, from March through May, we had about three times as much rain as we did in the same months last year. This time, the spiral will tend toward lower temperatures (not cold, mind you–this is Texas, after all) which will allow more rainfall, and in turn keep temperatures down, and so forth through a spiral of, um, normalness.

Apparently, each day’s weather does not stand on its own, like cards randomly drawn from a deck. Rather, the weather in the spring season tends to set up a pattern that continues throughout the summer.

Now, this may be a bit of a leap, but I think a similar principle applies to life. As each day’s weather does not stand alone, neither does each day’s quality of life. What I’ve done before tends to snowball on me.

I shared one “f’r instance” in my writing group’s newsletter: If I get “in the zone” and write three or four pages in one morning, that tends to motivate me into an upward spiral of more creativity. But say I get stuck. If I respond by stalling, I’m in danger of letting my ideas wither. The “stall” becomes a “vacation” which ends up as an “unfinished project,” or a writer’s drought.

I have to make my own “spring rain” by pushing past the obstacle.

More parallels occurred to me. Time management, especially if you are in school, is one general example. When I was in college the second time around, you better believe I stayed on top of every assignment. Each semester I kept up from the beginning, so I didn’t have to catch up toward the end. No academic drought for me. In fact, I harvested some pretty doggone good grades.

Or what about money? Do you save a little every month, or do you keep piling on credit card debt? The more you owe, the more discouraging it is to think of trying to save. Are you spiraling up or down?

Are you making steps each day toward your goals and dreams, whatever they are, or just letting them slide? You know: downhill.

In many ways, then, our spring choices set the tone for our summer climate.

But what if you’ve wasted your springtime? What if you are staring into the face of a financial, academic or career drought?

Well, the nice thing about life, as opposed to the seasons, is that spring can start any time we decide to make it start. Abandoned project? Flab instead of fitness? If you don’t like the looks of your current “summer,” you can pick up the pieces now and start a new spring. As near as I can figure, even a small step in the right direction is likely to spiral upward and your next season will be better for it.

What are you doing in your spring to prepare for summer?

Thanks for reading,
Jan
Linking with Jen and my dear sisters over at Soli Deo Gloria, and with Rachel Anne and the Company Girls Coffee. You all rock!

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What Is That to You?

Posted on May 29, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

Heather just ran, and I'm the one with the red face!“C’mon, Jan… cadence!” I reminded myself. Panting, I shifted to an easier gear so I could pedal faster. Sure enough, my speed increased slightly despite the stiff climb.

I was 1.2 miles into the first of two laps on the bicycle course in downtown Austin’s “Capital of Texas Triathlon.” My first race ever, let alone a triathlon. Now, before you go thinking that I’m some kind of “Ironmom” multi-sport athlete, let me assure you that Heather, my daughter-in-law, is the hero in this scene. An experienced swimmer and runner, she had invited me to bike on a relay team with her. We signed up for the short-distance “Sprint” race and I trained as well as I could.

Anyway, that’s how I found myself cycling up Congress Avenue from the Colorado River toward the Texas State capitol building, which I’m sure would have been an impressive sight if I had not been too busy to notice it. My self-coaching (first sentence above) kicked in where the route went around the building on 11th Street. All along the course, whether climbing, descending or flat, I noticed two things:

1) Lots of people passed me.
2) I passed lots of people.

Normally, being passed makes me feel inadequate, while passing other riders (especially younger men) makes me feel like a hotshot. So, most of my mass-start rides amount to a self-esteem roller-coaster.

The thing about a triathlon like this one is that there is no mass start. Everyone starts in “waves” alongside only the people in their distance and age or ability group. Once the first few waves of swimmers are away, no one can tell who started when. By the time the relay teams started swimming (Last category, thanks), all the Olympic-distance people were probably already out on the bike course. They did four laps on the course as opposed to my two. And, when I first rode across the river, plenty of people had done their biking and were already into the running course.

So, some of the people who passed me were experienced racers. I had nothing to be ashamed of.

And I’m sure that some of the people I passed at 1.2 miles had already done the long swim plus 14 miles on the bike. They were probably just catching a quick break, while I was still warming up. I had nothing to brag about. I passed one woman who pedaled along using two prosthetic legs. Clearly, I had nothing whatsoever to brag about.

We were all together on the same course, doing the same activity. And yet, we were not really in the same race. That is, I wasn’t competing with the Tarzans or the people with the aero bars and $600 helmets. We had started different distances at different times. Just from looking, no one could tell how far an athlete had come, or how far they had yet to go.

Talk about taking the pressure off! I just rode my best and didn’t worry about trying to keep up with anyone else. Those comparisons were simply not relevant.

Heather and I talked about these things as we fought our way through the post-event traffic. Later, I recalled something that Jesus had said about comparisons. First he had told Peter, to paraphrase loosely, “You’re going to be martyred, my friend. So. Follow me.”

Understandably, Peter became uncomfortable and looked around for someone else to focus on. He tried to get Jesus to make a prediction about his buddy John, too. But Jesus wouldn’t even give him a hint, just a non-answer ending in a question. “What is that to you?” he asked Peter. “You follow me.”

Peter and John were not competing against each other, so they had no need to compare themselves to each other. John’s future was irrelevant to Peter’s calling. Like the triathletes in Austin, both men came in with different tasks and faced different challenges. God would use both of them, in different ways, to invite people into his kingdom. He alone knew which would finish his tasks first. He alone knew just when and how each would go home to heaven.

Where is my ultimate finish line compared to yours? I don’t know; but then, what is that to me? He just wants me to follow him.

And leave the comparisons back at the start line.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan
PS: You are invited to hop over to Rachel Anne’s blog party and meet the Company Girls!

Also, visit Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters as we share our questions and stories.

Posted in A Page From My Journal, Thoughts on Two Wheels | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Go Learn What This Means

Posted on May 20, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

Today’s “Page From My Journal” post really comes from three days’ worth of my studies, starting last Tuesday. I was reading along in Matthew 12 (click the reference if you’d like to follow along on BibleGateway.com), and started noticing…

The religious leaders of Jesus’ day, the Pharisees, sure gave him a hard time. At every opportunity, too. Here, they pounced on the disciples for grabbing a quick snack when they were hungry. Normally even the Pharisees didn’t criticize people for picking fresh food to eat, but this was on the Sabbath day. When they were supposed to be “resting.”

So Jesus reminded them that no less a leader than King David had done pretty much the same thing. Centuries earlier, David and his hungry companions ate the priestly bread right from the tabernacle. Of course, they had the priest’s permission. Then Jesus quoted the prophet Hosea: “For I desire compassion, and not a sacrifice…” (Hosea 6:6).

Hadn’t I just read that the week before? I turned back a few pages. Sure enough, almost the same conversation appears in Chapter 9, when the Pharisees complained about Jesus extending grace toward sinners. Jesus had told them to “Go and learn what this means.” Then he had quoted the same verse, and had also pointed out that doctors are for sick people, not healthy ones. In my journal I wrote,

The Pharisees were all about self-righteousness. But Jesus kept telling them that God wants us to show compassion / mercy…
1. If I condemn someone, I’m forgetting that I am just a fellow sinner.
2. Trying to “shame” someone is arrogant and doesn’t work anyway. The bigger picture is that everyone needs a Savior.
3. Jesus loved where there was need, not merit.
4. Compassion keeps you from condemning the innocent (12:7).

A bit later, Jesus went into the synagogue and taught some more about the Sabbath. “It is lawful,” he said, “to do good on the Sabbath” (v. 12). The Pharisees were were not amused. Here are my notes about the point Jesus was making:

Jesus answered the Pharisees by reminding them of the sprit of the Sabbath. Focusing on Christ’s love, emulating his compassion… this puts the “rules” into their proper place in life.

God had indeed established the laws, but while the sacrifices represent the letter of the law, compassion represents its spirit. What God really wants is a relationship with people. He wants us to trust him. Jesus encourages that trust because, as the prophet Isaiah foretold,

He will not quarrel, nor cry out;
Nor will anyone hear His voice in the streets.
A battered reed He will not break off,
And a smoldering wick He will not put out,
Until He leads justice to victory (verses 18-20; Matthew is quoting Isaiah 42).

I’m thankful that when I was battered by my own sin, Jesus didn’t break me off. And when the wick of my faith smoldered, he didn’t snuff it out altogether. I have learned firsthand what compassion looks like. Now I want to pass it along to others.

Thanks for reading,
Jan
PS: Come on over to Rachel Anne’s for some “Company Girl Coffee!” You’re also invited to join the Soli Deo Gloria Sisters over at Jen’s Finding Heaven!

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Mrs. Tweedy and her Majestic Dubble-Bubble Hairdo

Posted on May 14, 2012 by Jan C. Johnson

I guess I should first explain that when I got my new bicycle last year, a Trek Madone 5.2, I wanted to give it a name worthy of its sterling qualities. Black with white lines and lettering, it is lightweight and rather intimidating. Unlike its rider.

Sometimes I choose food or animal names based on the bike’s color scheme; I fondly recall the pearlescent Italian bike I dubbed “Gelato.” But in this case, neither “Licorice” nor “Skunk” seemed adequate somehow. Brent and I stood in the garage staring at the Trek and waiting for inspiration.

On a seemingly unrelated note, one of my favorite movies of all time is Chicken Run, the claymation feature produced by the “Wallace & Gromit” geniuses. One of the characters is the grim, coldhearted chicken farmer, Mrs. Tweedy. She is ridiculously thin; lightweight and rather intimidating.

Hmmmmm…..

“I think I’ll call it ‘Mrs. Tweedy,'” I announced.

“Eh?” Brent blinked at me. Brent never says “Eh?”

“Because she’s lightweight and intimidating,” I answered his implied question. “Besides, there’s a bicycle in the movie. Well, a tricycle.”

“Right.”

So Mrs. Tweedy and I put in mile after mile last summer. I did the pedaling; Brent did the tune-ups and other maintenance.

Then, last month, we were both browsing around our local bike shop, B&B. Brent pointed out some cool padded handlebar tape and reminded me that my original black tape was getting worn and loose. “Would you like to try another color?” he asked.

I looked over the boxes of poufy tape, each roll visible edgewise; that is, turned so the side showed through the little windows. The bright pink caught my eye. Why not? “Ooh. How about pink?” Done.

That same evening Brent had my handlebar re-wrapped. He called me out to the garage to see his handiwork.

Looking at the face of the tape rather than the edge, the pink was not quite as bright as I had thought. It’s a pretty color, but just softer than it looked in the package. And the new tape is more padded than the old. Thick, poufy, soft pink. . .

It looked like. . . bubble gum.

And somehow, the colorful, poufy road-bike handlebar shape started reminding me of a swept-back hairdo. The sort of hairdo, in fact, that you might find on a female character in a “Wallace & Gromit” movie. (I still laugh about the woman in Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, whose hair looked like a giant Cheez Doodle.)

Now that it’s had a chance to grow on me, I think Mrs. Tweedy’s new ‘do looks sort of majestic. Even if it is the color of Dubble-Bubble.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds,
Jan
PS: I am linking up with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters.
Also, come join me for coffee with Rachel Anne and the Company Girls. Hey, Company Girls, I promise I will write about some thing serious soon. Well, you know… pretty soon…
jj

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