It's More Than A Food Trip. It's A Family Thing

Hello from my camper bed/office at my Norwegian Bachelor Brother’s house in Minneapolis, a house in which the bathroom has never looked or smelled so girlie.

Marty may be forgetful, but he still has an innate sense of quality. He didn’t go cheap when he bought this air mattress. Usually when I sleep on these things I wake up flat on the floor. Not this one. Hasn’t lost air yet.

We went to the grocery store yesterday and wandered around for an hour. I injected a few “Do you like ____?” to gauge his taste, but mostly I listened and watched which foods he was drawn to. I’m going back to the store alone to make a list of the foods I recommended and the ones he seemed interested in. This will hopefully help him make better choices when he goes grocery shopping with someone else after I’m gone. Highlights of our grocery party: He said he’d swap out his Stouffer’s meals for Amy’s, and he likes asparagus, bananas and eggs made any way.

This was also a grocery shopping trip for me. I got in late Monday evening, so there was no time to hit a store before hitting the sack. I’d packed some almonds, PB2, and a banana in my suitcase in anticipation of nothing in my brother’s house for breakfast. I confess I was pretty excited when he gave me the tour of his cupboard and I saw the bag of Frosted Mini Wheats. Only a box of Froot Loops would have made me feel more like I was 8 again. I indulged the next morning and loved every bite.

I threw my staples in the cart – veggies, fruit, Greek yogurt, pita, hummus, Boca burgers, et al – and he bought milk, OJ, paper plates, plastic cups, and laundry soap. After putting our groceries in the truck, I asked him where the nearest Starbucks was. It took him a few minutes to consider my question, but his memory didn’t fail him when he said he thought there was one in the Super Target. Score! When I hopped up into the driver’s seat of his F-150 with my venti non-fat latte (yes, venti), he was staring at the grocery receipt.

“This is the longest receipt I’ve ever had,” he said. “I’ve never bought garbanzo beans before!”

Last night we went to my parents’ house for dinner. My sister-in-law and niece joined us. A small gathering, but still a social interaction nonetheless. My mother is hard of hearing and so we need to talk loudly for her to hear us. She, by nature, is a boisterous woman with a hardy laugh, so their small townhouse was familiarly chaotic with conversation, something I am used to and can handle, but I’m not the one with a brain injury. I kept a close eye on Marty, and found myself talking to him quietly, not unlike you’d talk to anyone within your care, inquiring how he was doing and if he needed anything.

I cooked some chicken in olive oil and garlic powder for folks to put on their spinach salads. I chopped onions, carrots, peppers, cucumbers and tomatoes, and found some cheddar cheese to sprinkle on top. Marty ate a salad and a piece of bread, and Mom surprised him with his favorite dessert – vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. As his resident “dietician,” I was happy with that.

When we got home, he settled into his recliner with a bottle of water and put on the Twins game. I went outside to make a few phone calls. They were short calls, however, because even at 7:30 the heat index was still 118 degrees and the dew point a record-breaking 82 degrees. My hair hates me.

When I came back in, Marty got all big brother on me.

“It’s hot out there,” he said. “You can make your calls in my room and shut the door. It’s OK.”

I assured him next time I would, then he suggested I sit down and put my feet up, and so I did. And we spent the next few hours talking and laughing like the siblings we’ve always been. I went to my camper bed after brushing my teeth in his girlified bathroom feeling like if I did nothing else but be here to remind Marty who he is and always has been, then I will have done more than I could ever have originally hoped to accomplish.

Before going into his room across the hall, Marty stood in my doorway and smiled.

“I know you’re missing your family, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“But you’re my family, too, and I want to be here.”

“I know,” he said, “but I’m still glad you’re here.”

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Help Wanted: Cleaning Up A Diet

Twenty-some years ago, my Norwegian Bachelor Farmer brother, Marty, attempted to make himself dinner.

“I made spaghetti, but…” he started.

“You cooked?” I interrupted, dropping the phone on the floor.

“I figure I can’t eat McDonalds every day,” he said. “But how…”

“Hold on, I have to write this date on the calendar,” I said. “This is bigger than our birthday.”

“I’m serious! I made spaghetti,” he said. “But how do you get the noodles cooked without the water boiling all over the stove?”  

Now my brother is a smart guy. Best salesman his employer ever had. He can fix almost anything, and he’s so patient he doesn’t swear when he plays golf.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” I said, perplexed.

“Well, I kept having to lift the pot off the stove when it boiled over,” he said, exasperated.

Silence.

“Why didn’t you just turn down the stove?”

Silence.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Man, I’m a bonehead.”

Last week, we learned Uncle Bonehead (as he calls himself to his nieces and nephews) has a lesion in the hippocampus region of his brain. Marty has suffered from temporal lobe epilepsy for 40 years. Three weeks ago he had a severe seizure and is still experiencing some amnesia caused by the lesion. His neurologist outlined his recovery plan on Friday and one of the laundry list of line items is to clean up his diet.

That’s where we come in.

I’m heading out to Minnesota tomorrow (Monday) and I’ve outlined a few things I’d like to do to help my brother with his recovery. I need your help with #8.

1.      Take daily walks, preferably around the lakes
2.      Bike several times, preferably around the lakes
3.      Celebrate our birthday early (we were both born on August 14, 10 years apart) by going to a Twins game
4.      Get him out golfing. I’ll caddy.
5.      Teach him the fundamentals of shopping for healthy food. No more Slim Fast shakes! Seriously, the man drank them for breakfast every morning for years. He needs supplemental protein, but not with that garbage.
6.      Inventory and upgrade his kitchen with basic cooking utensils and spices.
7.      Teach him some fundamental cooking techniques.
8.      Put together a binder filled with recipes for simple, healthy meals and snacks.

Marty isn’t a vegetarian, he likes a fairly wide variety of foods, and yes, he figured out how to make spaghetti without boiling over the water *grin*. I would appreciate it if you could share a favorite healthy meal (breakfast, lunch or dinner) that is easy to prepare and doesn’t require exotic spices. Healthy snack ideas are welcome, too. You can leave a comment here or send me an email at lynn.haraldson@gmail.com.

Marty is a horse being led to water, and together maybe we can help him drink. I’ll keep you updated from the road. Thank you for your help!

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An Oldie But Goodie: What Is Your Deepest Intention?

“There’s nothing you can make that can’t be made.No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time – It’s easy.
All you need is love...” John Lennon

There’s nothing I can say about weight loss or maintenance that hasn’t already been said by someone somewhere at some time. While we each experience weight loss and maintenance on our own terms and view it through our own lens, nothing we do or feel is unique. Someone somewhere has felt it, thought it, been there, too.

That someone for me today was…me. Me from February 2009.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my intentions as I work on a plan for the next phase of my professional life. When I searched the word “intentions” in my computer files, this little gem came up. And so I share it with you once again with the hope that it will spur or reignite your own intentions. Rereading it reminded me how much better I function when I focus on my intentions (being proactive) rather than just let life happen to me (living defensively).  

A Cherokee Legend

A grandfather is talking to his young grandson about life. He tells the boy, “I have two wolves inside of me, struggling with each other. The first is the wolf of peace, love and kindness. The other wolf is fear, greed and hatred.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win, grandfather?”

The grandfather replied, “Whichever one I feed.”

If I look at these wolves through the lens of weight loss and weight maintenance, I see how I feed them both.

The first wolf is at peace with my body, and loves and is kind to my body. The second wolf fears weight gain and doesn’t trust that I know how to stay thin; it is jealous and compares my body with other people’s bodies, and hates its shortcomings – its skin and stretch marks and other vestiges of morbid obesity’s abuse.

In a recent talk on the Buddhist view of sense of self, Insight Meditation Center teacher Gil Fronsdal encouraged participants to spend some quiet time alone reflecting on what their deepest intention is. When I examined this question in terms of weight, I thought about those wolves living inside me, and I realized I’ve been guided through my weight journey by one deep intention. I just hadn’t appreciated it in those terms before.

Often we’re motivated to lose weight on the spur of the moment. We see a get-thin-quick diet in a magazine or just get fed up one morning when our jeans are zipping tight. Maybe the thought of losing weight buzzes in the back of your mind and you dabble for a day or two in reducing calories or you go for a few walks, but you haven’t given real thought as to why. In a week or even a few days, you’re back to the buzzing.

Been there, done that, and have the receipts for the dozens of sacks of fat and thin clothes donated to Goodwill.

I’ve lost weight hundreds of times in the past, always with the “intention” of being good enough for other people. Four years ago, when I started losing weight the final time, I’d spent the good part of the year before wondering whether to lose weight or accept myself the way I was. It was a series of sh*t or get off the pot conversations I had with myself. I’d reached a point where I couldn’t vacillate between the two sides anymore.

Ultimately I decided to lose weight, mostly because my health was sinking fast. I had near diabetic sugar levels and my blood work indicated I was a walking heart attack. I had to decide if I wanted to eat my way to an early death or live the healthiest life I could for as long as I could. That decision became my deepest intention.

Did I falter once in awhile? Yes. But ultimately, I always went back to the intention.

That intention continues to guide me in maintenance. Without it, I’d behave the same way I always did when I got to some weight goal: by not paying attention to my food intake and slacking off on exercise. After all, my “intention” was merely to be good enough in someone else’s eyes. Once that was accomplished, I could go back to “normal.”

With my deepest intention being to be the healthiest person I can be physically and emotionally, I’m better able to pay attention to what my body and mind need and to work with them as a unit and not separately.

When I forget my deepest intention, I feed the second wolf – the wolf of fear, greed and hate. When I am focused on my intention, I feed the first wolf – the wolf of peace, love and kindness.

Which wolf do you feed? Which wolf do you want to win? What’s your deepest intention? I’m not asking so that you’ll tell me. You owe me or anyone else none of your thoughts. But they are good questions to ponder before or during a weight-loss or maintenance journey. As Gil said in his talk, it can help clarify how you find your way.

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Review, Recipe, Regift: A Blogging Trifecta!

How did it get to be the middle of July already? Wasn’t it just Memorial Day? Yikes! My blog to-do list keeps getting longer and the time I have to write keeps getting shorter. So I’m tripling up for this blog, offering a review of the new Amy’s Light & Lean frozen entrees, an enchilada recipe, and a giveaway of a pack of three stress-relief DVDs. I love trifectas!

Review

Bottom line, the Amy’s food is good stuff. And you know how skeptical I am about frozen entrees and processed foods.

The company – which didn’t pay me to do this – asked if they could send me some samples of their vegetarian fare, which impressed the heck out of me that someone there actually NOTICED that I am a vegetarian and very conscious of what I eat. You should see some of the emails I get from food companies. *eyeroll*

Anyway, the new Light & Lean line includes Spinach Lasagna, Pasta & Veggies, Soft Taco Fiesta, and Black Bean & Cheese Enchilada.

A friend and I made the lasagna and the pasta dishes for dinner, and we both agreed they were pretty tasty. The lasagna noodles were surprisingly delicate and the spinach had body and a fresh taste. My friend really liked the asparagus in the Pasta & Veggies and preferred the taste of the sauce over the lasagna. He also said that when he eats it again, he’d add a few more veggies to give it more texture. I agree. As with any frozen entrée, it’s always a good idea to add additional veggies since there are only so many things companies can stuff in those little boxes.

I ate the Soft Taco Fiesta the other day after a 90-minute bike ride. It had great flavor, and the beans and rice hit the spot after burning 650 calories. Coming in at 220 calories, 4.5 grams of fat and 7 grams of protein, I was pretty satisfied, although I did eat a side salad and a peach to round off the meal.

Cassie loves enchiladas and makes them every week (her recipe is below). She agreed to try the Black Bean & Cheese Enchilada, but wasn’t as impressed as I was with the other three. Cass isn’t a fan of cilantro and she said the meal was heavy on cilantro and could use more beans and cheese. She said if she were to eat this one again, she’d add sour cream, salsa, and possibly some tortilla chips to mellow out the flavor. I plan to buy this one on my next trip to the store because I love cilantro, so I’m curious.

The sodium content for each meal is just inside my comfort zone at around 500 mgs each, and each meal is 6 Weight Watcher’s PointsPlus points. The ingredient label reads like my grocery list, and there are no MSGs or GMOs (bioengineered ingredients).

I’ve never recommended a frozen entrée before, at least nothing beyond Boca veggie burgers, but I will certainly buy these and would be curious what you think of Amy’s Light & Lean line.

Recipe


Reading "I Spy" with Claire & Luca. Mae prefers to drool and laugh.

Yesterday I was at Cassie’s, and I dug out the pan of leftover enchiladas for the grandkids for lunch. I’d never had Cassie’s enchiladas before, so I took a bite. Oh. My. It was awesome. I confess I was glad when Claire and Luca left a little in their bowls when they were done. Grammy was all over that.

I think what made them so good was the Trader Joe’s taco seasoning. Much lower in sodium than other packaged taco seasonings, it has a nice spice to it without a lot of fire. I have a recipe for homemade taco seasoning that I might use when I make them to see if the taste stays the same, but I’m pretty sure it’s the TJ’s that makes them so good.

Anyway, here’s Cassie’s recipe for Lentil Enchiladas:

Place the following in a crockpot:


1 C brown lentils
1/2 cup brown rice
1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice (do not drain)
2 C water or veggie broth
Half a packet of TJ's taco seasoning


Cook on low for 6 hours or until the lentils are soft and the liquid is absorbed. About 30 minutes before stuffing the enchiladas, mix in 4 ounces of light Mexican cheese, ½ to 1 cup frozen corn and a can of black or pinto beans, rinsed and drained.


Using 10-12 whole wheat tortillas, stuff them with the mixture, top them with an additional 4 ounces of cheese and enchilada sauce (you can use salsa if you'd prefer since enchilada sauce is high in sodium) and bake in the oven for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.


A pan of these is about 8-10 servings. They’re heavy on the carbs, I realize, but they pack a good protein and fiber punch. I’ll probably cut the recipe in half, use Tumaro’s Gourmet Tortillas (they’re low in carbs), and freeze them in individual portions so I’m not tempted to eat more than a serving. Not that that ever happens…

Regift


Ugh...Blogger won't turn them right. Sorry!


As you know, from time to time I receive exercise DVDs to review and give away. Because today’s blog is in three’s, I thought I’d combine three closely related DVDs and offer them as one packaged giveaway.

If you’d like to throw your name in the hat to win this package, leave a comment below or send an email to lynn.haraldson@gmail.com. I’ll draw a winner on Saturday, July 16.

The package includes:

“Yoga for Stress Relief & Flexibility.” As someone with multiple joints affected by osteoarthritis, I found this DVD to be not only doable (I struggle with most yoga moves), but relaxing. This is an excellent DVD to do just before bed or after vigorous exercise. The instructor, Ashley Turner, is calming and doesn’t rush you through moves.

“Tai Chi for Beginners.” While I understand the purpose of Tai Chi, I just can’t get down with the moves. I’m too self-conscious of my knees to trust them to guide me through the moves fluidly. I get frustrated doing Tai Chi, which defeats the purpose of breath and energy flow. If you don’t have major knee issues and have been curious about Tai Chi, this DVD is a good first-timers instruction.

“Spine Balance Training.” Again, with my joint issues, I wasn’t able to perform many of the moves in this Pilates-based DVD, but if I could, I would be all over this one (and probably not be giving it away…lol). With this DVD, you’ll learn “exercises that are useful to avoid backbone, back, neck and shoulder pain, reconstruct balance of the body and soul, fill you up with energy and reduce stress in the whole body.” Whew! That’s a lot for a 45-minute DVD, but Marianna Szoke makes it work. At least the parts I could do worked.

Good luck! And I promise to write more...much more...before July is over.

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Vacuums and Bodies Work Better When You Consult the Owner’s Manual

I bought a Dirt Devil canister vacuum when I moved to Da’burgh 8 months ago. It’s not quite the dog-hair-sucker upright Kenmore – with what seemed like 382 settings and attachments – that I left behind, but it is more portable and gets the job done.

At least it used to.

The double D came with an owner’s manual, which I promptly put in the junk drawer along with the microwave manual and the toaster oven manual and the range manual and the Cuisinart manual and Harrison Township’s 2011 garbage and recycling schedule. (I know it’s garbage day when I look out the window. If the neighbors have their garbage out in the morning, I slap on my sandals and roll the can to the curb.)

Last Saturday, Cooper the Wookie came to visit for the weekend. The boy is a very hairy Flat-Coated Retriever you can groom and groom and groom again and still leaves a silhouette every time he gets up off the floor or couch. When he went home yesterday, he left behind enough fur to stuff several accent pillows.

After he left, I took out DD and started to vacuum. I’d noticed a few months ago (yes…a few months ago…*hanging my head in shame*) that it wasn’t picking up as much as it used to, but I lived with what it could do because I wasn’t curious enough to find out why it wasn’t working at her highest potential. But yesterday, when it was merely moving Cooper hair around and not sucking it up, I gave it the attention it needed months ago.

Of course by “attention” I mean I assumed I knew what was wrong. First I checked the hose for a clog. That wasn’t the problem. I cleaned out the dirt cup, which – surprise, surprise – wasn’t very full. That wasn’t the problem, either. Finally, I disassembled part of the canister and gave it a shake – a vacuum version of a smack on the TV when the screen goes wonky. But when I reassembled the canister and turned on the power, it still had little suction.

That’s when I reluctantly walked to the junk drawer and dug out DD’s owner’s manual buried under the batteries, the loose-change bag, the matches, the box of birthday candles, an extension cords, a Clorox bleach wand, a bag of thread, a first-aid kit, an address book and a hot water bottle. I turned to page 9 and began reading the troubleshooting guide.

Problem: Cleaner tools won’t pick-up. Possible reason: 1. Hose clogged (“Nope.”); 2. Dirt container full (*eyeroll* “Duh…no.”); 3. One or both filters are clogged (*sigh* “I clean the filter all the…wait… BOTH filters? There’s a second?”

(For some reason, at that moment, I started hearing Darth Vader in my head, “So, you have a twin sister... Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me. Now his failure is complete. If you will not turn to the dark side, then perhaps she will!” Mental note: rent “Return of the Jedi” this weekend.)

I flipped back to page 2 and the diagram of the vacuum. Sure enough, there is a second filter located inside the first filter inside the dirt cup. I unscrewed the filter and took out the most gawdawful dirty filter I’ve ever seen. I mean, that baby was filthy. I brought it to the kitchen, and it took 15 minutes of brush scrubbing and butter-knife-poking to get all the dirt out of the folds. Once it was dry, I reassembled the filter and put it back in the dirt cup, sealed up DD and pressed the power button. Holy suction, Batman! My DD was alive again.

Understanding the functionality of a vacuum or a microwave or a car isn’t innate, even though we like to think so. The whole point of an owner’s manual is to educate us on the use and care of whatever it is we bought. However, it’s often easier to assume we know what’s wrong, even though it takes us into a frustrating maze of “you have no idea what you’re doing, you idiot.”

The same thing’s true for our bodies. We weren’t born with personal owner’s manuals, but by virtue of our experiences we write our own owner’s manuals every day. Yet how many times do we hesitate to take out that manual and learn from our experiences for how best to correct whatever’s wrong? It’s easier to assume.

God knows I’ve been making a lot of assumptions lately about my body. I get caught in that perpetual cycle of thinking, ‘I know what’s wrong,’ and not stepping back and analyzing what works for me to stay fit.

For instance, the muffin top thing I’m sporting. I was looking at it the other day while eating a fistful of melba, wondering – even though the melba was in my calorie allotment for the day – where it came from.

“Um…duh, Lynn. Carbs like that cause you to gain in your belly,” said the voice in my head.

But here’s the deal. I wanted those melba in the moment. They sounded good, looked good and so I ate them, despite copious amounts of evidence in my food journals that, to the contrary, they’re not a good choice for me. You all know I’m all about living in the moment, but eating in the moment? Not so much. That’s not what being mindful is about.

My owner’s manual, when I stop being complacent and assuming I know everything about everything, teaches me to “clean the filter,” so to speak; to remember that when I eat a smoothie before a workout, I perform better, or when I lay off a few workouts to give a sore joint a chance to heal, I don’t hurt later.

Too often I am content to work with what my body can do in the moment, even when it throws out warning signs that its filters are dirty. So my goal? To be less reluctant to consult the past and instead, work with my experience to help my body perform at its peak. Complacency and assumptions can have no place in maintaining my weight loss.

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Watching and Waiting and Falling in Love

Thank you all so much for your kind thoughts and prayers for my family as we wait for news about my brother’s diagnosis and treatment following his severe grand mal seizure last week.
Marty’s short-term memory is still pretty messed up, but he’s made more than a few people smile with his phone calls. For instance, he called his boss yesterday to tell him he wouldn’t be in to work because he was in the hospital. His boss is who found Marty unconscious in his house last Thursday. Marty also called my parents to tell them (they’ve obviously been to the hospital several times) and he attempted to call my brother, Matthew, only he inadvertently called my son-in-law Matt. Matt was surprised to hear from Marty, but he let him know who he was and Marty seemed to remember.

I’m trying not to bug Matthew too much for news. I got the hint the other night when he said to me, a little exasperated, “I’ll call you, Lynn. I promise. You know I keep you in the loop.” Yes, I know, but as the person who’d always taken care of family issues in the past, it’s not easy to A) live so far away from it; B) trust someone else to do it; and C) wait. As you know, I’m not the most patient person in the world.

But as I wait, I’ve done some intense biking and walking and falling in love…with Pittsburgh. I moved here 8 months ago, and although I’d been to the city many, many times in the last 20 years, living here is different because I get to explore it anytime I want and not just during a special trip from the Flannel Curtain.

A few things I’ve learned this year: I love the free concerts at Hartwood Acres. Beechwood Nature Reserve offers great hiking and bird watching (and it’s less than a mile from Greek Stop…yum!). And the Strip District is a must every other Saturday morning.

I wandered around Market Square for the first time yesterday and had a glass of wine at NOLA on the Square. One of these Sunday mornings, I will check out Bach, Beethoven and Brunch in Mellon Park, and before winter I will get to a concert at Heinz Hall. I really love the Pittsburgh Symphony.

For someone who is afraid of bridges and claustrophobic in tunnels, Pittsburgh can be a challenge for me. But I look straight ahead and not into the Allegheny when I cross the bridge in New Kensington to get to the nearest Giant Eagle or the Hulton Bridge when I take my grandkids to the library and bakery in Oakmont or the Highland Park Bridge to get to Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods or to visit my friend Colton in Penn Hills.

Last weekend, Colton, Cooper and I walked across the Smithfield Bridge, which spans the Monongahela. I can’t wait for the 31st Street Bridge to open again because I’m tired of the detour via the 40th Street Bridge. And today, I finally figured out how to get to the 16th Street Bridge, something I’ve screwed up at least three times since moving here. I have to remind myself that what Carlene calls the Jose Clemente bridge is really the Roberto Clemente bridge (believe me, we’ll never let her live that down), and that it’s easier to get to the Southside Works from the east if I cross the Hot Metal Bridge, a scary looking truss bridge.

As for tunnels, I’ve pretty much conquered that fear, particularly since this is the view you get coming out of the Fort Pitt tunnel from the southwest:

Today, I checked out the Heritage Trail for the first time, although I did walk part of the Eliza Furnace Trail (also known as the Jail Trail since it weaves around the Allegheny County Jail) on Saturday, which is part of the Heritage Trail, I think. Anyway, I hoofed it today as part of my 5K-in-36-minutes training, but I’ll definitely go back next week with my bike so I can explore more than the 5 miles I covered today. I didn’t take these photos, but here are a few views from the part of the trail I was on today:

16th Street Bridge

Near the 31st Street Bridge

Pittsburgh is a beautiful city with its share of eyesores, but its grit and contrast is why anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood has shot a movie or TV show here. (Click here for the list. "The Mothman Prophecies" was one of my favorites.).

I don’t totally hate the Steelers anymore, I adore the Penguins, and although I’m an American League girl, I like the Pirates…a lot. But if they ever someday fulfill my wildest dream of playing the Twins in the World Series (don’t laugh…it could happen!), I’m totally digging out my homer hankie. While Pittsburgh is my adopted hometown, I’m still a Minnesotan at heart, don’t ya know.

So as I await for news from Minnesota, I will continue to explore da ’Burgh. It feels like home, even though I don’t say “yinz” or drop my “to be”s when I speak. (For instance, I don’t ask my dinner guests, “Yinz want coffee?” or say “My hair needs washed.”). I also order my salads without French fries and my sandwiches without coleslaw on top, but the native Pittsburghers I’ve met so far don’t seem to mind. Besides, this is where my grandkids live, so that makes Pittsburgh the best place I could ever live. Besides maybe Florida in the winter…

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If It Rains, You Can Only Hope and Pray It Doesn’t Pour

A few minutes after I posted my last blog about my rainy bike ride, my younger brother Matthew called to tell me that my older brother Marty had had the mother of all grand mal seizures. It happened as he was getting ready for work around 6:30 or 7 that morning, but living alone, no one found him until noon.

Marty will be 58 on August 14, the same day I turn 48. I always tell him I was the best gift he got that day. He tells me it was the transistor radio. In 1971, when he was 18, Marty was on a missions trip in Puerto Rico when the van he and his fellow missionaries were in crashed. Marty was thrown from the van and knocked unconscious. He was in a coma for 3 days.

A few years later, Marty started to experience these vacant moments in which you could wave your hand in front of his face and he would be completely unaware. The look in his eyes was cold and robotic, like he was dead with his eyes open. We know now that he was having petit mal seizures, but at the time he didn’t seek medical help. He just called them his “ghosts.” And they scared the hell out of him.

Then came the Des Moines flood of 1993. My brother and his kind heart ventured down to help the good folks of Iowa bag sand and clean the debris left by the flood waters. When all was said and done, he went back to Minneapolis, worked a few days, then wound up in the hospital with meningitis, which almost killed him.

A year later, he had his first grand mal seizure. It took several months and seizures for his doctors to fine-tune his medications, but once they did, Marty was able to drive again and enjoy a fairly normal life, despite chronic headaches.



Matthew helping Marty cut up his hamburger.

 Thursday’s seizure wasn’t like the others. The post-ictal period (the time during which the brain recovers from a seizure) lasted several hours, and it was the next day before he recognized anyone. Five days later, he has no sense of time and yesterday couldn’t remember the words “blue jeans” when Matthew asked him what he wanted him to bring him from his house.

Marty is aware, however, of his feelings, and the feeling he’s experiencing most is sadness.

“I feel so low,” he told Matthew and my sister-in-law, Tracy.

My family, taken at Dad's 80th birthday in March

Marty is one of the most positive people I know. In nearly 40 years, he’s never let his epilepsy or headaches get him down. To know he’s sad makes it that much harder for me living 1,000 miles away from him. I can’t hug him. I can’t even call him. I can only hear about him through my family.

I went on another bike ride today and wouldn’t you know it? It began to rain. When I got back to the car, wouldn’t you know it? There was a message from Matthew. Marty’s doctors found a shadow on the part of his brain that affects memory. They’re going to do a spinal tap this afternoon to find out if the shadow is due to an infection. The doctors are hoping for an infection, Matthew said, because an infection can be cured.

Right now, it’s raining in Marty’s world. I hope and pray it doesn’t pour.

My brother needs all the positive thoughts the world can send him. No need to comment because it’s enough that you are reading this and have Marty, even for a moment, in your thoughts. I promise to update you on his prognosis and progress. Thank you for your help.
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Marty began writing essays several years ago after a little encouragement from yours truly. To hear his voice and get the essence of the kind of guy he is, I’m posting the essay he wrote in 2007 about his friend Leila who passed away.

“I Cried This Morning”
By Marty Haraldson

That may sound a bit unusual as a title for a personal essay, but this was an unusual day.

My Tuesday morning started out in the same way as most of my weekday, workday mornings. The short drive to the office through residential neighborhoods was pleasant, yet uneventful.

I made my usual stop at the corner Shell station for my cup of hot cocoa. Then, it was over the bridge, a right on Computer Av, and a left hand turn into our parking lot. Routine is a comfort to me. It helps me to be organized. Upset to that routine can be annoying.

After walking into my office, I set about my “routine” of getting things turned on and set up in preparation for the day of sales ahead. I moved my wireless mouse across my desk to rouse my slumbering computer. New emails had arrived overnight. The customary emails and spam dotted the screen. I was soon highlighting one email after another, then sending them all to the kingdom of “DeleteAll”.

One particular email stood out. The subject line contained one word only. It was a name
actually. It read, “Leila”. Even before I clicked to read it’s contents, I was certain what it would say. It was sent from Vesta, one of Leila’s daughters in Maine. I cried as I read it.
Back in October of 1991, I bought a small house in a quiet neighborhood in St Louis Park. My neighbor in the house directly to the south was a widowed elderly woman named Leila. I expect she was around 80 years old back then. Her daughters lived out of state. Leila did not drive. She depended on a volunteer agency in our city called “S.T.E.P.” to bring her groceries or give her a ride when requested. They would also send a volunteer over when a light duty repair was needed or to cut her grass.

I introduced myself to Leila one day while she was re-painting her front door trim. It wasn’t long before I began taking care of her yard, trees, and house. In the winter, I made sure the snow was cleared from her sidewalks and driveway. Eventually, I won Leila’s trust and favor.

The big event for both of us was our once a week trip to the big new “Rainbow Foods” store in Eden Prairie. Leila looked forward to that. She’d be waiting by the door, dressed up, purse in hand, ready for me to help her “up” into my big truck for our shopping adventure. It was a slow journey through the aisles of the stores. She had to look at everything while carefully selecting the items she wanted. One of the cashiers “adopted” us as her customers. She looked forward to seeing Leila each week as much as I delighted in bringing her by.

Years ago, an ambulance was sent to Leila’s house. She had fallen and had no idea where she was. After a stay in the hospital, her daughter Vesta thought it best to move her out to Maine to be close to her. There was a very pleasant senior care center in the country near Vesta’s house. Leila was moved to Maine. I never had the chance to say goodbye to her.
While her family was getting things in order to sell her house, I was invited in to select an oil painting that Leila had painted in her younger years. I did not know how talented she was. The picture I selected is a magnificent portrait of a mountain with trees and a lake. The frame is equally magnificent, made of carved and painted wood. In the corner of the painting, Leila signed her name. I was honored to receive such a generous keepsake.
I kept in touch with Leila and Vesta these past years. Although Leila’s eyesight had deteriorated badly she kept a photograph of me and my lawn mower near her bedside. Leila continued to believe that one day, I would drive out to Maine in my truck and take her back home to her little house in St Louis Park.

The email was short and meaningful. It read – “Hi, Marty. Leila died this afternoon. I think Leila’s body and spirit finally just wore out. She died very peacefully – just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. Thank you again for your friendship to us through the years. It meant a great deal to Leila, who adored you. It meant a great deal to all of us who were not able to be close to her to know that you were next door, keeping an eye on her and helping with the things she was too frail to do on her own. Best wishes as you make your next life decisions.” Vesta

That closing remark about “next life decisions” albeit rather odd, really hit home with me. After 28 years in sales here with the same company, I have been wondering lately if what I am doing really matters? Perhaps I should consider partnering with a missions agency to do some “good work” overseas, whatever that may be.
Then, an email like this one comes along to remind me that my life has not been a series of haphazard accidents. No matter where I have been, I have had the opportunity of helping someone. That someone can be a neighbor, a friend, a co-worker, or total stranger. I need not think that there is some “better” place for me to be or people elsewhere more deserving of my time and talents. I am where I am meant to be.

I did cry this morning. I liked Leila. And, to hear someone tell me how much I meant to this elderly woman, was a bit emotional. It’s time for me to once again to look for the opportunities in “my world” where I can help to improve the life of someone else. I encourage everyone to look around them to see how they can help another. You’ll never know how much of an impact you can have in someone’s life unless you try.

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