Links for your Saturday morning coffee.

It’s good to be back for a Saturday morning. The weather’s chilly, which confuses the Memorial-Day-cookout vibe a bit, but I’m not complaining. Little Winston is home, recovering from his neuter (performed yesterday by the amazing Dr. Teders at Northarlington Animal Clinic). And we’re all just fine. So, how about some links?

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For fun 

Project Eve’s list of the top 13 sites for women to follow.

Am I just completely late to the party about Terrain? I just discovered it. I love this stuff.

For life

The potential dangers of “boys will be boys.

Pretty, pretty please: if you only heard about Angelina Jolie’s recent medical decision on Entertainment Tonight, take four minutes to read her real words.

How two gay guys lost an important word but won something a whole lot bigger. (Thanks, Green Caret, for the share.)

A touching story of two military mothers brought together by loss.

Watch out, Ronald McDonald. This kid means business.

For fibro 

“My medication is never a bandage, a blindfold, a crutch, or the easy way out.” Amen, Lyssette Horne.

Happy weekend, friends.

I had a baby.

It’s alive! (By it, I mean me.) I’m sorry to have alarmed a few of you with my absence. It’s just that I, well, have a baby at the house now. He’s black and brown, small for his kind. He requires that I get up with him in the night, hair all disheveled, eyes half open, traipsing around the backyard in my robe. His name in Winston. He’s perfect.

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The truth is, I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. And, as I hear it goes with human babies, this is really a fortunate thing, or else you’d probably never bring one into your life. Who needs all that stress? Clearly, we do.

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Sweetie seems quite pleased to have him here, yes?

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(Please excuse that hideous white mini fence, which is being used in the Grass.Grow.G-Damn.It.Even.If.A.Greyhound.Tromps.On.You.Daily effort.)

The baby is only here temporarily, as much I’m already dreading the thought of his departure. We’re fostering him through the Central Ohio Greyhound Rescue, helping him transition from his previous life to the lap of luxury—in a safe house with a family (not mine) that will adore him.

His previous life isn’t what you’d expect for a greyhound guy. In fact, he never raced. We can tell that because he doesn’t have ear tattoos.

I picked him up from an animal shelter about 50 miles east of the city. He was covered in his own urine and feces. He was trembling, terrified, eyes darting to and fro as the shelter employee inserted a needle at the nape of his neck, one of just two or three vaccines he’d receive there. I learned quickly that they hadn’t heartworm tested him. Or vaccinated him for rabies. He’d been picked up on a country road, no microchip, no tags. Dumped.

He was so scared that he collapsed at the side of my car, as if to say, “If there’s more torture in that chamber, please don’t make me go. Just leave me here.” I lifted his front paws onto the backseat platform (crafted by Sir Pirtle for Sweetie the Princess of Pirtle Land) and hoisted his soiled body into the car. By that time I was covered in his excrement, too. There was no way to wash up, so I started my car and I headed back toward the city.

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I stopped a little east of my home at a pet wash, one of those weird car-and-pet-wash combination things (sometimes in these things there are also tanning services involved). I got change for my $5 bill to feed the water machine and coaxed him out of the backseat. Because he was too scared to climb up into the basin, I drew from the bottom of my adrenaline well and picked his 55-pound body up. Once he was in, I knew we were golden.

That was until I discovered his severe tick infestation. Maybe 50 of them. Big, full, swollen, some the size of a dime and about to burst. With bare hands—which, come on, is a horrible idea (hello, Lyme Disease?), but I didn’t see any other options—I washed him the best I could and resolved to look up an eHow tutorial on tick removal and employ my amazing tweezers at home. (Not to worry, said amazing tweezers have now been retired to the dog bin.)

One by one, on my back steps, I picked those blood suckers off of him. It took me a long, long time.

I gave him flea and tick meds, fed him a big meal, and introduced him to his new foster sister. For days, he searched ravenously for water, darting toward any sink that ran or any toilet that flushed (and, to be totally frank, even any human pee being peed). He’d poop and then turn around and eat it. It was clear that he’d lived for some time not knowing when his next installment of life-sustaining nourishment would be, and it was going to take some time for him to learn he’d be cared for from now on.

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I’ve since spent hours petting him, gazing at him, letting (ha! like I don’t freakin’ love it!) him nuzzle his lanky arms and sweet nose into my lap. I’ve watched his body literally relax over the past week, lying more and more carelessly with his head hanging off the bed as greyhounds are known to do. I’ve watched him learn how to trust, how to share, how to stay, how to wait, how to hold his pee longer than an hour in his crate, how to not cower when someone passes with a shovel in the yard or a broom in the kitchen, how to not attack in defense when his foster sister invites him to play.

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And it’s only been a week.

My eyes fill with tears as I think about how much progress he will yet make in the weeks to come here in our home. I know my heart will feel like it’s being yanked from my chest when he goes, but—oh—what a gift he will have been. And what an honor to have shepherded him from there to here to there.

I’m experiencing a miracle. And it’s quite distracting. I hope you’ll forgive me for being gone a while.

If you’re interested in learning more about adopting Winston or another greyhound, please contact Central Ohio Greyhound Rescue.

It’s Mother’s/Fibromyalgia Awareness Day.

Today was Fibromyalgia Awareness Day. Here at the ranch, it was a decent day. Sir Pirtle laid smelly mulch in the backyard, and I washed every bit of dirty clothing and puppy linen at our address. And we both proudly wore our t-shirts in honor of the day. (And we ate takeout sushi for dinner. And it was amazing.)

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I was touched by the texts, emails, and Facebook photos of loved ones and friends wearing their t-shirts, too. I know that, together, we made a difference today—simply by acknowledging the existence of this illness. Thank you.

Today was also Mother’s Day (!). Though I’d planned to see my sweet mama in Indiana this weekend, a bad flare this past week made that pretty much impossible. So, as fibro requires, we rescheduled. And I have her pretty presents waiting.

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Goodness, how I adore that woman. Could she not be in a current Urban Outfitters ad? A-dorbs.

Also in honor of Mother’s day, I posted on Facebook:

Today I celebrate a glass half full. While I know more than a handful of women my age who have lost their mothers this year and who grieve their losses today, I have the incredible blessing of having my mother on this Earth still. I am graced with the love and wisdom of many “other mothers,” some I’ve known since birth, others I’ve found perchance, and some I’ve inherited through marriage. I have the joy of knowing many extraordinary mothers raising smart, empowered, kind children—and I get to call these women friends.

I am not a mother, but I do not feel disconnected from the power of motherhood. Today I celebrate it—for all it has done for me, and for all the brave, bold, unapologetic good it does in this world. 

Here’s to you, mamas. You are a force to be reckoned with.

And that’s the truth.

The coming week offers an exciting hello and a heart-wrenching “see you soon.” We’ll welcome a foster dog, a greyhound-hound mix, into our home on Wednesday, and we’ll start the work of finding him a loving, forever home. On Thursday I’ll welcome one of my closest, dearest friends for a visit before she makes a cross-country move to Texas. I’m not going to entertain the idea of this being a goodbye of any sort. Rather, a great reason to return more often to the place I was born—that good ol’ Lone Star State.

[If you have fibro or love someone who does, order your t-shirt here.] 

Links for your Saturday morning coffee (a little early).

Life got a little too big for blogging this week. I had to re-learn the often-painful-but-valuable “What is popular is not always right; what is right is not always popular” lesson. I stood up for myself and I had some unpleasant conversations. But today? No, there shall be none of that serious stuff. Today’s dedicated to life, links, and fun.

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For fun

Will you be seeing Gatsby this weekend? Here’s an interesting peek into the characters’ psyches.

See, New Yorkers? You could survive outside New York. I mean, if ya had to.

Patio season and plans for my 31st birthday party have me seeking a big set of everyday wine glasses that I won’t cry over if broken. Here’s a nice roundup of options.

Brilliant: a DIY desk made dirt cheap. And super cute. I do believe I’ll be fashioning one for my basement art studio (oh yes—that’s happening!) later this summer.

For life 

An open letter from a non-mom on Mother’s Day. A tip of the hat to all other-kinds-of-mothers.

Seriously. This documentary looks drop-dead incredible. Especially given some of the conflict I experienced this past week, I’m fascinated by the way we can interpret the events of our shared past so very differently. I’m also encouraged by the brazen honesty and boldness of filmmakers like this one, who don’t “keep quiet” about things that matter to them just because it’s the no-feathers-ruffled thing to do.

For fibro 

“My medication is never a bandage, a blindfold, a crutch, or the easy way out.” Were truer words ever spoken?

I’ve written many times about how much small joys matter to me now that I live with fibromyalgia. This fibro blogger writes about feeling that way, too.

Another favorite fibro blogger writes about the difference between Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) and fibromyalgia.

And one more thing!

Remember that Sunday, May 12, is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day. Sir Pirtle and I will be wearing our t-shirts in an effort to spread the word. I’d love to see a photo of you in your shirt. You can send it to me in an email (sarahepirtle@gmail.com), or post it on the Fibro Feist facebook page.

And if you haven’t ordered a shirt but would like to help spread awareness year-round, they’re still for sale here. Get you one!

Links for your Saturday morning coffee.

13, 13, 10, and almost 7. That’s how old my nephews and niece are—the ones we’re playing with today. One of the oldest was our ringbearer. He was 4 then. The youngest? I held her when she was just under six pounds. It’s true how time flies. So after coffee and links this morning, there shall be plenty of in-the-moment, silly fun.

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For fun 

Drop-dead gorgeous wallpaper made out of stickers.

The brain of a designer, in diagrams. This explains so much.

It’ll be fun to watch this awesome blogger take her garden from dirt to delicious.

Yummy gluten-free warm-weather side option: summer squash with goat cheese.

For life 

Why should you care if the people “beneath” you like you and trust you? Here’s why.

In a few years, we probably won’t call cancers by the organ they originated from. Instead, we’ll talk about them like this.

Not a rule-breaking, wave-making kind of professional? You could still be a hero—just unsung.

Have household chores that you and your partner fuss over? (Ours used to be the litter box. It was an “I did it last week, so it’s your turn” game.) Here’s some guidance to get you on even ground.

For fibro 

Go play in the dirt. Science says it could make you feel better.

Could mitochondrial dysfunction be a marker to distinguish fibromyalgia (FM) from chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS)?

Happy weekend, friends.

5 ideas for Mama

Remember those days at school when you’d create something hardly-short-of-magical for your mom for Mother’s Day? I distinctly recall mixing some blue powdery potion my dear mother was supposed to use in her bath. And, naturally, I also glued some cotton balls to a pencil box, and then filled said box with rocks.

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(Mom, I was kinda mad when I found that jewelry box in the back corner of your closet.)

I still think personalized gifts are the best kind to give someone you really know and love. Here are five ideas for doing just that for your sweet Mum this holiday.

1. Plant a pot that’s just her color. 
My mom’s a green thumb, and I grew up hearing her talk about her favorite plants and flowers. I think it’s a swell idea to go to the nursery, grab a pot, and fill it with some bright, springy pretties you know she’ll love. She can put the pot on her deck or porch, and each time she walks up she’ll remember how you thoughtfully picked out the arrangement and put it together with your own (grownup) kiddo hands.

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2. Build her a terrarium. 
So your mom’s not the outdoorsy type? Bring some nature to her inside. Pick up an interesting glass container (West Elm always has some great ones) and scout out a nursery that has a wide variety of succulents to choose from. Follow this guide or one similar to put it together, and—voila—Mom’s thumb is getting greener already.

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3. Take inventory of her kitchen.
Has she had the same sets of measuring cups and spoons since you were, like, born? Indulge her with a new, fancy set. A couple years ago my mother-in-law mentioned wanting a nice stock pot. After the first stainless steel Cuisinart we bought her, we decided to continue stocking her up with serious-quality pots and pans at each major holiday. Now she has several, and I hear she enjoys them all. (Tip to the wise: Check Amazon for great prices on awesome kitchen stuff.)

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4. Create a masterpiece.
There’s never been a better reason to try out that DIY art project you’ve been pinning, over and over and over again.

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5. Shove her in a closet like I did.
I recently wrote about encouraging (okay, pretty much forcing) my mom to get in a dressing room and try on a bunch of cute clothes and buy the ones she’d like to take to New York on our trip in June. In the end, I nabbed half of them and bought them and I’m hoarding them in my closet for safe keeping until Mother’s Day, when I’ll wrap them up and present them to her like they’re a perfect surprise. But, really, when was the last time you made your mama do a fashion show? It might just be time.

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I’d love to hear what you have up your sleeve for Mom’s Day. What are you planning?

photos: Betty Grable and her daughters Victoria and Jessica, June 1954; The Stir; West Elm Blog; SF Girl By Bay; Oliver Jeffers Blog; Britishly Prep.

Feisty girl profile :: Ana.

Ana’s story will stop you in your tracks. She happens to be a survivor of the Bosnian War–and to have fibromyalgia. But, mostly, what leaves my mouth agape is the tenacity with which Ana lives and writes, celebrating small victories at every single turn. Read her interview below, and her blog here.

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What are your most common symptoms?

Two years ago, I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis and a heel spur ,as well as chronic tendonitis in my arms and hands. This “tendon” pain and a sharp heel pain are always present, and I know when I am about to enter a period of a long flare-up because the pain becomes so acute that I feel nauseous and dizzy. My shoulders feel as if they are on fire throughout the day. Frequently, my skin tingles and becomes so sensitive that even a light breeze skimming along my arms and legs feels as if someone is tearing my flesh away. I am constantly fatigued due to interrupted and inconsistent sleep pattern. This year I developed allergic reactions to wheat, beans, corn, and rice, and this brought on a different set of symptoms as well. Irritable bowel and skin rash are by far the most tiring ones.

What’s your pick me up, your coping mechanism?

Yoga saved my life and my sanity. No, really. I took my first class thinking that I would not last longer than a few minutes, and that was true. But I pushed myself to do it daily, starting with five-minute sessions and gradually increasing the length of my practice. I listen to my body and accept its unwillingness to stretch fully on some days. While my symptoms did not go away, I gained a greater respect for my body and its power and this began the transformation of my thought, leading me to recognize positive energy in all circumstances. This has been a great challenge for me since I am a war survivor and I suffer from PTSD.

I also love to cook. Preparing nutritious meals from scratch (yes, I am that person that makes her own stock and yogurt) gives me comfort and a sense of control. I believe that this feeling of actively participating in a private world of pain, where everything seems to be out of control, is essential for coping. By sharing in my recovery, even if it comes masked as a calmer stomach due to my “fibro-tailored” meals, I gain my personal agency back and I feel empowered.

Finally, POETRY! Yes, you heard me right. I don’t pretend to possess fantastic poetry skills. But what I do well is read and understand the vibrancy of a poetic word. I read it out loud and I read it often. And I listen to the energy the words and the rhythm they create. It makes me feel alive and powerful. Poetry feeds my soul, makes me feel invincible and strong.

What have you learned from your illness?

I kick ass! That’s it, I am a survivor. Even though my body is weak, confused, and messed up, my soul is strong. I’ve learned to appreciate tiny moments of happiness, and to recognize love in the beauty of simple things. A sunrise, an unexpected rain shower, a day off from work, they all give a solace and comfort. Just be open to receive it.

Imperfection is life’s greatest luxury, and it took me over thirty years, a war, a couple of diseases, and chronic pain to learn this. It is the flaws, the pained bodies, the skin rashes, and the broken hearts that make our lives worth living. They give us a sense of purpose, an opportunity to examine the life as it truly is, messy, crazy, happy, devastating, and beautiful. Pain gave me freedom to accept myself as I am, allowing me to understand that it’s okay to love me. Fibromyalgia opened a path to my authentic self.

What is the one thing you want people to understand about fibromyalgia?

Chronic pain is a deeply personal experience. When someone chooses to share their experiences, it should be taken as a gift. Fibromyalgia is real, so open up, listen, and please, above all, do not hug spontaneously.

Why do you blog?

Writing brings me back to what’s important. The process of flushing out thoughts and emotions grounds me in reality. It is so easy to drift into a secluded world of our making when living with pain continuously. I often find myself shutting down, closing off the doors to my soul, and sinking deeper into despair. So, I make a conscious decision to be my own savior, fighting the battles with words, opening up new opportunities for reconciliation and love.

Thanks, Ana, for sharing your story. 

Get more of Ana’s raw, honest perspective on her blog, Fibromyalgia This: Diary of a Pain Warrior.

Shortcut to a good life: BYOP.

I’ve always loved to entertain. There’s just something magical about getting your house tidy and smelling good, lighting a few candles, setting a pretty table, cracking open a bottle of wine, and basking in the inappropriate jokes and laughter of good friends. But all that’s gotten a lot harder A.F. (after fibro).

While I used to beat myself up about not being able to take all the extravagant steps to host as I “would have before,” I’ve decided to quit that. I started quitting it last night when I hosted book club on the back patio. Here are the compromises I made to make it happen.

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The details of hosting are my favorite. The creative side dishes, the vase of lilacs from the yard, the potted plants situated just so for maximum viewing-from-the-table enjoyment. If I’m going to host, I can’t give these details up; it’d really break my heart.

Last night I asked one friend to order and pick up gourmet pizza (which we all pitched in money for), and another couple to bring booze. I supplied the details. Including this spring-fresh butter lettuce and herb salad.

And this yummy feta dip with tons of sliced veggies, olives, and rice crackers.

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And these RIDICULOUS, I tell you, RIDICULOUS, flour-less, gluten-free rocky road cookies.

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All in all, I had the satisfying feeling of putting together lovely touches. But I didn’t have all the stress. I chopped all the ingredients for the salad and appetizer and baked the cookies the night before so I’d be able to rest well and simply throw everything together the day-of.

Lesson learned: Ask for help, even if it is with the main dish.

Timing is everything.
I have the great blessing of being able to have someone (a sweet friend, Barry) clean my house once a month. I cherish Barry days, which always occur on a Tuesday. While Tuesday is not generally a customary party night for most people, I’ve decided it shall be at my house. This gives me 12 days a year that I could presumably not worry about cleaning my house the day of a party.

Lesson learned: Two birds. One stone. Go with it, even if book nerds drinking on your back patio on Tuesday nights may annoy your neighborhood. At maximum, it can only happen 12 nights a year.

Bonus for a back patio gathering? The inside of my house is still pretty clean. Score.

Do you have any entertaining shortcuts to share?

P.S. If you plan to order a Fibro Feist t-shirt in time for Fibromyalgia Awareness Day on May 12, I suggest putting your order in BEFORE Friday so that it can be “skreened” and sent your way before then. I hope to see a photo of you wearing yours! 

Links for your Saturday evening wine.

I had really good intentions of getting up early this morning to curate a list of amazing links for you. But I slept in. And then I rolled out of bed. And then I went to the nursery and loaded 80s-hot-pink geraniums in my basket. And then I planted the heck out of them–stopping only for my massage therapy appointment at noon.

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It’s been a lovely day. I can’t explain it, exactly, how the sunshine and the fresh air acts as a magnificent distraction and painkiller for me. But it does. And I soaked it aaalll in. My body’s throbbing now, but I’m happy to be sitting in my chair with my pup by my side and fresh lilacs from my yard filling my living room with their heady scent, gathering links that have made me smile this week. I hope you enjoy.

For fun

I have a 2013 goal of creating the perfect guest room for loved ones. I plan to use this list to do it.

So much shoe sass, so little commitment required.

30 green beauty finds.

I always cringe when I put plastic wrap on natural/organic food that I’ve bought because it’s not chockfull of chemicals. Finally, there’s a viable alternative.

I’ll be using this homemade weed killer in the yard this season.

10 happy front doors.

What a lovely little (indoor) garden party in the Big City.

15 ideas for organizing your gardening supplies.

Some delightful, affordable art prints. (A cute blog, too.)

For life

10 things you probably don’t want to say to your childless friends. Some of this seems a little harsh to me (as people say these things without malice), but I appreciate the sentiment.

How do we keep living in a post-9/11, post-Boston-Marathon-bombing world? Like this. Brilliant.

For fibro 

Guidance for getting through the bad days.

I like this summary of fibro symptoms. Rings true for me. How about for you?

Have you heard of low dose Naltrexone being prescribed for fibro pain? I’ve been taking it for a year, and I think it helps.

Happy rest-of-your-weekend, friends.

Friday Feist :: Classic black and white.

Recently I shoved my mother in a dressing room with 24 hangers, (gently) demanding she begin planning now for New York City (we’re going in June, I’m happy to say!) instead of waiting until the last minute as she does (perfect recipe for a fashion meltdown). My favorite thing she left with was a pair of pumps like these.

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I’m just about smitten with the classic black and white combo this season.

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Especially when it also involves stripes.

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Or another simple-yet-fancy pattern. Fossil, you’ve outdone yourself with this little wallet.

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And Kate, well, you’re just always flawless.

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Have I mentioned I’ll be 31 in June? I can send you my shipping address. This look makes me think Audrey.Audrey.Audrey.

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And the very best for last: black and white and neon.

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Holy mother of color.

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How do you like to wear black and white?

[Friday Feist is a weekly collection of some of my favorite things.]

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