tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89109349170192041782024-03-05T04:20:49.661-08:00Stranger FeetOne girl's ramblings about life with MS. And other stuff.Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-21478762621178412812016-10-03T13:58:00.003-07:002016-10-03T14:11:26.382-07:00part iv: to Dingle (alternate title: poop)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Okay, let me try to get this one out today...<br />
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Apparently, after consultation with the journal I'm forgetting to consult, I forgot to mention a trip to the grocery store, and two pub stops from yesterday. From here on in, assume there are always pub stops.<br />
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We got up early, excited for our hike, and ready for whatever the day brought us.<br />
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First we had a good breakfast, knowing we'd only be carrying snacks and nutella brown bread sandwiches. Once we had scarfed our tea and crumpets, or tea and whatever we had, we made our way back to our room. Our energy was definitely one of excitement. Selfies. Taking photos of the packed bags. Double-checking to ensure we had layers for when the sun came out and rain gear for wetter weather. It was only calling for high teens to low twenties and sun with scattered light showers all along our day's route, so we opted for leggings and rain jackets.<br />
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A few people have asked us about the touring group we went with, but it was really just us. We had a company arrange our B&B stays, send us maps and trail info, and cart our luggage from one town to the next, but that's it. We were a group of two, off to face this thing along, save for a few like-minded hikers that we happened upon on various legs of the hike.<br />
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Amped for an exciting day, we adjusted our walking poles to height, set our luggage out for the couriers, and hit the road!<br />
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Cloudy. No wind. Perfect.<br />
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We took six steps and it started to rain.<br />
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We zipped on raincoats, threw the camera bag's rain cover on it, and Nance whipped out the backpack cover she had bought for (or after?) a hike in Scotland years ago. All set, we started off again.</div>
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We took 30 steps and the sun came out.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHssAbCL1hHguMsH1TorNzHKm4afue6cM-8FmKjuzd7ldxFCwqFGK2Nsb82F3JeNDAmC5Q_6zpbGmu0nyysqZSAXCitOrqxcI5ItF3aQTaO-E61Holg3gXdPVxFUzvFQ0F2Ju_y_hkfgNE/s1600/exasperated.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHssAbCL1hHguMsH1TorNzHKm4afue6cM-8FmKjuzd7ldxFCwqFGK2Nsb82F3JeNDAmC5Q_6zpbGmu0nyysqZSAXCitOrqxcI5ItF3aQTaO-E61Holg3gXdPVxFUzvFQ0F2Ju_y_hkfgNE/s1600/exasperated.gif" /></a></div>
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Laughing, we adjusted our jackets to let in a breeze, and kept moving towards the road out of town. The first twenty minutes of this hike are indelibly etched in my memory simply because of our excitement. Everything was new - no sidewalks, the Irish road signs, even the road markers were all noteworthy and different from what we were used to.<br />
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Have I mentioned yet that I am allergic to bee stings? Well, it never occurs to me since the world is at a bee shortage, but holy beejaysus, there is not a shortage on the Dingle Peninsula. After day 1, I got used to them, but I was having a few "please, please, don't be mad at me for being here" moments.<br />
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The first part of our trek led us on roadways, which is, again, alarming and uncomfortable. People do not slow down to acknowledge pedestrians on the roads. Again, no sidewalks anywhere. But drivers wave a hello as they pass. "Hello, I may kill you! Sorry!"<br />
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We were tramping our way along a road that cut across a hillside, so the views were stunning. We passed pasture after pasture, old stone houses, and the ruins of many stone churches and other structures. We were shockingly close to cows and sheep, even getting a fright now and then when one would announce itself to us from a few feet away during a silent moment.<br />
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We eventually came to the first major sight of the day's walk - Minard Castle. I<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BJnLMsjguop/?taken-by=niktopian" target="_blank">nstagram link to said castle.</a> (doesn't it burn you when you don't select that first letter you want linked!? Oh well.)<br />
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Minard Castle is in - surprise - Minard. It's a 16th century Fitzgerald castle and with its placement right on the waterfront, it is a stunning sight, even now, in ruins. You see it well ahead of arriving at its feet and it looks stately on approach. We read a little about the history of the castle and the area, and it was the site of bloody conflict. It all seems so Ozymandias now - fabulous old structures in ruins. Protecting no one. Ruled by no one.<br />
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I can't recall ever visiting a castle before, although I'm sure I have. Castles are a bit fancy for my usual tastes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJ7vhErvT4wKfsrOWFFWqL_Jym7nlVya3iyMrrEp6sjneaZI2qMBhr3qMPM4LoUzpDwAlToaFirKJKlpJ4X_QfBuDzXKrUDpFRYwaAUrNbR2TkW5jvO2OAeI3MObGTLiWcBDDMY98RygW/s1600/fancy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fancy cat with top hat and mustachio." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJ7vhErvT4wKfsrOWFFWqL_Jym7nlVya3iyMrrEp6sjneaZI2qMBhr3qMPM4LoUzpDwAlToaFirKJKlpJ4X_QfBuDzXKrUDpFRYwaAUrNbR2TkW5jvO2OAeI3MObGTLiWcBDDMY98RygW/s1600/fancy.gif" title="" /></a></div>
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After stopping here a while and narrowly avoiding having an entire ant farm inside my boots (so thankful for gaiters!!!), we moved on.</div>
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From this point, we headed up a hill to experience one of the most bizarre situations we found ourselves in throughout the entire trip. We walked up a steep hill, along a trail. On both sides of us there was thick, tall vegetation, and I'm guessing the cows on the other sides of the vegetation were not happy that we were near. It was a cacophony of mooing. Constant, loud moos all around us. They sounded either alarmed or annoyed. I'm not good with differentiating cow emotion. Once we reached the top of Moo Valley, as we quickly dubbed it, we were both sweating and I think it had more to do with the emotion in the air than the sun or exertion.</div>
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At this point in the journal I wrote "Cow Valley and the Chorus of Agonized Moos" and "Moo Valley High". My sense of humour isn't to everyone's taste.</div>
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Right around here we spied other hikers. I believe one couple was from Finland. We never did catch the other couple as they veered off on some side road, halfway up a hill.</div>
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Yeah, we were supposed to go that way too.</div>
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When one is in the middle of nothing but pastures and isolation, perhaps one should think twice about why that other walking couple is headed in a different direction than oneself. But no, we didn't do that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWD7_Iy_TZwgAKiNqFjDASijYjyvs-t58tFASZXdwmTGBseB7zOHS6VQ8gJaLE6xYk9r9-2qYP0UupFJcB0FIa0kmQGVYktXi9QmhB309Ev03SqBOgxkCPK1prj1MW5LlqYOgCnGfcBF-/s1600/wrongwayturtles.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWD7_Iy_TZwgAKiNqFjDASijYjyvs-t58tFASZXdwmTGBseB7zOHS6VQ8gJaLE6xYk9r9-2qYP0UupFJcB0FIa0kmQGVYktXi9QmhB309Ev03SqBOgxkCPK1prj1MW5LlqYOgCnGfcBF-/s320/wrongwayturtles.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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We were back on roads at this juncture, and the sun was beating down on us. Every now and again, we'd stop and sip water or have a snack, but this hill felt long and killer. The road was bendy and it had a significant amount of traffic. Only when we came to a T junction and saw other hikers coming perpendicular to us did we realize we had gone the long, long way around. In our defense, the Finnish couple did the same thing. Hmm, maybe they were following us.<br />
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Because who doesn't want to add an extra 3-4 km onto a walking trip around an entire peninsula, right?<br />
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Let me talk about the water sitch for a sec. See, we had a nice big bladder with us with plenty of water for both of us in it. Sadly, my tired face could not work it. Nuh-uh. We had endless conversations that went like this:<br />
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"Bite just a little"<br />
"I am"<br />
"Don't bite too hard"<br />
"I'm not"<br />
"Tug it"<br />
"Uh huh"<br />
"Easy! Easy!"<br />
"Not getting anything"<br />
"Try sucking harder"<br />
"FAWK"<br />
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I only relied on the bladder on day 1. After that I switched to bottles. Nance had the bladder to herself and there were no further R+ rated conversations about the water bladder.<br />
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The hikers we had spotted at the T junction were a group of 6-8 Americans who we would see off an on for the rest of the day. About an hour after first seeing them, we ran into them as they stopped for a bathroom break in a small town and we went on ahead. Thankfully, we'd see them again later.<br />
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We meandered down long, wet trails, boggy fields, and then were back on yet another road walled by thick, brilliant hedges.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_LmgKETIPY0R2Y86hhR-ltTqFDbd3LTVolqriQ4Toygvorq3vq9d8BVvl0ouQYJpadg7a69e442Ckd0uCdVqckV0jE1m9oLYzaCtDPqPdssdBtdjtQBFJ_D1kGOdQw4VFRH4hHYm8NhT0/s1600/DSC_5431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ditch flowers fit for anyone's table." border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_LmgKETIPY0R2Y86hhR-ltTqFDbd3LTVolqriQ4Toygvorq3vq9d8BVvl0ouQYJpadg7a69e442Ckd0uCdVqckV0jE1m9oLYzaCtDPqPdssdBtdjtQBFJ_D1kGOdQw4VFRH4hHYm8NhT0/s320/DSC_5431.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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After quite sometime on this road, we were starting to wonder where the next marker would be. On this trail, every so often,you see a black post with a little yellow man marker that tells you you're on the right path. He often denotes significant turns.<br />
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While looking for him, we saw this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIjGjRUbnj83OMaTr09PMgrykQoUc4DLQfrYA8reaC25pgfjeuzy-o23M8xyG8RwymwFnL8CIlcxFCWtA75niKCJHV7_cE3GRQsxEkhG8Yf67zmUYd6j3tsc-zIanCEASf2-WE7bPEtzt/s1600/DSC_5468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sign on gate reading Beware of the bull. Whoah." border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIjGjRUbnj83OMaTr09PMgrykQoUc4DLQfrYA8reaC25pgfjeuzy-o23M8xyG8RwymwFnL8CIlcxFCWtA75niKCJHV7_cE3GRQsxEkhG8Yf67zmUYd6j3tsc-zIanCEASf2-WE7bPEtzt/s320/DSC_5468.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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Jeepers, right?<br />
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It was actually part of this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2r76D3Pqdf2eeXxLznkdprD3nEZQ7riJpSEYzI47pYgi4OAPbraPc2BfW1Xz7YgbJoaEkVwBhQp6_G8p358IEdMZVxoQHgCPJSsf-bKHeXokiK3gQcV9wGV4MCK0FMq4lyS3zrVjF1lQ/s1600/DSC_5445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Beware of the bull is the way to go." border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2r76D3Pqdf2eeXxLznkdprD3nEZQ7riJpSEYzI47pYgi4OAPbraPc2BfW1Xz7YgbJoaEkVwBhQp6_G8p358IEdMZVxoQHgCPJSsf-bKHeXokiK3gQcV9wGV4MCK0FMq4lyS3zrVjF1lQ/s320/DSC_5445.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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Note the little yellow man leading over the ladder.<br />
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Fuck.<br />
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So, we stopped for a nutella sandwich and a banana, because...last supper, amirite? We couldn't see said bull inside the pen, but the field was huge and largely surrounded by tall hedges, much like every other pasture in Ireland.<br />
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Then we went up and over the stile and hoped for the best. When exactly did I become a person who willingly enters a clearly marked bull pen?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlmSr-9PBotA6g0-UJeE3NbSyDKKWqTlR-X9DRWT1MgSErSzVWpj2xo3FeCNO-zTkErwQZ3rYQTCZ2M3C0RUu-iF5VfkfJK7S6l6VXsEbl57o3ecLP6zgTMlVHEwdxEG-Afs6FsDsZYd7/s1600/DSC_5457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlmSr-9PBotA6g0-UJeE3NbSyDKKWqTlR-X9DRWT1MgSErSzVWpj2xo3FeCNO-zTkErwQZ3rYQTCZ2M3C0RUu-iF5VfkfJK7S6l6VXsEbl57o3ecLP6zgTMlVHEwdxEG-Afs6FsDsZYd7/s320/DSC_5457.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This story ends well, fortunately, for Mr Bull was off having fun in the cow pasture on the other side of us. We made good time getting through this particular field, managing to avoid the bull patty mines all over the place. We weren't sure whether he was there or not (the pasture wrapped over a hill) until we had high-tailed it all the way up through the pasture and over the exit stile.</div>
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Did I mention that on day 1, we decided this chapter of our lives should be titled, "Let's Go for a Walk...in Poop"?</div>
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Because there was a lot of poop. Sheep poop. Cow poop. The occasional horse poop. Goat poop. Poop. Poop. Poop.</div>
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For example, this is not mud.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WCw4vaqrt9gatTW3e_QYbfi7ZUxYnx10H7nvJjDYab53LqZSsNJKaGx01uXX_4PJtWv3RwI8whtGtO7IdMq7LROBq55v0yfhL_M-HlEgLfeFFHR47-m71P9BkDcXVkv9lNOhAfdgW2sc/s1600/DSC_5474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Poop path." border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WCw4vaqrt9gatTW3e_QYbfi7ZUxYnx10H7nvJjDYab53LqZSsNJKaGx01uXX_4PJtWv3RwI8whtGtO7IdMq7LROBq55v0yfhL_M-HlEgLfeFFHR47-m71P9BkDcXVkv9lNOhAfdgW2sc/s320/DSC_5474.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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And a lot of the paths had these fun signs!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2O6nBN43890fI8DcO3MSSZy8AU6dY0XxDP3o1P7CJ5ivLgIISyeNDhqWgQ_6ptEZCAqY3kKILGXpKNMmJlD13j99zI19V-dJRTpVZDoQflnbdEb3BjfkA5V_-fNtKD32RO2OZSrPEvcka/s1600/DSC_5471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2O6nBN43890fI8DcO3MSSZy8AU6dY0XxDP3o1P7CJ5ivLgIISyeNDhqWgQ_6ptEZCAqY3kKILGXpKNMmJlD13j99zI19V-dJRTpVZDoQflnbdEb3BjfkA5V_-fNtKD32RO2OZSrPEvcka/s320/DSC_5471.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Some were straightforward dirt roads.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx4g7w4cLvI93ehN_icogMGXpTHpxe_VBvGQt3UqvydOQV91r8EntilVGTob5_ryGseUKToeD6tdke5gyhwfslcsMrrvMx2fX_Vh1eF2pyQWYg1nqQajU2F-CMzUuEmEtI9h7pr1Dr4W8/s1600/DSC_5473.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx4g7w4cLvI93ehN_icogMGXpTHpxe_VBvGQt3UqvydOQV91r8EntilVGTob5_ryGseUKToeD6tdke5gyhwfslcsMrrvMx2fX_Vh1eF2pyQWYg1nqQajU2F-CMzUuEmEtI9h7pr1Dr4W8/s320/DSC_5473.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Some came with the map warning, "may be a bit wet this time of the year".<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hDbKftf5q9Q6erD9Hsew5q4AX0Qw-QTIlfUqEQ_eILAUaiEWhyphenhyphenkXWuRmyIBGrojYeLZlhU_wwV4EkN2AQkcIJoa_TyseBkaBGwRpuAt69wprfWdx27WZiQbm7vrenYz0YAJg-qKOVE1_/s1600/DSC_5476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hDbKftf5q9Q6erD9Hsew5q4AX0Qw-QTIlfUqEQ_eILAUaiEWhyphenhyphenkXWuRmyIBGrojYeLZlhU_wwV4EkN2AQkcIJoa_TyseBkaBGwRpuAt69wprfWdx27WZiQbm7vrenYz0YAJg-qKOVE1_/s320/DSC_5476.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Others had narrow metal bridges through what felt like paradise. Well, paradise plus scary bees. Scaradise.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M44x5eWYNxyslXZVGQBIGvJ8C-zJ1zz0-vjUcrgpSH7GnCPOzcRm03v_esOKMVMDZve2gojESqxn2q44B0rRa82VobytvtmQMJbz1bapQteK1MHbmek7XntE3DN7V4ROOucEY73FXkzA/s1600/DSC_5478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M44x5eWYNxyslXZVGQBIGvJ8C-zJ1zz0-vjUcrgpSH7GnCPOzcRm03v_esOKMVMDZve2gojESqxn2q44B0rRa82VobytvtmQMJbz1bapQteK1MHbmek7XntE3DN7V4ROOucEY73FXkzA/s320/DSC_5478.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Only on the loooooong road walks did we say "I need a fun snack. Now". The other terrain kept us interested, but the roads were sometimes long and laid out before us in endless swaths. </div>
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Another common phrase of the day was, "stop hitting me with your poop stick". Our walking poles were pretty shitty from morning until evening, and it was hard to manage the stiles, fences, drinking, eating, and other obstacles without the end of the poles flailing dangerously.</div>
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Somewhere after the bull, after the barking dogs, and before Dingle, we got a bit lost. Well, not lost lost, just not sure which way to go. The map read "go over the stile, pass two stone walls, and follow the path". Got it. Over the stile - check. But we couldn't find stone walls. Mind you, most stone walls are covered in brambles so thick, you'd never know they were there. </div>
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We went North through the pasture, unsettling a few lady sheeps. Nope, didn't feel right. We went West, our path being ever westward - nope, not sure. I consulted the map while Nance headed South along a fence. When I looked up, I spotted a ram with his eyes set on Nancy's movement. I quietly called to her. Yeah, quietly called. Oxymoron that. "Babe. At your eleven o'clock, there's a ram watching you intently". Right about then, he started flicking his head in circles. I don't know much about ram speak, but I assumed that wasn't good. Then, using her great wisdom and physicality, my wife launched herself over a nearby barbed wire fence to escape an impending charge. </div>
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I have since learned that farmers often call male sheep bucks, not rams. I am not editing my story. Backfill based on your new knowledge.</div>
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So, where are we? I'm on one side of a fence, with a stile in front of me that I know I have to go over. The angry ram/buck was on the other side. To my left, over a tall hedge/wall thingy was my wife. In a ditch. She managed to haul herself up over the stone wall - wait a second - we found the hidden stone wall! Hooray! Uh, yeah, she got herself out of there just as our friends, the noisy Americans arrived. </div>
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See now, I don't think all Americans are loud. I lived in the grand ol' US of A and loved it. But this crew happened to be delightfully young and clamorous. And guess what? Male sheeps aren't fond of large groups of loud people. We all went over the stile and the head-bobbing tyrant was nowhere to be found. The group couldn't figure out which way to go either, but through trial and error Nance and I had figured it out and off we went.</div>
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The next kilometre or two or the trip were the poopiest and had the thickest mud of our entire hike. My high hikers threatened to suck their way off my feet a few times. Again, thank dog for gaiters. The Americans had fallen behind by then, several of their pack wearing low sneakers or hikers. None wore gaiters or had hiking poles. I remember as we pulled away from their group, one of the girls yelled back to her friends "It gets better" and I, trying to be helpful, yelled back to her "Sorry, it gets worse again!" as I mucked my way through unavoidable ankle high cow shit. I heard a small "fuck" from one of the guys.</div>
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The end of the day was a lot of field hiking with sheep all around us. The bucks would stand on guard but would politely move off the path if we lightly banged our poles on any rocks we passed. The final few kilometres were across a valley with views that would bring tears to your eyes. If reincarnation exists, I want to come back as a wild sheep in Southwest Ireland.</div>
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One thing I forgot about the weeks leading up to our trip - I had broken the pinky toe on my right foot, three week previous. It was purple and ouchie for a day or two, but then I simply...forgot about it. Well, right around the "Two km left to go" mark, my body decided to remind me. We were rounding the valley, coming out of field after field of sheep, and on the home stretch. When we hit road, my right foot felt uncomfortable. Huh. "Just tired, I guess," I thought to myself. </div>
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Well, no. Not just tired. Broken, dumbass. But I still hadn't made the connection. I thought I had busted a toenail, which has happened on every race I've ever entered, or developed an ungodly rub blister. And let's face it, also on the table was the possibility that one of my many demons was trying to escape through the weakest point in my structure. </div>
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The final two clicks were all downhill and by the time we got to our B&B I was limping, tearful, and trying to ignore the throbbing from my foot. Welcome to Dingle, baby. It's way down there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNONAJgbbypsFE1dqQ5Pr3YglAFFf3JnpbGJ32NXeEGSzCJfxgLLGbg6XLAjfcnPwiE_JYSU6lcWVmr1iVHCgqc-WDu-dNBuEAbTpEu0po01gYLlQS-qDwnVSs0GjpsrBdGpU66DIW5e2Z/s1600/IMG_20160808_155547161_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Waaaaaay down there." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNONAJgbbypsFE1dqQ5Pr3YglAFFf3JnpbGJ32NXeEGSzCJfxgLLGbg6XLAjfcnPwiE_JYSU6lcWVmr1iVHCgqc-WDu-dNBuEAbTpEu0po01gYLlQS-qDwnVSs0GjpsrBdGpU66DIW5e2Z/s320/IMG_20160808_155547161_HDR.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></div>
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We were pretty tired from the full day of walking but we were still all smiles right up until I got halfway down that hill.</div>
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We found our B&B - the very hospitable O'Neill's - left our boots, poles, and gaiters at the entrance, and were shown to our comfy room. A foot inspection revealed nothing but a red toe and inflamey area on my foot near the base of the toe. Huh. That's when Nance remembered I had broken the damn thing. Day one and heading into three more days of longer hikes on a broken toe/foot?</div>
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We showered and headed out to see a bit of the town. I hobbled along, wondering how I was going to muster the gumption to keep going, all the while knowing I'd be impossible to live with if I quit. Poor wifey. We talked about our options. </div>
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In reality, we found a pub so I could consult Dr Guinness for advice. I knew I'd be a cranky mess pretty much forever if I bailed on the hike now. So, we drank our pints at a pub named O'Flaherty's, and talked it out. It was not a hopping spot while we were there, but the town itself was buzzing with tourists. Dingle is a perfectly lovely spot, although much more touristy than the rest of the peninsula. The homes are brightly coloured as are the shops and restaurants.</div>
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After a pint, things were looking up...mainly because I had been seated for twenty minutes - so we hit the grocery store for foot wrapping supplies. We planned on buddy taping it, bucking up, and hoping for the best! This is pretty much how I make my decisions. I've been living ten years with MS - a few days of walking on a broken toe couldn't be worse, right?! Right!<br />
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Once the decision was final and we had our supplies, we hit a restaurant recommended by our hilarious server in Annascaul, and grabbed another pint each for good measure. I couldn't manage a proper walk about the town but we hit a number of shops in the downtown area and picked up a few souvenirs, including a tiny glass sheep for the wee nephew, lover of all small things. Fun fact: Dingle has an unusually high number of ice cream shops. We went to one to try different flavours and I had a sea salt ice cream. Keeping with a scrumptious theme, Nance tried the brown bread. Brown bread is everywhere in Ireland. And it should be. Deeelish.<br />
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We made our way back to the B&B before dark and enjoyed the comfort of the room before heading to bed for an early turn in. On the MS side of things, I was tired but not fatigued. We had planned out heat solutions well in advance, so I always had layering options.<br />
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xo<br />
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<br />Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-42232186276821498712016-10-03T09:32:00.001-07:002016-10-03T10:01:32.821-07:00part iii: Annascaul<div dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
Yes, I know it's taking me forever.</div>
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So, Annascaul, or Anascaul or, in Irish, Abhainn an Scáil or Abha na Scáil. Whatever name you choose, that's where we found ourselves.</div>
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I woke to the sound of a sheep bleating in the neighbour's backyard. It's actually an effective alarm clock and who can get mad at a cotton candy goat?</div>
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Before setting out on the hike, we had this beautiful day in this beautiful town to rest. The day's plans were to maybe do some light wandering, check out the farmer's market and see what trouble we could find.</div>
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Breakfasts at the B&Bs were quite an ordeal. Without ordering breakfast, you'd get cereals, fresh brown bread, toast, fruit, coffee, tea, and juice. Most places offered yogurts and some sort of pastry as well. The night before, you'd place your breakfast order for hot food. Every B&B had a different process for ordering, and at Annascaul House we had to fill in a little form and leave it on the front table so Noel could run to the market across the street before they closed. Cooked options were smoked salmon, porridge (made with Bailey's Irish Cream in most places we stayed), eggs done however you'd like, bacon, sausage, and white or black pudding.</div>
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Being from Newfoundland, I knew the latter options weren't delightful custards of any sort and steered far clear of them. Growing up, I knew black pudding as blood pudding. Pork meat, pork fat, beef or mutton fat, and a binder of bread and sometimes oatmeal. Blood optional. Without blood, it's called white pudding. With oatmeal, it sometimes has the tricky name of oatmeal pudding. Don't be fooled!</div>
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It's no wonder we don't eat meat.</div>
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After we had a very full breakfast, our host suggested a few sights for us to take in. People in Ireland are especially excited to offer the names of favourite pubs. He also mentioned the farmer's market and a nearby lake.</div>
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The sky was a mezmerizing blue but it was a cool day, so a little walk to a lake sounded inviting. We got a quick set of instructions from Noel - one or two kilometres down the road past the bridge. We'd see a sign for Tom Crean's grave. Go right and go through a gate to get to the lake.</div>
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We opted for the lake and after checking out the market, we found the bridge, and started down a road lines with tall fuchsia hedges. The wildflowers were stunning.</div>
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Twenty minutes or so into our walk, we were wondering where the lake was. We had yet to see much beyond a few homes, cows, and the odd black and white farm dog. We were not moving at any great speed, so we kept going, assuming the gate would be around the next corner.</div>
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In the meantime we were in awe of the flora. This may sound silly but I had no idea that holly grew much bigger than knee high shrubs. Imagine my surprise as we passed massive towering holly trees!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squinty wife for scale.</td></tr>
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By this point, we were 40 minutes into our walk and where the heck was the lake?</div>
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Finally we saw a little sign denoting the burial site, so we knew we were on the right course. The distance wasn't bothering me but it was warming up and I was in a cotton hoodie and jeans. Not the best "I have MS and have to stay cool" outfit.</div>
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We happened upon an older couple who were also tourists in search of the lake. Still nowhere in sight, but further proof that we were heading the right way.</div>
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So, it turns out that heading to the lake that's a kilometer or two up the road, on your rest day, can turn into a 12km trek. Twelve kilometers. In cotton and denim. </div>
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Mind you, once we found the lake, it was beautiful. It was surrounded by steep, treeless mountains, speckled with sheep, of course. The water was calm and the surface reflected the tall peaks surrounding it. It was surreal to walk through a valley with sheep bleating far overhead. They echoed into a chorus of wooly cries. Not gonna lie, most of them sounded bored.</div>
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While we took in the lake and stopped for a few photos, the couple we had met along the way caught up to us for a chat. They were from Florida and were overwhelmed by the landscape around us. I pointed out one particularly sure footed sheep high on the mountain behind us and we left them there with their cameras pointed up at the wee bahhing cloud.</div>
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We made our way back to town, taking in the vibrant scenery, careful to listen for traffic on the twisty, teeny roads.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wingspan wife for scale. This is not a one-way road.</td></tr>
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When we finally made our way back to town after walking 12 kilometers on our rest day (do you get the sense this pickled my grits some?), we popped into a café for a bite to eat. To backtrack, we were not having a terrible time.<br />
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BIz_g2EACkQ/?taken-by=niktopian" target="_blank">Instagram link to happy faces.</a><br />
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Up until this point we hadn't been eating fabulous lunches or suppers. There aren't a ton of veg options in most small towns, unless you want fries. When we saw chana masala on a chalkboard sign we basically ran inside the café. Nance ordered the masala and I got some kinda sandwich. Brie, spinach, pear, and cranberry on brown bread with a slightly tart vinaigrette. To. Die. For.</div>
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We didn't want to leave.</div>
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Curious about the plants of the area, we asked our waitress about one we had seen that looked a lot like humongous rhubarb. One leaf could obscure an entire person.</div>
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"Oh," she said, "that's giant rhubarb." Go figure. The shop owner filled her in on the plant's real name, Gunnera. She informed us with a smile that it's "not to be confused with...the other". Only in Ireland can waitresses make STD jokes at lunch seem appropriate and charming.</div>
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She was lovely, though, and asked all about our trip - where we were from and where we were headed. She even drew up a list of sights to see in Dingle when we got there. She also told us that there was quite a time across the street the night before and it got wild. That's Hanafins. The place we left as all the women loving women were getting tipsy. We missed a good time from all accounts.</div>
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After a bite to eat, we turned in to pack our bags for the next day's hike and to catch some Olympics. During our stay at Annascaul House we met people from Germany, France, the Netherlands, and New Jersey. Yes, I did just equate the land of Bon Jovi with countries.</div>
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That concludes our pre-hike portion of the trip. The next day would bring us from Annascaul to the town of Dingle via Lispole. It was calling for sun and rain. Lots to prepare for!</div>
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xo</div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-54757723287053686292016-09-08T20:09:00.001-07:002016-09-08T20:09:58.985-07:00part ii: to Annascaul<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
The day to the Dingle was long. However, not nearly as long as it has taken to upload this post. </div>
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We woke early to get to the Dublin train station in plenty of time. Showered, schemed to steal the bulldog puppy again, packed our last few things into our backpacks and hit the road.</div>
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The walk to the train was a few kilometres through a residential area. Mostly residential. Pretty sure we passed a prison too.</div>
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I was full of happiness. Filled with happiness? Happy. Nance and I travel well together and chat about the everything and the nothing. We were contemplating pack comfort on the morning walk.</div>
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We really haven't used our big packs much since buying them out of MEC money last year (thanks dad and Linda!). We had used them to lug things during our moves, but that's about it. We did zero weight carry training before this trip, so this could have gone much worse! The packs held enough for two weeks and were surprisingly comfortable once adjusted correctly...this adjustment process was a theme throughout our entire time in the UK. Baggage handlers tend to pick oversized backpacks up by one strap, placing all the weight on one slippage point. Finding exactly which strap had gone awry was a daily challenge.</div>
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The packs weighed around 15-16kg each, which isn't bad at all with good weight distribution.</div>
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So, we wandered to the train station early in the morning. The streets were empty. We passed a girl heading for the gym. Cats in windows. One or two folks who had yet to hit their beds for the night. I silently wished them good luck navigating the sidewalks.</div>
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At the station, we printed our pre-purchased tickets and headed to our platform. I haven't been on a train since I don't know when. Maybe Boston a few years ago. It was interesting to see our names digitally displayed over our seats. Not so private, that. </div>
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Throughout the day, we passed endless fields of sheep, cows, and painted horses. Lots of farms had all black cows, something you rarely see here. Ninja moos. At one point we passed a garden with three donkeys. Not very majestic looking, are they? I love their fuzzy manes. What's a group of donkeys called, anyway? I think it's a drove. I could be wrong on that. Drove sounds right, though. Gawd, you'd never say I majored in English. I need an editor. </div>
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Late morning, we switched from our spiffy newish train to a less modern one in Morrow. No fancy digital names and more crowded. Overhead announcements were all Irish first then English. Place names sound so similar that it wouldn't have been difficult without the English translation, though. If you ignore a lot of their vowels and some of the consonants, Irish isn't all that tricky a language.</div>
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The Dingle Peninsula is a nearly completely Gaelic speaking region. Folks speak English too, but signage is Irish. Locals all speak Irish amongst themselves. Not surprising, I suppose - it is the national language, after all. I quite like the sound of it. People speaking Irish sound positively happy. Interested. Pleasant. I may not blog about all of our trip, but let me tell ya, we did not hear a whole lot of pleasant tones in England. I'm getting ahead of myself. </div>
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By this point, we were hearing much different accents than those in Dublin. A little flatter. More like Newfoundland's East coast. Still not difficult to understand, though. We shared a table with a man and his young daughter for a while. They were chatting and eating the ever-present cheese and onion Tayto crisps. Aged cheddar and onion. Three cheese and spring onion. Cheese and caramelized onion. Cheese and onion is the prevailing theme in UK junk food. A gross one if you ask me, but no one did.</div>
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Nearby there was a group of girls in their early twenties. They seemed to be on their way to a friend's wedding. Or to an evil villain's wedding. Hard to tell. I know mean girls exist, but their conversation was shockingly cutting. They were sharing the obscenities of previous weddings. Who was cheap. What was tacky. Favours, accommodations, shoe travesties. The dresses they just couldn't believe. The out of style fastenators. Who could have afforded more and who spent way too much. And I thought the cheese and onion chips were gross.</div>
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Thankfully that particular drove moved on after a few stops. After a full morning of train rides and eavesdropping, Tralee was within our sights.</div>
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At Tralee we grabbed our packs and checked the time. We had 45 minutes before our bus, so we wandered into the town to find food. You can guess what kind of crisps were in every shop front. Unable to find simple fruit, we opted for crisps and I had to try these.</div>
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Tralee had a...hm. Tralee was...uh. I'm sorry but it's hard to say anything positive about the feeling we got from Tralee. It seemed like people there had lived hard lives and they were the exception to the typically welcoming, attractive Irish. The bus station felt sketchy in the middle of the day - a far cry from the places we had been thus far.</div>
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A short while later we happily hopped on the bus for Annascaul and found the Ireland of movies. I can see why National Geographic calls this peninsula the most beautiful place in the world. Sheep-speckled rolling green hills as far as the eye could see. The flora was lush. Everything was green. The ruins of stone homes had been taken over by dozing cows. The buildings were few and far between. </div>
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The road was terrifying.</div>
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One big ol' bus on a wee little road. I'm not a nervous passenger but my bladder was happier when I wasn't looking over the sides of the road/cliffs.</div>
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An hour later, we reached our stop, grabbed our bags from the bus, and looked around. We had arrived! It was breathtaking in the same way parts of Newfoundland are. Vibrant and lacking gawdy signage and ads plastered all over everything. Like home but without trees. The peninsula has been farmland for so long that many trees that may have been there are long gone. There are some right in the towns, but the landscape is devoid of anything taller than the tallest ram. We turned in a circle and every direction was like fairy tale perfection. </div>
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Now to find our B&B. Annascaul is not a large town in terms of population (299 to be exact), but it is a bit sprawling. We didn't have to look long, though - the bus had let us out four houses from our destination. Excellent.</div>
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Annascaul House is perfect. It's pretty, the owners are friendly, the dining room is airy and bright, and the living room was comfortable. Our room had an en suite, a locking door, and a tray with tea, coffee, and biscuits laid out. Our host, Noel, met us at the door and showed us around. He is a delightful man who should never have kissed the blarney stone, or never needs to. His rate of speech is beyond compare.</div>
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We dropped our bags and lobbed ourselves at the bed, but decided on a walk around the town before naps took hold. The front door of the house had no inside handle. I've never seen that before. Tug the lock's bolt to open.</div>
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Annascaul is the birthplace and home of Antarctic explorer, Tom Crean. Autocorrect, knock it off. A nearby pub, the South Pole Inn, celebrates Crean and is loaded with historical facts, artifacts, and photos. It also has an adorable window to the South Pole that kids can open to hear recorded whistling wind and see styrofoam snow whip about. </div>
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After a pint, we headed back towards our newest home and stopped at Patcheens Pub for a bite to eat. And yes, another pint. There was an Irish league rugby match on the telly and even the 70 year old women were cursing at the plays. Apparently, some fecking eejit was making a lot of badbadbad fecking calls. Fed and watered, we set off again.</div>
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Before getting back to our night's rest, we fell into yet another pub, this time Hanafins. This was one of my favourite spots of our entire trip. The entire interior is painted a plum color. There are fairy lights strung here and there at one end of the pub. On the opposite end, a wall showcases two rifles. Not sure why. A full sized Marilyn Monroe graced the door of the women's loo. Not sure why that either, come to think of it. All the while, the b̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶t̶e̶n̶c̶h̶ wonderous aroma of peat was swirling about. It was 25 °C but the fireplace was burning hunks of peat. As much as I liked it, I really didn't understand much about this place.</div>
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We got comfortable and sat facing the bar, next to the fireplace. John at the bar (is a friend of mine) owns the place. It had always been run by women, he told us. His grandmother, then his mother. He himself had been born in the pub, he mentioned casually while pointing to a spot on the floor. None of his sisters were interested in the business so he took over the bar from his mother. He is also the local history teacher and had plenty of interesting tidbits to share. If this weren't the third pub in under a few hours, I'm sure I'd even remember some of them!</div>
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It should be noted that the longer we sat, the more people poured in to watch another rugby match. Funnily, most of them were female couples. I'm not sure how a town of 299 people has a happening gay scene, but we had found it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbQfiN5iZ3NkkwKMy9k8H0tY8qfcA7N9CbkVcFksTbieq5_9u8iCXMxl_v5QATg6uZ5hT3BTN5aBDa2-v5vlAfhInecO-dbl21tAAVz1LKUsWHz5S-NHblwJT3CZhN0KRyuuWZ7PGfY47/s1600/IMG_20160806_185150934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Before the onslaught of sensible footwear wearers arrived." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbQfiN5iZ3NkkwKMy9k8H0tY8qfcA7N9CbkVcFksTbieq5_9u8iCXMxl_v5QATg6uZ5hT3BTN5aBDa2-v5vlAfhInecO-dbl21tAAVz1LKUsWHz5S-NHblwJT3CZhN0KRyuuWZ7PGfY47/s320/IMG_20160806_185150934.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></div>
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Exhausted from a day of doing very little, we had a few rounds and then meandered home, kippered from the peat. Nance suggested we join the growing group at the end of the bar, but they were fresh for a time and we were fizzling out.</div>
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On our way home we grabbed a few beer to bring back to the room to enjoy while watching women's Olympic soccer. Because our livers had gone six minutes without being tested.</div>
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We were watching France vs the US in the living room when a family from France came in. Their young sons joined us and the dad sat with us on the couch shortly afterwards. We all cheered France on (always love the underdog) and lamented the US luck/skill together. The boys were very into the game and it was a great, satisfying moment to watch such a universal event together.</div>
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Sleepy-eyed from the day's adventures, we hit our room where I journaled fora while. At this point in the journal I wrote "have to say the area is a LOT hillier than I expected. Should be an interesting week."</div>
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We had an extra day in Annascaul, so we went to bed knowing the next day would be a day of rest.</div>
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xxo</div>
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Nothing to report on the MS side. It was a pretty still day, despite all the travel.</div>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-44450785734048854722016-08-31T14:46:00.003-07:002016-09-01T07:30:19.003-07:00part I: Dublin<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
Holy shamrocks, I have a lot of words to type!</div>
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I longhanded our trip highlights and that's a lotta pages, so I'll try to pluck the plumpest grapes for storytelling. Or not - you know me, I tend to ramble.</div>
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So, Ireland. Short version: I loved it. You can stop reading now.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfg72W-2ojcz0L8xNCt1sp5C5UC06CKWi5CT-h0D4VF-6T4s8iDHKI4lNcROKBV9vqmD_cST0wx_L3DGoFXSFhp4eVyjkt2rqHQhjTOEI18E3KsP9mdSusk5Me-5-CRVdwg648YBudCSS/s1600/IMG_20160803_090428283.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Couldn't fit another damn thing in these backpacks. MEC rocks." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfg72W-2ojcz0L8xNCt1sp5C5UC06CKWi5CT-h0D4VF-6T4s8iDHKI4lNcROKBV9vqmD_cST0wx_L3DGoFXSFhp4eVyjkt2rqHQhjTOEI18E3KsP9mdSusk5Me-5-CRVdwg648YBudCSS/s320/IMG_20160803_090428283.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dublin is one of those big cities that somehow holds onto a healthy smattering of charm despite the rush of crowds and traffic. Colourful buildings, whimsical decor, and an overall positive feeling. Humour is injected into storefront signs, and pub names are frequently bawdy or otherwise entertaining, much like home. This pub is not named for what you'd expect.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OOr8TO4S9JoisxX961y-aXNJSNdF8ZRpEv7p262gHcmFl8Ry7rYOQ1QUiYGmF-HtCLv3TEGy0Q5fCrs3NJKxcTQALoFHTbUf8BWh02U7PmciWuHtrrIsKQrjr7rgMcwCiObaxtkFqgp5/s1600/hairylemon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Hairy Lemon pub, named for an unattractive dogcatcher with bad hair." border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OOr8TO4S9JoisxX961y-aXNJSNdF8ZRpEv7p262gHcmFl8Ry7rYOQ1QUiYGmF-HtCLv3TEGy0Q5fCrs3NJKxcTQALoFHTbUf8BWh02U7PmciWuHtrrIsKQrjr7rgMcwCiObaxtkFqgp5/s320/hairylemon.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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I don't know if people in bigger cities have the same level of friendliness as reported, but coming from Newfoundland, the land of slaughtering you with kindness, it's hard to judge. Friendly enough.</div>
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One thing that stuck out to me right away was the lack of cell phones. People aren't as glued to their cells there as we are here in Canada. On any given day I see the mobile appendages of most of my friends. They're on the table at restaurants, even if we're resisting the urge to check every bleep and chirp. In Dublin, you rarely see a table full of mute young people thumbing their phones. There aren't signs advertising free wifi at every turn either.</div>
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In pubs, you don't see hordes of people with their hands glued to their ears or fiddling with lit crotches in cafes. Phones almost seem to be used as phones. It's refreshing.</div>
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I'm off topic. Surely that's not the most impressive thing about Dublin, but it's damn impressive.</div>
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We had opportunity to see the massive Dublin Castle complex and Gothic/Romanesque Christ Church Cathedral, with its medieval edifice. The architecture of the city is head turning and I'm sure an architecture walking tour would have been fascinating had we more time. Ireland has a thick, dark history and you can't walk ten feet without tripping over something old and impressive...and heartbreaking. So much turmoil.</div>
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And, in the current age, such rich entertainment. Theatres left, right, and centre. Ads for shows and live music at every turn. You'd spend ages scoping out an endless line of performances.</div>
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Trying to fit as much in as possible, we hit The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BIuaAQUAx2_/?taken-by=niktopian" target="_blank">Brazen Head</a> pub (instagram link), established in 1198 (according to the pub and some historians...not all). Nice pint of Guinness, that. We discovered packaged condiments on the table here and wondered at the mysterious Brown Sauce. And left it at wondering. Some mysteries are best unsolved. Packaged condiments are only really found in fast food restaurants in our region, but they were in every pub and restaurant we visited in Ireland.</div>
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On the condiment note - big props for never having to ask for malt vinegar anywhere! Always on the table. Ireland, Newfoundland, and PEI share the vinegar love.</div>
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We did a lot of walking around the city and over the many bridges across the River Liffey, but paced ourselves on pubs. Heading into a week of hiking, we didn't want to be carrying hangovers with us. We wandered to the hallowed grounds of Guinness via some sketchy roads suggested by Google and later popped into Darkey Kelly's for live music and beer sampling. Nance sampled. I ordered Guinness. Why order anything else when you've found perfection? The Irish sure know how to pour a good black pint - perfectly cooked and then topped before delivery. Pay attention, SJ pubs!</div>
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Darkey Kelly's was, once upon a time, a brothel and is now named after its madam, Dorcas "Darkey" Kelly. Kelly was accused of killing a shoemaker on St. Patrick's Day in 1760...or 1746 (history is wibbly in Ireland) Kelly was hanged and burned at the stake for the crime and for witchcraft. Or for the alleged murder of her child. Hard to know which factual account to believe. Investigators later found four or five skeletons (depending on which historian you side with) in the brothel vaults, placing Kelly among the world's earliest known female serial killers.</div>
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A peculiar bit of history to attach to a pub, but whatever floats your boat. The music was crackin' and the beers were delicious. I also loved that the pub had a "no ball cap or tracksuits" rule. Gotta love a former brothel owner/serial killer's home that has standards!</div>
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Oddities: </div>
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<li>having the washroom security code printed on the Starbucks receipt and then having to unlock again from the inside to get out. They sure are big on toilet security.</li>
<li>Paying 20p to pee in a mall. What if you don't have change, people!? I rarely have silver on me! Come to Canada - peeing is free!</li>
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Now, let me warn you if you've never been there - the sidewalks in Dublin are meant to test you. They are legitimately out to get you under ideal conditions - under a clear bright sky you still have to look down. One moment you're walking on cobblestone, the next minute there's a nice big gap out of nowhere and you're on angled cement, then pavement, uneven brickwork, then back to stone. So, I can only assume that people who have had a few pints either get a cab, walk in the streets, or give the fuck up and sit on a stoop until they can navigate the neck cracky pathways.</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BIvisYRAer8/?taken-by=niktopian" target="_blank">Exhibit A. </a></div>
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Happily, we stopped after a few pints and got back to our B&B with our ankles intact.</div>
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Our Dublin lodgings were an Airbnb adventure that panned out reasonably well. We had a private room with a queen-sized bed. Hysterically, the bed was the lower bunk in a set of bunkbeds. I don't know why this amused me so much, but I kept picturing someone else walking in to claim the top single bunk. We shared the household bathroom with our Brazilian hosts.</div>
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Our interaction with our hosts was minimal since we were there for such a short stay. We did meet another guest, Ryan from... I dunno, the US somewhere. Georgia? The best part of this household was undoubtedly the bulldog puppy. I was in love. Beautiful pup. Couldn't figure out how to carry her on the hike, though, so I didn't pupnap her.</div>
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Bibs and bobs: they showed us how to use the powered shower, having never seen one before. On/off. Start/stop. Pretty easy.</div>
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The shower mat was a wooden crate top. I like it. No wet mat.</div>
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We found the train station the night before leaving so we could figure out our itinerary. My sister-in-law just cringed, I'm sure. We don't plan things out much. It <i>usually</i> works out.</div>
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No one at the Dublin train station had ever heard of our destination, Annascaul. </div>
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Hmm. They consulted this map and that map, and it was nowhere to be found. The lovely Dublin train employee called the nearest train station to the Dingle Peninsula, Tralee. The employee of the Tralee station ran across the road to the Tralee bus station to see if it headed to Annascaul. And success! After much laughter, googling, and map reading we were all set for the next morning. The train people even told us to buy our tickets online to cut the cost nearly in half. Super helpful!</div>
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I'd do a short stint in Dublin again, for sure, but our destination was the countryside, so we were eager to leave the city bustle behind and get going.</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BIwuZpug1_c/?taken-by=niktopian" target="_blank">Wifey and blue bag of awesome.</a></div>
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The next day was a travel day of trains, buses, tiny roads, mild fear (see previously mentioned buses and then add previously mentioned tiny roads), and more pubs! Shocker, I know.</div>
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From an MS perspective, no problem with the flight length, I was getting plenty of rest, and the weather was cool. No trouble with the time zone difference either. All systems go!</div>
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Dingle bound!</div>
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xo </div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-58680553484140337732016-07-27T14:48:00.001-07:002016-07-27T18:13:16.038-07:00life as it is<div dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
I have been pretty busy since moving back to the big city of #saintawesome. It's been a flurry of cleaning, unpacking, organizing, and general prettification, and we're finally getting back to normal.</div>
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Well, more normal after a yard sale. And some shelves.</div>
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I'm not sure what kind of environmental hoohaw has occurred since we left but this has been a sweltering, brain mushing week. Trying to think through porridge. It's been in the low 30s the last four days and that slows the aforementioned progress to a drunk sloth's pace.</div>
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With the heat comes symptoms, of course. Shittiest cracker jack surprise ever - here's some sunshine and heat and hidden inside is the lasting sensation of carpet burn for your left arm, and spider webs on your right! Go, me!</div>
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But, screw that kind of talk because our late honeymoon in Ireland is drawing nigh and we couldn't be more excited! I have been making lists of the essentials - passports, adapters, extra card for the camera, and candy. natch. I have a sweet tooth on hikes. I blame Robyn Benincasa for that. Too much time watching her eat Twizzlers in the Eco-Challenges. Funny, she ate jerky too but I have no I penchant for that. I realize how obscure this reference is. It's hot, remember. My brain is as floppy as an over easy poach.</div>
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Nance's parents, aka the guests/ petsitters, arrive tonight or tomorrow, depending on how tired they are after the gulf cruise. It's about a six hour drive after the ferry. Blergh.</div>
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It'll be great to spend some time with them before we fly out. Fun to not have an agenda for a few days. We'll have almost a week with them to get them used to the animals and their habits. I am excited that they're bringing little Luce too. They have had her for years but it seems like only last year Nance found her wandering the highway in the middle of nowhere. She's a cutie. She and Abbey and Ringo will have to figure it all out. Luce never liked Abbey (jealous boots/resource guarder) and Ringo used to stalk the little dog. Sooo, we'll see!</div>
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We have very thoughtful friends who have offered to take Abbey out for exercise now and then, so we'll leave all appropriate numbers for the babysitters. Our dog needs a village.</div>
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It will be so strange not to see Abbey for that long. We kennelled her once when we went to Québec and once for something I don't remember but other than that, she's been with me from the moment she got off the plane from her kennel. Is it weird that I am emotional at the thought? Probably. Blaming that on Tara. I spent part of the morning looking at photos of a dog she lost recently. Heart tugs. lots of good memories.</div>
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Nance is also en route as we...as I type. She's still working in the Northwest, so I get her for ends of weeks and weekends. Not ideal but it is what it is. Can't wait to see her. We're sickening, really. If people knew how lovey we are at home, it'd be a vomfest.</div>
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So, yeah. Ireland. We have the first seven days planned, I believe. After that we're considering England. Not to see Big Ben, nope, not Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, nor Madame Tussauds either...no, no. We'd be going for the sea glass. Yes. Sea glass. In Seaham. I swear she's okay with it.</div>
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We may end up happily staying in Ireland for the entirety of our travels. Who knows. It will be fantastic, no matter what we do. We need to sort it soon, though. Accommodations are on the dear side in the UK. Airbnb has been great for planning, so far. We're staying at a proven gay-friendly spot in Dublin our first night. Safety first!</div>
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Let's see...what have I missed? We did a Color Run. Hilarious and fun right up until the point where MS threw up the middle finger at being in the sun for so long. Got confused near the end. Meh, still had a lot of fun.</div>
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It is super having friends so close again. This was a good move.</div>
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On that note, I should go chill some frosties for my wife.</div>
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Oh, she's home. Later dudes.</div>
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xo</div>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-68601529196304671792016-05-26T18:39:00.002-07:002016-05-26T18:46:56.367-07:00grumpy bear<div dir="ltr">
Cranky day here. </div>
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No real reason that I can suss. I got plenty of exercise. It wasn't overly warm outside or in the house. I had plenty to eat (because we all know how that goes otherwise).</div>
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I was edgy from the time I got up until late evening for no tangible reason. MS affects mood and I sometimes find myself reasoning out my edginess to figure out the root cause. For the life of me, I have no clue what was up today. Even I didn't want to be around me. The animals were wrestling (aka, slapping each other harmlessly while howling) this afternoon, but that noise was the only concrete irritant, and by then I had been sporting my crankypants for hours.</div>
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I did all my feel good things - I tried sweating it away with weights. I meditated. I walked the dog twice. I played the uke. I listened to a favourite playlist. I wrote for an hour...and that one definitely didn't help because I am in an editing stage that requires far more patience than I had today. Like light years far.</div>
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Nothing helped. And, if you know me well, you know I hate being grumpy. Hate it. I may not be a natural Cheer Bear on the outside, but I am an eternal optimist and invest a lot in the good, genuine, and silly things in life. So, being grumpy? Not my thing. And it's aggravatingly self reinforcing! Being cranky makes me cranky!</div>
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Thennnn Nance came home from work [<i>note: she had fair warning that I was irritable and wasn't scared off</i>] and we brought the dog to the river. Ahhhhh, right? Surely being near the water helped! Nuh-uh. I tossed Abbey's favourite toy into the water for her to retrieve but the current was too strong, it got away from her, and the toy was lost forever.</div>
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From "cranky for no reason" to "cranky for this %#$ing reason" in 1 second flat.</div>
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It's just a dog toy, I know. But it was her favourite floaty toy. And now my environmentally-minded, nature-loving self has lobbed a red hunk of rubber off into nature never to be properly disposed of. Argh!</div>
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Put me to bed, tomorrow awaits.</div>
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xo</div>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-48127937143974660102016-05-25T09:22:00.002-07:002016-05-25T15:17:47.633-07:00what the hell are sclerae anyway?<div dir="ltr">
It is World MS Day! Where's my cake?</div>
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It has been ten glorious, rich, trying, fulfilling years since the neurologist called me and, channelling Arnie, told me my brain problem was not a toomah. </div>
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He went on to tell me it was probable MS. That I had an incurable and debilitating disease, and not just a disease, but a disease in my brain and spinal cord! A disease of likely progressive disability. Not a moment you treasure in life. </div>
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I wish I could go back and tell my thirty-year-old self to trust that it would work out okay-ish...at least for the next/past ten years. The night the neurologist told me I had MS was the single scariest moment of my life. Back then I was having panic attacks because of the numbness from toes to ribs. My walking was off. My speech was funny when I drank cold beverages. My swallowing felt laborious. The panic was causing vertigo. Vertigo was causing nausea. I was irritable and anxious. All in all, very dark times. </div>
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Back then I was struck by all the literature about blindness and paralysis. I read everything I could, and the outcomes looked bleak. The unknown was terrifying. Getting out of bed was hard. Getting myself to work and focusing on things that suddenly didn't matter to me was overwhelming. In my spare time, I was researching anti-inflammatory diets, the statistics behind MS mobility and paralysis, and the main MS CRAB medications. In typical fashion, I wanted to know everything. In retrospect, knowing everything was unhelpful. There is no typical outcome for MS. There is no one standard disease pathogenesis. MS manifests and progresses differently in every single person it affects. </div>
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Back then I didn't realize that what would come would be a whole lot of grey, both literally and figuratively. I have had optic neuritis every two years or so - often enough for me not to take my vision for granted. I think my left eye blur is finally fading again. The colour desaturation seems to be evening out, or I have adjusted to the annoyance it. I believe it's the former, though - things seem less blah in my left eye.</div>
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Today I feel well. I have my standard numbness - parts of me I will never feel again, but nothing out of the ordinary. Today I took the dog out for a little hike - neither of us loved the blistering sun, but we both loved being outdoors. Eleven years ago I wouldn't have thought much of the heat. It would have been an annoyance, but that's it. Today it made me circle back to the house for water, take a shadier route. MS requires planning.</div>
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I hate planning.</div>
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It is World MS Day. A day for awareness. Maybe to celebrate the things MS does not touch. Or maybe to even appreciate what MS has given us. I am grateful for every healthy day. MS brought me closer to a cousin I had not been in touch with for a while and whose quick wit I love. It has shown me a caring, fun-loving community of people who face the same things I face every day. It has made me stronger in ways I couldn't even begin to list - having to adjust to a new normal on the regular will do that. I'm not going to bs you into thinking that life with MS is fine and dandy - it's not. It blows. I have moments of resentment and profound sadness. But I can't help but notice a lot of other people out there who have it so much worse than I do. I have a home. I have a wife who approaches my life with MS in the most direct, selfless way you could imagine. I am happy. I am able. </div>
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xo</div>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-48816275874339091842016-05-15T07:58:00.001-07:002016-05-21T13:47:07.215-07:00breaking<p dir="ltr">I have MS. Not news, I know. But it kinda is. I write about it here but it's not a common topic in the real world for me. I am not loathe to talk about it. In fact, I would do speaking engagements about invisible illnesses, given the chance. I moderate an MS forum but don't post there much at all outside of moderator duties. MS is in me but it's not me. I don't give it more attention than I feel it deserves.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But I do have to give it attention.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have talked a bit about roles before and I have a lot of roles in life. I am a wife. I'm a writer. I am a lover of all things colourful. I am a kitchen dancer, a terrible joke teller, and a cat charmer. I am a reverend of sorts (yes, me). I am a beachcomber, a ukulele torturer, and personal assistant to a dog and a cat. I am a vegetarian, an atheist, and a gay woman. I am a friend. I am a sister. I'm a daughter. But I don't identify with using MS as a role or title. I have MS. I am not an MS victim or an MS patient. MS is something I carry inside me. It has little to do with who I am aside from the constant new normal conditioning. I plan around it but don't feed it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I rarely bring it up. Again, I don't mind the topic, but I don't necessarily find it all that interesting most of the time. That means that some people forget I have MS or they don't understand that it is something I have to plan around. That I haven't felt parts of my right leg in years. That my legs hurt pretty much all the time. Or that my vision is (still) a little messed up. I don't like the phone because it's easier for me to track a conversation in person or through text. None of that can be considered captivating conversation.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And yet, I do need people to understand it enough to know why I can't always commit to a long day, or why I may hide in a spare room for a while during a visit. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am here lounging on a bed in a friend's basement to try to recoup some of today's lost spoons. I am done in. I don't want to be resting but my faulty battery got the better of me. It sucks. The heat zapped my energy and my legs feel electric. Uhthoff's phenomenon. I remind myself that so many people out there with MS wouldn't have been able to do the things I have enjoyed today. And the day was great, just lacking other things I wanted to do. Missing out makes me cranky. My mantra is to stay grateful. It's hard sometimes, but I keep trying.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This rambling, unedited, unfocused <u>p</u>ost brought to you from the comfort of a chilly bedroom on a hot day. </p>
<p dir="ltr">xo</p>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-70240246635203368932016-05-12T08:32:00.003-07:002016-05-14T06:16:31.004-07:00happy campers? Well, you won't be after this!We are The Happy Campers and that was our welcome to this year's E2C.<br>
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I promised an update on the endurance race so here it is!<br>
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We left our hotel on an overcast morning and made our way to registration at a nearby fire hall. Once there, I kept overhearing the volunteers utter the same word - mud. I love the great outdoors so the idea of getting dirty doesn't faze me, but I wasn't sure that all day in the mud was all that appealing. It didn't put a damper on my excitement though, so we grabbed our t-shirts, maps, and directions to the Start and off we went!<br>
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Side note: my excitement looks much like my every day RBF. Internally it's all ferris wheels and lollipops, but little makes it to my outer expression.<br>
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The course was on active logging territory and the clay-clogged, bumpy, slow, 10 km ride down a dirt road showed us what we were in for - mud, mud, bogs, standing open water, windfall, long stretches of road, and trips through beautiful moss carpeting. I wasn't feeling overly optimistic about the "no bug" dance I had done that morning.<br>
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The E2C has a very energetic, supportive vibe, much like other races. Walking to the start area reminded me how invigorating it is to be surrounded by like-minded people. Waterproof hikers, gaiters, poles, gloves - everyone was geared to have a fun, filthy day. We dressed Abbey in her high vis vest and she was making friends at every parked car we passed. Vehicle hoods were covered in maps and compasses. Teams who had already done the gear check were huddled around their maps plotting their routes while we were busy talking serious snack strategies.<br>
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Because snacks matter.<br>
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If you didn't read my last post, we were two teams: Nancy, Abbey, and I were our own troupe, and two adult friends and their 10-year old kids were our accompanying gang. Super fun group. We made our way to the equipment check and showed that we all had the necessary items - compass, watch, matches, knife, whistle, and water. The volunteers were on the ball and made sure we had snacks for the dog too...as if we'd go anywhere without scooby snacks.<br>
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We had twenty minutes or so to wait for opening announcements. I am happy to report that unlike the last time we did this race, I wasn't attacked by mosquitoes and black flies. We took a quick look at the map so we could head to a cluster of controls and maximize our chances of early success. A quick "have fun, don't go near active logging" speech later and we were issued our punch cards and waiting for the horn. In the meantime, someone launched a drone. Now, you may or may not know my dog, but let me tell you, she ain't a fan of flying, buzzing things and the drone was no exception. Nothing like 10 minutes of straight barking at the sky to get things underway! Good times.<br>
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Then we were off! The crowd thinned pretty quickly and we slowed to make a more detailed plan and unhook Abbey. She's a great little hiker and leaving her on leash for eight hours was not an option. The only problem was that in the excitement, she ran around the side of a parked car and disappeared. We fanned out. Nancy went down one road. I went down another. Nothing. No Abbey. She has impeccable recall, but wherever she had wandered, she either didn't hear us or was too confused to find her way back.<br>
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Let's talk about panic for a minute. I have full on panicked very few times in life. Once in an MRI machine. Once when trapped behind a mattress moving it up a stairwell. Once when I thought someone stole my dog from the car. I could feel the beating, thrashing monster of panic trying to break free from its cage again. My dog is my constant companion. Yelling her name and not seeing her smiling face appear DOES. NOT. HAPPEN.<br>
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After a few minutes standing around yelling her name, whistling, and asking people if they had seen the dog, we agreed that our little team would stay handy and the others would get moving down the closest road to head to the first control point. We started off in another direction to see if she had skipped behind us unseen. My gut told me to stop and stay still, though, and after a few very long minutes, our friend Katie hollered that they had found her. Races are very exciting - what is a dog to do? Lots of people. Lots of noise. A drone overhead to get you all worked up. Next thing you know, you're unleashed and following the closest set of legs into the woods. She was sticking with a team of women and they must have heard one of us yelling because they asked our friends if we were missing a dog. She had been running up and down a path once she realized she was with Others.<br>
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The monster in my chest settled down and we were on our way to our first flag. Not the start I had envisioned.<br>
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The kids did all the punch card work and made the day that much better. I would totally do this event with children again. We didn't fill out the full 8 hours, but we covered a lot of ground and called it quits when our quiet group got even quieter.<br>
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I won't go into every detail here, but will give you the highlights and observations:<br>
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<ul>
<li>No bugs = way better time</li>
<li>There are a lot of snakes in windfall areas. My wife is deathly afraid of snakes. There was a lot of "don't come this way - go around!"</li>
<li>Sometimes children ask "are we lost" a lot. We weren't. Mostly.</li>
<li>Finding three flags in the first hour when you have littles and a dog is pretty amazing!</li>
<li>Covering 18km with two littles is way impressive.</li>
<li>Leapfrogging saves time. Backtracking does not,but provides opportunity to take a photo of those frog eggs you noticed on the way in.</li>
<li>Frog eggs sometimes glow blue</li>
<li>Having children on the team enhances the event. Their smiles when we'd find a flag were huge. Their stories were entertaining. Highly recommended.</li>
<li>Raspberry bushes and wild rose saplings like to grab ankles.</li>
<li>Sometimes half a kilometre feels like way more.</li>
<li>Sometimes half a kilometre feels like way less.</li>
<li>My daily 8 km walks made this event breezy. Even the high stepping didn't cause my hip flexors complaint.</li>
<li>MS sucks. In case you had forgotten.</li>
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On the MS side of things, things went much better than last time. The sun popped out for 40 minutes or so and I did get weird in my head during that time, but it was manageable. Frustrating, but manageable. Nance kept the water handy and friends checked in on me when I was lagging. I appreciate that people are aware of how heat affects me and think to ask how I'm doing.</div>
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I did crash hard when wifey and I got back to the hotel. Something MS-y hit me and I was shaky and finding it hard to speak. It didn't last long, but I opted to stay in for the evening to give my body what it was asking for.</div>
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Nance rounded out the day with a trip to see her sister and famjam. The kids and moms hit Toys R Us and the pool. I sat on the couch/bed and gave doggins a massage as she slept. All in all, a great day!</div>
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Other notes from this road trip: </div>
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Marshmallow guns are hilarious and I have to buy some for camping trips this summer.</div>
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Nance conjures the sea glass gods on every outing and finds amazing pieces.</div>
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My favourite beach is still my favourite.</div>
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Pills sometimes stick to ceilings. Don't ask.</div>
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I miss Saint John.</div>
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xo<br>
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Oh, and that woman was wrong. We will always be happy campers.</div>
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<br>Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-49492895116925287092016-04-26T10:33:00.001-07:002016-04-26T18:54:44.858-07:00wandering in the fog and the woodsTo get the MS update over with, yes, my vision continues to be toast in my left eye.<br />
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That's all I have to report.<br />
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On to other things!<br />
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We have signed up for the Halifax Regional Search & Rescue's Eco-Endurance Challenge again! It's an orienteering adventure held in the woods of Nova Scotia. Nance and I entered the 8-hour recreational category as a two-person team, The Happy Campers (t-shirts and all, yo). The countdown is on and it's only 10 days away.<br />
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We are excited to meet up with team Jedis and Padawans - friends and their kids. So, that's four adults, two 10-year olds, and two bouncy dogs in one suite. Should be hilarious. I am very curious how the kids will do over an 8-hour stretch searching for flags with a compass and map. That's a long time on your feet! Snacks and games will be key to prevent grumpiness. My grumpiness, that is.<br />
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The last time we went on this adventure, we were team Huffin' Puffins, joined by my father-in-law and brother-in-law. I was very excited, but it was brutal. Ticks, heat, and the flies were so thick, we were inhaling them. Actually, let's not go down this road of expounding all the bad things about that day now that I've signed up for it again. We survived! And it's totally live and learn. Bringing tick deterrent this time and planning for heat.<br />
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Ah yes, heat - my arch nemesis. The bane of most people with MS. It steals my tongue and blindfolds my feet. This time I will be bringing a cooling towel, sun or no sun. It's bad enough to be confused and start talking and walking funny when near home - super not fun when you're miles from help. Team Happy Campers is planning ahead and will be ending this one as happy campers, dammit!<br />
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I'll report back when the event is over and see how that turned out.<br />
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In other news...<br />
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Spring is finally springing on the homestead and that means a new season of groans in this old house. Paging Bob Vila! Nothing too pressing or we'd ask the owner to call in a professional, but this week one of the toilets needed fixing and the dryer needed a new vent (putting an end to the rodent superhighway and icy porch). Enter my love of tools.<br />
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No one was hurt. I'm handier than I look.<br />
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I have been on an 8km a day kick lately and it is HARD. Not the walking itself. I feel great and my legs are functioning just fine these days. Frankly, New Denmark is rich in 1) potatoes, and 2) land. Wide open spaces - you'd think this would be a cinch, right? Naw. It's so fricken' windy because of the lack of...anything. So, walking gets tricky. I wear earplugs most of the time to keep the wind from blowing my thoughts away. Also, there's a lot of bear scat in the fields now and we saw one a few days ago, so field walks are much more careful now. Also also, there are no sidewalks or anything resembling shoulders on the roads, so it's a bit risky. Especially with ear plugs. Also*3, people here don't fence or tie their dogs (yay!) so I am greeted and followed by strange dogs no matter which direction I try (boo!). Yesterday Abbey and I walked two km with a lovely mixed breed, Maya.<br />
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Adorable, yes, but I couldn't keep going and have her follow me the other 5 km back home. Or, I suppose I could have, but then I'd have worried about her not making it home safely [<i>note above section on lack of sidewalks or shoulders</i>].<br />
<br />
So, there it is. Walking is officially harder when you have massive space in which to roam. Or something. And now I'm paying to go do just that in the woods. ;)<br />
<br />
xoNikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-78940617980290021022016-03-29T17:13:00.004-07:002016-03-30T12:27:06.018-07:00stranger visionUgh, we're here again.<br>
<br>
This is the cloudy zone. Not unlike the twilight zone but lacking the gremlin on the wing. You're probably too young to get that.<br>
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So, after an evening of fun and beverages this Easter weekend, I woke with a gnawing headache. When I woke at four in the morning, I assumed the pointy objects developing behind my eyes were the beginnings of a day of feeling pale.<br>
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<br>The night before, we went for drinks with two friends and that turned into a ten-person evening at their place. You see where this is going. Anyone who knows me well knows I have terrible social anxiety, particularly if I go into a social situation expecting one thing and it turns into another, regardless of how lovely the people involved may be. My two beer turned into a glass or so of unexpected wine.<br>
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But, it wasn't a mother of a hangover at all. Turns out I still have MS. </div>
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Damn.<br>
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It was the start of optic neuritis. Again. Round 4.<br>
<br>
The first time I had optic neuritis [<i>ON from here on</i>] was pretty scary. It's beyond unsettling to suddenly have reduced vision, and the saturation difference is eerie. If you wear contacts, having ON, once the pain dissipates, assuming it dissipates, is like having only one contact in…for months. Your depth perception gets screwy.<br>
<br>
Like all three previous bouts with ON, this round only affects my left eye. I suppose that's a silver lining, but I'm not looking for rainbows and sunshine about it yet. I'm still in the upset stage. No tantrums or wailing and I know the anger will pass quickly, but if I don't respect the emotion behind this, it'll linger even longer. I'm all about the shortest route to being okay.<br>
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Things I had forgotten about optic neuritis:<br>
<br>
<ul>
<li>Just how painful it is at first. I could barely stand the feel of an ice pack against my eye. The pain is much more manageable now. Almost gone.</li>
<li>I bump into things on my left at first onset. I get a bruised elbow, shoulder, and hip. Tonight at 9, "when door frames attack".</li>
<li>I have to be careful about placing drinks to my left or I'll send them flying. </li>
<li>It's nauseating at first. </li>
<li>Typing and reading are weird. I read left to right, obvs, and it's like the words get clearer as the sentence grows.</li>
<li>I randomly find myself closing my alternating eye/s for comparison and look like I'm flirting with the rocking chair.</li>
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Attractive.</div>
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I'm not altogether sure what triggered this. I had a few days of drinking to some excess while in SJ. Sort of an "I don't get to do this often" mentality while thoroughly enjoying the company of close friends. Whether that set it off or not, who knows, but I am back on track. </div>
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On the way home to New Denmark, we stopped at a great Asian market I used to visit all the time. I felt like Darryl Dixon on a supply run - basically racing up and down the aisles, grabbing one of everything. Finding options that we can't find in this region is like winning a teeny lottery. I see a lot of sour soups in the upcoming weeks. We've already worked through the jackfruit. </div>
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So, that's where I am. Slacking at the blog. Processing a lot of emotion from late last year that flew by in a blur. Writing a lot of poetry. Trying to gather a story or several about the place we live now. Floundering about on social media. My interest in Facebook is at an all-time low, so I find myself posting more elsewhere.</div>
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The walking is going well. We'll be ready for the long days in Ireland well ahead of schedule. One thing this area has plenty of is space, so I've been taking advantage. My cardio is still cow shite, but it's coming. </div>
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We bought new boxing pads when visiting the Princess of Power and fam, so that's working its way back into a routine as of this week. </div>
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That's what's new with me. Peace out. I'm off to watch something on Netflix and snuggle with superwifey. </div>
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xo</div>
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background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 222px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 2047px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dheader&media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-pY0If-0jG28%2FVvsW3SRzxZI%2FAAAAAAAAAPY%2FJSVS5dfIIN8EaLQDodc0hT-w7g7omDvQg%2Fs1600%2Ftrump%252Bbreaths.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=wPddmF5ho9t9&description=You're%20not%20voting%20for%20this%20moron%2C%20right%3F" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 222px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 2047px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dheader&media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-pY0If-0jG28%2FVvsW3SRzxZI%2FAAAAAAAAAPY%2FJSVS5dfIIN8EaLQDodc0hT-w7g7omDvQg%2Fs1600%2Ftrump%252Bbreaths.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=wPddmF5ho9t9&description=You're%20not%20voting%20for%20this%20moron%2C%20right%3F" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 222px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 2047px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-107472901934826542016-02-21T12:38:00.001-08:002016-02-21T12:38:26.278-08:00ahem<p dir="ltr">We're staying at a friend's place in SJ for a few nights while she's out of town. Nancy just left for a dinner and I took the dogs out through the back door as she was putting her coat on. While out in the side yard, I heard the front door close and hollered a "see ya! Love you!" </p>
<p dir="ltr">It was the neighbour leaving his <u>house</u>. </p>
<p dir="ltr">He seemed very perplexed.</p>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-64385445555946921402016-02-18T12:58:00.002-08:002016-02-18T12:58:57.104-08:00vitisIt's National Drink Wine Day!<br />
<br />
I alerted my wife to our patriotic duty via text this morning. I imagine her response was "We need a day for that?" but what I actually received was "I'm Driving - Sent From My Car" - a canned response with terrible capitalization that I simply can't get over.<br />
<br />
Yes, that's a preposition at the end of a sentence. I like to live dangerously.<br />
<br />
I hated wine when I was younger. Well, no. Hate is a strong word. My exposure to wine at an early age lead me to believe all wine was 1. white, and 2. sweet. I am not a fan of sweet whites, so I assumed I didn't like wine at all. Time went by and my dad became a bit of a connoisseur and I realized I actually really like wine. I still prefer red to white, or daytime wine, as a certain friend would say, but I enjoy a nice dry pinot gris on occasion.<br />
<br />
Long gone are the teenage days of sipping cheapass spumante out of plastic water bottles, although I semi-remember those days fondly. I generally know which grapes I enjoy now and we have hosted a handful of wine tastings. I even have a wine book to write all my notes in, although, I'll admit its level of neglect is somewhere on par with this blog's. But, I have one! And there are h̶u̶n̶d̶r̶e̶d̶s̶ dozens of wines in there.<br />
<br />
Living with MS means the thoughts of what to avoid consuming is a constant low level hum, but I tell myself it's a glassful of extra antioxidants. And it is. A delicious one.<br />
<br />
On the MS front, all is quiet. And by that, I mean I have the usual cast of characters at play but nothing new worth mentioning. There's only so much one can say about numbness or leg pain and if I find it mind-numbingly boring, I'm sure you're all...<br />
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The wide open space here gives me every opportunity to be active. As extra incentive, I use an app on my phone to track all the fitness stats. Those, plus a single glance at my dog send me out in the fields to get my heart rate up. If we're not outside by 10 AM (aside from her early pee breaks), I get the wags of doom near my mug of tea. Cold nose pokes. Moans of "I'm so bored" even though she's a dog and can't speak actual words. Her tenacity is a fabulous motivator.<br />
<br />
xo<br />
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P.S. I just got an end of day text from Nance "Dear wifey, I am so glad it is international wine day. Hitting the road for home now."<br />
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<br />Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-17886621182160512752016-02-18T12:17:00.002-08:002016-02-18T12:17:38.498-08:00alone<div dir="ltr">
Posting, even though this was stuck in drafts for ages.</div>
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<u>An</u> arm pushes from beneath a pile of rumpled blankets. The fist unfolds to release a white flag. The arm flails pathetically….</div>
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Fine, it's a germy tissue, but my surrender still stands.</div>
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Colds suck - the exhaustion, the sneezing, the burny eyes and nagging cough. Sucks. When a cold also makes your knees numb and triggers the feeling of carpet burn up and down the side of one arm - super sucks. I feel like my immune system goofed off at Hogwarts and learned half-assed spells intended to annoy me.</div>
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Okay, whining over. I am a day or two or three from kicking this virus's ass, thank jeebus. Mind you, I said that three days ago too. All hail Neocitran, the mighty god of fucked up dreams, but decent sleep.</div>
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Now if that carpet burn sensation could disappear, that'd be fab.</div>
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The daily snowshoes/hikes picked back up again yesterday, now that I can hold my head up and the brilliant ball in the sky doesn't make my eyes stream. If there is one fantastic perk of living here, that's it - the fields. I can open the door, throw on my snowshoes and walk with the dog for an hour without having to drive anywhere first. To the back of the field, down through the brambles, around a copse of evergreens and back again and my heart and lungs are hollerin'.</div>
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When I say "walk with the dog" I mean the dog is within sight at most times. That could mean 4 feet or 300 metres, so it's a loose phrase. She has superb recall, so it's fantastic to be able to let her run free. She likes to bull+china shop her way through the brier. Who needs the easy way when you can gleefully bulldoze your way around?</div>
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I am loving the walks. I'd like to wax poetic and regale you with stories of how the dog and I bond, traipsing side-by-side, but really, we're both in our separate worlds. She sniffs out every scattering of deer droppings and lifts a paw to tell me they're there. Thankfully, the days of wanting to roll in dung are years past us. [<i>Er, she was the one who used to roll in horseshit, not me. Granted, I have spoken a lot if it in my time.</i>] Or she trundles along sticking her nose into cat, bird, or even her own tracks, adding to her endless inventory of "cool stuff that was here recently".</div>
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The time with her is precious to me. I love watching her soak up the outdoors. When she stops to flop and floop around on her back in the hard packed snow, I laugh every time. It is the picture of joy. </div>
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And, for some reason, snowshoeing doesn't much feel like exercise when I pop out the door and get at it. If the snow is hard packed, I throw on heavy Sorels for the added heat and weight, and leave the rackets behind. I get the same lung joy as I would at the gym, without the mental effort it takes to work myself into it. It's just right there. There are no excuses...and I love it, so I don't try to make any. Me and my dog. And my MS, so I take my phone in case of emergency.</div>
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I was going to end this here, but friends have been asking how I feel living in the country, so….</div>
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I won't live here forever - I miss the ocean and my friends far too much - but this necessary move has offered up a unique experience that we are both trying to immerse ourselves in to the fullest. I felt isolated living in town. Not lonely exactly, that is a rare feeling for me, but alone. Now when Nance is away, I don't feel that at all, even though I am surrounded by nothing but fields of white and the whistling wind. It's easier to absorb being alone when you're surrounded by nature.</div>
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Loneliness is not a totally foreign concept to me. Because I'm on the far end of introversion, I rarely feel it from a social inclusion <u>perspective</u>, but I feel alone in MS on a semi-regular basis. I have the best support anyone could ask for, but Nance is not inside this head with me. I feel what I feel on my own. And while I like and need to communicate how I am, it's also a lot of effort to try to explain why I am not 100% in a given moment. Why I'm teary. Why I am flexing my hand or clearing my throat (most of the time I'm unaware of doing so). So, even if I let my wife into my head, which is my go to, sometimes I choose to be alone with it. And I've learned to be okay with that, for the most part.</div>
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So, I'm okay living here. Better than okay. I walked 6 km this morning with the dog and felt free. Myself. I'm not lonely here.</div>
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xo</div>
<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D1788662118216051275%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D1%3Bsrc%3Dpostname&media=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-MnRJLAsBKZc%2FVsYmXuAoSqI%2FAAAAAAAAAOA%2FIgD6uuNHrqs%2Fs320%2Fowl%252Bin%252Bsnow.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=wPddmF5ho9t9&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1110px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D1788662118216051275%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D1%3Bsrc%3Dpostname&media=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-MnRJLAsBKZc%2FVsYmXuAoSqI%2FAAAAAAAAAOA%2FIgD6uuNHrqs%2Fs320%2Fowl%252Bin%252Bsnow.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=wPddmF5ho9t9&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1110px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-81567908031697751092016-01-12T06:58:00.003-08:002016-01-12T06:58:37.463-08:00needIf all goes well, we have a family of five moving into our empty house in SJ today. They know no English, have next to nothing to their names except donated beds, a couch, and a TV, and they need pretty much everything you can imagine. Call us if you'd like to help.Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-84861388178869058992016-01-11T07:58:00.001-08:002016-01-12T06:56:05.589-08:00oh mickey, you are not so fine<div dir="ltr">
The electric furnace died.</div>
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For a few days it had been a little noisy on startup. On Wednesday past, it was louder than normal and we noticed the ducts were pushing a strange burning smell like the demise of a hairdryer. After the worst of the fetid furnace air, I turned the heat off completely. In January. In Northwest New Brunswick. By choice.</div>
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Thankfully, two of the rooms in the house - the den and the master bedroom - have electric baseboard heaters, so they groaned to life like Frankenstein's monster and kept us above freezing.</div>
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With the landlord's input, we called in an electrician. Lovely man. The good news is there was no need to turn the heat off. Bad news? The motor had already died. Not just worn bearings or in need of a drop of oil - flat out dead. </div>
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And speaking of lack of life, apparently the odiferous waftings were not simply the last gasps of a fading motor. Stuck to the elements like a miniature Salem trial were two tiny fried mice. Mice, not rice. Fried mice. That acrid smoke? Dead mice.</div>
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As you can probably glean, one problem evolved into two. What to do about effing mice. With small rodents, the rule is see one, count ten. If there were two in the crisper, there's a higher number throughout the home.</div>
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There were also two teeny corpses behind the chewed filter.</div>
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I am not afraid of rodents, but don't want to share my home with any tiny critters that carry serious diseases. Compromised immune system aside, we live in open territory, so deer mice aren't uncommon and those adorable fuzzballs can carry hantavirus. No, thanks.</div>
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The electrician recommended I call my husband and get him to bring home mousetraps. </div>
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In the meantime, things were getting chilly in New Denmark. Ringo seemed to think he was part of my outfit. My usual hoodie and jeans ensemble was not cutting it and I opted for extra layers. Did I mention we didn't order wood for the stove?</div>
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The electrician replaced the furnace motor after hunting down a suitable replacement. And the mouse situation is being addressed. Time to relax, right?</div>
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plink</div>
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plink</div>
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Tonight, while Nance was facing network connectivity nonsense, I noticed that the night's unseasonable +4 C downpour had triggered a major leak in the living room. The collective leaks were/are <i>[sadly, </i><i>ongoing at 11:49 PM</i>] over a large window, but water was pitterpattering from a crack in the trim, underneath that sill, and also from the edge of the pane. And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.</div>
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Two buckets with strategically placed supports, five towels, a sponge, and a smattering of f-bombs, and I think the leak is slowing to more of a drip than a stream. I am sleeping - or not, as the blog update shows - in the living room to empty the buckets when needed. At least the drips have rhythm. It's almost as if I can hear them telling me just what a fool I've been.</div>
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I feel bad for our landlord. She lives well away from here and is trying to sell this house. I can't imagine she was pleased to have to buy a new furnace motor, or to hear there's a mouse problem, or there's a floodgate over the biggest window in the house. Yay! At least we were here to tell her about the problems, I suppose. Better than busted pipes and a mouldy living room. Home ownership blows sometimes.</div>
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<i>1 AM update: still dripping and now it's blowing a 75 km/h gale and our curbside garbage can has pulled a Mary Poppins, </i><i>ffs</i>!<br />
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<i>1 PM update: sun is shining. Fascia is torn off the front of the house and where did all those shingles come from? Also, we have ladybugs now?</i></div>
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In lighter news, we had a grand visit with a friend and her very handsome pup over the weekend. Two large dogs under one roof is a combo that will always make me happy. A familiar face, wine, dogs - what more could you ask for?</div>
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Maybe a life preserver.</div>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-32506186444075217042016-01-05T07:08:00.000-08:002016-01-11T08:04:32.526-08:00danced in their heads<div dir="ltr">
After weeks of boozy, sugar-coated overindulgence, the holidays are swiftly coming to a close…</div>
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...unlike the zipper on my jeans.</div>
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Irish cream in morning coffee, social drinks nearly every day, snacky foods we don't eat year round - I'm all for Christmas cheer, but my clothes are starting to request danger pay. Back to better consumption habits, immediatement! If anyone craves tiny cupcake-shaped chocolates, please help yourself to our cupboards. Leftmost, top shelf.</div>
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Fortunately, we have isolation to help loosen our waistbands over the next few months. [<i>Covering my assets, I say "we" as my wife insists she is in need of a renewed eating plan as well. I'm not, in any way, suggesting </i><i>she needs</i><i> it.</i>] When you live in an area without neighbourhood corner stores or restaurants, meal planning becomes more important and somehow easier to stick to. </div>
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Not that we won't see anyone through the winter but we have a very small handful of friends within 300km of us. We'll surely get together with the friends we have here, but they have committed to better eating through the winter too. So, we are set up for success. Prepare for my utterly foul mood during sugar detox. I'm already finding myself scrambling to find something sweet in the morning and cursing Christmas cheer for letting sugarplum fairies lead the charge. Being removed from convenience can sometimes be a good thing.</div>
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Something happens to me in semi-seclusion. Without the distractions of TV and a social life, I tend to write and draw more. And I tend to write better. Not on this blog, mind you, but my pen or pencil stabs away at paper more. When you don't physically write much, it feels strange not to tap out your thoughts with fingertips. How odd.</div>
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It has always been this way. In my younger years I always wrote most when at the cabin. Being alone with my thoughts makes them louder. That's mostly a good thing.</div>
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My thoughts about MS have always been fairly quiet. Not that I don't have frustration or fears about having MS, but after my first year as a person with MS, my inner dialogue quieted to a murmur, for the most part. I have never been able to write about in in a concretely creative way. I have a half-assed poem about MRI claustrophobia but that's it. I have tried to write about having a (mostly) invisible disease, but it bores me. It's not interesting enough for me to put my energy into. I have wondered if denial keeps me from delving into that side of my life in a creative fashion, but I don't think so. Which sounds a lot like denial, right? </div>
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It seems fertile ground for many authors, some with MS. Silent struggle, bravery [<i>Raoul</i>], hope - it's all so self absorbed...unlike keeping a blog, of course. But I write about it here and that seems enough. I stay on top of the <a href="http://nationalpainreport.com/multiple-sclerosis-sufferers-benefit-from-high-levels-of-vitamin-d-8829078.html" target="_blank">research</a> (MS sufferers<span style="color: red;">*</span> benefit from high levels of vitamin D). I try to remain active and eat well, the last few weeks notwithstanding. But I can't romanticise a disease that has taken things from me. It doesn't anger me enough to work up artistic acrimony. It's upsetting and sometimes to a degree that few around me would guess, but I've never been one to work out my fears out loud or in any way other than straightforward. While I may pitch an internal hissy fit at new or worsening symptoms, I am accepting of MS and don't want to give it more room in my life than it deserves. </div>
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It is a gorgeous, cold day in New Denmark. At -28, the wind chill is a degree colder than yesterday's face blazing snowshoe. I have learned that one needs a balaclava to snowshoe across breezy, open potato fields once January hits. The Ireland walking tour is half a year away but has become motivation to get outside even in bitey weather. Even when sloth suggests I really, really don't want to. At all.</div>
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We three [<i>catface makes four, but he's anti-snow</i>] love being outdoors together, so this winter is going to add a lot of miles to the snowshoes. Nance has found a new spin class. We have the treadmill in the den. Now if only someone could hide the remaining snacks.</div>
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xo</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>authors and researchers need to stop using this language. We're people with MS before we're sufferers or patients. Get with the fucking times.</span></div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-42650697696335525032015-12-30T07:44:00.001-08:002015-12-31T11:41:54.835-08:00runneth over<div dir="ltr">
Another grand adventure under our belts and we stuffed ourselves to the brim with laughter.</div>
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We are back in New Denmark after a 10-day road trip to see some of the famjam during Santa time, and we packed a lot into those days.</div>
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On our whirlwind adventure we: </div>
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<li>Slept on cots in our house in Saint John </li>
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<li>Had a sudden hellish stomach flu (me)</li>
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<li>Met up with a handful of friends (Nance only for most of them. See list item b.)</li>
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<li>Watched an important basketball game. Go, Rush!</li>
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<li>Played tipsy ukulele with my brother. Nod to Angela for her fab recorder skills.</li>
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<li>Played Anomia and pictionary competitively...against children. Cutthroat. </li>
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MS note: actually having anomia does not make the game harder.<br />
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<li>Made our way to the city of pizza corners!</li>
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<li>Embraced the bounty of trails Halifax has to offer. We three miss living near sprawling parks like Point Pleasant or SJ's Rockwood. Just seeing Abbey on a beach for a few minutes made me tear up. I have to admit, though, our snowy potato fields are pretty good playgrounds too, even if you have to keep watch for coyotes.</li>
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<li>Shopped a little, but mostly gawked slackjawed at all the traffic, people, and shiny things</li>
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<li>Pretended we were everything from spaceships to British pigs and tickle monsters</li>
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<li>Visited with family (or tried to steal kittens, depending on your perspective) and watched tenacious adults struggle with 3D character puzzles for hours. I got a text after midnight showing Tinkerbell in all her 3D glory. When did kids' toys get so tricky?</li>
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It's been far too long since I spent quality time with some of dad's clan. Feels like home.<br />
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What else? We:<br />
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<li>Learned about the barbarous trading world of Shopkins</li>
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<li>Went to see Tina Fey's Sisters movie. Almost turned around and went back into the same theatre for a second viewing. So funny. </li>
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<li>Got soul refreshment in the piles and heaps of giggles that emanate from three-year olds, especially in the presence of nose thieves and toe snatchers</li>
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<li>Acquired peace of mind by trading in tiny car for transportation with all wheel drive - take that, Klokkedahl Hill.</li>
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<li>Oh, and we have 800 movies to watch thanks to the best brother-in-law ever! Winter just got cozier!</li>
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That's the short list. Top mentions go to sharing meals and stories with our siblings and being with a very happy little boy sometime before 7 AM on Christmas morning. Moments that matter.</div>
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On the MS side, I am moderately symptomatic, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I know I have not been getting adequate rest and hope that things get back to normal now that we're home and can gradually get our house in order again. Very much hoping to lose the nagging leg pain, but it doesn't impair my function, so there's that. Silver linings. </div>
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I loved every moment of our holiday hijinks, minus the stomach bug while sleeping on a cot, but it's also good to be back so we can unpack and start making this house feel like home. The adage that home is where the heart is has never felt truer. Home is with my little family, wherever we land.</div>
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merry ho ho</div>
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xo<br />
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Oh, did I mention we're doing an 80km walking holiday in Ireland in August? Maybe I did. Prepare for lots of whining about walking. Who am I kidding, I don't even update enough for "lots of" anything. ;)</div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-42523042819006801952015-12-09T16:05:00.001-08:002015-12-09T16:05:21.649-08:00walk this way<p dir="ltr">I took Abbey to a park this morning - we have a few hours of driving this afternoon, so I wanted to burn off some puppy power beforehand. As I popped out of the car and headed towards the few stairs that lead to a field, I stumbled. The boots I had on aren't made for snow. Two quick recovery steps to the left. Phew, righted, or so I thought. Two more quick recovery steps to the left. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It wasn't lasting. I didn't fall. I didn't hurt myself or anyone else. The scary part of those four seconds was that I was feeling fine. Rested. Present. Happy. And, just like that, I was reminded how MS can drop in for a quick chat out of the blue. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Now, I really want to blame it on this sinus thing that's brewing. No grip on my boots. Tired. But I am fairly certain none of those were to blame. I find it difficult to describe having MS when people ask. Some people lose mobility with MS. Some have impaired vision. While I have had affected ambulation and problems with my peepers, I mainly seem to get random weirdness that even WebMD doesn't cover [<i>see</i> <i>previous</i> <i>post</i>]. How do you describe this buckshot scatter of symptoms to people and help them understand? And is it worth sharing just how strange our bodies can be?</p>
Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-68113196772938623702015-12-08T11:12:00.001-08:002016-01-11T08:08:31.688-08:00life in a box<div dir="ltr">
I filled in one of those personality tests recently and one of the questions was about déjà vu and whether I find history repeating itself often..how foreshadowy.</div>
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Here we are, again, at the beginning of December, packing our worldly possessions onto bite sized pieces. Or, feasibly carrying sized boxes. It turns out that on a pleasant Sunday, as one sips coffee and contemplates life - or watches The Muppets, whatevs - one can be booted from one's comfort zone when a stranger pulls up out front and pounds a SOLD sign into the frozen earth of the front yard. That is the current sitch. <br />
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The house we were renting sold. We were given a month's notice once we tracked down the landlord to ask if there was something we should know. Unfortunately that month is December, a month packed full of travel and, y'know, Christmas. Soooo, back to the land of boxes and tape.</div>
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Thanks to a friend's connections, we were very fortunate in finding a new place to rent quickly - not everyone will rent to people with multiple pets. Very few would rent to us if they saw Abbey in all her boisterous glory. The owners of the new place, however, are animal people and had cats and dogs themselves. There's even a fenced in dog yard surrounding the back door.</div>
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So, where will we live, you ask [<i>let's</i> <i>pretend</i> <i>you</i> <i>were</i><i> </i><i>curious</i>]?! Well, we are moving to the even teenier town of New Denmark. Population somewhere between 400 and 1100, depending on your source. </div>
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We have started moving ourselves, one truckload at a time, and have made a lot of progress. I am happy to report that we'll have help with the rest of the large items. We moved two mattresses ourselves and learned that 90 year old houses can be tricky. For example, the stairwells are at supernatural angles that can make mattresses expand to triple their width and weight somehow. Fascinating, really. </div>
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It is a cute house and I look forward to making it home in the upcoming weeks, but boy what I'd give for a time machine right now. Or a magic wand. Where's Samantha's nose when you need it?</div>
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The distance from town will mean that I won't get to see my darling wife every day at noon. But rather than focus on the few dark clouds, here are a few of the highlights: there are miles and miles of snowshoeing trails. We won't have random dingdong dashing because we only have one neighbour. It's waaay easier to eat better when you have a decent drive to get to a store. The dog is going to be blissed out with her huge playground out back (read: someone's snowy potato fields).</div>
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One of the tough parts of a sudden move is my opportunistic friend, MS. I don't have the option of sitting back and relaxing, so I have been a little more symptomatic than usual. I have the strangest, grossest sensation of constantly feeling like there's a hair on my tongue at the back of my throat, even though there's nothing there. Ick doesn't begin to describe that. To make life slightly comical, my upper lip feels like it's bouncy. When I talk, there's a very noticeable vibration in my top lip as my lips meet. Bizarro. And, loathe not to live up to the blog name, my feet feel like someone else's again. Numb soles. That sounds more emo than intended.<br />
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I am taking care of myself. Trying to get to bed early. Meditating. I took a few days off of packing to be with Nance while she's on the road for work. Forced stoppage. It feels impractical not to be home packing but this is the smarter move. Today, rather than wrap dishes or bag shoes, I grabbed a fancy coffee, bought a new hat and brought Wonder Dog to a park. It was a stunningly beautiful time. Sunshine, snow, happy dog. Big smiles.</div>
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xo</div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-33850373828390983592015-11-06T13:44:00.001-08:002015-11-06T13:44:21.021-08:00stop pushing your muddy surfboard into my pantsSometimes I find myself saying the most ridiculous phrases to my dog. The title was today's winner.<br />
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Close tie: "put that Santa hat down and stop chewing your brother". That she had both the cat and the hat in her mouth at once shows talent.Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-73594398057725749052015-11-05T19:01:00.000-08:002015-11-06T07:27:36.577-08:00rings n thingsRadio silence over.<br />
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I like blogging but it's like going out for a walk in the rain - hard to take the first step. So, here I am, solo on a Thursday night, listening to the snore of one huge dog and trying to stiff arm the cat from having a nap on the laptop.<br />
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So, what's new in the life of me? I'm married! We had a great time planning the big day except for a few minor snags. The day before the wedding was less than ideal - hot HOT hot and a lot of people everywhere. It was decorating day. Their help was appreciated but I can only manage so much stress and extroverts (even the understanding, well-meaning, helpful ones) don't always get how just sitting quietly in a room full of people is extremely stressful sometimes - let alone when they're all calling your name. Add heat and my own million thoughts to process and you get me standing in the walk-in fridge repeatedly to gather myself.<br />
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Decorating day was fun with a mix of overwhelming moments stirred in. At times it felt like we bit off a bit more than we could chew and we were wondering if we had been overly ambitious in planning a wedding in a community we no longer lived in.<br />
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…but it turned into something spectacular! People genuinely seemed to have a blast. The photos tell the story of people having a great time with friends and new friends. The music was good. The food was amazing. Even the weather behaved (read: I didn't fall over in the sun). We had a ball from the ceremony into the wee hours. My wife looked stunning and I now take every opportunity to use that word. The only thing I'd change, given a time machine, would be to find more time to sit and talk to everyone. Or better yet, dance with everyone!<br />
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My shoes were well worn.<br />
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It was incredible and humbling to have so many loved ones travel to share in our day. Childhood friends to brand new friends - every face there was so appreciated. Our siblings spoke at the reception and both made us cry - touching and funny. Yeah, so, moving on because the screen's getting blurry as I think about it. They're great.<br />
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Sooo, married life is amazing. From an MS perspective, it's peace of mind for me - there's comfort in knowing that no one can question Nancy's role in my life if something were to happen to me (organ donation, cremation, beach scatter, for the record). But it's more than that (obvs!) - we have something great and it's a marker of that success. Between us, we have many certifications, medals, and honours - why not have one for our relationship? In our "non-traditional" (<i>snicker</i>) lives, it's a satisfying tradition to uphold - marry the person you can't live without. Would we have continued on down the road of happiness without these rings? Of course. But it's really great to have them.<br />
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Since the wedding we've been back and forth to the house (still for sale!) a few times. It's convenient to have an empty house to stay in, but boy wouldn't it be great to have it sold! We decided to actively look for tenants for the winter to try to offset some of the costs.<br />
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What else? The weather has cooled enough for me to get back into regular dog walks and that is so fulfilling. I love heading out into the world with her and seeing what fun we can find. I have needed a kick in the pants to get out more lately and the crisp air is just what the doctor ordered.<br />
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Speaking of kicks in pantseses, I've been frustrated by leg soreness since September. Not just now and then - it's a full time gig I didn't sign up for. I have some upper right arm weirdness too but it's quick spasms like that strange eye flutter everyone gets when tired - nothing too tricky. An annoyance more than anything. Every time I stand from a seated position, however, both legs are painful. I first noticed it the week before the wedding so it may be a stress-induced relapse. I also switched a few (non-MS) medications around then, so it could be related to that. Whatever it is, it's free to leave anytime!<br />
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I feel like my first few steps are those of an ancient woman - stooped, shuffling, and cringing. Not fun. Once the imaginary tin man shares his oil can, I'm fine and can keep moving without noticing it too much. It feels muscular sometimes and just plain nerve-painy other times. As I sit here and type I try to identify the sensation. It hides a little when I have the stimulation of the seat beneath me, but there it is - a deep, dull ache. I've been taking baths more than ever to try to ease it, even though I have a thorough understanding of chronic pain and realize that a bath won't hush the errant signals. Baths are soothing, though, so I tell myself to go soak for a while even when I couldn't be arsed.<br />
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I don't like to complain. No. That's not right - I do like to complain. In fact, it comes all too naturally to me but I don't want to become comfortable in complaints, so I try to keep them at a minimum. Mindfulness and all that. I share my leg pain and other symptom information for transparency. MS isn't something that only strikes me every few years in a relapse. It's distressing every day. Maybe I share those things here so I'm voicing them. Forcing myself to acknowledge MS. That said, I am very fortunate that mine is manageable. Thankfully, I haven't yet faced the big dementors of the MS world - depression, paralysis, blindness…if all I can complain about is this steady leg pain, I figure I'm still coming out on top.<br />
xo<br />
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<br />Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-27453388534326502802015-07-07T09:40:00.002-07:002015-11-05T18:01:12.927-08:00when skies are greyIt is currently 30 degrees in my living room and it's just past noon. Time to turn the furnace on to blow some cold basement air around! It's dusty, but it works.<br />
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Other people are all:<br />
<i>It's SO NICE to sit out in the heat!</i><br />
and I'm all:<br />
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Locals warned me about the hothothot summers here, and I witnessed a few days of it when visiting last year, but boy - it's been scorching these last few days! It's a tricky thing to manage with MS. I get serious cognitive dysfunction when my body temperature goes up, so it's hard to find motivation to leave the house. Last week Nance and I were out for a little walk with pooch and after around 25 minutes (mainly in the shade), the heat hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't feel it happening. I don't realize that I stop walking. I go from fine to waaay not fine like someone has thrown a shutdown command without a restart option. We went from sauntering up the hill to get home to me shuffling to the side of the road, foggy-brained, and annoyed with N for holding a water bottle too close to me.<br />
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It didn't dawn on me she was suggesting I drink some of it. Cog fog removes common sense processing. And I can't articulate my thoughts in those moments, which is the scariest part. I know I'm too warm, but can't think how to fix it on my own. Being dependent on someone else to recognize those signs is not ideal. I took a drink, found some shade and after a few moments someone pushed the On button again.<br />
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On the flip side of not wanting to seek out opportunities that may bring cog fog, exercise is of great benefit for those with MS (and…well, everyone), and I love being outside. These elements combined leave me in a pickle. Do I grab the soccer ball and run "suicides" with Nance? (no…tried that…bad idea for all kinds of reasons) Do I stay indoors and become resentful? Also, no bueno.<br />
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If someone can suggest an outdoor summer activity that keeps me relatively cool and is available in my current location (no swimming pools other than a small kids pool, don't even suggest it), lemme know. The beach used to be a great option since the ocean gave a cool breeze, we could walk, and the dog could get a swim in. Sadly, moving inland has struck that from the list of possibilities. My best idea so far is to carry an oversized patio umbrella around with me, but I'm not so sure that's socially acceptable.<br />
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And I'm told walking to get an ice cream does not count as exercise.<br />
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<br />Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-53901389613990456112015-06-19T12:26:00.003-07:002015-06-19T12:41:44.576-07:00new findingsWhat we know is never concrete and whole.<br />
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Nothing makes that more apparent than the recent discovery that our brain <a href="http://www.the-scientist.com/?articles.view/articleNo/43120/title/Brain-Drain/" target="_blank">has lymphatic vessels</a> that were previously undetected. Thousands of specialists may now have to rethink their understanding of the brain. For those unsure, one of the lymphatic system's functions is defence against foreign particles, microorganisms, and diseases via the immune system. One big filtration system. So, if that filtration system has some weird issue in a vital organ such as, let's just say, the BRAIN - bad things can happen.<br />
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It's a pretty big "wow!" moment and turns our understanding of the brain on its [apologies] head. The brain has a drainage system that no one knew about? Seriously? No one knew the tub had an open plug? All along, we thought that the blood brain barrier, something akin to a conniving barbapapa, from what I can tell, was the only entrance to the brain's home.<br />
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Another function of the lymphatic system is that of absorbing fat soluble vitamins, like vitamin D and transporting those substances to venous circulation. Still with me? Could drainage be the problem after all? Does this somehow explain why people with MS respond so well to vitamin D? Does this explain why or how CCSVI works for some? (the lymphatic system would eventually drain into the jugular)<br />
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What is happening?! How can all of this be? It's exciting and confusing at once!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-NXLi1Ml0VKNh5B1n3SoY4TOj74lc7hcoOrHfT84iTeIWPQ9J2JxG5Bo-0_as49ZSJUDU9p5PqXA97u66XxJhmipQwJ-prA9_xpxpI4GXxjTpnttvSMzrZfp3bYHgO8eIucK6bOH0o8X/s1600/What+is+happening%253F.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-NXLi1Ml0VKNh5B1n3SoY4TOj74lc7hcoOrHfT84iTeIWPQ9J2JxG5Bo-0_as49ZSJUDU9p5PqXA97u66XxJhmipQwJ-prA9_xpxpI4GXxjTpnttvSMzrZfp3bYHgO8eIucK6bOH0o8X/s1600/What+is+happening%253F.gif" /></a></div>
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Sure, anatomy textbooks have needed updates before (Belgium found a <a href="http://www.livescience.com/40981-new-ligament-found-in-human-knee.html" target="_blank">new knee ligament</a> just a few years ago), but this feels like a potentially huge leap forward for research. If there are lymphatic vessels in the brain, the blood brain barrier has a backdoor and we may be able to start understanding why - yes, why - some MS drugs actually work. Or, maybe, <i>maaaaybe</i> even start getting a better handle on causation. Dare I even conjure a whammy on that one?<br />
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Imagine if neurologists, immunologists, radiologists, and pharmaceutical companies all got on the same page! Don't roll your eyes at me; it could happen, right?<br />
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This finding may have a more immediate impact on people with Alzheimer's than it will for MS, but it is a very compelling piece of science either way. People with Alzheimer's are shown to have huge chunks of protein in the brain for no known reason. Now the number one suspect is a relatively straightforward drainage problem. So far, these lymph vessels have been found in mouse model studies and confirmed in human autopsy.<br />
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So, now we wait to see what comes of this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqW6lgk_HxPgZCXHRyp6cayYxt_fCLbm3Pc3DGTzrAzqNIQQgHBCNWDb1gCUOu-d4lsQMmhBlKRP4YA-a6JQ54-cR5A8yeh_PCIwKQbhi6s3vgjMoAtjzwusBRAoTOjXWIkymK8bQevQ4s/s1600/cookie-monster-waiting.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqW6lgk_HxPgZCXHRyp6cayYxt_fCLbm3Pc3DGTzrAzqNIQQgHBCNWDb1gCUOu-d4lsQMmhBlKRP4YA-a6JQ54-cR5A8yeh_PCIwKQbhi6s3vgjMoAtjzwusBRAoTOjXWIkymK8bQevQ4s/s320/cookie-monster-waiting.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Because something will. </div>
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To paraphrase Buddhist canon, "three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth".<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Noto Serif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 31px;">xo</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Fsrc%3Ddashboard&media=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-4balVWzyZYM%2FVYRrZxy8mXI%2FAAAAAAAAAHM%2FKkusFXSNyXo%2Fs320%2Fcookie-monster-waiting.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.36&xuid=NkgifsidJiRY&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1111px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8910934917019204178%23editor%2Fsrc%3Ddashboard&media=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-4balVWzyZYM%2FVYRrZxy8mXI%2FAAAAAAAAAHM%2FKkusFXSNyXo%2Fs320%2Fcookie-monster-waiting.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.36&xuid=NkgifsidJiRY&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1111px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8910934917019204178.post-67897143868086762472015-05-27T14:40:00.000-07:002015-05-27T14:49:38.718-07:00World MS Day 2015<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
In light of World MS Day, let me take a moment to talk about my least favourite question: How are you feeling? </div>
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(Close seconds being "how is your body?" [shudder] or "How is your MS?")</div>
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Don't get me wrong, I love how supportive my people are. I have super friends and family and the most amazing girl in the world behind me. But, for the life of me, I can't figure out how to answer this question. No one actually wants to hear "Well, I haven't felt my right shin in I dunno how long...and man, grabbing hold of the right word in the right moment is becoming increasingly harder." No one wants to read the boring litany of new MS research studies that never make it past studies on Mickey and Minnie.</div>
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This isn't a flu. It's not a cracked bone that can mend or a wound that will close. It's not like there's an -ectomy or -otomy to remove what I have. The answer is never truly "fine" - that would be a constant lie. Nor do I want to talk about my every twinge and ailment. So, what is there to say?</div>
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This disease will be with me for the rest of my very (universe-willing) long life. MS is chronic and progressive. I will, most inevitably, decline at some point. Marking that decline through small talk isn't high on my list of things to do.</div>
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My life is different. I've been rewired head-to-toe by a drunken electrician. Life is good but it is often a multitude of tiny struggles that defy description. </div>
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So, if you're wondering how I am, ask how I am. Please don't ask me how I'm feeling.</div>
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xo</div>
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Nikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10717531338967170604noreply@blogger.com0