Three years and counting

Today marks the 3-year anniversary of my hemorrhagic stroke.  It has become a day of reflection for me each year.

It’s been hard to focus on the good things for me this past year, despite how much good there was and is.  Depression and anxiety are words I never thought would find their way into my life, but they have; it happens and you just have to deal with it. I’m ok, but some days are harder than others.  I retreat into the safety of solitude and prayer when I’m not sure which way to go.

At three years post-stroke, my recovery is still ongoing but I’m physically strong and the damaged part of my brain is stable.  My left foot and lower leg are a constant reminder to me that I’m not the same, but I’ve learned and am still learning how best to care for them.  The biggest thing is to keep moving, strengthening, and stretching.  All. The. Time. New people I meet have no idea what happened to me, which is a great compliment they can’t tell. Words come easier, the brain fog is lifting a bit (when I can get enough sleep), and I’m strong from a lot of physical exercise and weight training.  I’m not cycling at this point; I tried it a few times and although I can do it, it takes so much focus it’s just not fun right now.  Maybe with some more time.

What I realized during the night though (another sleepless night, thanks #wyomingwind) is how remarkable it is that many of my movements and actions are completely automatic again.  There are hundreds of muscle movements in my left hand, arm, and leg that just happen now without my having to “tell” my brain what to do.  When I remember what a breakthrough it was for me to have enough wrist and finger movement to stack a couple of cones during PT at the rehab unit, under such intense concentration I was immediately exhausted, it’s pretty mind-blowing that I’m typing this at normal speed just like I used to pre-stroke.  Our bodies are incredible!

I can’t end my yearly reflection without thanking the love of my life for his undying  and constant support and encouragement.  He is my absolute, unequivocal rock.  Thank you Mark, my sweet love.

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor…Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”  -Rumi

Me at the Grand Canyon April 2015.  I did a 9-mile hike down and back up the Bright Angel Trail, a feat a brain hemorrhage survivor like me doesn’t take for granted.
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Chained Together

Mike and Paula have been friends of ours since our kids were preschoolers.  We really missed them when they moved to Worland, WY some years ago. We’ve always kept in touch and see each other on occasion.  They are treasured friends.

Their nest has emptied and, with both their kids now in college at the University of Wyoming, they are off on a transcontinental tandem cycling adventure, crossing the United States from Anacortes, Washington to Brunswick, Maine.  I’m very excited for them and wanted to share a link to their blog, so you can follow them too!  They will be posting updates as they go, and you can sign up for email alerts when new posts are added.

Mike and Paula begin their journey tomorrow, May 27, 2015.  Follow them here, at Chained Together : Paula and Mike’s transcontinental tandem tour

Mike and Paula, best of luck to you both.  Here is my wish for you:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand. (-an old Irish blessing)

Stay in touch, cycling friends!

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Then and Again

In the spring of 1987, I was an awkward junior in high school. On a blustery day  in April or May, I took a road trip with my Mom from our hometown of Sheridan, Wyoming, to Laramie, Wyoming, to visit my older brother, who was attending the University of Wyoming. At the time, I was delving into the world of photography for the first time, taking a photography elective at school and learning to see the world from a different perspective.  My school-owned 35mm film camera went everywhere I did.  It was on this trip that Mom stopped along a desolate patch of Interstate 25 near mile marker 228 so I could run up the side of the hill to photograph an old homestead.

I-25 runs north-south beginning in Buffalo, Wyoming, and continues south until its exit into Colorado just south of Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I’m just old enough to remember the construction of the interstate, and what it was like to make the 8-hour trip from Sheridan to Denver, CO on the “old” two-lane highway when I was a child.  Throughout the state, many sections of the “new” Interstate re-routed drivers to new landscapes and away from small towns previously reliant on business from travelers; notably, the small oil town of Midwest.  Just before the southbound exit for Midwest at about mile marker 228 lies the remains of the old homestead.  It’s easily noticeable from the road because of the two cottonwood trees planted on either side of the house, the only two trees for miles around.  But you have stop, get out of the car, and walk to the top of the hill before the old house can really be seen.

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View of the homestead as seen from I-25. Photo courtesy of Google Maps

I took one or two rolls of film that trip.  In those days, film was expensive and shots were planned.  You didn’t waste film, because bad shots couldn’t simply be deleted.  I processed and printed the pictures myself in the darkroom at my high school.  The picture of the house became part of a photo essay about Wyoming landscapes (I got an A), and afterward, was packed away in an accordion folder with most of my other high school photography work for many years.

I now live in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and have made the trip between my current home back to Sheridan, where my Mom and old friends still live, many times over many years.  Each time, I see the old homestead and have watched with equal parts sadness and fascination as it deteriorates.  One year, the porch roof finally fell, and the front door was obscured by the roof blocking the entrance.  Several years later, the back wall of the house fell in, and the two side walls remained, precariously holding up what was left of the roof.  A few years ago, the tree on the north side of the house died, but remains standing.  Finally, in the last year or two, the remaining walls collapsed, leaving a sad reminder of someone’s history at the mercy of the harsh Wyoming elements.

And who’s history is it?  The old homestead has sparked discussion between me and my husband over the years as we drove by.  Who lived there?  Someone once took pride in the old place.  It’s fenced, complete with welded pipe gates at the front and back of the house.  I seem to recall there used to be a clothesline, or the remains of one, in the yard.  When was it settled?  Why did they leave?  Were they ranchers?  Did children grow up there? Did they go into Midwest, which is several miles east of the property, to shop and interact with the community? Does someone still own the property?  Do they go visit the homestead? Interestingly, although I-25 now runs quite close to the homestead, the older roads do not go near it.  The home had to have been accessed from its own road or trail which most likely connected to a local county road.

As I look at the picture of the homestead in its current condition, I’m struck by the profound changes of time.  Yes, it’s sad that the old house has fallen and one of the trees has died.  After all, I can only imagine what kinds of memories were made within the tar-papered walls.  Maybe some were good memories, maybe some were not.  Perhaps the rooms were lit with oil lamps and warmed with a coal stove as the notorious Wyoming wind shrieked outside during winter.  Possibly, hand-sewn cotton-print curtains hung in the windows and billowed softly as a summer breeze cooled the home on hot days. Conceivably, all those memories are still alive in someone’s mind, but they may also be gone forever with the passing of whomever lived there.

There’s something kind of beautiful about how this place, and hundreds of other abandoned places around our state, have reached the end of their lives naturally.  Not razed by loud, dusty yellow iron making way for new progress, not remodeled into something newer but not quite its old self, not burned, dismantled, or otherwise assisted into decay by people.  There it all lays, naked and barren, a pile of lumber and nails not terribly unlike the pile of lumber and nails it began as.  It’s not morbid, it’s just the circle of life, Wyoming style. Windblown, cold, and forever West.

The homestead, photographed in 1987 and 2015.

The homestead, photographed in 1987 and 2015.

Postscript: Just out of curiosity, does anyone know anything about the old homestead?  I’m most interested in learning something about its history or the people that once lived there.

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The Reluctant Cyclist

Our daughter Lauren was first introduced to life in a family of cyclists by riding in our old yellow and red Burley, which is a pull-behind trailer, snugly fastened in her baby carrier.   She soon grew into toddlerhood, and the baby carrier was replaced with pillows, books, stuffed Beanie Baby cats, juice, and snacks.  All these items had to be present in order for her to be agreeable about getting in the Burley.  If any ingredient was missing, we might be far away from home and hear an insistent little voice coming from behind her Dad’s bicycle, “I’m hungry!”  or  “I want something to drink!” The insistent little voice had no patience for the fact that her father had to find a safe place to stop, pull over, and meet her important demands.  It was just easier to have everything packed in the elastic Burley pockets so she could help herself.  The pinnacle of her Burley experience occurred one year we participated in the Moonlight Classic ride, a night ride beginning and ending in downtown Denver.  We packed the Burley as usual so she’d be happy, with the addition of a lantern hanging from one of the interior support bars of the Burley.  She got a lot of attention in the middle of the night from fellow riders and onlookers as she happily snacked on goldfish crackers and read her books by lantern light while we pedaled along.  She was in love with this arrangement.

But growing too big for the Burley meant that it was time for Lauren to learn to ride her own bike.  This was not exactly how she planned to participate in her family’s favorite activity.  Pedal on her own?  Keep up with her older brother?  Impossible! (The latter is certainly true, none of us can keep up with him).  That would mean exercise and (gasp) work!

We collectively set out to try to teach and encourage Lauren to ride her bike.  We bought her the quintessential pink sparkly girly bike with training wheels, which she liked to look at and play with, filling the polka dot basket with either stuffed cats or real cats. As long as she didn’t have to get on the bike herself, she liked it just fine, thank you very much.   Her brother Dan, who was about 8 at the time, did his best to cheer her on, running alongside her on the patio, and even helping her push her foot down on the pedals when she couldn’t get going. Teaching her wasn’t easy.  There were a few tears.  There was even more whining.  But mostly there was a lot of just-not-interested.  We lamented to ourselves that she might not really get the hang of it and if she did, she probably wouldn’t be joining us on rides.

It was ok with us if she didn’t want to be a cyclist like the rest of us; to each his own after all.  We finally decided we only wanted her to simply learn how, just as a life skill she should have.  What she did after that was up to her.  She reluctantly did learn how, and that was the end of her bike-riding days for several years.

Lauren watched her brother become immersed in cycling throughout his high school years.  He got a job at a bike shop at 15, and continued to work there until he graduated.  He commuted to work and school year-round, defying weather and gas prices.  He mountain-biked several times a week, raced a little bit, and talked a lot about bikes in general, all the time.  A running joke at our house was, “Dan says, if  [insert personal or world problem here], ride your fixed gear.”  In other words, riding was the solution to everything.  This constant barrage of bike talk and culture between her brother and parents must’ve rubbed off on her.  Last summer she decided she wanted to dip her toes into the world of bikes, so she started to ride a bit with him.  First it was just around the neighborhood, then maybe to the nearby gas station, then to the grocery store.  It soon became clear that the years of worn-out hand-me-down bikes from Dan were over and Lauren needed her own bike.

We surprised her last summer with her very own, brand-new Trek 7.2 city bike, a perfect all-around choice for her, and found on sale, easy on our wallet in case things didn’t work out.  Suddenly, a whole new world opened up for her.   She discovered she could ride by herself to the store to get her own snacks anytime she wanted (some things never change).  She discovered she didn’t have to wait for someone to give her a ride somewhere, she could just go.  She discovered that sweet taste of freedom that is so very unique to cycling.

Recently, Lauren, now 16 and on the cusp of getting her driver’s license, was at our church helping her youth group when I received a text asking to ride to a friends’ house.  I OK’d the trip and asked her to text me when she got there, knowing that she had a couple of busy streets to cross.  My phone beeped upon her arrival and she wrote, “It was fun!”  I re-read those words several times, smiled, and jokingly replied, “Who is this and where is my daughter?”

Turns out she discovered the very best thing of all about cycling.  It was fun.  That’s the beautiful, simple joy about being on one’s bike that we never expected she would experience, and we’re so happy for her.  She tells me she wants to keep riding even after she gets her driver’s license.  I hope she does; for either transportation, enjoyment, or both.

Welcome to cycling, Lauren.  It IS fun. And you can have snacks.

Lauren and Dan (in front) on her maiden ride with her new bike.

Lauren and Dan (in front) on her maiden ride with her new bike.


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Non-dairy Fruit Smoothie

_MG_1778I’ve been enjoying a wonderful smoothie almost every morning for a couple of years now, and it occurred to me that this might be a great recipe to share with others.  It’s my own recipe, based on advice from a nutritionist and my own experimentation.

This smoothie is so simple and tastes great.  A perfect way to start the morning, especially if, like me, you don’t want to have a heavy breakfast but know you should eat something.

Get at least 3 servings of fruit, more than 4g of protein, 1130 mg potassium, and 13g fiber in each smoothie!  And at about 500 calories per smoothie, this is a smoothie that will hold you over until you have a sensible lunch.  Research shows that a breakfasts of 400-500 calories  and extra protein make it easier to stick to a diet.(1)

Avocado? In a smoothie?  The avocado does a nice job of balancing out the sweetness of all the fruit.  It’s also the ingredient that makes the smoothie so creamy, in place of yogurt or other thickeners.  Avocados are also an excellent source of protein, helping make this smoothie more of a meal than a fruit drink.

Juicing is very popular right now, and there are advantages and disadvantage to juicing vs. whole blending.  With this recipe, I like getting the benefits of the entire fruit, fiber and nutrients combined.  Like most everything in life, it’s best to either juice or blend in moderation.  Neither method can make up an entire diet and be healthy. For some helpful information on juicing vs. blending, read these articles:

But now on to the recipe!  Here’s how I make mine – amounts are approximate.  Experiment with your own frozen or fresh fruits.  Sometimes if I’m out of avocado I’ll add spinach or kale for that green kick.  Enjoy!

1-2 C Blue Diamond Unsweetened Almond Milk: 1C (100 g) = 40 calories, 1g fat, 1g carb, 0g cholesterol, 0g sugar

1 med banana = 105 calories, go fat, 21g fat, 27g carb, 0g cholesterol, 14g sugar

1/2 avocado = 113 cal, 12g carb, 0g cholesterol, 0g sugar

3/4 C frozen peaches 3/4 c = 50 cal, 0g fat, 13g carb, 0g cholesterol, 10g sugar

3/4 C frozen mixed berries 1c = 80 cal, 0 fat, 0g cholesterol, 21g carb, 9g sugar

1.  No More Excuses: Breakfast Recipes for Every Morning,
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Seven ways to get more super-healing turmeric in your diet

I love learning about new superfoods that have anti-inflammatory benefits.  Here is an article (based on information from several sources) I found about Turmeric and easy ways to add it to your diet.  I’m going to try it out!

 Seven ways to get more super-healing turmeric in your diet.

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Talking cycling with stroke survivor and Paralympian Steven Peace |

This guy is a hero to me.  Doesn’t let anything stop him.  Ride on!

Talking cycling with stroke survivor and Paralympian Steven Peace |.

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World Stroke Day

Today, October 29, 2013, is World Stroke Day.  In my own effort to bring awareness, I wanted to post a great infographic I saw yesterday on Facebook, via the National Stroke Association.  

Stroke is preventable in many cases, but not mine.  While heart problems, poor diet, and lack of exercise can be contributors to Stroke, this is not the case for me.  There is actually very little regarding cause that I have in common with my fellow stroke survivors. But the thing I do have on common is the effects on my mind and body. That’s why I like this infographic so much.

The reason I want to post this information is to help people understand a little bit what it’s like to live with Stroke.   I’m incredibly blessed, my brain has healed a lot and I’ve recovered so much function that most people who meet me don’t know this ever happened to me.  So many other Stroke survivors are not as lucky.

Everything that is listed in this infographic has happened to me.  Some effects lasted a few days, or a few weeks, then I recovered function.  Other effects persist to some degree, as I approach my 11-month anniversary.  My point is, you can’t always see Stroke right away.  If you know someone who has had a stroke, (or you know me!) please be aware: things that might seem “not quite right” with your friend or loved one are most likely just an effect of the stroke.  They are still the same person they’ve always been on the inside, no matter what manifestations the Stroke has presented.  



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Tomato-less, Potato-less Beef Stew

One of the most inconvenient things about changing to an anti-inflammatory diet a couple of years ago is not being able to enjoy the chili, soups, and other delicious tomato-based, potato-ful comfort foods my family enjoys during the fall and winter.  It’s not fair to the rest of the family to eliminate those favorite dishes from their diet too.  Tonight, feeling creative and not really wanting to make two different dinners, my husband and I decided to create a stew that I could eat; no tomatoes, potatoes, peppers.  Luckily, I had the presence of mind to write it down so I can share it with you.  It was so tasty, we will be adding it to our regular comfort food repertoire!

A word about ingredients used: We used pearled barley, so this is not a gluten-free recipe.  This makes a large batch in the crockpot.  I’m all about freezing leftovers for quick meals later on.  I used veggies we had from our garden, except for the green beans.  I think using what you have on hand that’s fresh is the way to go…have fun experimenting!

 Tomato-less, Potato-less Beef Stew


1/2 c flour

Olive oil to coat skillet

1 1/2 lbs. beef stew meat

5 1/2 c beef broth

2 small white onions, chopped

2 c (1/2 small) butternut squash, diced into 1” pieces

1/2 c celery, chopped

12 oz. frozen green beans

1T minced garlic

3 carrots, sliced into coins

1c pearled barley, uncooked

2 bay leaves

1 1/2 t thyme

1 t fennel seeds

1/2 t coriander

  1. Place flour and stew meat in gallon ziploc bag.  Shake to coat, adding more flour if necessary.
  2. Add stew meat to lightly oiled non-stick skillet and brown. Remove from skillet and add to crockpot.
  3. Add remaining ingredients to crockpot.  Cook 3-6 hours.  Before serving, remove bay leaves and salt and pepper to taste.

I hope you enjoy this stew as much as we did, my first time publishing my own recipe!  We loved how the squash and barley made the stew creamy and rich.  No one missed the tomatoes or potatoes. The spices added just the right amount of highlight to make all the flavors come together.

If you make my stew, please come back and comment.  I’d love to know if you liked it, tried substitutions, etc.

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Keep Moving Forward

My journey back to cycling since my hemorrhagic stroke (a brain bleed, not clot-related) has not gone like I had imagined it.  When I was in the first few months of my recovery, I looked ahead to the end of Summer 2013 and figured I would be riding 65-mile day tours just like I had at the end of Summer 2012.  But my body has not recovered exactly like that.  This reality has forced me to analyze my attitudes about goals and what they really mean to me.

The first time I got on a bicycle after the stroke was about five months into my recovery.  My left leg was still pretty wobbly, and I knew I wasn’t ready for my road bike.  I ventured out on my old hardtail mountain bike, with my husband and son in tow.  Everything felt marginally okay, until I had to stop.  I put my leg down to stop, and it crumpled up underneath me. I realized that my body and my bad leg did not remember how to stop.  It’s hard to explain, but my muscles didn’t know what to do.  Although I knew in my head how to stop, knew what it felt like and could envision it, I had to start over from square one like a child riding her bike for the first time.  I learned to think through the stop from start to finish, step by step.  It wasn’t easy, and it took a lot of practice.  Time passed, and finally I was ready to try clipping in on my road bike.  I spent over an hour starting and stopping in my back yard on the grass, so I could fall without getting hurt (which I did a lot).  Finally, I was starting to get it again, awkward as I was.  My long-term goal of just going out for a ride was waylaid by this whole start-and-stop problem that I didn’t expect.

Last summer I was a 42-year old,  in the best physical condition of my life, enjoying my 6th year as a recreational road cyclist.  Multi-day tours with mileage averaging 60-80 miles, day tours of at least 65 miles, and training rides of 20-30 miles were my norm until the stroke.  I even finished my first century two summers ago and planned on doing more.  These are humble accomplishments in the cycling world, for sure.  But to go from that state of physical condition to where I am now has been a dramatic adjustment.  I really had to change how I envisioned my recovery.  ‘Out’ was the unrealistic goal of riding the 65-mile Tour of The Moon my husband and I had enjoyed so much in October 2012, or most of my other favorite summer tours. ‘In’ was the goal of completing a ride without falling on my mountain bike.  Next goal was getting back on the road bike.  Next was completing a training ride without falling, and so on.  Right now I’m up to about 35 miles on my road bike, no falls and getting more and more confident with starts and stops. My last riding goal for the summer is to simply participate in the Venus de Miles Colorado for the sixth time.  I won’t be able to do century or metric century as in years past, but I can still ride it.  Small goals, small victories.

I’ve gone through most of life with big goals, and not ever had a problem with how I’d set them or attained them. If I worked hard enough, I reached them.  This time though, I don’t have total control over how my body is healing.  I can only work very hard and let time do the rest.  We’ve all had failures and have to learn how to deal with them in our own way.  Failure doesn’t have to become a reality, though, when goals are just a little smaller.  Reaching those small goals is just as satisfying as reaching the large ones; the important thing is to keep moving forward.

Keep moving forward.

Keep moving forward.

Those three words are what have kept me grounded throughout this entire recovery.  Those three words are what reassure me that no matter how small my goal might seem, it’s worthwhile and fulfilling to reach it.  No matter how little a step forward might seem, it’s still further along than before. Whatever your goal was or is, try not to dwell on looking back or worrying about the far-ahead future.  Step by step, small accomplishment at a time, you will get to where you need to be. Just keep moving forward.

“Go back?” he thought. “No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!” So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.” 

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit


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