A Migraine & A Farm

I just made a McDonald's migraine run.  What that means is that I woke up with a pretty good migraine today (6/10) and part of my arsenal for treating a migraine involves eating a salty/greasy breakfast with a fountain coke - even if I have to sometimes force myself to eat.  The drive-thru people were looking at me all weird so I can image that I have that lovely migraine-induced look of derangement.

"One Egg McMuffin meal with a coke, please."

And I'm sure they were judging me for ordering a Coke at 8am. 😩

Today will be a salty food, caffeine-fueled kind of day.
Which sounds sort of fun minus the stabbing pain in my head.

JP and I have been kicking around some life-changing ideas lately...



like potentially selling our house to move to a place that's an easier commute for him - he crosses the Delaware Memorial Bridge each day so enough said there - and has a whole lot of country for my artwork.

Which is how we wound up walking around a farm on Saturday.

Yes, that's right...a farm.  I happened upon it for sale on Realtor.com on Saturday morning and by lunchtime we were traipsing through its acreage while awaiting the real estate agent to arrive to show it.

There were multiple outbuildings that were seemingly made of the stuff I dream about (and create artwork about)...like the most weathered, breathtaking barn wood everywhere.  Like big open sky and big old trees to rest under.

I was in love and probably would have signed on the dotted line right then and there...until we went into the house.

Very unfortunately, the owners had rented it out and let's just say that the renters did not treat the house very well.  I wouldn't say it was trashed but it was significantly gross.  I am easygoing when it comes to houses; I can deal with a lot and can always see potential even when others can't, but I could not get past this house's ick factor.  This was a tragic shame because exteriorly the house was terrific.

Afterward, we went out to lunch and mulled things over.  What if we had a professional company do a clean out?  What if we did this or that?  The answers kept coming up with a lot of no's and so my heart broke a little bit because I was really liking the idea of owning a farm.

But, for real?  Do we really want to buy something that's going to commandeer 95% of our free time at this stage of the game?  Because, let's be honest, if JP and I owned a farm, we would then just have to own a cow...a horse...a couple of goats, etc.  JP would have to indulge his love of tractors so there'd be a bunch of farm equipment to maintain..

The short answer is No, it would be foolish to buy a farm now.  No one in their right mind would advise us otherwise.

Which means nothing to us, of course.

This farm was not the right one for us but if I stumble upon another with a better house in the right area?  Well, who knows what might happen?

 

Andrew Wyeth Exhibition

We spent part of JP's birthday on Friday 8/25 at the Andrew Wyeth Exhibition, Brandywine River Museum of Art in Chadds Ford, PA.

I have no words to express my awe.
To be in the presence of these works was tremendous...so much so that I got a little bit overwhelmed at first upon entering the exhibit.

To say that I adore Andrew Wyeth would be a silly understatement.

Seeing his actual work 3 inches from my face was nothing short of a privilege - like being let into his house and world.

The exhibit included works from all the Wyeths - Jamie, N.C., Carolyn, Henriette + several of N.C.'s proteges.  Amazing.

.

I bought a print of this one - it's one of my most favorites

The infamous Christina of Christina's World

The exhibition runs until September 17th and so if there is any way you can get there by then I implore you to do so.

I spend a lot of time in the Chadds Ford area and any time spent there - if you can arrange it - is time well spent, I promise you.

Scenes from the breathtaking museum itself:

If you go, be sure to walk around the premises and do visit the gift shop where you can purchase prints at very reasonable prices.  I don't think there are very many places at all where Wyeth prints can be gotten.  I bought this one, of course - because of my obsession with everything moon. 18x19, $35.00:

For more information about the exhibit, click ---> Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect

Clean Your Room

August's Simple Little Giveaway

I need your help growing my reach so from now until the end of the month, every SHARE of any of my images on my Facebook page and new NEWSLETTER SIGN UP will be entered to win this 3.5"x 2.25" double-sided keychain featuring my "HANGING AROUND JOANNE'S HOUSE" piece.

Share 1 of my images = 1 chance to win Share 10 of my images = 10 chances to win, etc...



 

The "Experts" Are Anything But - Please Stop Listening To Them

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Written by me in 2014.  I have since had 5 solo, month-long art shows at The Globe + various other venues.  Please please please read this...and read it again (and again) until its message sinks in, hits home, kicks you in your butt, etc.
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Yesterday my husband and I installed my final art show/sale of 2014 at The Globe, an historic former theater that is now a very hip and very popular restaurant/bar/art gallery located in Berlin, Maryland.

It's a huge show; 71 pieces of my artwork ranging in size from 24x36 (6 of this size!) down to little tiny 4x4 squares that are part of a 9-pc set of varying sizes ($100 for the set - a bargain!) spread throughout the entire two-level building.

This is my second show/sale there.  I also headlined there last year at this time.  That first show/sale was so successful that they invited me back this year, again at the busiest time of the year when galleries exhibit those who best serve the shopping season.

How successful was last year's show, you ask?  Let's put it this way: I was supposed to be in there from Thanksgiving until New Year's.  I wound up being in there until March.  The longest running show they've ever had.

Am I tooting my own horn?
You bet I am - but not for the reasons you might think.



Well, not totally for the reason you might think.  ;-)


I am tooting my own horn because I want to tell you - in one word - how all of this came about:  postcard.

Yep, one single postcard has given me two amazing opportunities to headline my own solo show at the most prominent art space in a town that was voted 2014's Coolest Small Town In The US by Budget Travel magazine.

All I did was send postcards out to places I thought my art would fit into.  On the back I had printed a message that said something about being available for shows and sales and retail opportunities.  I wrote a couple of lines that just said that I'd love for them to check my work out. That's it.

Ah, sweet naïvete.

You see, the "experts" will tell you to not ever make the very amateur mistake of sending out postcards to galleries and shops.  They will scoff at you for even considering doing this.  No self-respecting artist who wants to be taken seriously would ever do this because all it will lead to is having your postcard tossed directly into the trash without anyone ever so much as glancing at it is what the self-proclaimed art business gurus will tell you.

Well, maybe they're right, if you are the type of high-fallutin' artist who straight out of the gate thinks your art should be featured in a gallery on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan where the cheapest piece sells for thousands of dollars.  Then, no, a postcard probably won't work for you.

But if you're a humble artist who doesn't say "no, it sucks" when people tell you that your artwork is really good or great (I hate people who do this.  Why are you even creating art then?!  It's like people who are a size two but complain about being fat.  Stop, please.) and you should sell it...and if you are a humble artist who needs a break, just one simple break...and if you want to keep your prices reasonable so the average person can actually afford to buy some art...and if you are not a wuss who isn't afraid to just put yourself out there, to take a chance, to throw the dice and see where they land...than YES, those "experts" and "gurus" are wrong.

I mean, come on...by now you should know that if there were some set of rules to follow that would guarantee success, everybody would be following them and riding off into the sunset, right?

Those rules don't exist.
The rule is that there are no rules.

Let me say that again:  THERE ARE NO RULES.

Oh, and while you're thinking about all of this, I beg you to reconsider what your definition of success is if it has anything at all to do with money.  Yes, I am serious.  Very serious.

I can say with complete confidence and truth that I am a wildly successful artist.
My artwork makes people happy and I know this because on almost a daily basis they make it a point to reach out and tell me. 

Something I do brings people happiness.
Tell me what defines success more than that.
There's not a price you can put on that.  And if I make some money along the way, that's just bonus.
I am not saying I don't want to make money - that would be ridiculous.  With my artwork I make money and I also make people happy and I'm telling you that the latter is what makes my soul sing.

It's a motivation thing and in all likelihood what motivates me (with my art and in life) is way left of center, which is usually how it goes with me.

I'll probably never wind up in a gallery on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan sipping wine and nibbling on cheese with the haut monde but that's not where I belong anyway.  Try and know where you belong; that's kind of important.

I'm good where I'm at right now:  meeting people, having fun, and making pretty pictures that make people happy.

And sending out postcards.

Ooh Ooh That (Fake) Smell

Do you know the smell when something is burned beyond recognition on a grill? Like when you're heating up the grill and the old funk on the grates is burning or when you burned the hell out of a frying pan? That is the smell that is stuck in my head right now.

Mind you, I am not really smelling this as I do not have the ability to smell anything.

It's called phantosmia and it's part of being anosmic (loss of smell).

Phantosmia is an an olfactory hallucination, it's smelling an odor that is not actually there.
Most of the time the "smells" associated with phantosmia are not pleasant.
And although the smell is not real, it might as well be because I am nauseous from "smelling" this for the past few hours.
My eyes are even tearing from it.
There's nothing I can do to alleviate it; I can only wait it out.

#Anosmia #LossOfSmell #AnosmiaStinks


 

That "Poor Girl" Thing

One of my endeavors operates under the name "Poor Girl".  You might see that name if you visit the my website, for example.  I wanted to explain a little bit about where that name came from.

I'll start with misfortune.

Whenever something bad happens to a person, someone inevitably will say or think or insinuate "that poor girl" (or woman/girl/child/man/boy/person/etc)".

As someone who has had more than her fair share of misfortune (which you will likely eventually hear about as this blog journal progresses 😏), that phrase has been used about me more times than I'd like to admit.  It has always made me very uncomfortable as pity is not something I aspire to attain; also, I come from a long line of victims and since I am the black sheep of the family, am vehemently opposed to being a victim of anything or anyone.

You see, it seems to me that every single bad thing that's ever happened to me has taught me a valuable lesson that I never would have learned if I hadn't gone through the bad thing.


Of course, I am not saying that I am walking around hoping for bad things - God forbid - just so I can learn and grow and evolve.  But bad things are inevitable and if our eyes are open and we're paying attention to our own lives, it is from those things that we learn not only our most valuable lessons, but through them we experience endurance, fortitude, integrity, insight, and the list goes on and on. Maybe the bad thing wouldn't be as bad if we remembered to look for the lesson(s).

I used to a be the senior editor of many world famous reference books and publications.  Then I got sick and the stress and demands of that position were making me worse so I had to give up my career.
I remember sitting home a week or two after my last day at the publishing house and all of a sudden the thought "well, who am I now?" popped into my head.  It was a pure "poor girl, had to give up her high-paying, status-filled career" moment.  I panicked.  I thought that I had lost my identity because my identity had become so wrapped up as Sharon, Senior Editor.  Thankfully, I forced myself  to get over it - and get over myself - and realize that my life is not my job/job title.  I can't tell you how many amazing experiences and endeavors I have since had and would have missed out on if I had stayed stuck in an office dealing with corporate bureaucracy and insane deadlines as Sharon, Senior Editor.

I would not be who I am if not for all the times I was a "poor girl".

I'll finish with financial.

In one of the Real Housewives shows, someone says "I was poor, then I was rich, then I was poor again.  Rich is definitely better."  I couldn't agree more...just maybe for a little bit of different reasons.

When I was very little we were real deal poor.  My divorced mother was a waitress in NJ diners.  She received $25 a month from my father for child support and I don't think that was paid regularly. Needless to say, we were on welfare.  She shopped at Goodwill.  Sometimes we ate lumpy farina or baloney with onions or something called Shit On A Shingle for dinner (ground beef cooked in flour/milk gravy served over white bread).  We weren't alone in being poor and I don't ever remember lamenting over our poor-ness.  Seemingly everyone in our Elizabeth, NJ neighborhood was in the same or similar boat.

Around the time I was 5 or 6, my mother met my future stepfather and - POOF!- suddenly we weren't poor anymore.  Actually we were pretty well-off, definitely wealthy, maybe even rich.  My step-father was a successful Italian mason contractor and we didn't want for anything.  I was plucked out of school every winter as we snowbirded our way to Miami Beach for a few months.  As luck would have it, I won the Stepfather Lottery and was the apple of his eye almost immediately.  I was his shadow, where he went I went, and man did he love to spoil me.

Logically, I should have grown up and continued with that kind of life but it didn't work out that way. I chose what I naïvely thought was love over logic and that left me with a serious cash flow problem many, many (many) times.  Like, rob-Peter-to-pay-Paul-so-that-Paul-doesn't-turn-off-the-electricity kind of problems. (I was always too proud to ask my parents for bailouts.)  I married way too young the first time which was an unhappy and short-lived marriage (but I did get an amazing daughter from the union) and not too long after that one ended, I married again, disastrously.  Husband #2 was bipolar with a strong aversion to medication and working for a living.  This can be referred to as my Creative Ways To Pay Bills Era.  In other words, I was definitely not well-off (literally and figuratively).  One time I sent my well-loved winter coat to the dry cleaner...and never picked it up because I could not afford the $10 bill.  That's a true story.
I have not ever been the type to make my problems anyone else's plus I was appalled that I found myself in this situation so I sucked it up and dealt with it to the best of my ability.  Mind you, I was still gainfully employed in publishing during this era but it was a 3-person household and I was the only one of those persons who had steady income.
I paid our not cheap rent on time every single month since having a roof over my daughter's head was my main priority.  After that, as I said, I robbed from Peter to pay Paul to keep the lights on and the heat running.
I made breakfast for dinner. Or soup for dinner.
I bought any new clothes we needed at Walmart.
I walked a lot.
I rode my bike.
I checked hundreds of books out of the library.
I painted and drew.
I wrote.

At some point, I realized that being poor, so to speak, didn't suck.
In fact, I was having a pretty good time being broke.  My daughter and I (didn't care much what Psycho was doing or not doing...especially since he was mostly just sitting on the couch for months or maybe even years at a time.) might not have been dining out or taking vacations or wearing high end anything but you know what?  We were having big fun anyway.  We weren't feeling sorry for ourselves, that is for sure. My daughter had much of what the other kids had except for the fancy clothes and vacations but I kind of think we both had so much more.
I still think it was during this time that we had our best quality time, together and individually.

We were money poor but life rich.

I certainly am not saying that being broke is better than not being broke because that's obviously untrue.
I'm saying that the times that good fortune was not shining down upon me are the times that I learned the most valuable lessons and grew from them.

Humbly,

  Sharon

Weekend Roundup

I hate to be cliché (a lot), but Mondays are almost always bad days for me.

For one - and this is really corny - I miss my husband!  We always seem to have the best weekends together and then Monday rolls around and we have this pitiful goodbye ritual in the morning before he rolls out to go to work 😢 because we're both sad that our weekend time together is over.

So he leaves and I stagger up to my office with a massive cup of coffee...and then I waste several hours doing absolutely nothing productive.  For example, it's 12:40pm as I write this and it will be the only thing I've started so far today...although I did start and finish a really good tomato sandwich a little while ago.  🍅

Despite crappy weather - we are experiencing some Blackberry Winter right now (springtime cold snap that happens just when the blackberries bloom) - we did still manage to get a lot done and have some fun in the middle of it.



We started off Saturday at a local house and garden show at one of the fairgrounds nearby.  So nice to be outside again at these kinds of things but I do have to complain about one thing: why oh why do vendor-type people insist on accosting you as you stroll by their booth or table?!  I mean, we see what you have and if we're interested in it, we will surely come over and talk to you.  We had one lady nearly chasing us down to buy a deck from her and when we told her we already have one, she switched gears and started pushing an enclosed sun room for the deck we already have! And she didn't leave out that they offer easy financing.  All this in the few seconds it took to walk past her booth!  She was up and chasing us!  Obnoxious and intrusive never really sells anything, now does it?


We weren't quite ready to go home after that so we headed over to a local winery to try some of their new stuff.  We sampled about five of their red wines, settled on one, bought 4 bottles of it, then we also bought a glass to have right then and there to enjoy on their covered patio which overlooks their grapevine fields.  We had the place almost all to ourselves which is always a bonus for me as I do not love crowded places very much at all.

We finished up the afternoon at a nursery where we bought a beautiful hydrangea plant and some other stuff.

Hydrangeas are my utmost favorite and we're planting a bunch of them out by the front porch. They're such lovely old fashioned flowers.

I'll post pictures when they're in the ground looking pretty.

On Saturday night while sharing a simple dinner of meatball sandwiches, we got to talking about North Carolina.  I spent a significant part of my childhood in NC and I miss it a lot and we talk often of buying a little house down there where we'll probably ultimately retire to.  That's years away, but still.

If you are at all familiar with the Andy Griffith show you will have heard them talking about Mt. Pilot which is really Pilot Mountain which is a very real place and is where my heart is.  My father and his girlfriend moved to Pilot Mountain when I was really young and I spent all my free time down there with them. I was quite the little jet-setter back then and used to fly by myself when I was still in elementary school.  One time I was supposed to fly back to NJ but somehow my father "forgot" to bring me to the airport and the next day wouldn't you know it but my mother and stepfather showed up on our NC doorstep...along with some of the officers from the sheriff's department.
Seems they don't take too kindly to attempted kidnapping in them parts.
Nothing says "your dad really loves you" like when he attempts to kidnap you.  Or to put in another kinder way, attempts to keep you all to himself.
Good times, good times.

Pilot Mountain, NC

After talking on Saturday night it seems we might start taking some exploring trips down there soon...so my fingers and toes are crossed.  You can take the girl out of North Carolina but you can't the North Carolina out of the girl!  JP tells me he can sometimes still hear a little bit of NC in the way I talk...combined with my northern NJ accent!  It's a wonder anyone can understand me.

Ever since we bought our house, Serenity Hill, back in January 2016, we wind up spending our Sunday mornings at either Home Depot of Lowe's.  Yesterday was no exception.  I've been wanting a little gardening spot somewhere on our property.  I used to always have a really big garden but it was a lot of work and we'd just wind up giving away all our bounty anyway.  Serenity Hill is literally covered in the most beautiful shade trees so we have very little sun for a garden (but just enough that shines directly on our swimming pool in the afternoon hours).  Still, I missed growing stuff - particularly eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes - so we designed a tiny spot in the backyard where I can grow just those things that does get some of that afternoon sun and JP decided that yesterday would be the day to build it for me.

Ladies, if you can at all help it, do try and marry a man that can build and fix stuff.  I am so lucky to be married to a man that not only can build and fix anything, but does it gladly because as he says, he "likes to do stuff that makes me happy".
Yes, I did win the husband lottery.  And, yes, I do know that woman can fix and build things - I do it all the time.  But I can't do the things my husband does and that is exactly how I like it.

My Little Tiny Garden.
We're adding slate pieces to it to pretty it up.  They're almost done so I'll post a picture when it's completed.

Before I finish this up, I have to tell you about what happened at Lowe's.  We had a big old wagon filled with cinder and end blocks for my Little Tiny Garden and other projects.  We rolled it outside and I stood with it while JP went to get the pickup.  When he pulled up and dropped the tailgate, I noticed a couple walking from the parking lot toward us and the store.  I thought it was odd that they were going to pass between me with the wagon and our pickup truck (tight squeeze).  But I read it wrong.  When the man - who was not young, by the way - got right next to me and the wagon, he stopped and grabbed the first cinder block and handed it to JP who was standing in the back of the pickup moving some bags of dirt we had purchased earlier.
That man picked up and handed off to JP our entire wagon of block.
Now that might seem like a small thing to you but to us it wasn't.
We thanked them profusely and I looked at JP and said "faith in humanity, restored".
It's true:  kindness rocks.

Here is where we finished up our weekend:

This spot is so not done yet - it still needs new cushions and curtains and plants - but it worked very nicely last evening for some warmth from the chimenea while sharing an end-of-weekend glass of wine.

Overall I think we achieved splendidly our constant mutual goal of simplicity.
Low, slow, and easy.

Hope you had a similar weekend experience,

Sharon

Nobodies Are Better Than Somebodies

Have you ever noticed that you'll be loving on some website/business/tv show that has a whole bunch of the stuff you love - whether that is things they sell or some service they offer or just words they write or some other content that just really speaks to you - and you're thinking that finally there's some down to earth people out there who get it...and then the next thing you know they're gurgling about how they're hobnobbing with this or that celebrity?  It's as if now that some celebrity(ies) has graced them with their attention, they are validated by them. They have arrived, they're now successful, and they are dropping names and unabashedly gushing about rubbing shoulders with people whose name is well known. Twisted, isn't it? Validated by celebrities?  Now that is a concept that is seriously lost on me...and I've known a few celebrities in my time.



Celebrities are just people who had/have to perform publicly for their chance to win the lottery.   That's it. They are not divinely sent (sorry Kanye) or possess some special gene.  God does not love them any more than he does you or me.  Don't let them tell (sell) you otherwise.  And, good Lord, please don't be so influenced by them that you make important decisions in your life based on their opinions!
You are not a sheep and they sure as heck are not shepherds.  Make up your own mind.

I am not a starstruck person. I couldn't care less if you are the world's highest paid celebrity or politician or some other random bigwig. I am way more interested in non-famous, ordinary people.
That's the real truth.  Real, everyday people are far more interesting because their stories are not one-dimensional.  Celebrities don't want the public to know about their real lives, they only want you to keep worshipping them and giving them your money simply because you know who they are.  There are exceptions, of course, but they are few and far between.

Oh, and if I'm ever going to want to be validated by anyone, it's going to be the person who's struggling to get by with limited resources of both time and money who is spending some of that on me and my stuff.

That's where my attention and gratitude lies.

 -Sharon

Sick, Facebook, Ice Cream

I have been too long away from writing here and it's all because of stupid sickness.

I don't like being away from writing for too long because my mood - which is already a precarious thing - gets incrementally worse as the days pass with no action and expression from me.

Plus I really hate disappointing my stalkers by not giving them their regular Sharon fix.   I'm nice like that.

Anyway, about two weeks ago my digestive system decided it was going to make me as miserable as possible and I am just now starting to feel a little bit better.  I couldn't even eat so you know if that was happening that I must have been pretty sick.  Drinking coffee was a particular problem, too, which is ridiculous because I don't even think that a bout of Black Plague could keep me from my sweet elixir of life coffee.

I drank tea for one day and that might have been what started my ascent to semi-wellness.  Not the tea itself, mind you...just the idea of having to drink that crap in lieu of coffee for any amount of time.

Tea is nice from time to time, don't get me wrong.  One time JP and I were both up in the middle of the night with insomnia and we made tea and ate toast and it was oddly this ridiculously romantic thing that we still talk about.  For us, though, it's always the little things.  Tea and toast at 3am.  And he always butters my toast for me just the way I like it (to the edges, full coverage).

Anyway, I don't trust people who drink tea regularly instead of coffee, do you?
There's something sneaky about every one of them.  And let's not forget how pretentious they are as they announce "I don't drink coffee" as they look down their nose at you, you slovenly coffee drinker you.
Okay, that was a tangent.

So I was pretty busy while I was away being sick, though.  For instance, I spent entire days perusing the Internet looking at a lot of things.  That wore me out in more ways than one.
For instance, people.
The people on the Internet make me want to climb into bed with the covers over my head for an extended period of time in order to hide from them.
They also make me want to punch them in their faces.

During this time period I also shut down my Facebook art page that has 600+ followers which was a direct result of the precarious mood thing I mentioned above.  That, and my mostly utter disdain for Facebook and its stupid, idiotic like button.  Did you know I very rarely click 'like' on Facebook?  It's the truth...it makes me feel stupid.  Like an automaton.


like...like...like...like...
What started it all was that I updated my website address on my Facebook page and apparently Facebook generates an automatic post that says something like "Sharon just updated her website address!"
And then, to my astonishment, a bunch of people 'liked' that post.
Like, what's to like about me updating a website address?!
I mean, does someone think "oh look, Sharon just updated her website address.  That's great.  I mean, wow, that's so terrific.  I really like that she did that.  Like, let me click that LIKE button to let her know that I like that she updated her website address."

See, the thing that gets me is that no one is thinking anymore.
No one is contemplating what they are seeing, nor are they subsequently gauging their own action/reaction to whatever it is anymore.  Do you know what I mean?
Liking everything without thinking about what you're liking is why people keep posting selfies and pictures of their food while they're eating it and of their vacations while they are on vacation!  The madness must stop.

I post my artwork to my Facebook page and usually I'll get a bunch of 'likes' and I hate to say this because it makes me sound like a big jerk but I don't know the value of their like because they're all liking everything that comes their way!
I don't want your like, I want your thought-out comment.  I want to hear that you like the artwork because the sky is pretty or it reminds you of something or you wish you were right there inside the scene.

From my About Me page:

"People don't slow down enough to look around and see the magical world they live in," she says. "I capture my photographs by taking long, aimless drives on endless beautiful back roads. But I am forever pulling over to let speeding cars pass me. They're going too fast to notice the beauty all around that I'm seeing and I think that's sad. I needed to find a way to make people see and feel again...to make them slow down, to pause for just a minute. That's where the fairytale, magical realism look of my artwork came from. By making things look a little bit wonky or whimsical...this gets their attention. This makes them see."

Apparently not anymore.

I did re-publish my Facebook page but right now I am unsure if I will keep it live.
Facebook does not allow me to disallow likes which is what I really want but the like button is what has made Mark Zuckerberg a gazillionaire as he sells all of our privacy and personal preferences to the millions who advertise on Facebook...so that's not changing anytime soon.

Ironically, I have to decide whether to...like it...or lump it.
And I'm leaning toward lumping it.

I'm also leaning toward another trip to my favorite ice cream place that just opened for the season.
JP took me there the other night because I've only been able to eat soft foods and what better soft food is there than ice cream?  Plus he knew that my standard cup of vanilla with chocolate jimmies/sprinkles and whipped cream would probably not do a lot for my digestive system but would do wonders for my mood problem.  And this place does not skimp on the whipped cream like Rita's some other lame-o places do which is exactly what the doctor would not have ordered which is why I avoid them.

After all, when all else fails - like your digestive system and society - there's always ice cream.


-Sharon

More About Being Anosmic

I have never been a group activity kind of girl.

I have not ever been the type to get excited about pretty much anything that involves interaction with more than a person or two.  I joined Girl Scouts when I was young and I was really excited to get all the gear but I quickly discovered that attending the meetings was a big drag because there were a whole slew of girls there and they were squealing a lot and had too much energy, etc.  I think I went to 2 or 3 meetings and then I was out of there and on to more interesting and intellectual pursuits like reading books at the library.


One time I had a sadistic boss who thrived on gathering employees together, putting them in groups, and making them do "team-building" activities that involved moronic games in which grown up people were forced to perform like circus monkeys in order to pretend they were team players so they didn't lose their jobs.  I got called out for not being an eager participant - no big surprise there as I am incapable and unwilling to act ridiculous on command or to feign enthusiasm.  I mean, I'm pretty ridiculous on a regular basis...but on my own terms, ya know?


Knowing all of this about myself and being this way my entire life, you can then imagine my surprise when I find myself to unwittingly be part of a group that I never signed up to be involved with.

That groups is Anosmics.  People who, like me, lost (or never had) a sense of smell.

See, what smart people do when they are afflicted or affected by something is to reach out to others in the same or similar boat.  Obviously this is not something I'm very comfortable doing but I learned how essential it is years back when I was dealing my ex-husband's mental illness.

So now that I am part of this group I have joined several different communities for anosmics because it helps to know I'm not alone.

I've probably written this before but I'll risk redundancy: there is so much more to losing your ability to smell than simply not being able to smell anymore.  I wish with all my heart that it was that simple but it's not.  I'ts so not.

Most of the time I don't even want to talk about it anymore.  I thought for awhile that I would be some kind of Olfactory Crusader...

Sharon the Olfactory Crusader

flying around to testify at Congressional hearings for research funding...
to drop in on ENTs and other medical professionals to convince them to take this thing seriously and stop shrugging their overpaid shoulders and saying only "good luck" as they're showing us to the door...
to pop over to utility companies to get them to install what could be life-saving alerts in the homes of people who can't smell if there's a gas leak...
to quickly get to other anosmics to hold their hand and let them know they're not alone.

I wanted to be that.  And more.  But the truth is that I can't - at least a lot of the time - because dealing with this thing has sucked a whole lot out of me.  I'm eight years in to not being able to smell.  At some point kind of early on I figured out that I had to not "go there" which means I had to learn how not to think too long or too hard about not being able to smell anymore because if I did I was going to be swallowed alive by it.

It is a daily draining struggle.  I'd like to write about the myriad of ways not being able to smell affects those of us who can't but the idea exhausts me.  I'll just write that it's not just "I miss smelling flowers or ______".  I am no longer connected to the world I live in and that, I promise you, is not a histrionic statement*.

That's what anosmia is, that's what it does.  It cuts you off from life and that doesn't mean because I can't smell apple pie.  It means my smell memories are gone, my ability to create new ones are gone, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.  If you think that your senses are simple you need to do some research.  The loss of any is tragic in many ways and on many levels.

Truthfully nowadays I focus only on the things that make me happy or bring me some kind of pleasure (whipped cream is nice)  and when I feel myself "going there" I have to remember and do my best to refocus or take a nap.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  I can't worry anymore about whether the people around me understand or know what I deal with.  Those who really care have been there with me through this thing.  They know that sometimes I want to use my own fists to pound on my nose while screaming "work! work! work!".

Last night I was talking with JP about this and I told him that what I am now is kind of like a zombie.
I said it a little bit in jest but he didn't like it and tried to object but I stopped him.  This thing is mine and someone who can smell their world would never be able to understand what I meant by that.
He doesn't like to see me sad and I love him for that but what I said was really kind of true.  Zombies are what? Half alive, right?  It's sorta kinda accurate in a being cut off from life way.

This is my smell kit:

It consists of four essential oils - lemon, eucalyptus, rose, clove.  These are the four scents that are supposed to be most effective in retraining your olfactory system to learn how to smell again if you're lucky enough to still have a working olfactory system. The doctors can't tell you if you do for sure, by the way.  They can't test you and then say "Great news!  One day you'll probably get your nose back!" or conversely "Bad news.  You'll never smell again."  It's a big giant mysterious guessing game.
I'm sure there are way better explanations for how this smell kit works so you can probably Google it if you're so inclined.  I use this kit regularly.  Usually I play a game with the three bigger bottles (the little one is rose which is super expensive, that's why it's so much smaller) where I mix them up and close my eyes while sniffing them...then I see if I get them right.  Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.
I get really excited when I get them right.  Right now it seems like they do help because I sometimes pick up scents when I'm being good and remember to smell kit.  And when I do smell something it's for like a nanosecond; it never lasts.  Or sometimes I'll walk into a room and know that it smells like something because I pick up on a change in the air...but it's as if the scent is 3,000,000 miles away, if that makes any sense.
But as minute as it is, it's progress and I'll take that.
One of the hardest things to deal with is phantom smells which are smells that are not actually happening in your immediate environment at all but that you think you're smelling.  They are your brain remembering a scent and knowing that something is amiss - that there's a disconnect somewhere.  It is a maddening thing.  Do you know when it's cold and damp out or maybe foggy and you're standing by the ocean smelling the heavily salted air?  That's what has been stuck in my head for weeks now...ever since we were down by the ocean.  My brain sent out the Salty Air Signal and it hasn't shut off for weeks.  So I'm smelling it but it's a false smell, a smell that is not actually happening but is instead emanating from my brain and my brain's memory.
It's been mildly nauseous for weeks now.

And on that note, I think I need a nap to escape from it.


 

Further reading on this topic:

The Nose That Never Knows
Smell Training

* I deal with enough and there's no room for drama from me or anyone else.