Thursday, December 15, 2011

When two hearts shall beat as one.

It has been such a long since I posted anything here. My last words were about the way my body was handling the drugs I had been placed on and I am now at the end of taking them. All in preparation for the cardiac ablation I will have next Wednesday.  The alarm that has been set at 12 hour intervals will be turned off and I no longer have to be reminded that I need meds to keep me going.  

My life has looked a little different on the outside since August 17th and my mental view of things changed quite a bit.  I have had to relinquish control that I really never had....over big and minor things.  I have thought twice about doing some of the simplest physical tasks and have had to learn new ways of getting things done. 

My work as a hairstylist has continued and I think it has been a good constant for me.  A focus during each day.  People needed their hair done.....I love my work.....I love that it helps pay the bills and I love people and the life they bring to me.  So I continued my schedule...sometimes to my detriment.  As I finish off my last week behind the chair with 10 hour days and no days off, I look forward to the procedure.  If nothing else, I get some uninterrupted time with my sweet man and some rest.  I have been told that I can go back to work the following week.....with less hours.....but back to work nonetheless.  What a miracle.  In my heart, literally, one week.  And back to work the next.

During this time, family and friends have shown so much love through written notes and prayers.  Through small gifts and lots of hugs.  One friend brought me an angel by Kelly Rae Roberts.  It says be brave.  It hangs right where I can see it.  And when the heart stuff breaks through the meds and my chest feels tight and uncomfortable or I get dizzy....I check out my angel and wait for the peace that comes.

Another dear friend stopped by one day to drop off an encouraging note...complete with Cd's.  One part of her note moved me to to tears and I have read it several times.  Because this condition that I have seems to be handed down from generation to generation, one particular part of her "vision" about a "root from an old distant tree" has changed the way I have prayed for me and for my children and my children's children.

She writes -  "Debbie ~ As I was praying for you, and listening to Jonathan David Helser, God unfolded the following vision and word.  I pray you "see" it too!

I heard the music stirring my heart, and saw a little girl giggling with golden curls,
swirling and dancing in an open field.  The music lifted her feet and joy enveloped her being.
She was totally lost in the moment, unaware that someone was watching over her.
Suddenly she was tripped by a root from an old distant tree.
Tears streamed, and she instinctively looked up and raised her arms for help.
I saw the Lord reach down, lovingly, like any good daddy, and as He did,
she sunk into His arms.
Next, I saw the Lord reach into her heart, and He just  held it.
It was beating wildly, and as soon as His fingers brushed by it -
it burst into a vibrant Horn of Plenty.  Fresh, delicious colorful fruit poured out! 
Oh! It could not be contained.  He began singing "It is good!" 
As the words fell from His lips -
it was as if liquid love, like honey, ran down the golden curls to her bare feet.
As it covered her feet, she began dancing and singing
"it is good, it is good".
Non-stop.  Just can't stop.
He is your Abba, daddy, and He's holding your heart.
And it is good, dear Debbie!

So I walk into a weekend with no medications to still my wildly beating heart and trust that the very One who made it holds every beat in His hands.

Monday, September 26, 2011

It's not just a song.....

I am now 5 weeks out of the hospital and 5 weeks on meds for this crazy heart arrhythmia.
I am grateful.
I am alive.
I am dizzy.
Everyday starts off fine.  Like a normal day used to start. 
Eyes open.
Covers back.
Feet hit the floor.
Punch the coffee button (now for 1/2 caff.....fully leaded sends me over the edge)
Then breakfast....which has to be eaten so I can take my meds. 
Then within the hour....I am dizzy.
High.....but not the kind I remember from my teenage years.
And if being dizzy and lightheaded weren't enough, add exhaustion.  The kind that isn't normal.
The kind that doesn't come from a hard days work.
Or from exercising.
This exhaustion is draining.
It's also ridiculous.
I mean....I used to have to get into "princess mode" to take a nap.
I had to be on my left side, with the covers up to my chin...just right.
The fan on.
The room darkened.
Now, I'm lucky if I make it off my face so as not to smother myself. 
Then I wake up.  Drool covered and my face marked with indentations from whatever I fell asleep on.

Exercise is out of the question. 
It brings on skipped beats and more light headedness.

Yes, I am grateful they caught this thing and that it can be treated.
I am looking forward to the day the atrial ablation can be done and I can move forward in life to no meds and no skipped beats.
I am also believing that the only dizziness I will experience in the future is from spinning on a dance floor.
And the only skipped beats come when I see my husband walk into the room.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

I'm actually looking forward to wearing a bra

   Last August I spent time in the hospital.  Not as a patient, but as a caregiver.  You might think I'd prefer that to being here as a patient, but there are advantages to being the patient.  I control the choices I must make as the patient.  I choose the good for my body.  I also get to know my body and it's intricate inconsistencies.  And after five days of uncertainty, dizziness and exhaustion and a heart that decided to samba without permission, I am truly able to embrace and appreciate this mornings sunrise.  I thank God for the sun's brilliance against the yellowed brick outside my window.  I appreciate the brilliant blue sky as the backdrop.  and I really appreciate being able to sit up without dizziness and a flutter in my chest.

I am also thankful for my sweet husband John.  A man who tells me loving me is like breathing.  Natural and necessary. He loves me plain and simple.  It would be less meds and aggravation if this man were truly my heart.  He is love and loyalty, justice and kindness.  He is also awesome to snuggle and sleep with in a hospital bed.

What did I learn about being at the hospital?  Well......

1.  It is true what your mom told you about putting on clean underwear....or any underwear at all. 
2.  Carrying a small scented spray water bottle in your shower bag can help those of us with curly locks not resemble Don King after a night or two, or three or four or......well, I should have thought about that.
3.  Be aware that your nurses are overworked, bright men and women who hold the key to the difference between a good stay and a bad stay.  They see folks at their grumpiest and smelliest and ugliest.  the have families they would love to be with.  Make sure ask them about their lives.  They will know all about you before you breeze through the doors that leading to fresh air and Caribou coffee.
4.  If your doctor sucks, fire him on the spot.  Pray for a Dr. Pierce or a Dr. Askew.  Demand a doctor who listens and doesn't try to prematurely discharge you from the hospital with a 12 second visit to your room.  Some doctors just need to stay in the heart cath lab.
5.  Never forget to ask for Ativan to get to sleep at night.  Remember sleeping a strange place is hard enough, but add the frequent check on your vitals, which make no sense to me.....I mean, if I'm hooked up to a heart monitor that shows every skipped, irregular beat of my heart, can't they tell my blood pressure is good and that I indeed have a pulse.  Anyway, the Ativan at night let's you wake refreshed and ready to face another monotonous day.
6.  Most important thank those around you who made a difference.  Hospitals have lost their souls.  They have lost the ability to see their human patients as nothing more than the patrons who keep the census at a financial cushion.  But within the machine are individual nurses, doctors, nutritional staff, housekeeping staff and volunteers who do their jobs with integrity, a gentle hand and with pride in their work. 

I sit here anxiously waiting to shake off these wire fetters that have recorded every beat of my heart for five days.  I cannot wait to have the IV removed from my arm and the scannable I.D. bracelets that tell the big machine every time I need to be charged for something.  I look forward to throwing off this shapeless gown that is all snaps and openings and putting on some real clothes....even a bra. 

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Baseball season is upon us ~ and the pitcher ain't nice

    Life's curve balls rarely come with a warning.  In fact, I guess that's why they're called curve balls.  They are tricky and unpredictable.  Their unexpected path can knock you down and keep you unbalanced.  Some may shrug and assume it's just a part of life.....the hand they're dealt.  They have a way of making lemonade out of lemons.  My recent favorite is to remember that when Plan A fails we know we have 25 letters to work with.

    I have friend whose daughter has been blessed with the talent of throwing a softball at a tremendous speed with accuracy.  She has been doing this since she was little.  She is also good enough to be sought after by big name colleges.  She has been away for a couple of weeks this summer, pitching her heart out.  Showing her skills to all the agents who came to watch.  This could land her a full ride to a prestigious school.  But when she returned from her pitching road show, she was in pain.  Not the kind of pain that goes away with two Motrin, but they kind that gets an MRI.  The anomaly that no one knew was there.  A malformation that has reared its ugly head and declared that it is not going to throw one more ball without pain.  All of  sudden and without warning, this girl and her family have been thrown a curve ball (pun intended) and they must decide what to do. 

    When the curve ball is delivered across our own home plate, we can choose to dig in our heels and figure out how to deal with this new set of circumstances or wallow a bit in that feeling of discombobulation and try to straighten the rug that has been pulled out from underneath us.

    My curve ball came last Thursday when I woke up so dizzy and strange that I struggled to call all my clients to tell them I could not cut their hair that day.  Well, unless they wanted something pretty unique.  Being the overachiever that I am, I also knew this felt bad enough to keep me from the house for a couple of days.  So I loaded the dishwasher and got that going.  Held onto the counter for support and then got a load of laundry started.  I mean, hello, who the hell is gonna do it while I'm gone.  I bounced down the hallway like a pinball and found my bathroom in disarray and gave it a quick wipe down.  I packed a small get a way bag and met my 7 year old granddaughter in the door way of my bedroom.  She was totally unaware that my head was spinning like a top and that it felt as though there was a fish flopping around in my chest, so her request seemed reasonable....well to her.  I needed to comb down the fuzzies in her hair so she could go up the street to the sitter.  This usually entails several squirts with a water bottle and careful brushing to get the fuzzies to go away.  It usually requires many tries.  I turned and reached for the brush and bottle and passed out right in front of her.  Apparently, she got the non panic genes.  She did not run for a phone to call 911, but stood there and waited for me to make a sound.  She later told me I looked rather funny trying to grab the things around me in an effort not to go down like a ton of bricks.  When I came to, I suggested she sit with me on the ground and we would attempt to get rid of her fuzzies.  Not completely without feeling, she was satisfied with the first try and then promptly ran to the front door and waited for her Papa to show up.  Good girl!  No panicking!

    Showing up at the doctor's office I again showed my unrehearsed ability to fall with grace into the lap of the doctor.  He was so impressed he ordered an ambulance to send me to the hospital where I could perform my fainting performance for a much bigger audience.  They were equally impressed and decided to keep me for 5 days.  Yup 5 full days.  I did not give them a repeat performance, but they were impressed with the irregular rhythm that my heart kept dancing and decided to see what they could do to get it to stop.

    I was so glad I had the forethought to pack my iPad.  Every book I had been wanting to read was there.  And since this hospital had wireless.....I was never away from my favorite links or people.  I was smarter than the average bear though and did not post that I was in the hospital.  I mean, seriously, who the hell wants the masses to see you with hair only Bob Marley would be proud of and a gown that needs to be refashioned.  I mean seriously...they can look into my heart without every cutting me but can design something that doesn't look like a potatoe sack? 

    The diagnosis is not quite forthcoming yet, but there are some serious drugs that I'm on.   Beta Blockers and Anti-Arrhythmic Drugs.  The second one concerned me a bit.  I've always considered myself a decent dancer....with a decent beat....rhythm, if you will.  Hopefully these anti-arrhythmic drugs won't cost me that the spring in my dancing shoes.  That remains to be seen.

For now, I am home.  My discharge papers read...
No over exertion. 
Rest often throughout the day.  
No driving for 1 week.
No Sex for 1 week. (Really, I mean what do they think a 53 year old will do?)
No work for 1 week. (Which I promptly did the day after I left the hospital.  I learned why they don't want you right back to work.)

   So now, I must learn how to work around this curve ball.  I must learn what I have and how to deal with it.  But for right now, I'm gonna turn on some tunes and see if my rhythm has been affected.

Thursday, June 16, 2011


She sits at his bedside
   listening to the cadence of the machine that records his remaining heartbeats.

His face is relaxed with medicine.

She knows as she looks at him that beyond the pain is an unknown date that will be his last day.
       A date that will be engraved in stone and forever serve as a testimony to his last day here.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Blowing Stars

Summer has begun and it is evident in the faces of my grandchildren.  I have a plethora of grandchildren; each with a distinct and unique personality that bears the shadow of my own children.  Their smiles and twinkling eyes are the keys to my heart and their laughter is the eternal spring of love that calls to the bubbling hope that lies within my own soul.  I am privileged to have the opportunity to be near several of my g’babies and even more blessed that I get to keep some of them overnight.  I have thought that they really enjoyed being with me.  Sharing our time of reading and cooking, gardening or walking.  Just hanging with me, The Meems, but I have had reason to be suspicious as of late.  They still greet me with big smiles and sloppy kisses, but within minutes I find myself being courted and wooed for the privilege of playing with the technology I enjoy so much.  “Mimi?, “ they say with big doe eyes and with just the right amount of sugary sweetness.  “Can I play with your iPad?  You know, the new game.”  I usually give in and sit beside them watching and enjoying.  I know that they love me. Right?  And not just my technology?  Right? 

It’s my fault really.  I mean I downloaded all the fun games for them to be entertained with and occasionally educated.  Who can resist Hidden Objects or Pattern Sequences?  One of my 4 year old grandsons can navigate the iPad with the ease of a 16 year old.  He regularly switches between the games he enjoys so much and the Netflix movies he’s put into his instant queue, with his favorite being Kipper the Dog.  Needless to say, I make sure there is a time limit on this high speed play time and boundaries are enforced, but I have wondered if I have ruined them for the simpler things.  Where the world is not digitally enhanced and graphics are the real deal and they cannot switch between windows and change their view with the touch of a screen.

 I wondered.

Until yesterday.

I popped into Michael’s for some kid friendly arts and crafts.  With summer upon us and the opportunity to play outside on the temperature friendly days and forced to play inside when the heat is hideously oppressive, I needed to make sure that my bases were covered.  Before we got in the store,  the girly 7 year old treasure was coaching the 4 year old lad on how to beg for a toy.  I told them both that my wisdom and advanced age had lessened their ability to use their cunning ploys to convince me to come home with an unnecessary plaything and…..If you believe that, then you, dear reader, are as gullible as they were.  We walked up and down the aisles enjoying the air conditioning and the colorful, summer displays marketed exclusively for mothers and grandmothers who are on the prowl.  But one thing caught my eye.  It was only a dollar which meant I could buy one for each other the grandchildren and keep it under $10 bucks.  It was a “blowing star”….aptly named by my 6 year old girly treasure.  To the rest of the world, it’s just a pinwheel. 

Blowing Star in hand, we walked toward the check-out counter.  And that was when the magic hit.  Both of them found that by running down the aisle they could make their star spin.  Once we got to the truck and rolled down the windows, with firm instructions not to stick the blowing star out of the window, the real fun began.  With one eye on the road and the other eye on the rear view mirror, I watched these two young techies delight themselves in the simplicity of a glittering pinwheel.  The oldest treasure figured out quickly, that by catching the wind flow just right she could make her spinning star clatter and shake.  This simple change of direction elicited a belly laugh and a trill of giggles from her backseat companion.  Even at stoplights, the wind came through the car and struck a tune that made the star dance again.  All the way home my truck cab was filled with the sounds of laughter and effortless joy.  Sweet, pink cheeked cherubs were delighted and entertained by open windows and real life graphics that they harnessed the summer sun and wind.

It took me back to the simpler days of trouble-free childhood and uncomplicated play.  I could hear the echoes of playing cards slapping against the spokes of my bike tires and the sounds of “olley, olley, in come free” hollered as the game of hide and seek ended against the backdrop of trees in shadow and lightening bugs dotting the night.  They had that magic in the palm of their hands.

For a moment. 

It was all they needed. 

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Words of Others

I give complete and total credit to Danielle Laporte for this wonderful piece of encouragement.

The Manifesto of Encouragement by Danielle Laporte

right now:

There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

Someone you haven’t met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God’s children.

A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, “nourish them.”

Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you — for free.

Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

The next great song is being rehearsed.

Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they’ll be thriving like never before. They just can’t see it from where they’re at.

Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want — and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it’s reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all “So worth the wait.”

Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche — this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

Someone is fighting the fight so that you don’t have to.

Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe. Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.

You. Me. Some. One. Now.


by Danielle Laporte

Saturday, January 22, 2011

A new stage....let the spotlight shine

Recently my body caused me to cart it to the doctor's office. 

Specifically the OB/GYN. 

I no longer use the OB part, but hoped that the GYN portion would open up secrets my body was keeping from me. 

I am not silly enough to think that this 53 year old body is at all youthful.  The hot flashes I have been experiencing for the better part of a year now have made sure I did not forget my advancing years.  When the blood work came back and the sweet, 12 year old nurse called me with the results, I wasn't exactly stunned and yet I wasn't sure what I was hearing. 

"Well, Mrs. 53 year old," she said in her young, high pitched voice, "the tests show that you are definitely post menopausal."

"Okay," I replied.  "What does that mean?"

"That your done with menopause," she said.  I could actually hear her smiling. 

Probably thinking she would never experience this.  And if she did, she wouldn't sound as confused as I did.

"What else?" I questioned. 

Now she was confused and she offered to return me to the scheduling desk so that I could make an appointment with the doctor.  Apparently my question was too large for her to answer.

So I did what most of us do when faced with a question we need an answer to ~~~

I consulted the oracle.


Post-menopause basically means a cessation of menses.  Well, duh.  I knew that.  But what does that mean for me. 

Obviously, I'm not having any more children.   

I seem to be worth my weight in sweat.

And my belly is almost, but not quite, big enough for it's own zip code.

But I guess being post menopausal means having more freedoms than I thought I had. 

I no longer have to worry about carrying "anti shark" equipment with me for fear that the now non-existent menses would show up at the most inopportune times.

I don't have to worry about getting pregnant.  Actually, I had that taken care of 25 years ago.  But now it's really engraved in stone.

But it is also a jewel in my old age crown.  A sign that there are enough years under my belt, if I actually could wear a belt, that I have some wisdom. 

Wisdom that comes from a longer time on this earth than the sweet 12 year old nurse that called me.  I know some things she doesn't.  In fact, things that can change lives. For example ~

 *  Let a roast rest after coming out of the oven for at least 20 to 30 minutes before cutting it.  Thus keeping
     the juices intact.

*  If you walk into a hospital or courtroom look as if you know what you are doing, more than likely, no one
    will bother you.  You might even get asked for information because you look like you belong there.

*  Too much sun will actually give you brown marks on your face and hands.  No matter how much you
     believe it won't.

*  And best of all,
          That if you manage to stay through the hard times of marriage with your partner, it really is worth it in
           the end.

So, after the diagnosis....which was slightly anti-climatic....I wrote down some of my thoughts and before I knew it, I had a poem of sorts. 

Post-Menopause! what crap is that?
It feels like I should pass around a hat
collecting hormones from passersby
before I absolutely lose my mind.

Sweating and bloating and lack of sleep
is making me think about taking a leap ~
not off a bridge or a third story ledge,
but back to my 20's or 30's instead.

When small children held my
attention and hand.
And when getting my period
didn't feel so grand.

But that was nothing compared
to these hellish night sweats,
and days where there's
nothing I don't seem to forget.

The child bearing days
are behind me now,
and nursing babies until I felt like a cow.

The days ahead glisten
like the sweat on my face.
And I find that I'm running life
at a much slower pace.

So with more yesterdays than tomorrows on the horizon of my life,
I'll do what I can to put away strife,
and focus on my hubby and family and me,
and remember that menopause ~
has allowed me to be free.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

My view from the elliptical ~

I remember a time in my life when I actually scoffed at the people who told me I wouldn't be thin forever.  That one day I would have a metabolism that could actually slow down to the point of non-existence. 

I scoffed.

Silly me.

I am now a believer.

A sweet young friend had this quote taped to the back of her apartment door ~

"Your habits have earned you the body you have now."

Ten words that sum up the result of scoffing when you are too young to know any better. 

I have decided, once again, to attempt at ridding my body of the results of all my bad habits in the hope that it will reward me with the ability to put away the elastic waistband pants.  I want to put on my jeans and button them without fear that the pressure behind the button will cause the closure to give way and damage a fellow human being or the glass coffee mug I have in front of me.

So I, like countless others, joined a gym.  Tada!  I just know this time will be different.  I won't just be sending these folks a monthly fee to keep their doors open and their machines tuned.  I will visit this establishment and use the facilities I am paying for. 

But there is one problem.

My head.

You may wonder...your head?  It's your belly and butt that are your real problem!

Let me explain....

I have to first develop the mindset that getting out of a warm bed and into a cold car are worth the trip to a facility that is designed to make me hurt before I see results.

I have to convince myself that not everyone is looking at the middle aged woman who is trying to develop a new habit by working out on machines that are eerily similar to equipment designed to torture. 

I know I am not so breathtaking that everyone in the gym is watching my every move. 

But it feels like it.

And then I have to stop my brain from taking in all the woman around me.  In particular, the ones who are wearing gym apparel and who look like they came to work out.  But I question their sincerity when they have more make up on than I wear when I go out on a date. 

In fact, their hair isn't even frizzy from sweating for an hour. 

In fact, they are smiling.

In fact, they aren't sweating.

Did they even work out?

My whole thought process spirals downward as I stand atop the elliptical, sweating, frizzing and wondering why the bobby pins to hold my bangs back aren't working and wonder how these beautiful, thin women are allowed to register at this gym to begin with.  I want someone like them to wear a shirt that has a before picture on it so I can be encouraged.  I want proof that they have been required to work out hard.  Proof that they have sweat.  Proof that their now flat bellies once had the shape of a loaf of raisin bread with just the right amount of cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top. isn't asking to much is it?

But that would require a shirt that is big enough to have a picture on it....of a chubby, middle aged lady. 
Because you can't fit that picture on a sport bra.

Maybe one day I will be a smiling, flat bellied, non frizzy headed woman who can stride through the gym like all the weights know her touch and all the treadmills wait for her to take a run on them.

Until then, I will pin my hair back with bobby pins....put on my least revealing workout clothes....and remember to pee before I step into the workout arena.

Because their is nothing more embarrassing than a middle aged woman in the middle of an intense workout on the elliptical to attempt to get off and run for the ladies room. 

I me.

Saturday, January 1, 2011


When you take charge of your life, there is no longer need to ask permission of other people or society at large.  When you ask permission, you give someone veto power over your life.
                        -Albert F. Geoffry

Have you ever felt like you are in the driver's seat of your vehicle but that someone else was driving?  To borrow a line of thought from the movie The Holiday....I should be playing the leading the lady of my own life and not the role of the best friend.  In essence, others have been directing my path.  Not of late.  But for some time.  They didn't come in demanding that I give them that kind of power, but I handed it over one piece at a time.
I hand it over in time.  I hand it over with money.  I hand it over mentally.  And each action causes me to lose more of myself and cripples their ability to stand on their own.  It is a fine line I walk between being a compassionate caring woman and being a shadow in my own life.

Last year I came across a blog about not making resolutions, but about choosing a word that could be used as a foundation for the year. This year's word came to me a couple of weeks ago.  The word is Balance.  Oddly enough, as I see the word in my mind's eye, the letters are on a curvy line and not linear at all.  As if I wrote them down while driving on a bumpy road.  I'm not sure I want them completely even by this year's end.  That might suggest a lack of flexibility.  I looked up the meaning of the word because that's the type of person I am. *Equal distribution of weight.  *Mental Steadiness or emotional stability. *Habit of calm behavior or judgement. ~~~ In wine making : ) ~~~ The degree to which all the attributes of a wine are in harmony.  With nothing too prominent or deficient.* I may be using a word as my north star, but the definitions I found can be the buffers to measure myself against.

My dear friend, Lacey, has a beautiful granddaughter who loves to watch an old video that was taken about two years ago.  Lacey and her husband, along with my sweet man and myself are jumping around and clowning around trying to get a particular pose down for a picture.  When the video is done, her granddaughter looks around and asks, "More Debbie"?  So that will be my theme....more Debbie.  That balance can help push away the fog that clouds my mind and the emotions that others use to take over the stability I need for me.