We're afraid of losing this quality of care?

Let me say a few things about the standard of health care in America.

I have CRPS (Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome, formally called RSD). Granted it is not a well understood disease, but compared to when I was diagnosed 19 years ago to today, general knowledge about CRPS has increased by leaps and bounds. Some doctors even call themselves specialists.

I have seen these specialists. I have been to Johns Hopkins and Stanford- both supposedly offering the highest level of care. But it wasn't until a pesky pain I have been dealing with in my foot for years finally got out of control, that someone took a basic x-ray of my leg. My family doctor told me last night that I have such severe Osteoporosis in my left leg that I could break my foot just by walking around on it. This could have been useful information to have before now. I probably have a stress fracture in my tibia, but I won't know until the MRI tomorrow.

I knew from poking around on the internet that Osteoporosis was a common problem among people with CRPS/RSD, but I figured that if this was really a concern for me, one of the many doctors I have seen would have checked for it. I even had a terrible case of it right after my accident and shattered my ankle in three places because I was trying to keep up with my friends. I have told that story to every doctor I have seen about my leg, but none of them ever checked to see if the Osteoporosis was still a problem.

One dumb x-ray a long time ago could have spared me this pain, hassle, and possible surgery. I guess what I'm saying here is that YOU are in charge of your own health care. Be educated and ask about possible complications. I have always worried about offending my doctors by mentioning research I have found on the internet, but no longer.

Deep Thouhts Dripping in Polypropylene

For the last few weeks I have felt like my brain has been coated in plastic. With immense effort I can bend my thoughts through it, but if my efforts wane for even a moment, my thoughts are lost to me, and I end up on a freeway exit somewhere in Taylorsville, instead of my intended destination.

This is how I found myself last week suddenly approaching the entrance of a cemetery in Sandy which was several miles out of my way, and wondering if my car had actually driven there all by itself. I walked the rows with my daughter until we found the marker of my oldest and dearest friend for whom Rosie Alice is named. The stone bearing my friend's name was so much smaller than the one from my memory shaded with so much grief and guilt over time lost for petty reasons. Rosie and I picked the dandelions, made wishes, and cleared the grass clippings away. It was a nice visit, and I left feeling better than before I got there.

By the same turn of events, I was surprised to find myself driving up Big Cottonwood Canyon this evening at almost the same time my mother took the drive three years ago today. On October 2, 2006 my mother purposefully and violently ended her life somewhere in that canyon. For the first two years afterward I was barely able to drive past the mouth of the canyon. But today I felt happy to be there enjoying the colors, even though they were unfairly stunted by an early frost. When I turned around and started to drive Rosie and I back home, I was struck by the contrast of how my mother's body left the canyon that day, compared to my joie de vivre as I drove through the twists.

I feel like my plastic brain has an important message to convey through these unintentional visits: no matter how painful life can feel, with luck it is possible to turn around and return to a place of peace.

A Kiln Full

These are my orders from just the last few days! It's barely been two weeks and we've already raised over $300 for MDA/ALS Division. Thanks to everyone who has helped to spread the word.


Now I get to wait three hours for them to be done... it's going to be a long night.

Exciting Things Afoot

I've added a new necklace to my collection. It is in honor of my friend Lance, who is living with ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease). The ALS division of the Muscular Dystrophy Association gives so much support to people with ALS that Lance asked me to help him give back. We are donating $10 of every Dancin' Lance pendant to the MDA/ALS Division. In fact Lance, Bree, and I will be on the Labor Day telethon on Monday (ack! tv!) to talk about the necklace. Quite exciting, indeed. click to see it on Etsy!



I am also preparing to go back into the booth sitting business. I thought that when I said farewell to art shows and farmer's market, that I had spent my last long hot day in a booth, but on September 12th I'll be back (baby). My cute husband will be participating in a marathon relay which benefits the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. I asked if I could set up a random table and sell Love to Breathe pendants... but I was informed that there will be a whole expo, and they offered me a booth space for free! I'm quite busy preparing for the event, and I hope to see a big response from the runners and their friends. Beat the rush, buy one here.

And finally... I picked a new charity for my mommy jewelry proceeds. Friends of Maddie provides support for parents with children in the NICU. Heather keeps an amazing blog about her daughter Madeline, who lived a short but beautiful life. Caution, don't read this blog without lots of tissues handy. I was wrapped up in it last night, and it was all I could do to not wake Rosie up for a hug, and to reassure myself that she was still happy and healthy.

I made this necklace for Heather B. Armstrong (different Heather, different blogger...), crossed my fingers that she wouldn't think I was stalking her, and dropped it in the mail. She (or possibly her assistant) recently sent me a post card to say thanks! Followers of Dooce, keep your eyes peeled for a hint of silver around her neck. (I hope, I hope, I hope!).

The Formal Livingroom

I totally get it now.

Just a few short hours ago I was informed that my husband was coming home early. I glanced around the house which had recently suffered a nuclear Rose attack, and panicked. Not that Kris would even care if the house was messy as long as Rosie is happy and healthy, but I still like to feel a little bit useful beyond the baby-playing.

So I started gathering the wet pull ups, and searching my brain for how they ended up on the couch in the first place. I gathered up the blast of alphabet cards and shoved them back in the diaper bag. I swooped up the dirty baby clothes, tiny mate-less shoes, stuffed penguins, blocks, and kitchen clutter. I vacuumed the dog hair from every corner, and off all the furniture. It was ridiculous, especially considering I do this EVERYDAY!

When I was a lass, several of my friends had fancy living rooms that we were not allowed to play in. I always thought it was silly to have a whole room full of things no one could touch and furniture no one could sit on. I can still remember their mother's exhausted, half crazed faces as they begged us to please, just leave one room alone.

But here I am wishing that I had a place where I could sit down and relax without first having to sweep a layer of baby away. My hands are up and I'm dangerously close to declaring my bathroom a dog and baby free zone.

The Music and You and the Gift of the Trees

I wish pain behaved more like a house guest who won't go home for whatever reason, but with some bargaining, might be convinced to grab a hotel room for the night, and maybe do the dishes before she leaves.

I attempted every intervention I knew to ditch the pain last night before the Xavier Rudd concert (!! I'll get to that in a moment, but must finish complaining first) but still found myself lying the grass in front of the Delta Center, showing the husband how to adjust my old lady hip so that, just maybe, I could put an ounce of weight on my right leg. But really, who needs the right leg anyway-- especially when the left has been enhanced with RSD!

The adjustment mostly worked, but I still needed to use Kris's body like a crutch. I dragged my sorry joints to the bathroom, unassisted past the door and clinging to the wall even though it offered no support, to pull the leaves and grass out of my formerly cute party hair. Then I got to face the indignity of walking (I use the term loosely) to the end of the line at the door. I hate to limp in public.

Once the music started all was (almost) forgotten. The first time we saw Xavier was in San Francisco. We were there to see The White Buffalo, who opened that night. There was giant lump of something on the stage which was covered by a tie dyed bed sheet. Once the Buff was done we simply had to find out what was under the sheet so we stayed. It was drums, digeridoos, and four or five guitars all attached to a giant frame so that Xavier could play them all at once. Before the show, we had downloaded a live show from Australia, and Kris and I had both assumed it was a full band, but it was just this dirty surfer with awkward hair. The digeridoos were so big they touched the floor, and shook the building when he played. It was amazing.

When we moved home to Salt Lake, I worried that I would never get to see Xavier again. Lander and I traveled to Denver to catch a show a few years ago. Detailed here. Last year marked his first show in Salt Lake. There was a pretty good sized crowd, but this time, everyone came back and brought five more friends. We were squished right up against the stage.

It was the husband's birthday as well last night, so my cute sister thought ahead and taped four sheets of paper together with "Happy Birthday Kris" scrawled across them. At a strategic moment I held the banner over his head and waited for Xavier to glance at us. We were only about 5 feet away, so it was hard to miss. At the end of his set, I held up the sign again, and jumped this time for emphasis. Xavier took it from me, and stretched it out for the whole club to read. Then he pulled Kris on stage, gave him a huge hug, and wished him happy birthday. The whole place went nuts! After Kris got down off the stage, he crumpled in a pile a revelry, and absorbed the good will of the crowd. Awesome birthday! Amazing show! Clever sign-making sister!

Handmade Wire Bail

I got a lovely request from another artist on Etsy to explain how I made the bail pictured here:


I'm really not sure I can adequately explain the process, but I will try. It takes a few practice runs, so I would suggest not using sterling to start out. I still get it backwards now and then, and have to start over.

I use 16 or 18g round wire. Flush cutters (they leave a straight cut, rather than a V) make it look nicer, but if you don't have them then snippers and a file will work too.

I use a length of wire that's about 5 fingers long. It makes the wrap at the end easier if you have a bit of a tail. (You can save the tails and sell them to a silver refiner!)

Using round nose pliersand staring the middle of the wire, wrap it twice around in a loose V pattern.


Cross the ends.


Bend the longer tail so that it is going straight down. This piece will be the middle of the wrap.


Wrap the shorter piece around 1 1/2 times, and snip the tail. You want both cut ends to meet each other in the back.


The next part is easier to show in pictures:






This last picture shows a mistake! If you pull the tail around it won't meet the other in a continuous spiral. This will make sense once you try it. So if you have this problem, then just move the tail to the other side and wrap. Don't forget to hang your object,(it sounds dumb, but I have done it many times) and make sure that it is hanging towards the front, and the cut tails are in the back.

Here's what it should look like:


I used wire with a copper core, so that's why you can see a little pink, but you can sort of see the tails come together in the back.


You can pinch the loops at the top all the way together, or open them wide. You can also play around with how big to make the loops.

I hope this helps!