Hey, FuBu. She Likes It.

They may as well have called the sun a ball of flaming joy.--Terri Guillemets


I don't know who likes the warmth of the sun more: me or FuBu. On mornings when I write, I watch FuBu follow the sun patches in our living room and dining room. Wherever the sun splashes onto the carpet, you will find a zonked out black cat. She follows the light from mid-morning to early afternoon and I never hear her chastise herself.

She doesn't call herself lazy or unmotivated. She doesn't "should" on herself: "I know I should be downstairs, pouncing on the down comforter and chasing the escaping feathers." No. She is purrfectly content basking in the sun. I once read "Sunshine is the best Prozac." FuBu is a witness!

When I bought a long sought-after reading chair last Fall, I situated it right in line with the early morning rays. This is where I sit to do my neck stretches, write in my journal, drink coffee, and watch FuBu. Here, I listen to the birds, clear the cobwebs from my brain, scan my body, and assess my energy so I can plan my day accordingly.

As daylight savings time rolled around, I became grumpy and lethargic. All I wanted to do was eat and sleep. FuBu sought comfort by the heating vents and I was sliding under the comforter earlier and earlier in the evening.

"I was born to hibernate," I would tell Buddy, who had started calling me Cubby Bear and bringing trays of food to the bed.

By mid-November, Buddy started dropping hints about one particular present he had purchased for Christmas. "You're going to like it," he sang. "Its going to make you happy." (Emphasis on the happy.)

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"I'm not telling."

By Christmas morning, Buddy couldn't wait to place a big box in my lap. As I unwrapped it, I saw the word "Happy" and Buddy began jumping around singing: "A Happy Light makes a happy life."

He had bought a full-spectrum HappyLight panel by Verilux. Full-spectrum lights simulate healthy, natural light and signal your body's hormones to improve mood and fight fatigue. Bright light therapy is used to treat Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and is useful in treating fibromyalgia. It can help to reduce muscle pains, insomnia, fatigue, and mood disorders and depression.

(I am in no way a medical professional. If you want more information about this product, go to www.verilux.com)

I can tell you this: My HappyLight has been a lifesaver for me this month. We have had approximately 21 days of rain in March. That's Seattle proportion! Many-a-morning, it was the promise of 10,000 lux that enticed me out of bed in time to stretch and write in my reading chair. Now I have a window to the right of me and the HappyLight to the left of me. And where is FuBu? Spread out her full length on the arm of the chair, right in front of the light. Sunbathing. I don't know who enjoys the HappyLight more: me or FuBu.

Ah, Sweet Slumber, Where Art Thou?

The last time I remember having a peaceful sleep...I was a baby. (No, this isn't my baby picture. Isn't she adorable? Doesn't she look like she is enjoying her repose?)

This is my sleep most nights... a crossed-eyed-frantic-hyperventilating-purple-people-eater!

I am tired, but not sleepy. I am achy. I flip and flop for an hour before I remember I stand a better chance of stilling myself if I lie on my back.

I am on my back.
I'm wide awake...but I'm tired.

I'm thinking about blog pieces I would like to write.
I reach for a magic marker and piece of paper, both of which are in the bed just for this purpose; catching an idea in the dark. (Remember Buddy is in New Jersey because if he were here with me in Santa Cruz, there wouldn't be any pens, crayons, notebooks, magazines, books, index cards, crystals, tarot cards, massages pillows and pokers in the bed.)

I'm looking up into the darkness, wishing I had some neon stars and planets on the ceiling. I'm wondering if anyone has done a CD called Lullabies for Insomniacs. Now, there's a good idea.

Midterms. Tomorrow four of my classes are taking midterms. I hope they do well. So far it has been a great semester. Thank you, God/dess.

I'm revising in my head a story I plan to give to my writing coach this week. If she accepts it, I will participate in an evening of good writing, good food, and great camaraderie where Laura's students read their work.

All the muscles in my neck, shoulders, and back are screaming. I am trying to practice deep breathing.Inhale deeply, exhale slowly.

Fifteen pounds of FuBu just landed on my chest! When did she get so heavy?

I pet her, she purrs and finds an opening to burrow under the covers. She nuzzles in the curve of my body and puts a paw on my arm as if to say: "There, go to sleep, now."

I'm tired...I'm dozing...I'm failing asleep. Ahhh....

I think I am dreaming; yet, I'm aware that I'm aware that I am dreaming. In fact, I think I am talking to my dream. I'm aware that I am dreaming the same scene over and over again. I'm aware that I am tired, yet not asleep, but dreaming, but not quite awake but I feel every ache...ALL NIGHT, from 10:30 pm--5:30 am.

And finally, I drop into sleep...no more straddling the line between two worlds, and I sleep to 9:30 am.

I'm thankful for the four hours, even if I am fatigued.


This, my friends, is the nocturnal plight of many fibromites. I have read a range of 40-96% of fibromyalgia sufferers experience sleep disturbances. There are typically three types of insomnia: trouble falling asleep, trouble sleeping, and trouble staying asleep; some people, like myself, experience all three. Too little sleep causes impaired memory and thought processes (fibro fog), depression, decreased immune response, and increased pain perception.

Everyday that we get up, no matter how slowly and fuzzy-brained, and TCB (take care of business), is a day we feel like fibro warriors.

By the way, here is one of my favorite lullabies,sung by little angels. (Found it on YouTube.)

Tsunami Hits Santa Cruz: YaYa Seeks Higher Ground

Many Santa Cruzans didn't know about the magnitude 8.9 earthquake that hit Japan early Friday morning and its subsequent tsunami until the local news came on at 6:00 am. Some were startled to hear that a  tsunami warning was in effect for our beach town. The waves were expected to hit between 7:30 and 8:00 am.

I suspect that I was not the only unaware Santa Cruz resident who was tossing and turning at 12:30 am that night, unable to find the part of the mattress that would receive and soothe her aching body. My mind was racing, my body was unsettled, and FuBu, too, was wide awake and jumping on and off the bed. We had no idea what was brewing.

Around 1:30 am when I was about to give up on sleep and watch some late-night re-runs, hopefully of Bones, Monk, or Who's the Boss, my phone rang. It was a fellow insomniac in San Jose calling to tell me to turn on the television. There we saw the explosions, fires and destruction caused by the quake; people ducking and dodging and screaming. I started having heart palpitations as I remembered the 1989 7.1 magnitude Loma Prieta earthquake that ripped apart towns in the Bay Area and Central Coast, including Santa Cruz.

My panic came a calling as we watched the ocean water flow like lava through Japan, knocking over buildings like they were Legos and ripping up cars and carrying them along as if they were loose pebbles.

We could only find news coverage on CNN and the Weather Channel. All we knew was the tsunami had created such rocking and rolling in the deep blue that California was expected to feel its affects within five hours. The size of the expected waves only the local newscasters would report four to five hours later!

What was I going to do in the meantime? Of course, by now I was imagining Katrina victims waving white sheets from the top floors of their homes, people in long lines trying to evacuate the city, overcrowded armories with children crying for their families. In my mind's eye, I saw myself getting trampled in the mass

exodus from Santa Cruz.

You may call me dramatic. I called it ESP (extrasensory perception.) I live a mile from the ocean. I didn't have enough understanding to predict the height or the reach that the tsunami waves would have in my community. My gut told me to make a plan, now!

I called Buddy, who is currently in New Jersey, and together we decided I should head for a local hotel that is at a higher elevation. "Don't wait...gather your medicine...books...magazines...papers to grade....laptop...and, oh yeah, clothes...and go now. Better be safe than sorry," my dear heart warned.

At 6:00 am, I was checking into the Chaminade as my town was awakening and hearing about the impending waves. You could have set your watch to the arrival of the first surge. The sea receded by about100 yards and rushed back in several times throughout the morning. The town warned residents near the coast to evacuate, too late, if you ask me.

The harbor close to my home received the worst damage. The boats there tossed and turned like rubber duckies in a child's bath. Eighteen boats sank and at least another 100 boats sustained damage, including cracked hulls, broken masts and rudders. Docks broke apart and big cement clumps floated about marring vessels.

By the time I'd checked into my room and watched the first local news reports, I had been awake for more than 24 hours. And while I was fluffing my pillows praying that I might finally fall asleep, daredevil surfers had paddled out to sea to catch some waves. That's so-o-o-o Santa Cruz.

My Seat on the Bed

There are days, like today, when I write My Seat on the Beach from my seat on the bed. It is what I call a fibromyalgia smack-down day. I don't know what brought it on. I slept well; nonetheless, I woke up with burning pain throughout my neck, shoulders, back, hips, gluts, and legs. An army must have marched over me during the night...several times. (Or it could have been FuBu.)

I know I need to be still today. When fibro speaks, YaYa has learned to listen...with reverence. The price of inattention is too steep: days of pain, days of insomnia, days of poor coordination, confused thinking, and memory lapses. Even if I rest today, there is no guarantee I will be better able to function tomorrow. But I can guarantee if I ignore my body and push through, I will feel worse...both physically and emotionally tomorrow.

How do I keep myself still and let my body and soul rest? Let me tell you about the view from my seat on the bed. It keeps me thankful despite my discomfort:

I live on the edge of a eucalyptus grove in a condo with a reverse floor plan; that means, my bedroom is downstairs (second floor level) and my living room is upstairs (third floor level). My bed faces the balcony window which faces the trees. Its like living in a tree house, only warmer.

Its very breezy today and the eucalyptus trees are swaying with the sensuousness of my friend Salle as she hulas. The sun shines through the grove highlighting different branches and spaces between the trees as it arches across the sky.


Earlier this morning, I watched squirrels chase each other up, down, and around the thick trunks of the tree in front of me. Someone once told me when you see squirrels chasing each other up and down, the chaser is probably marking his territory for the chasee. However, if they are going around and around, it means the female is leaving her scent to help the male determine if she is fertile. No, I have never been privy to what happens at the end of the chase! But sometimes, one will land on the balcony and eat some of the seeds that have fallen out of the bird feeder.

Let me tell you about the birds because I am aware of them before I even open my eyes. I know Spring has arrived when the grove begins to sound like a jungle again. The call and response of my feathered friends creates a symphony that wakes me up and delights me. Then the squirrels begin their chatter, and before I know it, FuBu is running back and forth on the bed, making her "ack, ack, ack, ack" noise at the commotion outside.

There is a tree right outside the window to the left of my bed. As that tree regrows it leaves, it will soon be dancing from the sparrows singing in its hair. But for today, just one sparrow sits in the crook of two branches and sings for FuBu and me.

 It is the wonder of nature that allows my spirit to rest when my brain is egging me on to get up and take care of business. Its the birds and the trees, the sun and the squirrels that remind me of this scripture: "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalms 46:10.) Before I know it, I am humming the song, "His Eye is on the Sparrow."

And because I am sitting in my seat on the bed, with my laptop, I visit You Tube and find the rendition of the song, sung in the movie: Sister Act 2, by Tanya Blount and Lauryn Hill. (Enjoy and be blessed!)




Amen...and Amen.