A wonderful end to 2008

I started this blog on the advice of a friend in publishing and a literary agent as a means to publish my book.   I am so thankful that I listened to their advice because this blog is quickly becoming so much more.  

Before starting the blog, I researched other TBI survivors' blogs.  My google search for "brain injury blogs" brought me to the Northeast Center for Special Care, a wonderful rehabilitation and reentry program, and their page of blog links.  http://www.northeastcenter.com/links_brain_injury_blogs.htm

A week later, when I had a respectable number of enteries, I contacted the center and asked if they would post a link to my page.  They kindly obliged, and wrote me an encouraging email. Later, on the 31st, asked if I had considered motivational speaking and would I like to be a guest on one of their podcasts.  

I was extremely flattered by this email - I have never done a podcast before, but it does sound like something I would enjoy.   I am, by nature, a creative person, but when left to my own devices, the TBI often puts blinders on, and causes me to see inflexibally, and myopically.  With the suggestion of motivational speaking whole new world of possibilities unfurled.   I can reach, and help so many more people this way.  The air is electric with the promise of 2009.....

Miracles are Only a Massage Away

I reached over to hit snooze on my alarm when the pain hit.  My neck, rebelling against the movement, spasmed in agony.  I don't know if I somehow did headstands in my sleep or what, but I sure must have done something bizarre.  I soon came to realize that if I didn't turn my head then my neck was fine, just slightly stiff.  At last I managed to gingerly get ready and out the door, being extremely careful of my poor injured neck.  

I was fine all day, sitting in front of a computer. Unfortunately when I met up with K that night, it was a different story altogether.  I never realized how much neck movement is involved in a night out!

Saturday morning I felt a little better, I still had to support my head in my hand to get up, but the spasms  were gone, and I had a little more movement in my neck. www.lindatellingtonjones.com/ howtodoTTouch.shtml . Unfortunately when I went to Cirque du Soleil with J and his family that afternoon the soreness was back.  That evening at dinner I was telling J about the wonders of Ttouch, the Feldenkrais System, and healing massage.  Even after this involved explanation of the benefits of ttouch, I didn't think about using it on my own sore neck.  Sunday passed and though my neck was a little better, it was far from up to par.  Finally, I woke up Monday morning and started using ttouch on my neck.  After ten minutes, my neck was back to normal, and I was cursing myself for not thinking of something so obvious.

I first heard about ttouch, and the Feldenkrais system, on which it is based, through my riding instructor, a ttouch practitioner.  The basic ttouch, called the Clouded Leopard is as simple as it is effective.  I have seen it work on bruises, headaches, stress, flexibility, and so much more. You place the pads of your fingers lightly on the sore area and move them clockwise a circle and a quarter, taking about the amount of time it takes for one complete breath.  When one movement is complete move the fingers a few inches away making another, and another, moving along the body in a line.  When the line is complete stroke the line with the other hand, which should be resting by the hand completing the movements.

The Feldenkrais system truly works miracles, and I am certain that ttouch helped achieve results pronounced impossible for brain injury, strokes and injuries of all varieties. In 2004 Paul Bach-y-Rita Ph.D. M.D. Bach-y-Rita organized a highly effective program to help TBI and stroke survivors' recoveries.  http://www.feldenkrais.com/method/article/neuroplasticity_and_the_feldenkrais_method/

I strongly suggest looking into the healing massage, and especially the Feldenkrais system as a method for recovery.   My personal experience with ttouch, as well as everything I have read or heard about the Feldenkrais Method are all resounding endorsements of this method of therapy.   There is nothing to lose, and everything to gain....

It's a Flat Life I lead

Sunday was a beautiful day; clear blue skies, balmy 62 degree weather, and the City still heavy with the trappings of Christmas.  My sister was telling me that Southern California has stopped pretending it has 4 seasons ... I am inclined to believe that NYC has followed suit, but in a very different way.  

That afternoon I went to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Extravaganza with J and his family, I had never been before and didn't quite know what to expect.  I was quite curious to see what everyone was talking about with this the world-famous show, but when J handed me the program with its attached 3-D glasses, my mouth went dry.  Was this a 3-D show?

Several months ago I went to the Optometrist to get more contact lenses.  Halfway through the eye exam we came to the depth perception test.  The assistant asked me which circle was popping out.  I apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't have depth perception.  I can't see a difference in the circles, none of them pop out at me."  She couldn't believe that someone could simply not have depth perception, and continued to make adjustments, all to no avail.   Finally I had to explain the TBI to her; that it wasn't something that could be corrected by different lenses.

Hoping against hope that a few months had magically corrected problem that hadn't changed in a decade, I put the 3-D glasses on and looked expectantly at the screen.  Santa hopped into his sleigh and the reindeer flew to Radio City Music Hall.  From the crowd's squeals of delight, raising their hands, and leaning this way and that the sleigh clearly passed over head, throwing presents, and spraying the audience with snow.  I, on the other hand, sat there miserably - the outsider - unable to participate in this clearly magical experience.  Thankfully only the first five minutes of the Christmas Extravaganza were in 3D, and the amazing choreography of the rest of the show was quite fun (in a cheddar-filled sort of way).

My all but nonexistent spatial perception isn't as bad as it might seem.  My mind has learned to compensate for a great deal and can judge most distances, in day to day life.  However, occasionally, in the real world, I am in a new place and won't be able to gauge even the most obvious distance, and this can prove extremely dangerous in the wrong setting.   

A few years ago, I took a road trip down to Richmond Virginia with my friends K, R, and D.  A group of us went to the high riverbank overlooking the James river.  We stepped out onto a massive boulder in the water, the other kids climbed down to the water to play, but I sat down and waited, because I didn't trust my spatial perception.  It's a good thing that I did - when they were ready to leave they all clambered up the rocks like adept mountaineers, and hopped back onto the bank.  I, on the other hand was left on the boulder, terrified to jump back to the river.  The gap between the boulder and the bank seemed yards wide, and I didn't know if I could make it.  If I misjudged, then I would certainly plummet to my death.  

Near tears, I was seriously considering just taking up permanent residence on the boulder, when K kindly hopped back over.  After prodigious amounts of coaxing and reassuring, he finally convinced me to try and jump off the boulder.  Mustering all of my courage and strength, I took the biggest leap I could onto the river bank.  I landed, much to my dismay, about four feet onto the bank - there had been no danger at all - I simply couldn't tell if the distance between the boulder and the bank were one or 10 feet.  Everything worked out in this case, but what if it had been the other way around, and I judged a huge distance to be tiny?   

The Antidote to the Flat Affect

 I am usually a little melancholy this time of year, the Accident happened a few days after Thanksgiving, so not only was I hospitalized over the holidays, but I was also becoming aware of myself and my surroundings right around this time.  However my memory still made a guppy's seem long - unless there were people around me at all times, then I couldn't remember anyone having visited.  Because of the holidays, and also because I was out of immediate danger, led to a sharp decline in the number of visitors.  These factors, combined with holiday expectations, made this a desperately lonely time for me, one memory which does linger. 

Because I live in New York, and and the rest of my family is scattered across the country, I follow in the footsteps of Scarlet O'Hara and rely on the kindness of strangers (or at least friends), to spend the holidays with.  Some years I spend the holidays with a traditional family, others I distract myself with travel, but whatever the case I have to keep busy.   If I can stay occupied and distract myself, then deadness doesn't seep in, but it's lurking, ready to work its insidious way in....  

Utterly detached, you feel the stark walls of isolation closing in .... and don't care.  You are a spectator, impassively watching.  I don't know if other survivors go through this, but I truly believe that this has to do with a lingering piece of the flat affect (not displaying emotions facially or in my voice).   It feels as if something  came loose in the accident, or some part of me didn't come back - emotions don't come naturally anymore, like they're not attached.  I'm not saying that my feelings aren't genuine, more that what should be a firm connection is barely hanging by a thread.  

For example, if I'm concentrating hard, often my face will be deadpan, and voice deadpan, or I won't have instantaneous reactions even to highly emotional situations - there's just a disconnect.   And this spectator feeling creeps in through that tiny fissure between my emotions and reaction time; and sucks me into that other universe the flat affect tore through to.  

It works its way into even the most crowded room, but in my experience, kind words, warm hugs, rousing conversation, and activity work wonders to tether me to this reality.  When the flat affect threatens to overtake me, sometimes it is too much effort to do this myself.  Though forays there may be inevitable, it's dangerous to stay too long.  This is why it's extremely important to have friends and family understand and keep you moving, connected, and out of that dead zone.  Thankfully not only was I quite busy this holiday season, spending it with a lovely family surrogate family so the warm fuzzies kept me tethered to the "real" world.  

Fortunately I spent fabulous Christmas surrounded by an exuberant, boisterous, loving family who did exactly that.  I stuffed myself with more food than could possibly be healthy for me, got to hear the Menorah-lighting prayer, Christmas carols, and watch Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas in a theater.  Yes, I would have to say that Christmas at J's takes a firm spot my top five of all time.  That darkness couldn't have sneaked in if it tried this year.  

In a nutshell my antidote to the deadened stillness of the flat affect is mainly to keep moving, active, connected, and always working towards a goal.  Join groups, contribute, because especially now, a sense of community is vital.

Was Bing Crosby the Nostradamus of our time?

I misspoke about there being no warm weather until spring.  Though New York had a very wet Christmas Eve, it was hardly a white one.  "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas - just like the ones I used to know".... was this really a dark prediction?  Was Bing Crosby really writing about global warming?  

This Christmas eve, was lovely; I went to dinner with J, his mother, aunt, and another friend of his at an Italian restaurant called Bice.   I am afraid my friend D has forever ruined Italian food for me, by setting the bar so high with his phenomenal cooking.  I know what great Italian food should be, which makes anything less is somewhat of a disappointment.  Bice is a nice restaurant, and the food was edible, just not anything spectacular.  In my humble opinion, it certainly did not deserve the acclaim it has received.  The company and atmosphere, however, more than made up for the uninspired cuisine, and the meal was quite pleasant.  

After dinner we went to midnight mass at St. Thomas on fifth Episcopal church - an experience every music lover, regardless of their faith, should have at least once.  St Thomas has the only boys choir school in the states, so music is one of the church's main focuses, and they really pull out all the stops on Christmas Eve.  The majestic stone structure and intricately carved alter is a perfect venue for the 45 minute chamber music concert and the angelic voices of the Men and Boys' choir.  I can't think of a better way to spend a Christmas Eve.

By the time J's mother and aunt dropped me off at home it was 2:30 a.m.  I was so exhausted I barely had enough energy to brush my teeth before collapsing into bed.

Baking as therapy

Winter has finally sunk its claws into New York, and I don't think there's any hope of a break for months.  A quick summary of recent weather patterns goes a little like this: snow -> freezing rain -> snow -> rain -> some unholy mix of rain and ice (forming bottomless puddles masquerading as deceptively firm patches) -> Cold, cold, and more cold -> fields of ice glazing the sidewalks.  These are conditions that would send even the heartiest grizzly bear running for hibernation.  In other words, this was perfect baking weather. 

Now what on earth could have made me draw that conclusion, and moreover how in the world could baking relate to TBI?  Now, as any one who has experience with TBI can tell you, just as every person is unique so is every head injury.  No two people are affected the same way and no two recoveries are identical.  Much of the time well-meaning care givers will put survivors in standard therapy programs (occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy ... etc).  These therapies do help, don't get me wrong, but unfortunately they aren't always as effective for TBI survivors, and can only take them so far.

For me, the chief obstacle to going further in my cognitive therapy was my anosognosia - I thought I was fine and viewed going to therapy as a waste of time and money.  Thankfully, I was more than happy to participate in other activities (like horseback riding, music, cooking, and recreational therapy) that helped my recovery immeasurably.   While doing research for my book, I was surprised at how many activities can be used to help further recoveries - even playing video games can help!   You just kind of have to find the right thing for you - it doesn't have to be color-in-the-lines standard therapy, either.  Do what you love!  Have fun with it! 

Even before the brain injury I loved baking and cooking, but I think are particularly great methods of therapy, because they provide a sense of accomplishment.   That said, I hated occupational therapist's "home ec" boot camps. Though I definitely needed supervision, (I shudder to say that have forgotten to turn the oven off as recently as this year) I was determined not to take anything away from occupational therapy, and stubbornly relearned how to cook later with supervision from indulgent friends and family members.

Though I'm not really using baking as TBI therapy in the strictest sense anymore, the creativity, combined with the routine makes it a wonderful form of stress relief, not to mention the added benefits of warming up the apartment and making it smell delicious.   Last night's chilly weather spurred me to the kitchen, and after another round of "fun with chocolate" - dipping all varieties of fruit and nuts, I tried my hand at shortbread.  What came out was quite possibly the best shortbread I have ever tasted - five stars for this recipe.  

Children, do try this at home (with help from your parents):

Shortbread

Ingredients:

• 1/2 c. sugar
• 1 c. cornstarch
• 2 c. flour
• 1 pinch salt
• 2 sticks (1/2 lb) butter or margarine

You will need:

• Food Processor
• ungreased 8X8" glass pan

Preparation!

1. Preheat oven to 325 
2. Cut butter or margarine into chunks 
3. Put all ingredients in food processor.
4. Blend until butter is cut through, but not a paste ( a minute give or take 30 seconds)
5. Turn crumbly mixture out of food processor into pan and press down
6. Bake for 40 min at 325
7. Reduce temp to 300 and bake an additional 20 minutes
8. Take out of oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes
9. Cut into squares and allow to set an additional hour or two

My Moth-eaten Memory

Memory deficits - almost everyone with TBI has to deal with them - lot of people who haven't have memory problems!  Writing notes, making lists, repetition - we all have ways of dealing with our moth-eaten memories.  But one of the most consistently frustrating things I struggle with is my extraordinary ability to lose things.  Saying I have spent hundreds on replacing things I have lost, misplaced, or left behind is a gross understatement.  The old adage "you'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on" fits me too a T.  My most recent example of this, is sadly classic.  

Several weeks ago my ear headphones broke.  Oh they still worked  if you held the cord just so, but the connection was definitely on the fritz.  As I value my hearing, I had been considering getting some new over-ear headphones for a while, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to get myself a new pair.  I went to Circuit City, and looked at the nice shiny Bosse headphones, I agonized over them.  As I have been spending too much on Christmas presents anyway, at last I decided on a significantly less expensive brand of behind-the-neck headphones that I could wear with hats and would go underneath my hair.  For a week I wore them everywhere - I keep my metro card in my ipod case so it is always with me.   Granted they were more cumbersome than the tiny ear buds, and took some situating in my purse, and hurt to have on too long, but I suppose you have to make some sacrifices for your hearing.  Then, one morning opened my computer bag and they were gone.  I looked everywhere - took everything out of my bag, turned my room upside down and rightside up again, searched the apartment - all to no avail.  Another casualty of the memory holes - thank goodness I didn't get the Bosse headphones!

This can be quite frustrating, but I have come to accept it as a part of myself and try my best to keep everything in order, and be careful not to leave things behind.  As the headphone incident, shows, I am far from perfect, but I was reminded of how far I have come last Saturday.  

I went to see a matinee performance Thais at the Met.  I'd never seen it before and was really looking forward to seeing Renee Flemming sing.   I had been given the ticket as a Christmas present, but my friend who gave it to me was in Paris for the week so I went to the opera by myself.

At the first intermission, the woman next to me, a lovely 78-year-old language tutor from Queens, struck up a conversation with me.  She was a long-time Opera aficionado and the longer we talked, the more I liked her - she loved animals, nature, the arts, and seemed to be an extremely kind person.   When she asked me what I did, I told her that I was looking for an agent and publisher for my book, and felt comfortable sharing my story with her.  She shared that she had a cousin living in Germany who had recently suffered a stroke, so she had first-hand experience with brain damage.  A moment later the second act started and we were once again lost in the enchanting music, exciting story, and sumptuous costuming and set design.  

We continued our conversation at the second intermission, I cannot recall the particulars, but for some reason I began explaining Anosognosia, a syndrome common in TBI survivors and stroke victims, in which the patient is unaware of their deficits.  For example, if a patient suffering from anogsonosia, whose left arm is paralyzed is asked to move their paralyzed limb they will claim to be moving the motionless arm.  When asked who the inert arm in their lap belongs to the patient may claim it is the interrogator's, and stick to their claim.  If  asked why their jewelry is on the inert hand they may claim the interrogator has stolen the jewelry or confabulate any story their brain can manufacture to perpetuate the belief that their hand is not paralyzed.  I continued to explain, that anosognosia is not denial, a psychological condition, but a physiological one - the brain simply cannot recognize anything is wrong.   This can be extremely frustrating for both the patient and those around to deal with.

"Wait - what were you saying about the stealing?," the woman broke in.  

"Oh, that was just an example," I replied, uncomprehendingly.  

But she wanted me to explain this concept more throughly.  My explanation had struck a chord - evidently the woman's cousin had started accusing people of stealing from her.  Some things going missing in assisted living facilities is, unfortunately, to be expected.  However, the frequency of these occurrences did not make sense, and she had begun claiming that her family was stealing from her, which had created rifts in the family - her own son had stopped speaking to her because of one such accusation.

"Could this be because of anogsonosia, do you think?"

I didn't need to think about it long, I had the experience.  I told her that it seemed likely to me. I told her that there are varying degrees of anosognosia.  She may know she had a stroke, but not be capable of recognizing the deficits.  If she misplaces something, the simplest solution for her brain to jump to is that someone has stolen from her.  Add to that the fact that her children have had to sell her house, many of her things, and move her into an assisted living home, and of course she is feeling vulnerable, paranoid, and angry.  But it is important to remember it is not the person's fault and not to punish them for it.  The woman thanked me and looked forward to telling her cousin's son and hopefully bringing the family back together.  

I do hope that I have helped their family out, and can help others who've stepped into my old shoes.    I'm pretty sure I wasn't the easiest person in the world to deal with for quite a while after the accident and it was no picnic for me either.  I'd like to try and make things easier for others going through this stuff - for both sides.  

Rolling the Dice - TBI and alcohol

The experts agree: people recovering from traumatic brain shouldn't drink.  It's a vicious cycle -TBI lowers survivors' alcohol tolerance.   It enhances alcohol's negative effects, and alcohol in turn exacerbates TBI deficits.  This lovely cocktail (no pun intended) of alcohol and TBI can lead to impaired thinking - poor judgment, memory issues, decreased motor skills, and so forth - basically alcohol's ordinary minuses, but amplified.  In some cases alcohol can even lead to seizures.  

Fortunately this only while people are recovering.  I was straight edge* at 19, when the drunk driver hit me (yeah, how's that for irony, a drunk driver hits a straight edge pedestrian who doesn't drive), so when the doctor told me I shouldn't drink it didn't bother me. 

Unfortunately recovery is a lifelong process and when, years later, I "broke the edge" and started drinking, I still had to deal with TBI-alcohol problems.   If I had problems every time I drank I just wouldn't do it, but this is not the case at all.  Drinking is extremely interesting for me - my tolerance and reactions are so varied that I never know what to expect.  

The vast majority of the time everything is copasetic, some nights I drink two drinks and am pleasantly tipsy, other evenings and I will have 5 drinks and not feel the affect, but I am generally pretty good at regulating it.  However on occasion there can be dire consequences.  One fateful night (last summer) I had two drinks, I felt fine, but half an hour later my memory of the night ends, and I (apparently) ended up vomiting in an obliging closet.  

Now I am one to roll the dice, I don't drink terribly often, but last night I decided to a Matador Records/Insound listening party for AC Newman's (frontman for the New Pornographers) new album Get Guilty.  A friend of mine was organizing it, and I hadn't seen her in ages, besides; I love the New Pornographers.  I took the D train from my Harlem apartment to the Lower East  Side, and Stanton Public, the bar it was at, was easy to find (after having written down step-by-step directions - www.hopstop.com has saved my life on more than one occasion).

I'm not sure if I'd ever been to Stanton Public before, but it is a really cute little bar, and all the better for having an open vodka bar.  I'm not one to turn down a free drink, and when my friend suggested I get a drink, I readily ordered my standard cape cod - it's hard to get a vodka cranberry wrong.  It was a fun night - I got to catch up with a lot of friends I hadn't seen in ages, hear a good album, meet some cool kids, and everybody seemed to like the turtles I brought (like I said, I've been a candy making fool; the caramel recipe makes delicious turtles)

Sorry, no fireworks.  Just a fun night with friends in LES.  I won this roll of the dice.

TURTLES

Ingredients:

• Caramel
  
• 1 pkg dark chocolate chips (I used Ghirardelli)
  
• whole pecans

Assembly:

• Cut caramel into pecan-sized squares
  
• Lay out sheet of waxed paper
  
• Melt chocolate in double boiler
  
• Assemble turtles by sticking one pecan onto each piece of caramel
  
• dip caramel/pecan pieces in chocolate.  
• Refrigerate turtles

Enjoy!

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Straight_edge

Trials and Tribulations of the Directionally Challenged

Among the more upsetting side-effects of my head injury is the fact that I am still unable to well, find my way out of a paper bag.  No matter how many times I walk, drive, or travel, even the simplest route, there remains a high probability that I will find myself hopelessly lost.  I have come to accept that I am pathetic at finding places, but it never ceases to amaze (frustrate) me when I find myself lost in a familiar area. I have been living in the City for three years, give or take a little vacation time here and there and 6 months hiatus in Budapest.  In that time I've learned to navigate some parts of the city pretty well, provided they're set up on a grid (forget about downtown).  

 Catherine Deneuve is unquestionably one of my favorite actresses, so when I heard she had a new film out this year, Un Conte de Noel (A Christmas Tale), I couldn't wait.  I made plans to meet up with a friend and see it on Tuesday.  The film was at 6:55, but we were going to meet at 6:30 to get tickets.  She texted me at 5:50 saying she was at a coffeshop at  64th and Broadway, and I told her I was on my way.  Before I left the library (at 40th and 5th) I checked the address of Lincoln Plaza Cinema, where we were meeting (Broadway between 62 and 63rd).  I'd pick up some kettle corn on my way to the theater.

As I stepped outside a harsh blast of wind and snow blindsided me - no beautiful fluffy cotton-ball flakes drifting down here.  This was millions of insidious little flecks of half-frozen ice posing as snow coming at me from every direction.  I quickly put up my umbrella to fend off the onslaught.  Within a few blocks the icy cold wind had blown every ounce of sense out of my head. I could have taken the train, but I'd made up my mind to get that kettle corn - I was determined, I had time, it wasn't that far.  The theater was at 67th and Broadway, wasn't it?

When I reached Columbus Circle I checked my phone to make sure I was okay on time - I'd missed a call!  My friend had called - it was after 6:30!  This snow wasn't helping anything.  Suddenly I was lost - did Broadway go through Central Park?  Surely it didn't stop and start again after - it couldn't!  I'd walked it before.  How did this work again? I walked back and forth trying to figure it out chastising myself for being so stupid.  I would figure it out it- I had to!

Maybe I should take the subway, but what if the train took forever - it was only a few blocks. No, I couldn't give up ... I would find my way there ... I was on a mission!  Finally I remembered that Broadway moved West of 8th at Central Park, I still had time to make it if I hurried.  I lengthened my stride, trying to ignore the icicles forming on my hand clutching the umbrella, and hurried up to the 65 street intersection, where I became hopelessly lost once again.  Where was Broadway on the other side of this knot of roads?  I cursed the hateful street it's twists and turns making me late.  

At last I made it to the theater - Broadway between 66th and 67th.  But wait, was a Catherine Deneuve film really playing at an AMC?  That didn't seem right - wasn't this an indie film?  I double checked the cinema's name - Lincoln Cinema.  That was it, wasn't it?  I walked inside, asked of a ticket to a Christmas Tale and paid for my ticket.  (Great, she'd given me a ticket - this was the right place!)

Shoving the ticket in my pocket I half-ran to towards the theaters.  I was halfway up the escalator before I looked at the ticket: Four Christmases.  What!?  I raced back down the escalator.  By the time I got back to the cashiers I was practically in tears.  They kindly gave me my money back and told me the theater I was looking for was at 63rd and Broadway.  

5 minutes til the movie started - I raced out the door, only to become once again hopelessly lost at the dreaded intersection.  Eyes blurry with tears and snow, I made it to the front of Lincoln Center searching for the cinema, after several failed attempts at following signs I took a deep breath and asked a man hurrying through the snow for directions.  He pointed across several lanes of traffic.  Somehow I had walked past it in my rush to get to the other theater and was now on a completely different street.  

The previews were over and the film had long since started by the time I shamefacedly slunk into the theater, squeezing past people and into the seat my friend had saved me.  

The moral of this story is that a little margin for error is never a bad thing, and for TBI survivors a large margin for error is advisable.  

As for the film, though my opinion could have something to do with the fact that I missed the beginning, I was not particularly impressed.  Though the acting was great, it seemed like the plot was somewhat unfocused and the character development was rather lacking.  It was quite unfortunate.  Thumbs down to  Un Conte de Noel

I went home and made caramel - I've been on a candy making kick lately.    It turned out really well.  Caramel may take time, timing, and stirring, but that just makes it more fun.  I definitely recommend this recipe:

CARAMEL

Ingredients:

• 2 c. granulated sugar
  
• 2 c. corn syrup
  
• 1 stick butter (8 T)
  
• 1 (14 oz) can of sweetened condensed milk
  
• 1 pt (2 c.) heavy cream
  

You will need:

• -Large heavy-duty pan - it is extremely important that you use a heavy-duty pan.  If the pan is not heavy enough the caramel will burn or cook unevenly
  
• -Candy thermometer
  
• -9X13 well-greased pan

Candy Making!

1. Add corn syrup and sugar to the pan.  Place over high heat stirring constantly until well-mixed.  Then stir occasionally until boiling.

2. When at a roiling boil, add the butter

3 Place cream and sweetened condensed milk in a saucepan over medium heat.  Mix well and heat until hot (but not boiling)

4. Add milk mixture in a slow stream to the large pan stirring constantly, then stirring occasionally as the temperature rises.

5. When temperature reaches about 227 start stirring again and watch the mixture carefully (you don't want it to burn)

6. When the temperature reaches 230-235, the soft ball stage, then pour mixture into the greased pan. 

7. Let Caramel cool overnight and cut into pieces.  

Dorothy From Kansas

That other Dorothy just played the part; I'm the real Dorothy.  I've been to Oz, and it isn't a world of singing Munchkins and Technicolor friends.  It's scary there over the rainbow.  

I didn't know my name was Dorothy 'til I was 7 and I got my first passport.  I guess my parents wanted to protect me from being teased at school, Dorothy from Kansas, and all.  After being teased all through Italy (Where's Toto, There's no place like home, etc etc) I resolved to keep my name to myself - have a secret identity, if you will.  But secrets always have a way of coming out, and the day my identity claimed me was the worst day of my life.