Mygraines: Apeeling Treatments

You've surely heard a version of this joke before: a man goes to the doctor for his debilitating and persistent migraines, and after listing all of the treatments he's tried, the doctor says, "Listen, I have migraines, too...and here's what works for me. When I have a migraine, I go home, get in a nice warm bath, and have my wife sponge my forehead with the hottest water possible. Then I get out of the tub, take her into the bedroom, and even if my head is killing me, I make love to her. Almost always, the headache is immediately gone. Give it a try, and come back and see me in six weeks.” Six weeks later, the patient returns with a big grin. “Doc! I took your advice and it works! By the way - you have a really beautiful house."

Anyone who's ever had even one migraine knows that it's about as close to a trip to hell as you can get without actually expiring. And if you're in this elite group, you also know that you'd dress up like a nun and play hopscotch in front of the White House if someone told you it would get rid of your headaches.

I've done it all - the rounds of medications and shots, gallons of jasmine tea, hot water on the wrists and ankles, bursts of caffeine, vinegar compresses, and tapping (EFT) - which actually brings me a lot of relief (despite my refusal, while tapping, to repeat this affirmation: "Even though I have this migraine, I deeply and completely accept myself"). 

Ten years ago, in abject pain, I even draped a banana peel on my neck after reading that the potassium would work wonders. True to my patient nature, I gave it one try for about 10 minutes, and it didn't work. But as I sat to write this post, I thought I should at least check this out again. One source (some kind of practitioner, but not of the medical persuasion) said he had measured the electrical resistance at the site of pain in more than 18,000 people and said that he believes pain is caused by the breaking, cutting, failure, or suppression of electrical signals between cells in living tissue, so if the banana peel was able to conduct an electrical signal, it really could help. His conclusion? "Just as I thought, banana peels are excellent conductors." I got a mental picture of his lab, a Frankensteiny place with a banana skin splayed out on one gleaming silver table and a human being on another, strung together with metal, and that "zzzzzzzzzzt" sound buzzing along the wires. A little more googling got me this information from the book The Keeler Migraine Method by Robert Cowan, MD (a real doctah!). He said of his patients asking about banana peels: "Finally, I learned that the miracle [banana peel] cure had come from a bogus letter to Ann Landers... and was a complete spoof." That makes me think the nun-hopscotch-White House thing might be a fake, too. Not that I ever tried it or anything.

If you're a BMFF, I feel your pain, brothers and sisters—and I hope that, somehow, somewhere, some way, you get some blessed peace. Oh, and one more thing. Even though I wrote this post about migraines, I deeply and completely accept myself.

© 2011 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

The Magic Closet

Some months ago, my cousin, fresh from extended world travel where she had the opportunity to meet a range of potential mates, made a surprise visit to her mother's home for Christmas; fully intending to continue her journeys after the holidays. But there - emerging from his work on a closet in the middle of a remodeling project - was a handsome fellow who, in short order, became her boyfriend...and then her roommate. It made me wonder if this closet had some magical qualities, like that Milton Bradley game that came out in the late '60s, where you took your chances on the James Bondish guy, the athlete, or the bookish nerd, who at the time was the one nobody wanted to end up with, but who might be pretty nice to hang out with now. Bookish nerds get considerably more interesting with a little time and experience. (And by the way, this has nothing to do with this little story, but they still make the Mystery Date game, and it's - gasp! - FIFTY DOLLARS! It would be cheaper to buy your little girl a date. But that's probably illegal.)

Anyway, my cousin's meet cute story is not the first one like this I've heard...I started to remember other love connections that but for a few minutes earlier or later, people who are perfect for each other might never have met. Like my friend who went with her sister to the Birchmere on her birthday to see one of her favorite performers, and was seated at a table with four guys, and now she's getting married this fall. (Not to all four guys - just the one that she liked.) Or my buddy who met his wife on the subway on his way to a blind date, and was so taken with her he explained the whole situation - and asked if she would please agree to one lunch with him so that he could persuade her to understand what he was already feeling.

Ah, true love. Basherts. Meant to be. Soul mates. It's almost convincing enough to make me check the closet before taking the subway to the Birchmere.

© 2011 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie 

My $88 Breakfast

A Saturday morning, and I was headed out to meet a friend for breakfast at a great little mom-and-pop spot with real pickle barrels and career waitresses. It was sunny and perfect...the kind of morning that lifts your heart because all around you feels bright and full of promise. Only one problem: if I'm happy, I sing. And when I'm happy and singing, there's a chance my car gets a little happier, too. And faster.  A lot, apparently.

Oh, nothing happened that morning, except that I had a great time chatting with a friend I really enjoy, ran a few errands and then headed back home the way I'd come. Still happy.

A little time passed - maybe a week - and when I picked up the mail, there they were. Two envelopes which, when opened, held notices with front and back photos of my car - one was headed east, one west. Raising the grand total of my relatively inexpensive breakfast that sunny, perfect morning to $88.

The pictures are kind of dark, but if you look really closely, you can see me singing. I looked a lot happier back then.


© 2011 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie 

And so it begins.

This first entry has been a long time coming. First I had to create a blog...which I did about three years ago, and then let it sit because, as I'm fond of remarking, life interferes with life. But this time it's gonna happen. And just to lock myself in, I wrote three entries at once. (Secret note to my "palison" - I win!)

When I picked up the blog baton again, as most communicators will who prepare collaterals and fancy materials for a living, I spent time picking colors and fonts... and struggled to find a meaningful name for this undertaking. I worked through all of the best "write-oriented" ones, but they were spoken for. I thought I had it when I picked "Tighty Writeys" - because my intention is to get to the point and make it fun to read - but that was taken, too, albeit with one more "e" than mine. Then I decided to use something with the word "brie" in it (part of my last name), even though it makes my blog sound like a good source of amuse bouche recipes. (Disappointed that it's not? No worries. You'll find Brie and Crab Soup at http://ow.ly/5LOOU and Walnut-Brie Tartlets at http://ow.ly/5LOQj.)

But if you did come to read, please pull up a virtual chair and keep going for a few more minutes. And I hope you'll come back again sometime. I love having you in my place.

© 2011 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie