One Little Check Box

Kiel was going to drive me to the MRI, but at 6am on a quiet and cold Saturday morning, I didn't have the heart to wake him up. I dressed warmly and snuck out of the house, pulling the door locked behind me. The drive was quick, what with little traffic, even though snowflakes sifted down with some regularity.

After a bit of a delay at the Parking Garage (apparently the shift change causes queues), I entered the main doors of Strong, took the Silver Elevators to the ground floor, and followed the red "R" signs to Radiation. A sign on the door directed weekend patients to another door, and I entered an absolutely empty waiting area. No one was in the receptionist's area, so I wandered down the hall and called out. No answer.

That's OK. I am in no hurry. A well dressed gentleman entered, talking on his cell phone. He breezed past me and I wondered if he were one of the technicians. He wandered down the same hall, opened every door, then turned around and exited the waiting area still talking on his phone. He never even glanced in my direction. Hum.

Finally, the receptionist showed up lugging a huge bag, her coat still buttoned close about her from the cold. She mumbled an apology about getting stuck in the line for the parking garage, and opened the window. Name. Type, type, type. Birthdate. Type, type, type. Answer phone. Answer nurse. Fold papers. Slap two ID bracelets on my arm. One with my vital info, the other red to alert people of my IV dye allergy.

They call me back. I mention the prep I had taken, the prednisone Benadryl cocktail. The nurse looks at my paperwork and frowns. She says she will be right back and disappears, leaving me in the waiting area for about ten minutes. I am impatient. Let's get this thing over with. I have a paper to write for class. She reappears with another person, and they are having an animated conversation. The box for contrast is not checked. Its definitely blank.

Turns out the insurance company did not approve the contrast. Only an MRI. No point in doing that since they are looking for cancer. They suggest I call the insurance company Monday, but don't advise me to have the MRI without the contrast. Otherwise they won't get the information they need for the bone biopsy. What?

No test? Good grief. I already took the prep! I'll have to go back to the drawing board and begin again. I stand there a few minutes in confusion. I revved up my mental preparedness and spent time giving myself a pep talk for nothing? What if I can't take the prep again right away? We are talking steroids here. My mind is going a mile a minute.

I realize the two ladies are staring at me, waiting for me to respond. OK. I'll go quietly. Its not like I actually want to have this test anyways. I apologize for breaking the appointment. They nod. Its not like they don't have lots of other stuff to do. I wander down the empty corridor, not sure whether to celebrate my reprieve or be mad at the snafu.

Prep Day

More tests. Sigh. At least I have had MRI's before. Last time I got kind of dizzy from the contrast stuff. Its called Gadolinium, and in its natural state, quite toxic. Of course, they don't give it to you unprotected. It does give you a weird taste in your mouth, but last time I felt quite dizzy and thought I was going to pass out for a few minutes. Basically it makes your insides light up.

So now they "premedicate" me with Benadryl and Prednisone. Last time I took Prednisone, I was fighting off a horrible cold and sinus infection, and it gave me a great energy boost! I could feel it working about 3 or 4 hours after I got it and it stayed effective for about ten days. So tonight I get to take the power pill! I am looking forward to feeling better. I think it helps the swelling to go down.

I guess you could call it the lymphoma drug of choice. Just don't get hooked. Other than that, make sure I have music to listen to and I should be good to go.

Communications Audit

Audits are on people's minds these days what with taxes coming up and all. So the words Communications Audit caught my attention. Sounds impressive, yes? Let's take an inventory of our communications, account for all the ways we talk to each other. Inspect how we are conveying information to see if we can improve.

One of the business classes here assigns students to perform one in the local business of their choice. I asked the faculty person to put the library on the list of possible sites. My goal was to see if we could improve our communications inside the library. Amongst each other. A result of having moved into a facility where our offices are at some distance from one another. And incidentally, it would be nice to look at how we communicate with our users as well.

Surprise! We are doing fairly well internally, but externally, we are abysmal. The poor student who was interviewing me made a few timid remarks about her honors paper and how difficult is was for her to find the resources she needed to address her topic.

What started out to be an audit turned into a research session. She was amazed to find that there is a lot of material available if you just know which sources to use and what the right words are. These days its about focusing, eliminating and paring down your search results, not increasing them.

After our session, she wanted to know if we could send an email to all the students to tell them about our wonderful resources and invite them to come to a few classes. And that brought us right back to the communications audit. I handed her the flier listing the classes we are offering. She was floored. She had never seen it, didn't realize the importance of coming to one of the classes. As she read through the list, she admitted that she should have taken most of them.

So we aren't getting out message out. How does it help anyone if we spend a ton on money on excellent resources but no one uses them because they don't know we have them!!??!! What other resources do we have that are going to waste because no one knows about them?

I suspect she will help get the message out. A happy customer is the best PR. She emailed me after our chat to tell me that when the class assignment for a PR plan is due, she is planning on handing in one for the library. Hoorah! Maybe if you communicate the right message to the right person, things change. Sure sounds promising.

Ash Wednesday

Ah, the beginning of Lent. I found out this year that Lent refers to the lengthening of the days, to spring! What an unusual yet uplifting meaning to the season I have so often associated with mourning and sacrifice. For years I have focused on examining my life to ferret out the sins and bad habits, to repent and be sorry for all the mistakes and intentional bad things I had done over the course of a year.

And it is important to do an inventory on a regular basis to see where you are missing the mark. How much more joyous to see this season as a time of preparation instead of a time of intense surgery. A time of hoping for spring to arrive with new life, a looking forward not to the suffering and death of Jesus with such sorrow, but beyond that not only to the resurrection, but to life eternal in heaven!

Maybe it is OK to think of this as time 'lent' to us to get ready for a grand celebration, a wedding, something wonderful! That is how I plan to spend Lent this year. In joyful anticipation of an upcoming life altering event that I can't wait to be part of and not a time of tribulation and suffering to beat myself into the ground for all my shortcomings. Lord knows, I have enough of those!

When I was a young child, I loved Easter morning with all the trappings - the new clothes, the great food, the visits from grandparents, the colored eggs. So this Lent, I will look forward to the celebration as if I were a young child again. How about you?

Owie

Everything hurts today. My glands all over are swollen and tender. I can't put my arms down easily without feeling pressure. Its hard to sit or stand or move. I have these days from time to time, I just wish I knew what precipitated them so I could avoid having them!

That being said, I pick my loosest clothing, avoiding anything that might bind, and head out the door to work. On the way I concentrate on the things I am thankful for. I am breathing well, I can put my own shoes on, I can see, I have my sense of taste and smell, my brain works just fine, I enjoy colors, I have a great job, I am not in excruciating pain, I do not have any yucky medical procedures scheduled for today, and my car is working!

That's a lot of blessings. Focus on them and just move slowly. Eventually the swellings will go down and you will feel better. At least your energy is not low! As the nurses often say, its a good day when you can sit upright and feed yourself.

Hawaiian Surprise Cake

I haven't made this gooey dessert in years. I used to love making this simple yet uplifting confection - bake one yellow cake (use pineapple juice for the liquid), top with a mixture of vanilla pudding and crushed pineapple covered with whipped cream and maraschino cherries.

Guaranteed to make your tummy and your eyes happy all at once! After such a long winter, we needed a break, and with a staff birthday to celebrate, this seemed just the ticket.

I looked up all the books on Hawaii we have in our library (16) and pulled them into the staff lounge. Pictures were good, the children's book on a Hawaiian princess was a quick read, the tales of Mark Twain in his Letters from Hawaii an amusing tale of disgruntledness with photography (so out of place in Rochester, home of George Eastman of Eastman Kodak fame).

OK, the Hawaiian punch wasn't the greatest, but the cake went over well. I always thought the "surprise" in the title was the pineapple. Turns out the surprise is the lift in your spirits after weeks of snow and single digit temps!

Dead, Mon

"Mom?" I always dread what comes after that statement. Whatever it is, it can't be good. Sure enough, Kiel was telling me the car wouldn't start. Phooey. I am at home, he and Drew are at soccer at Pearce. The AAA card does not list Kiel, so I am stuck.

"Try to find someone to give you a jumpstart." OK. Minutes pass as I try to think through the options if he can't get the car started. Ring. Ring. "Well, we tried, but it just won't turn over." OK. See if one of your friends can give you and Drew a ride home. We'll figure it out in the morning.

His friend's roommate lent Kiel a car to both get home and get back in the morning. What a kindness! This person doesn't even know me. How amazingly trusting. What a tremendous blessing! In the morning, I call AAA - they will take the card from me. They tow Baby to the garage where they find a dead battery to replace. I hope that's all it is!

I return the borrowed car filled with gas and send along a few flowers and a thank you note. Thank you for making my day easier. Thank you for being willing to step out and take a risk. Thank you for keeping me floating through a mini crisis!

Sometimes you are blessed by the kindness of strangers.

Button Pushing

She is bubbly and smiling and filled with joy, our new BOCES volunteer. She has learned to greet each person openly and with interest. She takes it all in like an excited kindergartner on the first day of school, her voice sometimes squeaking with excitement, sometimes jumping registers without warning. I gave her the grand tour of the Library. Everything impressed her, especially when there were buttons to push.

Elevator buttons were a snap when we went upstairs. Compact shelves have fascinating buttons that beep and we tried out a half dozen. Handicap doors have big blue buttons and whoosh doors open with abandon. She loved pushing buttons. After seeing all the upstairs space (wow! this is a BIG library), I asked if she wanted to take the stairs down. No! The elevator - its got buttons.

Reminds me of a story I once read about a small construction company who hired a young man that couldn't resist pushing buttons. He pushed a button and closed a garage door down on a car and a dozen more expensive accidental button pushing incidents until the owner finally fired the kid. Despite repeated warnings, he just could not resist pushing every button he saw.

I never realized how many buttons one encounters in a normal day. On clothes, cars, computers, doors, appliances, TVs, remotes - the list is huge. My goal for the rest of today is to smile a huge smile every time I push a button, just like our volunteer. By the end of the day, a face lift will no longer be needed.

Daffodils

Sometimes lunch turns into errand running. Today I needed to hit the bank, pick up some supplies, get stuff for baking a cake for a bake sale, get gas, pay a few bills, mail a letter - whew! Not enough hours in the day to stay on top of it all.

I was hurry-scurrying through Wegmans when I passed a delightful display of bright yellow daffodils. I breezed past, then turned around, stepped out of the main aisle, and just stood admiring the cheerful faces and delicate petals. How beautiful their spring dress. How encouraging their life and vitality after such a long winter.

I couldn't believe they were only a dollar and change per plant! What a lift in spirits it would give my staff at the Circ Desk. OK, I set aside the hectic running and took my time selecting just the right healthy plant with a plethora of blossoms and multiple bulbs. Yes, it will grace the counter well.

How disappointing when I brought it up to the desk to see how small my little offering shrank surrounded by mammoth shelves and massive stone counters. It looked lost among the accoutrements of checking out books and whatnot. But the student behind the desk fell instantly in love with my little offering. She cradled it carefully in her arms and tucked it neatly beside her at the desk close to the monitor.

There, sheltered by the stone counter instead of dwarfed by it, the little plant breathed freely, spreading its warmth and cheer. Everyone walking past remarked on its prettiness and bright happiness. Me too. Sometimes when I am dwarfed by life's problems, I just need to find that sheltered crevasse of God's protective perspective where I can breathe and bloom.

May you find your perfect space where you can safely share your love with the world.

Moody Lighting

The bathroom in the staff break room is a high volume traffic area. Beside the Library staff, most of our students as well as the staff from the Learning Center and any faculty who wander by prefer the comfort of a cozier room to a cold stone-walled stall shared with the rest of the campus residents.



We have had our little squabbles with facilities over the accouterments of the bathrooms. I am shocked that they find it acceptable to plunge (no pun intended) the bathrooms into total darkness in the event of a power outage. We have 3/4 generator restoration, but bathroom lighting didn't make the list. So when the power goes out, you have to take your cell phone into the ladies room to be able to see anything - there are no windows in any of the bathrooms.



Then there is the green aspect of automatic water turn on and off. I have clocked the downstairs bathrooms at a stunning 4 seconds, the upstairs ones at an astounding 3 seconds. After a year and a half of asking (and everyone learning the four hand repeat swish), I finally got an agreement from the facilities guy to up it to 15 seconds (which should do it. I am told you are supposed to continue washing your hands until you finish singing Happy Birthday to yourself in order to ensure that all germs have met their demise). Of course, they didn't say when they planned to make it happen.



Such silly little issues. Yet aggravating irritations when left unchecked. Today I encountered yet another bathroom quandary. The staff bathroom lighting has decided to go rogue. When you flip the switch (one of those motion sensor things still turns the light off if you sit too long!) it grudgingly acquiesces to provide a half candle watt of power. The darkness is barely dispelled. Sort of like experiencing pre-dawn grayness even at noon. You have to really work to actually see your hand in front of your face. Laura says its downright scary.



Its not so bad, really. Makes for a peaceful environment, keeps you from noticing the dust on the top of the paper dispensers or the smudges on the little table we commandeered from the old building (otherwise there would be no place to set your reading material!). Sure hope it doesn't take a year and a half to convince facilities to take a look!



Meanwhile, I am back to sharing the downstairs 4 second stalls with the rest of campus! Well, just another occasion to develop my reputation as a hard hitting demanding perfectionist (not).

Winking Green Light

At the intersection of Manitou and Buffalo Roads hangs a traffic light where lines of cars are often queued up to turn. It is the one break you can catch if you get stuck behind one of the undriven drivers who insist on shuffling along at 30 in the 55 zone. If they go straight, you can turn. If they turn, you can go straight (no guarantees you will not end up behind another leisure driver).

While I normally prefer to be not under the gun to get somewhere, the reality has been that I am running late because of any zillion of reasons, and someone is depending on me to get somewhere by a certain time, so I cannot afford the luxury of poking along as if I have all day to get somewhere. That's what I tell myself.

I try not to sputter and fuss, but I can't help carrying on a one-sided conversation with the annoying driver ahead of me. "Come on, lady. Put your foot on the gas pedal. Its 55 on this road, not 20 (OK, I exaggerate). At least have the decency to let me by when there's an opening!" This serves to elevate my blood pressure fairly well while not affecting the offending driver in the least. Pointless but human.

Today, the light was red, and I impatiently waited for a chance to zoom off the moment green showed its face, the offending slow car having pulled into the turn lane and disappeared eons ago. Of course, I was totally out of order, and working to calm down and live in the moment, and not yell at the boy who got up late and puddled around getting ready. (Can you tell I hate to be late?).

At long last the light turned green, and I was about to tromp on the gas when it flickered off. What? Then it flickered on again, and off, and on. Go. Don't go. Go. No, wait! How silly. I pulled away laughing as the light continued its indecisive flickering. Maybe it was trying to tell me not to take things so seriously. Whether you go fast or slow, the world will not come to an end if you are three minutes late.

The Orange Chair and the Tree

Across Westside Drive from the Library, visible from the periodical reading area near the Reference Desk, stands a lone molded plastic orange chair with rusted metal legs. It appears to have been intentionally placed under the once shady branches of an oak tree at the edge of the informal construction workers' parking lot situated between a white one-level ranch house and a dark brown barn structure.

I never paid much attention in the summer or fall. I guess when the construction guys wanted to take a break, they needed a place to perch. Where they took it from is anyone's guess. But the workers are long gone and the parking lot has not welcomed any customers in weeks, especially during the blizzards and with the banks of snow that accumulated.

The weathered orange chair seems jarringly out of place, beyond usefulness to anyone. Yet there it sits, waiting for warmer weather and an uptick in utility. Hundreds of cars pass by it every day. Dozens of pedestrians jog past. Birds fly overhead and squirrels rumble about in the tree overhead. It doesn't even protect the ground beneath from snow, only gets buried up to the top of its back repeatedly.

One would think the owner of the chair would have taken it inside for the winter. Perhaps tucked it into the nearby barn for refuge from the battering winter storms. In the grand scheme of things, its such a minor detail. Who cares if some rogue chair, stolen or borrowed or owned, is left to the ravages of Mother Nature and Father Time?

But the darn thing speaks to me of community and caring - or lack thereof - during a time when we are facing some perhaps scary times. Who around me has been left out in the cold? How are they weathering the storms of life? Are they still perfectly sound, just patiently waiting for someone to give them an opportunity to be useful again?

I just got an email from a friend, an early statistic of the souring economy. She lost her job nine months ago due to cut funding for her employing organization. Without the support of friends and family, she thought she would go insane, even while trying to focus on spending time with her father and her grandchildren. When she finally connected with work, her words spoke of how good it felt to feel useful again.

In these uncertain times, it is so important to see the orange chairs sitting out there, abandoned but still perfectly good, and to remember to suggest to those needing a good seat to check under the naked trees!

Taking the Road More Traveled

Today is Drew's last day to work on the Robot. I snuck a peek on Saturday late. Its wonderfully square and sturdy, low to the ground, with thick treaded wheels to navigate the ice on this year's court. It pulls the balls up into its guts, swirls them around and up to an exit on the top. Interesting design. They still have a ways to go though.

Drew had to be there around noon, so I took my lunch hour to drive him over to school (Kiel is visiting friends in Boston). We chatted happily on the way there and listened to an Adventures in Odyssey CD story. He scurried up the steps and bounded through the door, eager to get started.

I pulled away, in no particular hurry since my one o'clock meeting had been cancelled. I decided not to rush back on 490, but to take Elmwood Ave home, to go the back way where I would get to see something of life and nature and people. Not like the barren sights one is fed from the sides of expressways.

The sun shone warm through the car window, caressing my hair and adding to my laid back mood. I didn't care to think about the clock or the stack of papers awaiting my return. I knew Drew would stay late and I could work past 5 to make up any extra time. I don't know how long the pleasant weather will stay with us, or how long I may have a leisure lunch time to enjoy it. But today I turned up the radio and simply floated along at a reasonable pace, gliding along with Borodin and Brahms. Nice.

Wild Turkeys

They're back! Same cornfield on Buffalo Road, now snowless. The rustic sawed-off stalks poke the brown ground and rustle with every little puff of wind. Right in the middle of the field on the left side as I was headed towards church were a few dozen big black turkeys stepping gingerly over the ground, their heads bobbing and their hefty bodies squatty.

They have certainly not suffered the effects of a harsh winter - at least not to the visible eye. Of course, its hard to tell if this is just a scouting party out making the rounds or if its all that's left of the huge flock I saw earlier this year.

I call them wild, but maybe they aren't. I suppose they could belong to the farmer, that he might be raising them as either his private stock or to sell to a local grocer. They didn't even raise a feather when a huge tractor trailer went roaring past.

I rolled down the window, holding my breath against the cold blast of air, to see if I could hear them gobbling. I was sadly disappointed. Not a peep from the beasts. Not a cluck or a squawk or a hoot. Rather like watching a silent film or a flock of ghosts from the Pilgrim past. I wonder where they stay when the temperatures drop below zero and the wind is howling. I hope its somewhere safe and warm where the dogs don't bark and the soup is vegetarian.

Valentines!

It took me several weeks of collecting stuff and a whole afternoon of wrapping and boxing valentines to send off to kids and grandkids. Whew! I love to think of their happiness to get a little package in the mail. And what a great excuse to say "I love you!"

It didn't occur to me that I would get any Valentines! But I did! I was so surprised. My boys gave me a h-u-g-e card with a bag of dark chocolate hearts. I hung the card in my office. Friends sent me Valentines online and in the mail. How happy is that! And my daughter-in-law sent a whole box of homemade fudge with secret marshmallow ingredients!

Best of all, I am going to hear Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet. It couldn't be a better day. All that and I got most of my homework done, the kitchen cleaned, my music practiced, and some work done at the Finney Library. Sweet.

Here's wishing you the most fabulous Valentine's Day ever. Hug your loved ones as tight as you can and give them an extra kiss for me.

Check Engine Light

I could hear the bemused exasperation in his voice, my friend who had helped me with the car brake repair several months ago. "When is the last time you checked your oil?" "Ummm . . ." I hesitated to admit that the only time I check my oil is if the oil light comes on. Not the right answer to give a mechanic.

Kiel wasn't much help either. He had never seen an oilstick like the one in my engine, and wasn't sure whether the oil was low or not. He was the one who thought it was the oil light on the dashboard. But it was the Check Engine light instead. Still, my friend drove all the way in to the Library just to poke his head under my hood and see if everything was OK.

Everything visible was OK. He sat in my office patiently explaining that every time I fill the gas tank - or at least once a week - I should check the oil. I nodded my head in agreement, but the blank look in my eyes made him decide to make sure Kiel knew how to do it. Helpless female! Then he handed me his cell phone and said "Talk with the mechanic and make an appointment for tomorrow."

I was a bit intrepid. I just got my emergency fund replaced from the brake job. Now I may have to dip into it again for some other car thing. Thank God I got the money put back! The mechanic saw me first thing in the morning. He hooked my car to the computer, and in just a few minutes, assured me it was nothing vital. Just a bit of dirt in the evap valve, whatever that is. I didn't have to fix it since it wouldn't affect the performance of the car. Good to know. How much? Nada!

Just bring it back before you need to have it inspected so we can click off the light and clean out the grime. Wow! Thanks! Its wonderful to have friends.

Flying Frog

Library staff makes cookies for our student workers for Valentine's Day. Since that falls on a Saturday and break begins on Friday, we decided to do the event a bit early. After work on Wednesday, I headed to Wegmans to do my usual "cheating" - I just don't have time to bake homemade cookies, and I dislike bringing in pre-made packaged stuff, so I find something pre-mixed that I can pop into the oven and bake easily. Voila! Home baked without the drain on my time and energy.

As I entered the store I was greeted by a cheerful Valentine's display of beautiful flowers and boxes of chocolate draped about graciously and invitingly. They even had packages of fresh fruits - strawberries and blueberries - packaged in heart shaped boxes! Helium balloons were thoughtfully and decoratively bobbing in all the right places. What a sensory delight! A real pick-me-up.

As I glanced at the balloons, I could see that they were anchored in place with different methods. Some had those thick round weights tied to them, other had clothespin clips attaching them to carton tops where a flat weight could not rest. The clothespin ones didn't look too sturdily attached. I wondered what would happen if they came unclipped. Of course, they would float up, so I glanced towards the ceiling just out of curiosity.

There, dangling on one of the hundreds of pipes that ramble about on the ceiling, was a helium frog bearing a huge red heart emblazoned with "I Love You." His froggy legs were adorned with sneakers and he sported a jaunty blue baseball cap and a big happy grin. I scanned the other balloons below. No other frogs in sight. They were all hearts or circles with pictures on them.

Mr. Frog didn't seem to mind being stuck there far from the scurrying crowd below, none of whom were aware of his position or message. He was as unmoved by them as they were by him. Perhaps he simply felt a higher calling, to fulfill the role of blessing those who shop in his store with wishes of love and happiness. Eventually, he will lose height and come down to earth - probably long after Valentine's Day. He will likely get swept up by the cleaning person and carted to the dumpster.

Still, there was something indescribable about seeing him there, all green and gorgeous, flying high and happy.

Foyer Moment

This afternoon, on my way to my voice masterclass, I nodded to the student working at the Circ Desk and stepped into our foyer. Suddenly I was enveloped in a blanket of warm air flooding the whole glassed-in area from the heating units mounted high above me on the ceiling. How absolutely delicious!

My face was bathed in warmth and my whole body relaxed. The chill rain outside made the warmth in the entryway even more comforting. I stood there enjoying the unexpected warm for much longer than was warranted. Usually the warm air from the blowers doesn't remain in the entry, but whooshes quickly out the front doors with every opening, as if the whole building were exhaling.

Classes were passing, but no one had entered the library or exited in the full five minutes I stood there selfishly hogging the heat. I glanced about to see if anyone had noticed my halted progress, but no one was paying any attention. Briefly I imagined lying on a sandy beach in the Caribbean, lolling about doing nothing but resting and listening to the rolling surf and the gulls cawing overhead.

Alas, I could not stay. Though I am not singing today, I always learn so much as others share their songs in class and as the teacher masterfully coaxes better sounds and more passion from each offering. Sometimes life is like that. Something wonderful warms you up and someone wonderful gives you good direction and you find yourself in a much better, more productive place. I have been fortunate in that respect. I hang on to those warming "foyer" moments. They are true preludes to better days ahead. Let us hope that is true this time around.

Spring!

Unbelievable. 60 degrees with blue skies this sun drenched morning. I do believe spring is trying to arrive. I noticed little pointy green stalks poking their noses above ground. The melting snow is collecting in the frozen drainage ditches in little ponds and lakes, and flocks of happy ducks are swimming about as if it were not the middle of February. This morning as I stepped out of our apartment building, I distinctly heard a whip-or-will calling its mate over an cheerful birdsong symphony.

I'm used to January thaws, but they seldom warm up to 60. Usually we just get to step out of the single digits for a few days. Sap in the maples rises, children play in the snow without risking frostbite, skies are not so gray. February thaws however bring flooding and premature hope for a short winter. Students are running around in shorts and flip flops as if summer had already arrived!

Worst of all, it adds fuel to the raging global warming debate. During the constant days of snow and extreme cold, one of our students was actually scoffing at the very idea. Now with such an early warmth, he is not so sure.

Either way, I am soaking in the sun all I can while it lasts. I am pretty sure winter will not release its grip quite yet.

Amazing Moon

It was pasted against the pale morning sky when I left the house in the early morning, a ceremonial geisha in its delicate thinness, ignoring our un-February like weather, insisting that we should be howling wolfishly for an end of winter's leanness.

It glowed against the blue blackness of the night sky when I drove home late at night, bleary eyed from reading too many of the ancient fathers and positioning their words against the currents of our era. Has it changed at all in the eons since Martin Luther pushed his Thesis into the crack of Romanism, thrusting it into the cavity of Reform?

Has it watched silently as earthlings slowly increased their pace of life from a walk to jet propulsion, from story telling to videography, from simplicity to complexity? We are drawn as moths to its welcome light, our blood surging in rhythm to its gravitational situation, our spirits elevated by its height and ethereality.

It cares nothing for the important things of 2009, its nonchalance not so minded by those who stop to take it in tonight, wide eyed in wonder at the brightness, the fullness, the perfection of its craggy orb. I think the patterns on its face have changed since I moved back north. Perhaps it is I who have changed. I take more time to appreciate such beauty, knowing I am in excellent company alongside Galileo, Michelangelo, Catherine of Sienna, Johannes Brahms, Beethoven and other eminent remarkers on life and love.

Ah, tonight I gaze in awe as it climbs high into the nighttime sky, shrinking with every inch it ascends until the magic hugeness recedes into a quiet globe, watching over the earth with paternal care. Yes, the moon is in its proper place and all is right with the world. Good night, moon. I will sleep tight while you watch for the coming of day.

Two Snow Angels

On the Library patio there are two dark green metal benches with gracefully curving lines, their backs and seats strips of continuous metal flowing in an inviting pattern much like one of those old fashioned summer lawn chairs with the plastic webbing. We were nervous about placing them there, fearful they would wander off, but we couldn't rivet them to the stonework, so we plunked them down and watched to see what would happen.

As we thought, they tended to wander about from one end of the patio to the other. So far they have stayed on the patio close to the low stone wall looking out over campus towards the Voller Athletic Center and Rinker Administration Building. Sometimes this winter, all you could see of the two benches were their top bars barely sticking up over the banks of snow that collect on that part of the patio.

The main walkways have heated coils under the stonework, and remain clear almost all the time right up to the drain centered between the heated part and the unheated part of the patio. One day as I was headed into the library after an evening of fresh snowfall, I noticed some curious indentations in the snow next to the northern most bench. On closer investigation I realized they were two child-sized snow angels neatly inscribed in the snow side by side. Best of all, they appeared to be holding hands.

Whoever put them there left a wonderful message of hope and love for all to see. I thought instantly of the wonderful stories of my childhood like the Little House on the Prairie series and the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale. Children making their way in the world, holding on to each other and overcoming life's difficulties. Even as the snow has melted and the figures are fading away, I smile every morning when I pass them on my way to work. Hang on to your loved ones. You'll make it just fine.

Confetti Snow

I never knew there were so many ways for snow to fall! Today it looked like a ticker tape parade (for those of you too young to remember ticker tape parades before they were banned, check this out):


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeXRLvcPp-I


Huge chunks of odd sizes and shapes of wet clingy snow fluttered down from above, reflecting different shades of whiteness and grayness. Underneath the street lights it looked just like paper flopping about, the wind flipping the flakes gently and teasingly here and there.


At first I didn't see the full extent of what was coming down. In the darkness of the night as the car maneuvered along Buffalo Road, it was difficult to see the scope of what was happening. But when we turned onto Elmgrove, I glanced at the bank on the corner and beheld an incredible sight under their parking lot lights. All I could think of was Mardi Gras. A festive celebration of winter with a positive spin of happiness.



After weeks of nothing but snow and cold, this little whirling dance of whiteness was pretty. Reminds me of when we visited Lake Placid with my sister and rode the dog sled out on the lake. We were bundled in like doughnuts in a box, tucked about with bearskin robes, and the poor gentleman riding the rails of the sled behind us breathing heavily in the cold, barking orders to the eager dogs who wanted to run as fast as they could.



Snow was flopping down lazily that morning too. We skimmed out over the lake with a soft swooshing sound, the cool air rushing about us in refreshing gulps as the dogs bounced around in front of us. Every few minutes, the guy behind us would order the dogs to turn as we made a huge circle on the frozen inlet. Before we were ready to stop, the ride ended and we pulled back to the dock where we first had loaded on board.



Laughing and hooting with happiness, the boys and my sister and I headed for a sandwich shop for a cup of hot chocolate. Glorious! We sat before a roaring fire and munched away happily, watching the driver swish another group of riders out over the frozen water, hawing to the dogs who never seemed to tire of the fun.

Bone Scan

Piece of cake. Nothing to it, really. No IV's, no thumping and pounding noises, no small spaces, no yucky barium drinks. Just a simple injection - a shot of hot, so to speak (OK, it's still a bit intimidating when they bring your dose thoughtfully wrapped in a daunting lead container) - and three hours of glorious time to do with as you will.

Me? I had reading assignments to conquer, so I found a delightful seat in the waiting area by the bus entrance. The glass wall there has squares of colored glass interspersed throughout - great colors of blue, teal, purple, red, yellow. I read Luther sitting in a comfy chair bathed in teal, Melancthon in the purple swaddled seat, and Wesley in glorious yellow.

I was almost finished with Wesley when a deep throaty voice interrupted my concentration. "Great weather today." I glanced across an empty chair towards a woman a bit older than myself. She was Puerto Rican with a freckle speckled visage that just lit up the room. "Hi, I'm Carmen. Come here often?"

We chatted for a bit. OK, she chatted, I listened. What a delightful person, so filled with thankfulness at being in a place where health care was readily available. Her conversation was punctuated often with "Praise the good Lord" and "Thank God." We covered every topic from her bunions to the state of the economy in about fifteen minutes while she waited for a cab to whisk her off to family and home.

As pleasant as the encounter was, I decided that if I were to get anything done, I needed to find a quieter place. I wandered off in search of a cozy quiet spot, stopping to peruse the gift shop and drool over the special jewelry sale in the hallway with its colorful assortment of dangling orbs. I grabbed a turkey on white (hold everything) sandwich at the coffee shop (how great is it to be able to eat whatever you want right before a test!) and located the little meditation room in the cancer wing.

They have the ugliest stained glass window I have ever seen. The colors, which I suppose are meant to produce calmness, were putrid pink, puce, throwup orange, vibrant magenta and ugly sort-of-blue in globs and blops. Never mind, I plan to listen to music and read.

The room is no bigger than a closet with two chairs, a bench, and a small table with a plaster conch shell mounted in a metal frame perched on top. At first, I left the door open, not entirely sure of my rights here and not wanting to prevent anyone who was truly thinking of meditating in the space. But the noise in the hallway was totally counterproductive to any kind of thinking, much less meditation. I closed the door quietly, curled up the in chair not facing the ugly stained glass wall, plugged in my mp3 player, and took out another book.

Almost before I could blink, my time was up. Head back to the basement and the awaiting radiology person. She appear before I even had time to sit down in the waiting area. "Come with me," she crisply commanded. I followed her to a small room with the typical large white machine. She was pleasant enough, explaining the procedure, loading me on the tongue, rolling me up into the maw of the thing.

The panel they lower towards your body was plastered with every imaginable sticker from Nemo to Cinderella and beyond. I giggled and the technician looked to see what was so funny. "Oh, we used to only test children in this room," she explained. "Now we are expanding." I got to continue listening to my music while I was slowly squeegeed out of the machine, no arms over the head, thank you very much! Then there were about six or seven "stills" and the whole thing was done.

The only painful thing about the day was the pre-test conversation with Dr. Young (who was exactly his name) while he explained with as little technical jargon as he could the nature and size of the tumor on the T1 area of my spine. His seriousness and that of the technician took all the fun and games out of a day off. But then, I try to pay much more attention to that higher heavenly voice which is always much more encouraging.

SnowBow

I have seen rainbows galore - single, double, skinny, wide, half, whole, and even just a shred. They play well among water droplets, dancing with pure abandon in thin air always just beyond your reach. Even the one that sparkled in the fountain shooting water from the center of the coy pond at Letchworth, a little rainbow that seemed to stem straight out of the water at ground level. Stick your hand into the colors and they disappear!

What I have no recollection of having ever seen is a rainbow shimmering in a snowstorm! What an amazing surprise to look into the gray sky ahead where the snow is falling and see color! Kiel and I were driving home at lunch when we both spotted it at the same time. The whole drive, it remained constant as if it were some solid thing dangling there to encourage us that spring is on the way.

How did God think up the rainbow? Was it because Noah had spent so long in the darkness of the storm in the hold of the ark with no sun visible? So God knew that glorious color dancing in the water in the sun was just what the doctor ordered? They are so striking that you remember them for a long time.

I am told that there are also moonbows which are more white than colored. I haven't seen one of those yet. Maybe I will glimpse a moonbow some magical evening! But this snowbow - vivid colors attached to the frigid flakes - I will store the promise of it in my mind for some bleak and dark hour when I need to remember that life will warm up and color will return even as things begin to thaw. It is a promise, after all.

Aaahhhhhhhh!!!

After the not-so-routine appointment, I could feel myself tensing up. The muscles in my neck and upper back were hard and unmovable. Long before the grace of God in the prayer service hit me, I knew I had to do something to relax before those tight muscles turned painful.

That's when I discovered that several therapeutic massage institutions allow a percentage discount depending on your insurance coverage. I emailed one on Buffalo Road and set up an appointment. After my first bout of cancer, one of the singers in Amazon offered me free massage to help me recover, and it did indeed help stimulate healing and rebuilding. I knew the benefits.

When I walked in, I was greeted by a cozy fire in the fireplace, a juice and water bar, a soft environment with neutral colors of tans and browns. Scattered about were thoughtful little touches of calmness. People spoke in hushed tones, phones did not jar your thoughts with jagged jangling. There were little sand containers with rakes, water whispering over stones with gentle musical murmurs, and baskets with raisins and granola bars scattered about. Everything had been carefully planned to present you with an experience of peace and quiet.

I was ushered to a candle lit room with soft music playing - mostly nature sounds or wooden flutes and rainsticks. The table, to my utter delight, was heated and the sheets were that dreamy butter softness of fresh sun and nurturing motherly comfort.

For an entire hour, the therapist and I worked together to relieve tension, soothe nerves, lighten tightness. Her hands moved expertly to the many knots huddled along my spine and shoulder blades, coaxing them to release their relentless grip on my body. The neck ones were the most obstinate, but even they gave way under her guidance.

How luxuriant and almost sinful it felt to be so pampered and lovingly cared for. I rarely ever indulge such things, but knowing what may lie ahead, I gratefully accept this ministration of adjuvant therapy as just that - a much needed therapy well worth the time. I feel as if I can breathe better, more deeply, more confidently. No breath holding. Breathing is important.

As I take my time about putting myself back together, I remain relaxed and at peace. This needs to last a long time and carry me through the upcoming tests and procedures which can surely wreak havoc on one's body. They hand me a glass of refreshing water at the front desk just before I leave. Stay hydrated. And come back. You will need more sessions. I smile. Yes, they are probably right.

Unexpected Blessing

People are tired of hearing your medical woes and fears. Even when I try to express my concerns about tests and results to my boys, they just cut me off with "You'll be fine. You always are."

Well, that's true. God has been gracious, and I do pull through the most challenging physical problems some way or another, even when it looks dicey. But I get tired of being poked and prodded and enduring the "discomfort" of the tests. I don't mean to complain. I am grateful that I get good medical care, that I have health insurance, that I live in a country where the hospitals are regulated and the doctors well trained.

The thought of having someone stick something down my throat and fish around in my stomach for a biopsy chunk does set me off though. I know all the head techniques of not dwelling on the idea, of filling up with verses to hang onto, of calling the prayer warriors in my life to intercede. I have friends who will go with me and be there for me, family who love me and are pulling for me to do well. I am blessed.

Still. Sometimes I just want to "let it all out" - to cry and wail in protest, to register my unhappiness somewhere where I will be allowed to vent freely without being reassured. I have no significant other to kiss away the tears. I told God so. "When do I get somebody to hold me tight and reassure me without making my fears and discouragement seem unjustified? Someone to just love me when I am weak and whiney? Someone I don't have to be strong for?"

Well! God takes this stuff seriously. I should have known He would answer, but I was taken totally by surprise when I walked into the seminary Lutheran chapel and found the title of the evening's traditional Lutheran service was a healing service. I have done Lutheran at Concordia, and they don't do healing services as the norm there.

Even more surprising was the statement made by the pastor that this service was something God had laid on her heart. She had struggled with whether to obey the voice within her. Thank God she did! We read through the liturgy, every word sinking into my heart, reminding me of God's desire to love His people, of God's great power and grace, of the many others in this world who are suffering and of our need to lift them up in prayer. We read the prayers millions of others have prayed through the ages, reflecting on the Scriptures.

She invited those who wished prayer for healing and wholeness to come forward for anointing. I didn't move right away, I was still amazed at how much trouble God had gone through to reassure me that He was with me and then the tears began. I knew I could be weak and whiney with God and He would still love me, hold me, not try to cut off my tumbling words of fears and discouragement.

I spilled them all out, every one. The tears kept flowing and flowing as I was able to honestly say that I am tired of being ill, that I want the tests to stop, that I want the cancer gone, that I am afraid of the endoscopy, that its not fair, that I just need to be held and loved. He heard every word.

When I got in line and it was my turn to be anointed, the pastor told me she had seen me before ever she had stepped foot in the building, that God had shown her of my need, and that indeed, this service was for me. More tears. She anointed my forehead with oil, and put her arms around me and hugged me. Like a child, I lay my head on her shoulder and wept.

Good Lord, how will I be able to return to class and quiet down, now that the floodgates have burst? I need not have worried. Once it was all out, once I had felt the reassuring arms of comfort, the quiet upholding of the One who made me, the patting of the head to know it's OK, the tears just stopped. In plenty of time to resume class and concentrate on the discussion.

God is good. God is very very good. I don't know what may come in the weeks ahead. I do know God will be with me, and that is enough. Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.

Confectioner's Sugar

White powdery specks sprinkle liltingly down from the sky as if a giant baker wielding a flour sifter stands above us decorating the filthy soot covered snowbanks with a fresh white layer of confectioner's sugar. Sometimes the fallout is heavy, sometimes light, sometimes non-existent.

It reminds me of when I was in junior high school and we girls helped Mom with the weekend baking. We gathered in the spacious kitchen of 407 South William Street, the grand old manse we managed to occupy from stem to stern.

I was most familiar with the linoleum floor in the kitchen, having spent regular scrubbing sessions on top of it. I still prefer hands and knees to mops, loathing the dirty corners and unkempt appearance of under counters that mops refuse to address.

In the middle of the huge room stood a wobbly chrome and gray table upon which we spread our necessary ingredients for the making of a cake from scratch. No box mixes for us, no sir. They were expensive for a poor preacher's family with six children. We followed the Betty Crocker recipe straight from within the red checkerboard covers of the worn volume, ticking down the list to make sure we had enough of everything before we began. Milk, flour, sugar, eggs, baking powder, baker's chocolate, vanilla.

While one sister managed the ingredients, the other brought forth mixing bowls, measuring spoons, spatulas, aprons, baking pans - all the accouterments for putting together this delicate confection. Younger sisters looked on, sitting in high chairs or peeking over the edge of the table, their noses barely visible. Obnoxious traffic underfoot for the elder sister just trying to get done so she could race outdoors and play with friends.

Soon you could hear the clinking of spoons and the tapping of beaters as the separate ingredients were duly measured and added in just the right order, just the right way. Don't beat too much. Don't beat too little. Make sure the eggs don't include any shell pieces. No, doubling the vanilla will not help. Don't burn the chocolate while you are melting it in the top of a double boiler pan (remember them?). At long last, after a good hour of fussing, the liquid brown ambrosia was ready to pour into the carefully greased and floured 9 inch round baking pans and tuck into the oven, set at precisely 350 degrees.

Then the begging by the younger set began. Its my turn to lick the bowl. You got it last time. Give me the left beater, it has more on it. Set the timer and go play. Before you realize it, the most mouthwatering smell calls you back to the kitchen. Pull open the oven door, slide the rack out, press your index finger into the spongy cake. It springs back! The edges are pulled away from the pan and golden brown. Never mind the broomstraw test - its done!

The hardest part was waiting until it was cool enough to either frost or sift confectioner's sugar over the top. Even though frosting was the favored topping, I liked the confectioner's sugar better. Less gooey, and it enhanced rather than smothered the flavor of the chocolate. The best part was Sunday afternoon after the roast beef and potatoes, after the carrots and rolls. Then came the perfect slice of chocolate cake adorned with a white powdery sifting of sugar so fine you could barely tell it apart from the cake other than by color. Yum, yum.

Snow Person

East of our place on Lyell Avenue, in the side yard of a small tan ranch house, there stands a huge mound of snow nearly as tall as the roof of the house. At first we thought it was one of those inflatable lawn decorations in the shape of a snowman, but when the shape began to change, we realized it was a home-made honest-to-goodness real live snow person manually created by person or persons unknown.

This gigantic snowperson wears a blue waste basket on its head for a hat, some kind of wood shingles for a mouth, and two huge snowballs for feet. The snow monster sports a blue and gray scarf about it's neck and bare branches for arms. The curious thing is that there are no eyes! I wonder if they put carrots there and the local mammal population made off with them?

The oddest thing about the poor dearie is the melt factor. The shape is much less like three snowballs stacked one on the other and much more of a triangular monolith with melted runoff filling in the cracks. All this is covered with a fuzzy coating of fluffy new snow, giving it a truly odd appearance.

It seems so lonely plunked down there in the middle of nowhere without any indication of children living nearby, as if some teenage prankster constructed it when no one was looking, just for a joke. My puzzlement is how they got the thing so tall? Did they use ladders? Did they hoist the heavy snow up with shovels? Did someone climb up the bottom layers to add to the top? In its own way, it is a small but amazing feat of engineering, cleverly done perhaps by college students, surely not by children.

I'm not quite sure what to make of monster snowperson. Everytime I drive past, I stare at the darn thing, noting the recent changes of either melt or snow additions. It will be interesting to see the fate of a larger than life snow creation.