The Library purchases Mirado Black Warrior pencils by the boxfuls. I find them to be a perfect fit for my hand and a perfect lead size for the lines I like making in books to underline important points. I keep a number of them in my office and handy in places where I work.
Today I needed to sharpen a full box of them so people could fill out forms. I stood at the reference desk by the electric sharpener and began to feed the pristine pencils into the little circle of the sharpener. I could feel the blades of the whirling mechanism engage with the wood, and heard the whine change from heavy work to the 'all done' status of nothing left to shave off.
One after another I fed the pencils into the sharpener until I hit an obstinate pencil. When the whine ceased, I pulled it out, and the wood was still completely covering one side of the pencil. The side that had been shaved away was actually naked or empty. The lead part was completely missing. Hum.
I stuck it back in and tried again, twirling and twisting the thin cylinder this way and that, hoping to get an even sharpening. Once again, I found the pencil only half sharpened. After five tries, I realized that the pencil would be worn to a nub and still not usable. How is that possible? I guess there is one in every box. But no. By the time I finished the box of 25, there were 3 defective pencils. This is not good.
Really, you say, its just a pencil. Get over it. And I do. Really. I tuck the defective things in a desk drawer. I cannot bring myself to throw them away. Is the cheap gene so deep that I cannot bear to let go of useless stuff? Or do I somehow hope that the pencils may be save from oblivion by some other process? Perhaps a pocketknife to sharpen them? A manual pencil sharpener? Surely there is salvation out there somewhere.
I do not have the time or freedom to address these poor little pencils right now. They will have to wait until a better day. Surely someone will come along and save them from a fate worse than death - being stuffed away out of sight where they will not cause anyone undue angst.
I tap the drawer gently and promise myself not to forget them. I will uncover a solution someday and return them to society where they belong. Until then, I hope they don't starve to death.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Day 1
Today the fall semester begins. So many others are still smack dab in the middle of summer, but we have jumped into fall. Every semester has its own flavor, its own pace. This year we are prepared for the usual meltdowns that freshmen sometimes experience when they don't quite have things figured out yet and suddenly dysfunctionality overwhelms them.
We get the testy pushy verbiage, the tears, the worries, the frantic questions. And we are prepared to provide the quick answer, the reassuring connection, the confident calling around to find out. Without reacting emotionally. We know that after the first two weeks, everyone calms down, learns the ropes, settles in.
This year is different. We do not have any meltdowns to soothe. There is a very fast pace and lots of demands at the desk, but students are not flustered, not adrift, not cranky. This year's crop seems more mature, ready to deal with these adjustments, calmer about connecting, safe in knowing that if they miss a deadline, there will be grace. And there will.
Already at the desk research questions are coming. Rather than an empty building for most of the morning, we are populated and not just with socializers. Real studying. How great is that? I look across the Info Commons, and instead of tons of facebook and yahoo mail and games, I see Word documents and database searches. A dream come true.
There is still activity by late evening, but not like previous years when students waited to begin until 9 or 10 pm. I like the way this semester is shaping up already. On the first day of creation, God said let there be light. On the first day of the semester, I am delighted to see learning. May it be filled with light.
We get the testy pushy verbiage, the tears, the worries, the frantic questions. And we are prepared to provide the quick answer, the reassuring connection, the confident calling around to find out. Without reacting emotionally. We know that after the first two weeks, everyone calms down, learns the ropes, settles in.
This year is different. We do not have any meltdowns to soothe. There is a very fast pace and lots of demands at the desk, but students are not flustered, not adrift, not cranky. This year's crop seems more mature, ready to deal with these adjustments, calmer about connecting, safe in knowing that if they miss a deadline, there will be grace. And there will.
Already at the desk research questions are coming. Rather than an empty building for most of the morning, we are populated and not just with socializers. Real studying. How great is that? I look across the Info Commons, and instead of tons of facebook and yahoo mail and games, I see Word documents and database searches. A dream come true.
There is still activity by late evening, but not like previous years when students waited to begin until 9 or 10 pm. I like the way this semester is shaping up already. On the first day of creation, God said let there be light. On the first day of the semester, I am delighted to see learning. May it be filled with light.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Singing in Chapel
I am pleased to have been invited to cantor for Community of the Savior today. Not that I think I am a particularly good singer or anything. But given the trouble I have been having singing at all, and remembering the break through I had at the Worship Conference at St Olaf, I believe I will be able to do justice to the Psalm.
I am a bit concerned that I have not yet seen the music. Usually it gets sent a few days in advance so you have a chance to read through it. But they are not normally too hard, and I arrive early to connect with the music.
They have changed the orientation of the chairs, and the piano is now in a little alcove, a bit removed from the front where the cantor usually would stand. I chat with Pastor Cullum for a bit, waiting for the pianist to arrive. The usual pianist is not there today and I have not met the gentleman who is filling in.
Unfortunately, I cannot see the music since he has the copy. And we won't be able to make a copy since we do not have access to any office copiers. Not to worry. I can just stand by the piano and look on. The pianist arrives, and I am fortunate enough to have a chant Psalm instead of a melodic one. Sometimes the melodic ones are a bit tricky.
I pray that God will help my voice cooperate. No drop outs. No raspiness. No vibrations where there aren't supposed to be any. I enjoy the service, but during the Scripture reading right before the Psalm, I have to confess I was not really focused. My turn to sing. I open my mouth and - surprise! A voice that is clear and pretty floats out!
This is not my usual voice. Its actually pleasant. What happened? Did the cancer treatment burn off some nodule that was always getting in the way? Will this timbre last? I am loving it! I don't even have the usual nervous lump in the throat thing going on.
Hey - pay attention to what you are singing about. This is praise to God, and my heart is fully in it. He has delivered me from cancer yet again, and I am blessed with this amazing side effect of a clear voice. Yahoo!
I am a bit concerned that I have not yet seen the music. Usually it gets sent a few days in advance so you have a chance to read through it. But they are not normally too hard, and I arrive early to connect with the music.
They have changed the orientation of the chairs, and the piano is now in a little alcove, a bit removed from the front where the cantor usually would stand. I chat with Pastor Cullum for a bit, waiting for the pianist to arrive. The usual pianist is not there today and I have not met the gentleman who is filling in.
Unfortunately, I cannot see the music since he has the copy. And we won't be able to make a copy since we do not have access to any office copiers. Not to worry. I can just stand by the piano and look on. The pianist arrives, and I am fortunate enough to have a chant Psalm instead of a melodic one. Sometimes the melodic ones are a bit tricky.
I pray that God will help my voice cooperate. No drop outs. No raspiness. No vibrations where there aren't supposed to be any. I enjoy the service, but during the Scripture reading right before the Psalm, I have to confess I was not really focused. My turn to sing. I open my mouth and - surprise! A voice that is clear and pretty floats out!
This is not my usual voice. Its actually pleasant. What happened? Did the cancer treatment burn off some nodule that was always getting in the way? Will this timbre last? I am loving it! I don't even have the usual nervous lump in the throat thing going on.
Hey - pay attention to what you are singing about. This is praise to God, and my heart is fully in it. He has delivered me from cancer yet again, and I am blessed with this amazing side effect of a clear voice. Yahoo!
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Slow Down, You Eat Too Fast
Typical Saturday. Wake early, read for an hour or two, zip off the dishes, run errands, get it all done before you have to be to work by 2. Don't forget to get gas, and please mail those letters! This week I needed special dog food for Sugar which necessitated a trip to the Marketplace Mall. I parked by JC Penneys because the lot there is generally less occupied, and the store is convenient to my destination (right next to their mall entrance).
By the time I got there, it was well past lunch time. I knew I had limited time to both pick up the frozen dog chow and get lunch. Head to the food court first, grab something quick, plan to eat while driving . . .
Wait. This is wrong. I deserve better than a greasy hamburg on the run. I glance around the food court. It is packed. Dozens of young girls sporting pink tee shirts are on line in almost every spot. I sigh. Babies are crying, kids running around, adults clump together talking. The noise level is loud enough to break the sound barrier.
Is there even a healthy option here? I glance around. Healthy for me is a far cry from healthy for people with normal digestion capabilities. Off in one corner, not heavily patroned, I spot a Steak and Potato counter. They also offer gyros. And fruit smoothies. Hum. That might work. I saunter over and stand gawking up at their signage.
A young man impatiently asks me what I want. I don't know yet. OK. He goes back to cooking. He asks a second time. The options are many and I am having trouble deciding. The woman running the cash register suggests a few things. Not quite right. I take my time. Three others order and are served before I am ready to order.
I step up. An older man who has been working behind the grill area steps forward. In a heavy accent, he says, "It's alright. I got it." and smiles at me. "How can I help you, young lady?" His features suggest he might actually be from Greece. I tell him what I want. He smiles. "Good choice. My favorite."
I watch him personally cook my gyro and swirl my smoothie. I pay while I am waiting. Then - surprise! He comes around the counter with a tray. Neatly folded on the side is a cloth napkin. "You come eat here. I will take good care of you." Really? He leads me to a table out of the path of the main flow of traffic, near the windows.
I sit at the table and he places the plate and glass and plasticware just so, whips the cloth napkin from the tray, shakes it out ceremoniously, and places it in my lap. "Now, you taste." I take a bite. The amazing flavors melt over my tongue - spices, dill, creamy sauce. I close my eyes and savor the amazing tastes.
"I thought so," he smiles. "You like." I invite him to join me, supposing he will decline and get back to the rapidly forming lines at his counter. But he pulls out a chair, sits down, and pulls some pictures from his pocket. "My grand daughter. My house in Greece. The place where I grew up - beautiful country."
I peruse the pictures while munching happily. For the next 20 minutes, he regales me with stories of growing up in Greece, about meals when he was a young boy, his mother in big printed aprons chattering away, his sisters fighting, his father demanding silence. He is a good story teller.
The din of the mall around us fades away. We are on a journey of delight, exploring memories and faraway places. Too soon, my delicious gyro disappears and I slurp the last bit of smoothie. I respectfully fold the napkin over my empty plate. He pushes back his chair, takes the tray, and invites me to come back anytime. He will be happy to sit with me for lunch.
It pleases him to know there are people in Rochester who are not hurrying their lives into oblivion without enjoying the trip. I half expect him to say something about preferring life in the old country, but he just disappears into the swirling crowd.
My steps back to the car are less hurried. I still make it to work on time, tucking the frozen dog food in the staff room freezer. I sit at the reference desk wrapped in the warm comfort of the pleasant repast. How delightful. I should "do lunch" more often.
By the time I got there, it was well past lunch time. I knew I had limited time to both pick up the frozen dog chow and get lunch. Head to the food court first, grab something quick, plan to eat while driving . . .
Wait. This is wrong. I deserve better than a greasy hamburg on the run. I glance around the food court. It is packed. Dozens of young girls sporting pink tee shirts are on line in almost every spot. I sigh. Babies are crying, kids running around, adults clump together talking. The noise level is loud enough to break the sound barrier.
Is there even a healthy option here? I glance around. Healthy for me is a far cry from healthy for people with normal digestion capabilities. Off in one corner, not heavily patroned, I spot a Steak and Potato counter. They also offer gyros. And fruit smoothies. Hum. That might work. I saunter over and stand gawking up at their signage.
A young man impatiently asks me what I want. I don't know yet. OK. He goes back to cooking. He asks a second time. The options are many and I am having trouble deciding. The woman running the cash register suggests a few things. Not quite right. I take my time. Three others order and are served before I am ready to order.
I step up. An older man who has been working behind the grill area steps forward. In a heavy accent, he says, "It's alright. I got it." and smiles at me. "How can I help you, young lady?" His features suggest he might actually be from Greece. I tell him what I want. He smiles. "Good choice. My favorite."
I watch him personally cook my gyro and swirl my smoothie. I pay while I am waiting. Then - surprise! He comes around the counter with a tray. Neatly folded on the side is a cloth napkin. "You come eat here. I will take good care of you." Really? He leads me to a table out of the path of the main flow of traffic, near the windows.
I sit at the table and he places the plate and glass and plasticware just so, whips the cloth napkin from the tray, shakes it out ceremoniously, and places it in my lap. "Now, you taste." I take a bite. The amazing flavors melt over my tongue - spices, dill, creamy sauce. I close my eyes and savor the amazing tastes.
"I thought so," he smiles. "You like." I invite him to join me, supposing he will decline and get back to the rapidly forming lines at his counter. But he pulls out a chair, sits down, and pulls some pictures from his pocket. "My grand daughter. My house in Greece. The place where I grew up - beautiful country."
I peruse the pictures while munching happily. For the next 20 minutes, he regales me with stories of growing up in Greece, about meals when he was a young boy, his mother in big printed aprons chattering away, his sisters fighting, his father demanding silence. He is a good story teller.
The din of the mall around us fades away. We are on a journey of delight, exploring memories and faraway places. Too soon, my delicious gyro disappears and I slurp the last bit of smoothie. I respectfully fold the napkin over my empty plate. He pushes back his chair, takes the tray, and invites me to come back anytime. He will be happy to sit with me for lunch.
It pleases him to know there are people in Rochester who are not hurrying their lives into oblivion without enjoying the trip. I half expect him to say something about preferring life in the old country, but he just disappears into the swirling crowd.
My steps back to the car are less hurried. I still make it to work on time, tucking the frozen dog food in the staff room freezer. I sit at the reference desk wrapped in the warm comfort of the pleasant repast. How delightful. I should "do lunch" more often.
Friday, August 27, 2010
That's What Happens
When we met with the Rochester Ad Council to strategize ways to market our services and our successes, we talked often about customer service. We shared stories about bad experiences we have had, and one of the ladies shared a story about getting coffee at a local place. The coffee was terrible, and when she went back for a refund they gave her a hard time.
We decided to use her story for a skit to demonstrate to our student workers the importance of how every experience our library users have matters. Staff took the major roles - I the uncooperative store manager - and we asked one of our students to place the role of friend of the unsatisfied customer who learns vicariously not to patronize the coffee shop based on the testimony of the person who had the bad experience.
We read through the script that laid out the scenario. It was not exactly Oscar nomination material, but it made the point. A bit pedantic perhaps. Enter the student. He ad libbed in the most unpredictable ways and brought our puny efforts into the limelight of memorability. When the dissatisfied customer spent a long time arguing with the manager, the student became more and more bored, fiddling with stuff, and eventually lying down on the floor and taking a nap.
He was a natural and thought up all sorts of "business" that brought our skit to life.
This is not the first time we have found our work enriched by the contributions of our students. They came up with the idea of a better reserves system that eliminated the 20 minute wait at the desk while we figured out what the person needed, just one idea among many improvements and efficiencies we have implemented over the past three years.
I so appreciate these wonderful young people. It gives me hope that our world in their hands might just be a better place after all. I certainly hope they continue their trend of great contributions when they graduate and enter the work force. Who knows what they might be capable of out there??!!
We decided to use her story for a skit to demonstrate to our student workers the importance of how every experience our library users have matters. Staff took the major roles - I the uncooperative store manager - and we asked one of our students to place the role of friend of the unsatisfied customer who learns vicariously not to patronize the coffee shop based on the testimony of the person who had the bad experience.
We read through the script that laid out the scenario. It was not exactly Oscar nomination material, but it made the point. A bit pedantic perhaps. Enter the student. He ad libbed in the most unpredictable ways and brought our puny efforts into the limelight of memorability. When the dissatisfied customer spent a long time arguing with the manager, the student became more and more bored, fiddling with stuff, and eventually lying down on the floor and taking a nap.
He was a natural and thought up all sorts of "business" that brought our skit to life.
This is not the first time we have found our work enriched by the contributions of our students. They came up with the idea of a better reserves system that eliminated the 20 minute wait at the desk while we figured out what the person needed, just one idea among many improvements and efficiencies we have implemented over the past three years.
I so appreciate these wonderful young people. It gives me hope that our world in their hands might just be a better place after all. I certainly hope they continue their trend of great contributions when they graduate and enter the work force. Who knows what they might be capable of out there??!!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
How Is Your Glass Handled?
Sugar and I rounded the corner of our building early in the morning and immediately, Sugar headed for the parked cars, hoping for a ride. I was amused to see in the dead center of Kiel's windshield, near the wiper blades, a perfect purple flower serenely sitting there as if some giant hand had swooped down and placed it in the exact middle where it could be displayed beautifully.
Interesting that I just assumed it was unintentional - some serendipitous fluke of nature. Some wind blew it there and it happened to land in the perfect place. Kiel on the other hand, ever the rationalist, while he really wanted to believe it could have just happened, was not so accepting. Perhaps it is like that perennial question - is your glass half full or half empty. I am less likely to care about whether the container is being filled or emptied and more likely to be curious about the container and the contents.
In fact, I will be more likely to look about and see what the options are for different sizes and shapes and colors and materials of container (something less utilitarian and more aesthetic), and then figure out what to fill it with that sustains body and soul, mind and spirit. Doesn't answer that darn question at all!
I know people who would investigate why the darn glass was never filled all the way to the top, or if being emptied, who is stealing the contents unbeknownst to the drinker. Others would want to chart ounces and mark levels and record statistics. There are so many approaches to the glass question that never get acknowledged.
Turns out, Drew sheepishly admitted that for a joke, he placed the perfect flower exactly in the middle of Kiel's windshield. No happenstance, no divine guidance. Just boys being boys. Not the kind of activity I usually get from them, but they can handle their glass however they wish. And if they want to fill it with flowers, more power to them!
Interesting that I just assumed it was unintentional - some serendipitous fluke of nature. Some wind blew it there and it happened to land in the perfect place. Kiel on the other hand, ever the rationalist, while he really wanted to believe it could have just happened, was not so accepting. Perhaps it is like that perennial question - is your glass half full or half empty. I am less likely to care about whether the container is being filled or emptied and more likely to be curious about the container and the contents.
In fact, I will be more likely to look about and see what the options are for different sizes and shapes and colors and materials of container (something less utilitarian and more aesthetic), and then figure out what to fill it with that sustains body and soul, mind and spirit. Doesn't answer that darn question at all!
I know people who would investigate why the darn glass was never filled all the way to the top, or if being emptied, who is stealing the contents unbeknownst to the drinker. Others would want to chart ounces and mark levels and record statistics. There are so many approaches to the glass question that never get acknowledged.
Turns out, Drew sheepishly admitted that for a joke, he placed the perfect flower exactly in the middle of Kiel's windshield. No happenstance, no divine guidance. Just boys being boys. Not the kind of activity I usually get from them, but they can handle their glass however they wish. And if they want to fill it with flowers, more power to them!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Chime Music
Today I spent the morning selecting the music for the handchime choir. While I sort through books of music, Mom is on my heart and mind and I slide in and out of prayer for her. I know she will be OK, but I hate for her to have to go through such stuff. I know she felt the same way for me every time I faced a health challenge.
Certainly during my cancer treatments. Especially the first one when I was so far from her. That was a large part of the reason I moved back to the east coast. To be closer to Mom. There were other times I had health challenges when she was there for me. Lots of them.
I still remember when I fractured a vertebrae in my back during my seventh grade year. I had to lie flat on my back on a board with this tight brace around my middle. I couldn't get up to eat or anything. That was back in the dark ages and Mom would make excuses to wander through my room while she was taking care of babies and doing housework and laundry, making sure I was doing alright.
She even snuck the family radio up to my room so I could listen to music during the day. What a tender heart she has. I suspect I got extra helpings of desserts and other goodies solely because I was stuck up there and had no escape. It wasn't so bad really. In a large family there is always somebody to talk to.
But Mom was the one who felt my pain. It came out in little ways. She would wash my face with a cool cloth, trying to make me feel less tired and worn. She would read me stories and sneak me cupcakes and stick dandelions in a paper cup on my window sill.
How wonderful it was to have a compatriot who was always there when everyone else got tired of being with the cripple. She seemed to show up at the exact moment when I was so bored I was on the verge of tears, always with a diversion, and activity, something to help wile away the long hours.
Its not unlike the melody of sweet chimes playing in the breeze, having someone in your corner. I smile as I pick the December piece. Lo How A Rose E'er Blooming. Yes, its like having a December rose quietly radiating beauty in your life to have such a thoughtful tenderhearted Mom. I must give her a big hug next time I see her to thank her for all those times when she held me together through some crisis or another. Hang in there, Mom.
Certainly during my cancer treatments. Especially the first one when I was so far from her. That was a large part of the reason I moved back to the east coast. To be closer to Mom. There were other times I had health challenges when she was there for me. Lots of them.
I still remember when I fractured a vertebrae in my back during my seventh grade year. I had to lie flat on my back on a board with this tight brace around my middle. I couldn't get up to eat or anything. That was back in the dark ages and Mom would make excuses to wander through my room while she was taking care of babies and doing housework and laundry, making sure I was doing alright.
She even snuck the family radio up to my room so I could listen to music during the day. What a tender heart she has. I suspect I got extra helpings of desserts and other goodies solely because I was stuck up there and had no escape. It wasn't so bad really. In a large family there is always somebody to talk to.
But Mom was the one who felt my pain. It came out in little ways. She would wash my face with a cool cloth, trying to make me feel less tired and worn. She would read me stories and sneak me cupcakes and stick dandelions in a paper cup on my window sill.
How wonderful it was to have a compatriot who was always there when everyone else got tired of being with the cripple. She seemed to show up at the exact moment when I was so bored I was on the verge of tears, always with a diversion, and activity, something to help wile away the long hours.
Its not unlike the melody of sweet chimes playing in the breeze, having someone in your corner. I smile as I pick the December piece. Lo How A Rose E'er Blooming. Yes, its like having a December rose quietly radiating beauty in your life to have such a thoughtful tenderhearted Mom. I must give her a big hug next time I see her to thank her for all those times when she held me together through some crisis or another. Hang in there, Mom.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Pray for Mom
My sister called to tell me that Mom had a severe reaction to a drug the doctor prescribed for her pulled muscle pain. Mom is so nauseous she can't stop retching. She has lost weight, something she can't really afford to do. The doctors are working to balance her sodium levels thrown off by the vomiting and to stabilize her so they can figure out if the pain is something more than just a pulled muscle. She will remain in the hospital until they get it all back under control.
I sympathize with her agony. I lay awake half the night praying for her, that God's presence would comfort her, that the doctors would have wisdom, that Mom would know she is not alone and that we are lifting her up, that the pain would subside, that the levels would normalize. This is the first crisis she has faced without her husband of so many decades. Its terrible to feel so awful, but even worse to have to go through it alone.
Please everyone, if you have a minute, pray for Mom. Her name is Lillian and she is the most gentle and loving person in the world. You want to hug her to pieces when you meet her and I love her dearly. I am chafing at not being with her, and it is all I can do not to jump in the car and drive to Lake George just to be there and hold her hand and tell her its going to be alright.
I make plans in my head, ready to drop everything and go on a moment's notice. I refill prescriptions so I will have enough to get through an extended period of time if I need to. I check my calendar at work and mentally tick off who to ask to cover my commitments for me. I make a written list of details to cover before I go. Even though I know my brother and sister are there and I am not needed. Still, I want to be there.
I talk with my sister and things are going better today. She tells me not to come. I will only be in the way and Mom is mostly sleeping anyway. OK. I mail a card and buy a package of her favorite chocolates to mail out. She is not big on flowers. Maybe balloons. If I go, I will take a book to read to her. She likes reading and may not feel up to it.
Darn - its hard to send hugs in the mail. I will find a way though. If I can't be there, I will send my best prayers and thoughts and wishes. Get better Mom.
I sympathize with her agony. I lay awake half the night praying for her, that God's presence would comfort her, that the doctors would have wisdom, that Mom would know she is not alone and that we are lifting her up, that the pain would subside, that the levels would normalize. This is the first crisis she has faced without her husband of so many decades. Its terrible to feel so awful, but even worse to have to go through it alone.
Please everyone, if you have a minute, pray for Mom. Her name is Lillian and she is the most gentle and loving person in the world. You want to hug her to pieces when you meet her and I love her dearly. I am chafing at not being with her, and it is all I can do not to jump in the car and drive to Lake George just to be there and hold her hand and tell her its going to be alright.
I make plans in my head, ready to drop everything and go on a moment's notice. I refill prescriptions so I will have enough to get through an extended period of time if I need to. I check my calendar at work and mentally tick off who to ask to cover my commitments for me. I make a written list of details to cover before I go. Even though I know my brother and sister are there and I am not needed. Still, I want to be there.
I talk with my sister and things are going better today. She tells me not to come. I will only be in the way and Mom is mostly sleeping anyway. OK. I mail a card and buy a package of her favorite chocolates to mail out. She is not big on flowers. Maybe balloons. If I go, I will take a book to read to her. She likes reading and may not feel up to it.
Darn - its hard to send hugs in the mail. I will find a way though. If I can't be there, I will send my best prayers and thoughts and wishes. Get better Mom.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Faculty Retreat
I am not convinced that I can pull today off. I need to be at work by 7 to open before I leave on the bus for the annual Faculty Retreat which is being held at Houghton College this year, an hour's drive south of Rochester. What will I do if I flag out? I know I can lie down on a couch in the student union. But the bus ride down and back looms before me mountainous and foreboding.
I will not allow cancer to defeat me. This is ridiculous. Its just sitting. I have no heart for the day at all. No energy. No desire to intermingle with colleagues, known or new. But I will do this. It is part of my job. I will not just get through, I will determine to give it my best effort and then when I am maxed, I will stop. If push came to shove, I could call Kiel to come and get me.
I have brief visions of collapsing in an embarrassed heap in mid aisle somewhere and I quickly dismiss the thoughts. I need no notoriety. Take one step at a time and be quiet about it. No one need know your battles. I realize how short tempered I am. Every little inconvenience tempts me to lash out cruelly at the first available poor innocent. I bite my tongue. I will smile and listen for all I am worth and not allow my pain any evidence outlet anywhere.
The day is dark and cloudy with a misting rain. Not unlike my soul. I do not push myself. I allow myself to be carried along with the rest of the people. I do listen. I sit quietly, drawn into myself and I observe intently, asking for revelation, for understanding, for insight. It is a slow day that unfolds at a gruelingly mopey pace, but I have nowhere else to be. I make myself content. I choose to live in this moment at this time regardless of my body.
It is a retreat. I am learning much about myself and about my colleagues and about the world of education. I tuck away ideas and strategies. Lunch is elegant. Even though there is little I can eat, I appreciate the beauty of the display, the delectable selections, the conversation swirling about the table. It is good to be part of this.
I admit that I selfishly prayed for no seatmate on the return trip, and I was blessed to be left alone. I vegged immediately. Not sleeping, but sometimes closing my eyes. Listening to snatches of conversations. Watching the blur of landscape pass before my eyes, knowing green will soon be caught up in a blaze of autumnal vividity.
It was a good day. It was a solid day. I am home at 5 pm and will head right to bed. I am better today than yesterday. Better by far than Thursday. Tomorrow I will be better yet. God is good. Life is good. The world is OK. Good night and sweet dreams.
I will not allow cancer to defeat me. This is ridiculous. Its just sitting. I have no heart for the day at all. No energy. No desire to intermingle with colleagues, known or new. But I will do this. It is part of my job. I will not just get through, I will determine to give it my best effort and then when I am maxed, I will stop. If push came to shove, I could call Kiel to come and get me.
I have brief visions of collapsing in an embarrassed heap in mid aisle somewhere and I quickly dismiss the thoughts. I need no notoriety. Take one step at a time and be quiet about it. No one need know your battles. I realize how short tempered I am. Every little inconvenience tempts me to lash out cruelly at the first available poor innocent. I bite my tongue. I will smile and listen for all I am worth and not allow my pain any evidence outlet anywhere.
The day is dark and cloudy with a misting rain. Not unlike my soul. I do not push myself. I allow myself to be carried along with the rest of the people. I do listen. I sit quietly, drawn into myself and I observe intently, asking for revelation, for understanding, for insight. It is a slow day that unfolds at a gruelingly mopey pace, but I have nowhere else to be. I make myself content. I choose to live in this moment at this time regardless of my body.
It is a retreat. I am learning much about myself and about my colleagues and about the world of education. I tuck away ideas and strategies. Lunch is elegant. Even though there is little I can eat, I appreciate the beauty of the display, the delectable selections, the conversation swirling about the table. It is good to be part of this.
I admit that I selfishly prayed for no seatmate on the return trip, and I was blessed to be left alone. I vegged immediately. Not sleeping, but sometimes closing my eyes. Listening to snatches of conversations. Watching the blur of landscape pass before my eyes, knowing green will soon be caught up in a blaze of autumnal vividity.
It was a good day. It was a solid day. I am home at 5 pm and will head right to bed. I am better today than yesterday. Better by far than Thursday. Tomorrow I will be better yet. God is good. Life is good. The world is OK. Good night and sweet dreams.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Real Day of Rest
You know something is not right when I purposely miss church. I want to go, but I don't have it in me to do so. Rest is what the Sabbath is intended for, and Sabbath is what I require today. I stay in bed until after 10 am. My boys will be drop jawed. When I finally manage to haul myself from my mattress, I eat gentle foods. Chocolate pudding. Ginger ale. Toast. Water. Tea.
I have no desire to do anything. I watch a dvd on the Face of Jesus that I heard about at the St Olaf Conference. It is a wonderful documentary of Christian art depicting Christ through the ages. Just the ticket for a gentle restful day. Sugar sympathizes with me and curls up on the arm of the chair, sighing and glancing at me out of doleful eyes.
I don't have the oomph to sit up for long, and finally give up and go back to bed. I sure hope this passes soon. I want my recovered self back. I hope I am not going to experience this doldrum every time I get chemo. Its like finally getting back to your old self only to be knocked flat on your kiester. Well, I do see the oncologist in November before the next round and I will definitely be working on preventing another set of the yukkies. But for now, sleep calls.
I have no desire to do anything. I watch a dvd on the Face of Jesus that I heard about at the St Olaf Conference. It is a wonderful documentary of Christian art depicting Christ through the ages. Just the ticket for a gentle restful day. Sugar sympathizes with me and curls up on the arm of the chair, sighing and glancing at me out of doleful eyes.
I don't have the oomph to sit up for long, and finally give up and go back to bed. I sure hope this passes soon. I want my recovered self back. I hope I am not going to experience this doldrum every time I get chemo. Its like finally getting back to your old self only to be knocked flat on your kiester. Well, I do see the oncologist in November before the next round and I will definitely be working on preventing another set of the yukkies. But for now, sleep calls.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Another Day After
Saturday. I have nothing on my calendar, thank the good Lord. I sleep in. Sugar doesn't bother me. Drew has been asking for a new backpack for school, and I figure I can probably handle that. One trip. One store. One bag. Home. I am not as bad today as I was yesterday, but my head is killing me. I briefly entertain a thought that maybe something is awry and just as quickly dismiss it. This will pass.
We head out, and Drew is quietly solicitous of my well being. His concern is evident in his door opening on my behalf and his watching out for me. I complain unnecessarily about having to walk clear to the back of the darn store to get to the back pack section, but I am doggoned if I am going to succumb to riding a wheelchair buggy. I will navigate under my own power for as absolutely long as I can stand erect. Thank you very much.
Drew weighs the merits of each bag, considering the number of pockets, the way it sits on his back, the colors, the overall look and shape. I stand on one foot, then the other, waiting as patiently as I know how. Why don't they have chairs in this store? There is no spot anywhere that I can rest a moment. Gosh darn it. I try not to be a pill. Be nice. Drew decides and he is very happy with his selection.
We pay and head for the car. I climb in and sit. I do not move. I need to let my body recover some energy. This is not even nap. It is allowing the body to recharge enough to be functional. Muscles protest any usage. Head is pounding. Drew puts in a story tape and we listen while I rest. At last I am sufficiently recovered to navigate. We stop at the glasses store so Drew can replace a lost screw, then decide to get lunch at KFC. Great idea. We sit in the car and munch, buying time for me so I can manage to get us home.
Three days. Yes, I think that was how long I took those steroids before. Or was it five? I will have to go back and check. This I do know. I am grateful grateful grateful that the semester is not yet underway and I have the time and luxury of allowing myself to recoup. Thank God.
We head out, and Drew is quietly solicitous of my well being. His concern is evident in his door opening on my behalf and his watching out for me. I complain unnecessarily about having to walk clear to the back of the darn store to get to the back pack section, but I am doggoned if I am going to succumb to riding a wheelchair buggy. I will navigate under my own power for as absolutely long as I can stand erect. Thank you very much.
Drew weighs the merits of each bag, considering the number of pockets, the way it sits on his back, the colors, the overall look and shape. I stand on one foot, then the other, waiting as patiently as I know how. Why don't they have chairs in this store? There is no spot anywhere that I can rest a moment. Gosh darn it. I try not to be a pill. Be nice. Drew decides and he is very happy with his selection.
We pay and head for the car. I climb in and sit. I do not move. I need to let my body recover some energy. This is not even nap. It is allowing the body to recharge enough to be functional. Muscles protest any usage. Head is pounding. Drew puts in a story tape and we listen while I rest. At last I am sufficiently recovered to navigate. We stop at the glasses store so Drew can replace a lost screw, then decide to get lunch at KFC. Great idea. We sit in the car and munch, buying time for me so I can manage to get us home.
Three days. Yes, I think that was how long I took those steroids before. Or was it five? I will have to go back and check. This I do know. I am grateful grateful grateful that the semester is not yet underway and I have the time and luxury of allowing myself to recoup. Thank God.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Day After
Oh, good Lord. Deliver me. I will never never never take Rituxan that fast again. Yesterday afternoon was horrible. I thought I might actually have to go to the ER. Every spot on my entire body was in agonizing pain. I struggled to get breaths all night - not that my lungs are blocked, just that my muscles don't want to work. I am scared half the night and sleep sitting up. I am pretty sure I will not go in to work today, but by morning, after being awake most of the night, the attack is passing.
I debate about going in, but I have been out so much. It won't be busy, and if I can't manage, I can always come home. I just don't want to have to call in again. I drag myself into the bathroom for a long hot shower, dress as comfortably as I can, and slowly drive myself to work. My head is splitting despite the drugs I have taken. Good God. I was totally not prepared for this severe reaction.
I know I am not very productive at work, but somehow I stick it out. Tired is not the word. Exhaustion doesn't even cover it. My eyes hurt. My ears hurt. My hair hurts. My skin hurts. My toenails hurt. I work at breathing. There is no me left here. I was doing so well. I want me back. But there are walls I cannot maneuver around. I go home and almost directly to bed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, little thoughts are stirring. Maybe the reason the Rituxan didn't cause a reaction is because the cancer is gone and there is nothing left to react. That's good. I remember that last summer they gave me steroids for three days after the chemo because they anticipated that my body would take a dive and they were trying to lessen the severity of the downward spiral. I am doing this round without such help. Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.
I sigh, slowly drink a whole glass of ice cold water, strip into my jammies and collapse. Tomorrow will be better. Really. Really.
I debate about going in, but I have been out so much. It won't be busy, and if I can't manage, I can always come home. I just don't want to have to call in again. I drag myself into the bathroom for a long hot shower, dress as comfortably as I can, and slowly drive myself to work. My head is splitting despite the drugs I have taken. Good God. I was totally not prepared for this severe reaction.
I know I am not very productive at work, but somehow I stick it out. Tired is not the word. Exhaustion doesn't even cover it. My eyes hurt. My ears hurt. My hair hurts. My skin hurts. My toenails hurt. I work at breathing. There is no me left here. I was doing so well. I want me back. But there are walls I cannot maneuver around. I go home and almost directly to bed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, little thoughts are stirring. Maybe the reason the Rituxan didn't cause a reaction is because the cancer is gone and there is nothing left to react. That's good. I remember that last summer they gave me steroids for three days after the chemo because they anticipated that my body would take a dive and they were trying to lessen the severity of the downward spiral. I am doing this round without such help. Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.
I sigh, slowly drink a whole glass of ice cold water, strip into my jammies and collapse. Tomorrow will be better. Really. Really.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Chemo
Here I am again, heading off for chemo. The excitement and the sympathy has worn thin for everyone around me. That's OK. I'm pretty tired of it myself. I drive to the Wilmot Center and park on the third floor of the garage. I sit in the car a few minutes to finish my cup of hot ginger peach tea, washing the last crumb of a Stella Doro breakfast cookie from my lips.
I smile as I remember my first time coming in for chemo and not wanting to eat ahead of time in case I got nauseous. Ha! That's a laugh. They fill you so full of anti nausea meds you couldn't throw up if you wanted to. Lucky lucky lucky. I hug my pink carry bag that Pastor gave me for my chemo trips and smile, remembering her wonderful support and kindness throughout this long and bumpy trip, laughing as I recalled the day they pushed Benedryl too fast in my IV and I nearly passed out while she was sitting there chatting. Too funny.
Today I will not have an elegant dinner served on beautiful china like the time my friend brought me lunch. I have a bagel with me. That will suffice. I know the carts will be around with ginger ale and pretzels and stuff. I am in good spirits and relish how delightful it feels to walk fast and free down the hallway toward the infusion center.
I am not in the throes of a death struggle. I am merely keeping the wolf away from the door with this maintenance stuff. I take every precaution to ensure I will have time with Drew, that I will meet my soon to be born grandchildren, that I will be able to hug my sweeties this Christmas. I check in and joke with the ladies who work the reception desk. They know me now and ask after my summer. Its been great! Theirs too. Lots of travel.
I settle into the familiar recliner, picking one near the window so I can see the blue sky and green trees. The nurse is one I like who remembers me and while she preps me, I ask how she got into oncology nursing. What an interesting story she relates and before I know it, I am hooked up and just waiting for the pre meds to take effect. She and I both know that if I get lots of fluids the Rituxan goes better. She hangs an extra bag. I take out my book and start reading.
Suddenly my head aches and my eyes are tired. My system is reacting to the pre meds in the usual way. Its just that I forgot this is not actually a walk in the park. Oh, yeah. I remember. I will feel sluggish and blah. The tiredness begins to creep into my arms and legs. Maybe I won't read. Maybe I will catch a little TV. But I don't bother to turn it on. The Benedryl that normally hypes me up seems to be having the opposite effect today.
I decide not to fight it and doze off between trips to the bathroom, dragging my IV pole along. Normally I name my daylong companion and joke about it, but today I don't feel like it. I feel more like I am being hit by a Mack truck. The nurse keeps upping the dose. Normally I can never get beyond 100 drips per hour, but today I do 150, then 200, then 250 all the way to 500! I can't believe it and neither can the nurse! This is unheard of! No tingling, no numbness, no tongue swelling, no rash. I must be finally adjusted to this stuff.
I am actually going to get out of here in a reasonable timeframe. By 2 pm I am done with the Rituxan and undergoing a final flush. I'm still pretty stable too. I don't feel like the usual wobbly wet spaghetti noodle. What is going on? I thank my lucky stars, hug the nurse and head for home, stopping on the way to pick up a movie. This is great. Maybe maintenance chemo isn't so bad. Just the lousy headache tiredness to deal with. I am confident that a good night's sleep will put me back to normal by tomorrow. Yeah!
I smile as I remember my first time coming in for chemo and not wanting to eat ahead of time in case I got nauseous. Ha! That's a laugh. They fill you so full of anti nausea meds you couldn't throw up if you wanted to. Lucky lucky lucky. I hug my pink carry bag that Pastor gave me for my chemo trips and smile, remembering her wonderful support and kindness throughout this long and bumpy trip, laughing as I recalled the day they pushed Benedryl too fast in my IV and I nearly passed out while she was sitting there chatting. Too funny.
Today I will not have an elegant dinner served on beautiful china like the time my friend brought me lunch. I have a bagel with me. That will suffice. I know the carts will be around with ginger ale and pretzels and stuff. I am in good spirits and relish how delightful it feels to walk fast and free down the hallway toward the infusion center.
I am not in the throes of a death struggle. I am merely keeping the wolf away from the door with this maintenance stuff. I take every precaution to ensure I will have time with Drew, that I will meet my soon to be born grandchildren, that I will be able to hug my sweeties this Christmas. I check in and joke with the ladies who work the reception desk. They know me now and ask after my summer. Its been great! Theirs too. Lots of travel.
I settle into the familiar recliner, picking one near the window so I can see the blue sky and green trees. The nurse is one I like who remembers me and while she preps me, I ask how she got into oncology nursing. What an interesting story she relates and before I know it, I am hooked up and just waiting for the pre meds to take effect. She and I both know that if I get lots of fluids the Rituxan goes better. She hangs an extra bag. I take out my book and start reading.
Suddenly my head aches and my eyes are tired. My system is reacting to the pre meds in the usual way. Its just that I forgot this is not actually a walk in the park. Oh, yeah. I remember. I will feel sluggish and blah. The tiredness begins to creep into my arms and legs. Maybe I won't read. Maybe I will catch a little TV. But I don't bother to turn it on. The Benedryl that normally hypes me up seems to be having the opposite effect today.
I decide not to fight it and doze off between trips to the bathroom, dragging my IV pole along. Normally I name my daylong companion and joke about it, but today I don't feel like it. I feel more like I am being hit by a Mack truck. The nurse keeps upping the dose. Normally I can never get beyond 100 drips per hour, but today I do 150, then 200, then 250 all the way to 500! I can't believe it and neither can the nurse! This is unheard of! No tingling, no numbness, no tongue swelling, no rash. I must be finally adjusted to this stuff.
I am actually going to get out of here in a reasonable timeframe. By 2 pm I am done with the Rituxan and undergoing a final flush. I'm still pretty stable too. I don't feel like the usual wobbly wet spaghetti noodle. What is going on? I thank my lucky stars, hug the nurse and head for home, stopping on the way to pick up a movie. This is great. Maybe maintenance chemo isn't so bad. Just the lousy headache tiredness to deal with. I am confident that a good night's sleep will put me back to normal by tomorrow. Yeah!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Music Planning
I have missed conducting choirs all summer. I can't wait to start up again. This year will be particularly intense as the choir helps me prepare for my degree recital. I have been working on ways to sing the pieces as often as we can so the choir will feel comfortable with the music and be able to let the piece be the music instead of getting hung up on notes and challenges.
Today I spent the morning at the church working with the music librarian in the database, matching the pastor's sermon themes with texts and Bible passages where possible. It is a slow going process, but as in other years, I find a piece will suddenly leap out at me, as if to say, "Pick me. I am the right song for this service." I have always been grateful for such guidance.
Services will be filled with good music this year. I connected with engaging music at the St Olaf Conference and also at Concordia. I have participated in excellent music singing and thoughtfully prepared and liturgically rich services. I am filled with the desire to bring as much of this excellence into our worship this year. Even in the midst of planning my recital - or maybe I should say as a fitting result of it.
I only have a few more weeks to get the plans in place, and I know I will be spending a few more mornings here getting the pieces in place. I love this stuff! It's so exciting.
Today I spent the morning at the church working with the music librarian in the database, matching the pastor's sermon themes with texts and Bible passages where possible. It is a slow going process, but as in other years, I find a piece will suddenly leap out at me, as if to say, "Pick me. I am the right song for this service." I have always been grateful for such guidance.
Services will be filled with good music this year. I connected with engaging music at the St Olaf Conference and also at Concordia. I have participated in excellent music singing and thoughtfully prepared and liturgically rich services. I am filled with the desire to bring as much of this excellence into our worship this year. Even in the midst of planning my recital - or maybe I should say as a fitting result of it.
I only have a few more weeks to get the plans in place, and I know I will be spending a few more mornings here getting the pieces in place. I love this stuff! It's so exciting.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Poison Ivy??!!
Kiel came home from a wonderful time at his friend's wedding. Imagine my lack of surprise when he announced his engagement to Andrea! I am happy they have made it official and I admire her ring. She is practically glowing and so excited. Plans are underway and I am swept up with their enthusiasm. I wasn't able to be part of the planning process for my two married sons. The last time I was part of planning a wedding, it was my own eons ago. What an encouragement to see this important piece of family business unfold.
On the other hand, I am keeping my distance. Kiel has somehow managed to get a good case of poison ivy. I'm pretty sure he wasn't exposed when he went down on one knee at the Saratoga Spa State Park in one of the workstudy era gazebos. True, he was probably pretty starry eyed, but I think he would have noticed that the marble was not free of entanglement.
I don't think he got it at the wedding reception. That was indoors. And probably not at his brother's house where he spent a night or two. He is the only one with it, so his claim that he got it playing Frisbee golf a week ago doesn't quite wash either. Wherever he contracted it, he had better keep it to himself and not share the wealth.
Andrea assures me I won't catch it. She and Kiel have been hugging and kissing and she doesn't have it. I am still wary. I am not convinced that my immune system can fend it off. And memories of a particularly stubborn bout of poison ivy when the boys were little flood my mind with how difficult it can be to contain.
A funny thought breezes through my mind. I wonder if Kiel is allergic to being engaged? Naw. That can't be it. Besides, the doctor said it was probably poison ivy or some such thing and gave him a prescription. Well, I'm sure it will pass. These things always do. Eventually.
On the other hand, I am keeping my distance. Kiel has somehow managed to get a good case of poison ivy. I'm pretty sure he wasn't exposed when he went down on one knee at the Saratoga Spa State Park in one of the workstudy era gazebos. True, he was probably pretty starry eyed, but I think he would have noticed that the marble was not free of entanglement.
I don't think he got it at the wedding reception. That was indoors. And probably not at his brother's house where he spent a night or two. He is the only one with it, so his claim that he got it playing Frisbee golf a week ago doesn't quite wash either. Wherever he contracted it, he had better keep it to himself and not share the wealth.
Andrea assures me I won't catch it. She and Kiel have been hugging and kissing and she doesn't have it. I am still wary. I am not convinced that my immune system can fend it off. And memories of a particularly stubborn bout of poison ivy when the boys were little flood my mind with how difficult it can be to contain.
A funny thought breezes through my mind. I wonder if Kiel is allergic to being engaged? Naw. That can't be it. Besides, the doctor said it was probably poison ivy or some such thing and gave him a prescription. Well, I'm sure it will pass. These things always do. Eventually.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Unbelievable Traffic
I knew it would be close. Drew's soccer preseason has begun. I am hard pressed to fit this into my schedule. I have post 5 pm commitments three nights a week, things I simply can't be absent for or late in getting to. So I try to drive when I can. Still, I am hampered by the 8 to 5 kind of day my job requires.
My parents had a simple solution for this issue. If you can't drive and commit, then the kid can't do it. Period. Maybe that's why I weasel rides from others and finagle transportation to fit my limited abilities. I want him to be on the soccer team and do the sorts of things he likes doing. Even if as a parent I fail miserably at being supportive.
Today I whiz out the door at 4:28, jump into the car and hit the road, praying for a speedy passage through downtown. I know it will be a bit slow on the east side of the city as I hit traffic of people returning home after work. Surely though I can make it by 5:30 or somewhere close to that. After all, it should be a twenty minute drive.
What is this?? Miles before I am anywhere near the city I am slowing, slowing, slowing to a crawl, inching along. I crane my neck trying to ascertain what lane is moving faster, what the holdup is. Construction? An accident? Fairly quickly I spot three cars on the side of the road and see the police lights flashing behind us, headed in their direction.
Phew! I think. Once we pass the scene things should move faster. But no. Long past the accident we are still crawling. Suddenly I see a second accident. Oh, great. Two in a row. I glance at the clock. It is 5:25. I will definitely be late. I consider trying to call Drew and let him know, but I am afraid to be distracted in such a pack of vehicles. I resist and fidget anxiously in my seat, willing us to move faster.
Then I spot the third and forth accidents. What on earth? I admit, the sun is shining at an inconvenient angle. Perhaps people could not see and smacked the car in front of them? There doesn't seem to be anything on the road that appears slippery. And for once, no construction either. We creep at an agonizing five miles an hour for what seems endless minutes.
Downtown slowly rolls past my window, ignoring my plight. I consider where I might get off and try a side street, but I see so many people doing that I realize it will not help me get there any faster. Phoo. I could probably run quicker than my car is coasting. I play leap frog with a corvette, then with a red pick up truck, each of us taking turns pulling ahead only to stop dead while the other passes. It is now 5:45. Drew must be wondering where I am. Yes, he calls. I put him on speaker and explain. I think he doesn't fully believe the situation. Rats rats and more rats.
Well, at long last, at 6:15 I manage to reach the exit I need, Linden Avenue. Smooth sailing from there. In minutes I am picking up the three kids and do my best to get them to believe my plight. I am only fully justified on the way home as we, heading west, pass accident after accident and miles and miles of still stalled traffic heading east in the opposite lanes, wending its way through the 490 mess. With each passing set of flashing lights, they become more convinced of the truth of my plea.
I don't think I have ever seen it so backed up. I hope I never see it that way again. In the meantime, this was not the way I had hoped to kick off soccer carpool season! Let's hope for no repeats.
My parents had a simple solution for this issue. If you can't drive and commit, then the kid can't do it. Period. Maybe that's why I weasel rides from others and finagle transportation to fit my limited abilities. I want him to be on the soccer team and do the sorts of things he likes doing. Even if as a parent I fail miserably at being supportive.
Today I whiz out the door at 4:28, jump into the car and hit the road, praying for a speedy passage through downtown. I know it will be a bit slow on the east side of the city as I hit traffic of people returning home after work. Surely though I can make it by 5:30 or somewhere close to that. After all, it should be a twenty minute drive.
What is this?? Miles before I am anywhere near the city I am slowing, slowing, slowing to a crawl, inching along. I crane my neck trying to ascertain what lane is moving faster, what the holdup is. Construction? An accident? Fairly quickly I spot three cars on the side of the road and see the police lights flashing behind us, headed in their direction.
Phew! I think. Once we pass the scene things should move faster. But no. Long past the accident we are still crawling. Suddenly I see a second accident. Oh, great. Two in a row. I glance at the clock. It is 5:25. I will definitely be late. I consider trying to call Drew and let him know, but I am afraid to be distracted in such a pack of vehicles. I resist and fidget anxiously in my seat, willing us to move faster.
Then I spot the third and forth accidents. What on earth? I admit, the sun is shining at an inconvenient angle. Perhaps people could not see and smacked the car in front of them? There doesn't seem to be anything on the road that appears slippery. And for once, no construction either. We creep at an agonizing five miles an hour for what seems endless minutes.
Downtown slowly rolls past my window, ignoring my plight. I consider where I might get off and try a side street, but I see so many people doing that I realize it will not help me get there any faster. Phoo. I could probably run quicker than my car is coasting. I play leap frog with a corvette, then with a red pick up truck, each of us taking turns pulling ahead only to stop dead while the other passes. It is now 5:45. Drew must be wondering where I am. Yes, he calls. I put him on speaker and explain. I think he doesn't fully believe the situation. Rats rats and more rats.
Well, at long last, at 6:15 I manage to reach the exit I need, Linden Avenue. Smooth sailing from there. In minutes I am picking up the three kids and do my best to get them to believe my plight. I am only fully justified on the way home as we, heading west, pass accident after accident and miles and miles of still stalled traffic heading east in the opposite lanes, wending its way through the 490 mess. With each passing set of flashing lights, they become more convinced of the truth of my plea.
I don't think I have ever seen it so backed up. I hope I never see it that way again. In the meantime, this was not the way I had hoped to kick off soccer carpool season! Let's hope for no repeats.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
On My Own
Kiel and Andrea went to a friend's wedding in Boston and will be away until Monday night. Drew went to church with a friend and will be away until this evening. That leaves me a whole day to myself! I contemplate how to spend this sudden wealth of time alone. Should I hem the curtains I took down in the spring and have been waiting to rehang? I could.
Should I work on the paper for my upcoming seminary class, or read ahead in my assignments? I really should. Should I work on the script for my Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients? Yes, I should. Should I start figuring out the repertoire for the choir? That needs to be completed soon. Should I work on my dissertation? No time like the present to begin. Should I get more score study accomplished for my degree recital The Lord's Prayer; a Musical Exploration? I am pretty close with that one. Should I finish the PrayerSong flier and complete the distribution list? Yes, it needs to be done.
Should I just enjoy the day and rest? Bingo! Even Sugar agrees. She is curled up in the rocking chair snoring away. I think its about time I joined her! As for the rest of the work, I will simply trust that the good Lord will give strength and momentum as needed. Today's rest is an important part of carrying on. Its nice to know there is much to do. And time to prepare. And still enjoy letting the body and mind rest.
Should I work on the paper for my upcoming seminary class, or read ahead in my assignments? I really should. Should I work on the script for my Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients? Yes, I should. Should I start figuring out the repertoire for the choir? That needs to be completed soon. Should I work on my dissertation? No time like the present to begin. Should I get more score study accomplished for my degree recital The Lord's Prayer; a Musical Exploration? I am pretty close with that one. Should I finish the PrayerSong flier and complete the distribution list? Yes, it needs to be done.
Should I just enjoy the day and rest? Bingo! Even Sugar agrees. She is curled up in the rocking chair snoring away. I think its about time I joined her! As for the rest of the work, I will simply trust that the good Lord will give strength and momentum as needed. Today's rest is an important part of carrying on. Its nice to know there is much to do. And time to prepare. And still enjoy letting the body and mind rest.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Sheila
Poor Sheila, my ivy plant. She has suffered the effects of my being away. Kiel, bless his heart, doesn't seem to have the knack of green thumbery like DJ does. I have been nursing her along since my return. First I removed the dead leaves and made sure she had a good long drink. She definitely needs repotting, and I promise her I will take care of that soon. Right now I want to make sure she isn't in a trauma state.
In the meantime, I will take a few cuttings and root them so that when I repot there will be some new growth. Nurture, whether it be of children or plants or animals, takes tlc (tender loving care) and time and appropriate provision. I have every faith that Sheila will come round soon. The rose bush Kiel planted in the outdoors hanging basket I am not so sure of. I guess we will have to wait and see.
The miracle of God's creation is that everything strives toward health and wholeness despite negative conditions. The impetus is always towards healing. How wonderful is that??!!
In the meantime, I will take a few cuttings and root them so that when I repot there will be some new growth. Nurture, whether it be of children or plants or animals, takes tlc (tender loving care) and time and appropriate provision. I have every faith that Sheila will come round soon. The rose bush Kiel planted in the outdoors hanging basket I am not so sure of. I guess we will have to wait and see.
The miracle of God's creation is that everything strives toward health and wholeness despite negative conditions. The impetus is always towards healing. How wonderful is that??!!
Friday, August 13, 2010
What to Do About Chyna
I first noticed kids in the Information Commons early in the morning, but I didn't really give it a second thought. Lots of our graduate students bring their kids with them while they are working on papers and research and such. They were still there after lunch, but I was closeted in my office and not paying any attention. When I came on desk for the evening shift, they were still there, and I asked the Librarian going off duty about them.
"O, yeah. They get scooting around in the chairs from time to time, or arguing with each other and I yell at them. Not a big deal." was the reply. I am not so sure. I settle down and log in and begin the unending task of weeding email when I hear loud arguing. I look up. There are three young girls, around second or third grade age, and a young boy slightly older. I don't see any parent around, but I hesitate to interfere.
I catch the eye of one of the girls, and she glares at me with blatant hostility, as if daring me to say anything. I stay out of it and things settle down. A few minutes later, there is another argument with kids moving about and fussing with each other. I glance about. There are adults trying to work. They are looking up, obviously disturbed by the noise. I sigh.
I approach the kids and tell them as nicely as I can that if they are going to be in the Library, they will have to be quiet. Immediately, a girl in her maybe twenties jumps up from one of the computers, and orders the kids to leave with her. I feel horrible. But relieved. Where has this person in charge been all day? At least it will be quiet now.
But I am wrong. Ten minutes later they all troup back in and settle at computers again. It is barely five minutes before the same girl raises a ruckus. I look for the older girl to intervene, but she ignores them. This is not good. The younger girls are openly challenging me to order them out. Think. Think. Try to find a way to see what is going on here.
I approach one of the girls who is not as glaring as the others and ask her name. India. Her friend is Myasia. I ask her what they are working on. She looks at me as if I have lost my mind and answers, "the computers." Dead end. I ask if they are from around here and the story begins to take shape. The girls live with their Grandmother in a nearby apartment complex. I know the one. I used to live there and it is a terrible place.
I make a mental note. No parents. I ask why they came to the library, and they admit without realizing it that they wanted to be in an air conditioned place and we are within walking distance. Besides, I heard the older girl mention that the Grandmother was in a bad way and they were trying to stay out of reach. I suspect we are talking about physical abuse.
The youngest girl says she is starving. I ask when they ate last. Breakfast. It is now 7 pm. I suggest they should go home and get something to eat. They tell me they have money and are going to leave soon to get candy bars and soda. One girl named Chyna, the one who has been glaring the most angrily, proudly pulls five pennies from her pocket.
I am now in turmoil. Should I feed this stray? Am I getting in over my head? Why doesn't the girl in her twenties take care of them? How did this get on my plate? But there is no help for it. I cannot turn my back on this kind of need. I ask them if they would like to watch a movie in our media room and they jump at the chance. We don't have many kids movies, but I select one and set them up. They squeal with delight. After I switch the language from Spanish to English, I step out and close the door, heading for my office.
I rummage around and locate a half package of cookies and a box of crackers left over from earlier events. I ask the older girl if it would be OK to give them some snacks. She grabs greedily at the food herself, as does the boy who is not interested in the video. I take the food to the media room and within minutes of returning to the reference desk, they are there with the empty - the licked clean - wrappers, asking if I have anything else they can eat. I shake my head.
They demand to know if I ate the missing food by myself, and I assure them that others helped eat what was already consumed, but they can't get past the idea that somehow I got to eat all that food. They take my friendliness as a queue to get cozy, pulling open drawers and begging to have silly things that they discover inside, pieces of paper and bookmarks and such.
The more they glom onto me, the worse I feel. They think I am a fairy godmother. I see their huge need and know there is no way I can begin to address it. What am I going to do now? They gleefully tell me they will be back tomorrow for more cookies. I am sure they will be. OK. I am going to need some help. I will consult with my fellow librarians, a few pastors and counselors this weekend. They will be back, these girls. They need help. I cannot turn them away. That would be criminal.
But I also can't throw wide the doors of the library on their say so and let them run rampant. I will find a solution. It will take some work, but I must find a way to help them and encourage them without destroying anything in the process. Lord help me, and I suspect He will.
Somehow, Chyna's eyes haunt me for the rest of the evening. They will not let me go. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe.
"O, yeah. They get scooting around in the chairs from time to time, or arguing with each other and I yell at them. Not a big deal." was the reply. I am not so sure. I settle down and log in and begin the unending task of weeding email when I hear loud arguing. I look up. There are three young girls, around second or third grade age, and a young boy slightly older. I don't see any parent around, but I hesitate to interfere.
I catch the eye of one of the girls, and she glares at me with blatant hostility, as if daring me to say anything. I stay out of it and things settle down. A few minutes later, there is another argument with kids moving about and fussing with each other. I glance about. There are adults trying to work. They are looking up, obviously disturbed by the noise. I sigh.
I approach the kids and tell them as nicely as I can that if they are going to be in the Library, they will have to be quiet. Immediately, a girl in her maybe twenties jumps up from one of the computers, and orders the kids to leave with her. I feel horrible. But relieved. Where has this person in charge been all day? At least it will be quiet now.
But I am wrong. Ten minutes later they all troup back in and settle at computers again. It is barely five minutes before the same girl raises a ruckus. I look for the older girl to intervene, but she ignores them. This is not good. The younger girls are openly challenging me to order them out. Think. Think. Try to find a way to see what is going on here.
I approach one of the girls who is not as glaring as the others and ask her name. India. Her friend is Myasia. I ask her what they are working on. She looks at me as if I have lost my mind and answers, "the computers." Dead end. I ask if they are from around here and the story begins to take shape. The girls live with their Grandmother in a nearby apartment complex. I know the one. I used to live there and it is a terrible place.
I make a mental note. No parents. I ask why they came to the library, and they admit without realizing it that they wanted to be in an air conditioned place and we are within walking distance. Besides, I heard the older girl mention that the Grandmother was in a bad way and they were trying to stay out of reach. I suspect we are talking about physical abuse.
The youngest girl says she is starving. I ask when they ate last. Breakfast. It is now 7 pm. I suggest they should go home and get something to eat. They tell me they have money and are going to leave soon to get candy bars and soda. One girl named Chyna, the one who has been glaring the most angrily, proudly pulls five pennies from her pocket.
I am now in turmoil. Should I feed this stray? Am I getting in over my head? Why doesn't the girl in her twenties take care of them? How did this get on my plate? But there is no help for it. I cannot turn my back on this kind of need. I ask them if they would like to watch a movie in our media room and they jump at the chance. We don't have many kids movies, but I select one and set them up. They squeal with delight. After I switch the language from Spanish to English, I step out and close the door, heading for my office.
I rummage around and locate a half package of cookies and a box of crackers left over from earlier events. I ask the older girl if it would be OK to give them some snacks. She grabs greedily at the food herself, as does the boy who is not interested in the video. I take the food to the media room and within minutes of returning to the reference desk, they are there with the empty - the licked clean - wrappers, asking if I have anything else they can eat. I shake my head.
They demand to know if I ate the missing food by myself, and I assure them that others helped eat what was already consumed, but they can't get past the idea that somehow I got to eat all that food. They take my friendliness as a queue to get cozy, pulling open drawers and begging to have silly things that they discover inside, pieces of paper and bookmarks and such.
The more they glom onto me, the worse I feel. They think I am a fairy godmother. I see their huge need and know there is no way I can begin to address it. What am I going to do now? They gleefully tell me they will be back tomorrow for more cookies. I am sure they will be. OK. I am going to need some help. I will consult with my fellow librarians, a few pastors and counselors this weekend. They will be back, these girls. They need help. I cannot turn them away. That would be criminal.
But I also can't throw wide the doors of the library on their say so and let them run rampant. I will find a solution. It will take some work, but I must find a way to help them and encourage them without destroying anything in the process. Lord help me, and I suspect He will.
Somehow, Chyna's eyes haunt me for the rest of the evening. They will not let me go. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Opportunities Knocking
Today I have two off campus events to attend. The morning event is a workshop about how college libraries can collaborate with high schools to help transition students from one world to another. The featured speakers are from SUNY Geneseo where they started such a program with grant money over 28 years ago.
By their own admission, the program has pretty much rolled along on its own with some decline in numbers and needs to be reinvestigated and updated. Nonetheless, students who take the instruction do much better in college than students who have not had the benefit of visiting a college library as part of their high school experience. I can see all sorts of possibilities for us, and in fact connected with a high school librarian seeking a higher education institution to partner with. She will come tour our facility tomorrow.
In the afternoon, I met some of my colleagues at a local digitization business called Kirtas to see their equipment in action. We brought along three items from our collection published in the 1700s to see how they might be digitized and what that would cost us. I would love to have one of their machines, but that will take more money and more work than I can currently commit to. So we ask to join as a member library and will put a few hundred of our records out for other places to consider digitizing. If someone else is willing to pay to have anything digitized, we end up with an electronic copy for ourselves without the expense solely in our court.
Nice plan. I see all sorts of application here as well. I guess what I really need is a clone to carry through with these peripheral programs while I focus on the upcoming semester and the new First Year Seminar instruction and the new LibAnswers software development and other initiatives that come first in the queue. Ah, well. The economic pendulum swings in both directions, and at some point, perhaps we can take advantage of all the potential opportunities that present themselves.
By their own admission, the program has pretty much rolled along on its own with some decline in numbers and needs to be reinvestigated and updated. Nonetheless, students who take the instruction do much better in college than students who have not had the benefit of visiting a college library as part of their high school experience. I can see all sorts of possibilities for us, and in fact connected with a high school librarian seeking a higher education institution to partner with. She will come tour our facility tomorrow.
In the afternoon, I met some of my colleagues at a local digitization business called Kirtas to see their equipment in action. We brought along three items from our collection published in the 1700s to see how they might be digitized and what that would cost us. I would love to have one of their machines, but that will take more money and more work than I can currently commit to. So we ask to join as a member library and will put a few hundred of our records out for other places to consider digitizing. If someone else is willing to pay to have anything digitized, we end up with an electronic copy for ourselves without the expense solely in our court.
Nice plan. I see all sorts of application here as well. I guess what I really need is a clone to carry through with these peripheral programs while I focus on the upcoming semester and the new First Year Seminar instruction and the new LibAnswers software development and other initiatives that come first in the queue. Ah, well. The economic pendulum swings in both directions, and at some point, perhaps we can take advantage of all the potential opportunities that present themselves.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
One of Our Own
On our campus, though the Librarians are considered faculty, we are not teaching faculty. The guidelines for advancement are vague. Even an email to the Academic Dean did not tell me the path for promotion. By length of time? Not really since our current director has been there for decades and is still not a full professor. By publication? Maybe. But not entirely.
Our theological Librarian is half time Librarian and half time teaching faculty. He was awarded full professorship this year, the first Librarian to achieve the top rank. Quite an accomplishment, and I mean to find out how to follow in his footsteps. Meanwhile, together with the seminary where he teaches, we celebrate this important milestone.
We gather in the Fireside Reading Room around ice cream cake and punch and congratulate him on this accomplishment. He defers the thanks to his colleagues who have made it possible, but I happen to know that he spends hours and hours in his office when the Library is closed working on publication and class design and numerous other projects. Every summer he travels to Africa where he teaches in a seminary and to England where he buries himself in research.
He has worked hard and this honor is well deserved. He is not the type to slack off now that he has reached the top. He will continue to advise students and encourage people to reach beyond their limitations to do their best, as he himself does. Congratulations, Barry. Well done. May we all learn from your example.
Our theological Librarian is half time Librarian and half time teaching faculty. He was awarded full professorship this year, the first Librarian to achieve the top rank. Quite an accomplishment, and I mean to find out how to follow in his footsteps. Meanwhile, together with the seminary where he teaches, we celebrate this important milestone.
We gather in the Fireside Reading Room around ice cream cake and punch and congratulate him on this accomplishment. He defers the thanks to his colleagues who have made it possible, but I happen to know that he spends hours and hours in his office when the Library is closed working on publication and class design and numerous other projects. Every summer he travels to Africa where he teaches in a seminary and to England where he buries himself in research.
He has worked hard and this honor is well deserved. He is not the type to slack off now that he has reached the top. He will continue to advise students and encourage people to reach beyond their limitations to do their best, as he himself does. Congratulations, Barry. Well done. May we all learn from your example.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Too Tall Drew
The deadline approaches for Drew to get his sports physical so he can play soccer. I keep forgetting to call the doctor to schedule an appointment. I tell Drew to do it, but I should know better. He won't do it. So one afternoon when he popped into my office to deliver the tv dinner I forgot but needed because I was working until 9, I called while he was right there.
Today we head to the new location where the nurses greet us by name. How is it that they still remember us when we haven't been there in some time? Its nice to be remembered. I don't ask Drew if he wants me to go back with him. I just go. I know at some point I will be asked to leave. After all, he is 16 and a man in his own right now. But I still like to pretend that I am needed.
They go through the usual weighing and measuring. It is official. Drew is over 6 foot now. Over 6 foot one inch. He is my tallest though youngest son. He towers above his brothers, and at 16, may still be growing. His voice is also the deepest pitch and he is most often taken to be older than he is - at least in college if not a graduate.
The doctor enters and shoots a volley of questions. I try not to answer, but I can't help myself. Drew is slow about responding or sometimes not forthcoming with information. Time to bite my tongue and let him speak. After all, he is a man now. Stop mothering him. Then the part where I get to sit in the waiting room while he takes care of the rest of the exam.
Moments later he comes out. He passed with flying colors. Much to his relief, his shots are all current and he doesn't even need a booster for anything. He smiles. I smile. Next year he can come by himself. I don't think he will mind. I watch him fold himself in half to get in the car and wonder how such a creature could ever have come from my tummy. I'm just glad he did.
Today we head to the new location where the nurses greet us by name. How is it that they still remember us when we haven't been there in some time? Its nice to be remembered. I don't ask Drew if he wants me to go back with him. I just go. I know at some point I will be asked to leave. After all, he is 16 and a man in his own right now. But I still like to pretend that I am needed.
They go through the usual weighing and measuring. It is official. Drew is over 6 foot now. Over 6 foot one inch. He is my tallest though youngest son. He towers above his brothers, and at 16, may still be growing. His voice is also the deepest pitch and he is most often taken to be older than he is - at least in college if not a graduate.
The doctor enters and shoots a volley of questions. I try not to answer, but I can't help myself. Drew is slow about responding or sometimes not forthcoming with information. Time to bite my tongue and let him speak. After all, he is a man now. Stop mothering him. Then the part where I get to sit in the waiting room while he takes care of the rest of the exam.
Moments later he comes out. He passed with flying colors. Much to his relief, his shots are all current and he doesn't even need a booster for anything. He smiles. I smile. Next year he can come by himself. I don't think he will mind. I watch him fold himself in half to get in the car and wonder how such a creature could ever have come from my tummy. I'm just glad he did.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Monday Morning Sun and Rain
I know I irritate most people with my happy morning mentality, but I especially love Monday mornings. What could be better than the start of a new week, a getting back to ordered labor after a refreshing change of pace weekend? The sun cannot come up early enough. I struggle to stay abed until some reasonable time to rise approaches my alarm clock numbers.
I lift my face to the sun and sing! Out loud (OK, quietly so I don't disturb the boys). I leave for work before I really have to be there, and piddle around in my office until time to open the gates. The sun streams through the huge plate glass windows and no one is around to see me dance upstairs as I turn on lights and shake out the dust.
What a joyous day! Skies are blue, the weekend was restful, its a good day.
But the afternoon turns gray and cloudy. By three rain begins to drizzle down, coating everything in sight with wetness, leaving messy puddles on the sidewalks and forcing people to don sweaters and jackets against the chill. Some would say it is a yukky day.
But I can only see how green the grass is as it perks up from the quenching drink of rain. I see how clean the windows become as the dust is washed away and how cheerful the birds are as they splash about in their puddle baths.
Yes, into every life a little rain must fall, and we, we try to do everything we can to avoid it because it is not the sun. But rain too gives life. Without it there would be no growth, no color, no refreshing. I hear the rumble of thunder as laughter, as joyous as the silky sunlight, and capricious as puffy white clouds.
I am happy for days of mixed weather all of which brings happiness. A little of both, if you please. I will try to see life that way too. The easy and the challenging. The work and the rest. The ups and the downs. Experience it all. Wonderful!
I lift my face to the sun and sing! Out loud (OK, quietly so I don't disturb the boys). I leave for work before I really have to be there, and piddle around in my office until time to open the gates. The sun streams through the huge plate glass windows and no one is around to see me dance upstairs as I turn on lights and shake out the dust.
What a joyous day! Skies are blue, the weekend was restful, its a good day.
But the afternoon turns gray and cloudy. By three rain begins to drizzle down, coating everything in sight with wetness, leaving messy puddles on the sidewalks and forcing people to don sweaters and jackets against the chill. Some would say it is a yukky day.
But I can only see how green the grass is as it perks up from the quenching drink of rain. I see how clean the windows become as the dust is washed away and how cheerful the birds are as they splash about in their puddle baths.
Yes, into every life a little rain must fall, and we, we try to do everything we can to avoid it because it is not the sun. But rain too gives life. Without it there would be no growth, no color, no refreshing. I hear the rumble of thunder as laughter, as joyous as the silky sunlight, and capricious as puffy white clouds.
I am happy for days of mixed weather all of which brings happiness. A little of both, if you please. I will try to see life that way too. The easy and the challenging. The work and the rest. The ups and the downs. Experience it all. Wonderful!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Picnic At Last
Last week the planned picnic thing didn't work out so well. This week I had mentioned it again, but by the time I got home, I was tired. I had no particular desire to tromp about, and Drew was off with friends anyway. But Kiel and his girlfriend had already packed a lunch and were just waiting for me. How could I say no? I'll just have to be tired later.
We head for Charlotte Beach and find a parking space fairly close to the park. We lug our heavy cooler to a table near the beach and set out the goodies. I sink down on the picnic table bench with a sigh of relief. Today the park is not overly crowded, but there are several events happening.
On the sand, a volleyball tournament. The aroma of bar-b-que announces a group collecting in one of the pavilions. Each activity has loud music broadcast over super sized speakers. Raffles are being announced, team results are aired. No one is swimming - must be a water ban I guess. Fortunately, its not all that hot and a pleasant breeze wafts past us continually.
We take our time munching sandwiches and pickles and chips, entertained by the people around us. One party near us decides to feed the sea gulls. Yuck. Little babies lay with their parents, sprawling on blankets and in little tent type shelters. Lovers stroll by hand in hand (and sometimes more intimate - don't look).
After lunch I hit the bathroom - a disaster, but when you have to go, you go where you can. We head for the pier where my friend and I walked last year after my chemo. I remember taking a long time to get to the end, but making it. Today I am sure I can easily make the long walk. I start out, but soon realize that its going to be one of those bathroom kind of days. Still, I am determined to make it to the end and back.
I abandon Kiel and Andrea and start booking feet. I am not even sure I can hold on to get to the end, and there is no hope of a bathroom facility until I return to the beach area. I barely glance at the lake when I finally reach the farthest point, but circle and head back, praying to make it before I have an accident. That would end our outing for certain.
I do not pay any attention to the puddles or the spiderwebs or the fish bubbles or the boats returning to harbor or the children running or the lovers kissing. I do not see the old woman covered from head to toe in scarves or the strange young man with the lawn chair over his shoulders. I do not stop to admire the sailboats gliding effortlessly in the briny green water or take note of the crook in the lake where the color changes from emerald to topaz.
All the beauty is lost on my being as I focus on making a beeline for the bathroom, hoping against hope that muscles I no longer have will hold long enough. I remember my Grandmother racing through the JC Penney store in Maybrook shopping center, hanging on to her hinny as she dashed for a bathroom one day when I was ten and spending some time with her in the summer.
Now I am my grandmother. Maybe I should consider wearing a Depends when I go on outings. Sigh. I am now within strike distance. Will the nearest bathroom be open? I step off the pier and onto the sand of the beach, then up onto the grass and finally onto the blacktop of the sidewalk. I am close. But I have to circle the building to get to the right door. It is open. There are three women standing inside, leisurely chatting. Are you in line?
They stare at me, in no hurry as they say they are just waiting for their children. I breeze past them and into a stall. There is no lock on the door. I will have to hold it shut. No matter. I made it. Whew! Now, is there paper? Yes! Grace abounds. I hear the women kvetching about the deplorable state of the bathrooms. One mother yells at her kid not to touch anything. Just squat and pee. I giggle.
I guess it depends on how desperate you are what you are willing to put up with. Now that I am OK once again, I catch up with Kiel and Andrea. We collect ourselves and decide to head home. Let's save the partying for another day when things are a bit less bumpy. Besides, I still need a nap.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Making Up for Lost Time
Poor Sugar. I have been away so much that she was sure she had been abandoned. Even though the boys looked out for her, she was miffed that I have not been around. I owe her a long romp. So today I collect the boys and we head for the Gates Park, a new discovery for us. I have driven by the entrance a hundred times, and it is usually barred shut. Suddenly though, now that summer is upon us, the iron gates are open and the roadway is clear.
Slowly we drive the long and bumpy road down into the park proper. The trees canopy the road with shade, and we catch glimpses of walking paths meandering through the woods. Who knew that less than a mile from our place all this nature was waiting? We are here now, ready to explore.
We round a bend in the road and find ourselves in a large parking area. To the left a playground with slides and swings and monkey bars - Drew is immediately drawn in that direction. Ahead are three soccer fields clearly marked and behind that a softball diamond. To the left, a cute bridge leading to a small pond where dragonflies are dancing.
Sugar wants to see it all right now. She leaps from the car, wriggling all over. First we head for the hiking path. The surface is bumpy and covered with roots. Vines and underbrush spill into the path, and we wonder whether there is poison ivy about. We see evidence that bikes have been here, but the path is so narrow that after ten minutes, we give up and head back toward the playground.
The boys revert to their childhood and abandon me to play on the equipment. Sugar and I decide to hike the perimeter of the park and head toward the pond, then circle around the soccer fields and softball diamond. Snaking off to the left of our circuitous route are many inviting little pathways. We glimpse others out exploring, some with dogs, some with backpacks. We resist the extras for now.
Queen Anne's lace, daisies, thistles and other wildflowers nod nonchalantly in the breeze as Sugar roams about this way and that, snuffing for all she is worth. Sometimes she startles a toad or a bumblebee. She is so delighted to be allowed to wander in this wonderland. For every ten yards I walk, she probably puts in a hundred wandering back and forth, running ahead and falling behind.
This is great. Soon though, the boys tire of the playground and catch up with Sugar and me, ready to head home. I have to tear Sugar away. She wants to spend the day! At the car, I start to pour water from my drinking bottle into my hand so Sugar can have a drink, but she eagerly sticks her nose in the bottle and laps up the water before it can fall into my waiting palm. Oh, well.
Apparently we need to do this again and soon!
Slowly we drive the long and bumpy road down into the park proper. The trees canopy the road with shade, and we catch glimpses of walking paths meandering through the woods. Who knew that less than a mile from our place all this nature was waiting? We are here now, ready to explore.
We round a bend in the road and find ourselves in a large parking area. To the left a playground with slides and swings and monkey bars - Drew is immediately drawn in that direction. Ahead are three soccer fields clearly marked and behind that a softball diamond. To the left, a cute bridge leading to a small pond where dragonflies are dancing.
Sugar wants to see it all right now. She leaps from the car, wriggling all over. First we head for the hiking path. The surface is bumpy and covered with roots. Vines and underbrush spill into the path, and we wonder whether there is poison ivy about. We see evidence that bikes have been here, but the path is so narrow that after ten minutes, we give up and head back toward the playground.
The boys revert to their childhood and abandon me to play on the equipment. Sugar and I decide to hike the perimeter of the park and head toward the pond, then circle around the soccer fields and softball diamond. Snaking off to the left of our circuitous route are many inviting little pathways. We glimpse others out exploring, some with dogs, some with backpacks. We resist the extras for now.
Queen Anne's lace, daisies, thistles and other wildflowers nod nonchalantly in the breeze as Sugar roams about this way and that, snuffing for all she is worth. Sometimes she startles a toad or a bumblebee. She is so delighted to be allowed to wander in this wonderland. For every ten yards I walk, she probably puts in a hundred wandering back and forth, running ahead and falling behind.
This is great. Soon though, the boys tire of the playground and catch up with Sugar and me, ready to head home. I have to tear Sugar away. She wants to spend the day! At the car, I start to pour water from my drinking bottle into my hand so Sugar can have a drink, but she eagerly sticks her nose in the bottle and laps up the water before it can fall into my waiting palm. Oh, well.
Apparently we need to do this again and soon!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Ah ~ Lugia's
The boys thought perhaps Gram might like a taste of the best soft ice cream in town, and asked her to meet us at Lugia's. It's something of a tradition for the three of us to end a week together licking our favorite flavor under the shade of trees in the side yard on the corner of Manitou and Spencerport Road.
I always get the smallest size they offer, which is huge. Half the time we end up bringing it home because its so much. This year they offer a king size - which must be half a gallon! Can you imagine a half gallon of ice cream on a single cone? You have to get a dish with it or it ends up on the ground. I know people who would eat the whole thing just to prove they can.
The board listing all the flavors above the window is huge. Mom and my sister got there before we did and had spent some time deciding. Death by chocolate, chocolate mint, bubblegum, tutti frutti, creamsicle and my permanent choice - soft chocolate. Soon we were sitting on benches licking away. We laughed at some of the flavors - licorice? Really?
Too bad it was a bit rainy. I should have worn a sweatshirt. And the rain brought the mosquitoes out. Kiel wore his beaver badger insect repellent, but we got bothered anyway. It was a quick indulgence. We finally gave up and headed for our cars. Nice way to end Gramma's stay and the boys were pleased she came out, even if ice cream isn't the bees knees for her like it is for the kids. Still, for a local watering hole, its not bad.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Morning Glories
Last year one of the neighbors planted a lovely vine next to a tall trellis right near our front door, and the greenery was lush and wonderful. Nice to have leafy greenery when you are out walking the dog. The same vine came back this summer. A perennial! Good to have something more permanent. And for whatever reason, the rabbits and deer leave this vine alone.
Today, as Sugar and I were taking our morning walk, I noticed a bit of color underneath the greenery. Huh. Something must be stuck in the vine. I lifted numerous huge leaves and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a tiny, delicate trumpet of a flower in a rich deep purple, nodding away innocently, boasting just a touch of white in its throat!
Goodness! This is a morning glory vine! Were these beauties here last summer too and I missed them completely? I brushed more leaves aside, seeking other blooms, but was disappointed in finding any more. Well now. This bears watching. I have never seen such tiny morning glory flowers. They seem miniature though certainly beautiful.
Sugar tugs at the leash. She has other business to attend to and can't see what the fuss is about anyway. I walk on, smiling. Who knows when you might discover some amazing jewel hiding right before your eyes? I must share this with the boys.
Today, as Sugar and I were taking our morning walk, I noticed a bit of color underneath the greenery. Huh. Something must be stuck in the vine. I lifted numerous huge leaves and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a tiny, delicate trumpet of a flower in a rich deep purple, nodding away innocently, boasting just a touch of white in its throat!
Goodness! This is a morning glory vine! Were these beauties here last summer too and I missed them completely? I brushed more leaves aside, seeking other blooms, but was disappointed in finding any more. Well now. This bears watching. I have never seen such tiny morning glory flowers. They seem miniature though certainly beautiful.
Sugar tugs at the leash. She has other business to attend to and can't see what the fuss is about anyway. I walk on, smiling. Who knows when you might discover some amazing jewel hiding right before your eyes? I must share this with the boys.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
George Eastman House
Today is my regular day for working the evening shift. I am happy to have the morning off, and Mom and I have planned to visit the George Eastman House. I have only been there a few times for events and never took the tour or heard the history of the place. The bits and pieces I have heard about George have been mostly hearsay. So I am happy to get the official spiel.
What a beautiful place it is. George was a unique individual and quite ahead of his time. We were fascinated by bits of information such as George was terrible at backing up his car. He hit things often, so he had a turntable installed in his garage. He would pull in, then the car would be turned to face out so he didn't have to back out. Interesting. And not a bad idea.
George also took excellent care of his Mother, having an elevator installed so she could get to her bedroom despite being in a wheelchair, quite the novelty in his day and age. We caught glimpses of the extraordinary gardens surrounding the house and the international museum of photography, but the house offered enough to keep us occupied for the entire morning.
Both Mom and I could see ourselves living in such a well designed and decorated home. Mom loved the china on the dining room table and the fact that George preferred his bouquets of flowers to be all one color. We were alike dismayed that when the Presidents of the University of Rochester lived in George's house after he died, their wives got rid of all his furniture and many of the decorations. Fortunately, George had stapled his initials to his things and almost all of the pieces have been returned to the house.
It was a wonderful morning and we ended up in the gift shop where Mom purchased the book showing all the elegant rooms and giving the history of the man and the place. We have promised ourselves to return next time Mom visits for the garden tour and maybe even the museum part. Meanwhile, I am plotting to take a trip to Hyde Park so we can see Roosevelt's home. I bet its every bit as fascinating as George's.
What a beautiful place it is. George was a unique individual and quite ahead of his time. We were fascinated by bits of information such as George was terrible at backing up his car. He hit things often, so he had a turntable installed in his garage. He would pull in, then the car would be turned to face out so he didn't have to back out. Interesting. And not a bad idea.
George also took excellent care of his Mother, having an elevator installed so she could get to her bedroom despite being in a wheelchair, quite the novelty in his day and age. We caught glimpses of the extraordinary gardens surrounding the house and the international museum of photography, but the house offered enough to keep us occupied for the entire morning.
Both Mom and I could see ourselves living in such a well designed and decorated home. Mom loved the china on the dining room table and the fact that George preferred his bouquets of flowers to be all one color. We were alike dismayed that when the Presidents of the University of Rochester lived in George's house after he died, their wives got rid of all his furniture and many of the decorations. Fortunately, George had stapled his initials to his things and almost all of the pieces have been returned to the house.
It was a wonderful morning and we ended up in the gift shop where Mom purchased the book showing all the elegant rooms and giving the history of the man and the place. We have promised ourselves to return next time Mom visits for the garden tour and maybe even the museum part. Meanwhile, I am plotting to take a trip to Hyde Park so we can see Roosevelt's home. I bet its every bit as fascinating as George's.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Meeting Day
Summer must be over. I suddenly find myself facing one of those days when I have wall to wall meetings all day long. That's what happens when you have been away and now you need to pick up all the pencils again. All the projects need to get back on track and the new ones must be defined. I have been putting in killer days opening the library at 7:30 am and working the late shift, getting home around 9:30 at night.
After all, people filled in for me while I was away, so I don't mind doing the same for them as they experience some emergencies. And this has been a summer filled with family change. Just about everyone has had a family member going through some sort of transition that they are helping during. Moms who broke a bone and are in the hospital, Moms who have Alzheimer's and need reevaluation. Moms who are sick and then pass away. Tough summer.
But today, all that is set aside as I go from one meeting to another. Its good to be making progress, to be seeing work move forward, to be collaborating with colleagues on the hard stuff. But I wonder as the day wears on if this is any indication of the pace for fall semester. If we are beginning now, where will we end up? No time to speculate. I have another meeting.
After all, people filled in for me while I was away, so I don't mind doing the same for them as they experience some emergencies. And this has been a summer filled with family change. Just about everyone has had a family member going through some sort of transition that they are helping during. Moms who broke a bone and are in the hospital, Moms who have Alzheimer's and need reevaluation. Moms who are sick and then pass away. Tough summer.
But today, all that is set aside as I go from one meeting to another. Its good to be making progress, to be seeing work move forward, to be collaborating with colleagues on the hard stuff. But I wonder as the day wears on if this is any indication of the pace for fall semester. If we are beginning now, where will we end up? No time to speculate. I have another meeting.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Doctor Blues
I have an appointment with my primary care doctor today. As I drive toward their clinic on the other side of town, I wonder if I should mention the ache and pain I sometimes get in my throat for no apparent reason. Or maybe I should wait and bring that up with the oncologist when I see her in November. I think its a side effect of the muscle weakness brought on by the Bexxar.
Besides, I was thrilled to discover during my week at St Olaf's that after three days of not being able to sing above a middle C, I suddenly got more upper range back. I could manage even a high F! And the overall tone of my voice is clearing up. The raspy wispyness is going away.
I take an inventory. How am I doing physically? Pretty good, actually. My energy is better. I am handling full days of work without having to collapse at night. My digestion has been relatively good. No episodes of tingling in my hands and feet. No more aching joints. Yes, I am doing better.
I am delayed in arrival due to construction, and the doctor is pacing, awaiting my presence. She was about to reschedule me. That's one thing about this clinic. You are always taken in at the time of your appointment. I have not had to wait to be seen here. She tells me she will do what she can in the time left us.
And the boom is lowering. My blood pressure is a bit high. My ankles are puffy. She contemplates adjusting my medication, prescribing a water pill. I resist. I say I have been traveling and now that I am back home, I will be better about walking. I admit that I have been aware of the puffiness and that if I put my feet up, it goes away. She hesitates, then gives me a reprieve.
She will see me again in 3 months and if things are not better by then, decisions will happen. She is right, of course, but I do not want to have to take more medicine. I have taken enough to last a lifetime. Maybe if I am more faithful to walk and more careful of my diet. And lose a few pounds. Or ten. Sigh. I need to behave. And I will. Just as soon as summer ends and I am back to serious work. . .
Besides, I was thrilled to discover during my week at St Olaf's that after three days of not being able to sing above a middle C, I suddenly got more upper range back. I could manage even a high F! And the overall tone of my voice is clearing up. The raspy wispyness is going away.
I take an inventory. How am I doing physically? Pretty good, actually. My energy is better. I am handling full days of work without having to collapse at night. My digestion has been relatively good. No episodes of tingling in my hands and feet. No more aching joints. Yes, I am doing better.
I am delayed in arrival due to construction, and the doctor is pacing, awaiting my presence. She was about to reschedule me. That's one thing about this clinic. You are always taken in at the time of your appointment. I have not had to wait to be seen here. She tells me she will do what she can in the time left us.
And the boom is lowering. My blood pressure is a bit high. My ankles are puffy. She contemplates adjusting my medication, prescribing a water pill. I resist. I say I have been traveling and now that I am back home, I will be better about walking. I admit that I have been aware of the puffiness and that if I put my feet up, it goes away. She hesitates, then gives me a reprieve.
She will see me again in 3 months and if things are not better by then, decisions will happen. She is right, of course, but I do not want to have to take more medicine. I have taken enough to last a lifetime. Maybe if I am more faithful to walk and more careful of my diet. And lose a few pounds. Or ten. Sigh. I need to behave. And I will. Just as soon as summer ends and I am back to serious work. . .
Sunday, August 1, 2010
No Picnic for You
Today Mom and my sister came to church with me. It was a big stretch for both of them because my church is more formal in different ways than they are used to. Besides, today a woman preached, and in Mom's tradition, that is not kosher. Even communion by intinction (dipping the piece of bread into a common cup) is foreign to their experience. But they did come, and I was very happy to have them sit beside me in the service. Community.
Afterwards, the boys (who go to different churches) had wanted to have a picnic at Charlotte Beach and invite my sister and Gram (my Mom) along. But my sister was having a church picnic at her place of worship, and Mom felt that she should go with her to that since she went to the service with me. In fact, my own church was having a picnic, but I preferred to meet with the boys as planned.
Then at the last minute, they both slept in and when I got home, no one wanted to go to a picnic. Even Mom ended up not going with my sister. It was a day of lots of planned picnics, but not going. Some days are just like that. We will do a picnic on another day when everyone is up to it. Today, I stayed home and got some good rest since the boys ended up going out with their friends later. Ah, well. Sometimes you just can't plan these things. And that's OK.
Afterwards, the boys (who go to different churches) had wanted to have a picnic at Charlotte Beach and invite my sister and Gram (my Mom) along. But my sister was having a church picnic at her place of worship, and Mom felt that she should go with her to that since she went to the service with me. In fact, my own church was having a picnic, but I preferred to meet with the boys as planned.
Then at the last minute, they both slept in and when I got home, no one wanted to go to a picnic. Even Mom ended up not going with my sister. It was a day of lots of planned picnics, but not going. Some days are just like that. We will do a picnic on another day when everyone is up to it. Today, I stayed home and got some good rest since the boys ended up going out with their friends later. Ah, well. Sometimes you just can't plan these things. And that's OK.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)