All Hallows Eve

No carved pumpkins. No costumes. No trick or treaters. Halloween is a thing of the past for me. I smiled in the grocery store yesterday at the clerks dressed in Mario Brothers outfits. I am happy for the children's sermon this morning where the kids got some candy. And I was given bags to bring home to the boys. I take delight in the Library decorations of carved open pumpkins stuffed with mums of beautiful fall colors.

I miss taking the kids around to the neighbors for candy, miss coming home with a sack of treasured sweets when I was a kid. I miss the fun of painting your face and scuffling through piles of leaves and smelling popcorn balls. Last year we had a lot of candy corn, but this year we don't. I am feeling a bit left out of the festivities.

Then - a miracle. My daughter in law texts me a video of my beautiful grand daughters dressed in their Halloween costumes. Katie is a princess all pink and frilly with a tiara and magic star wand. Kelly is a ladybug all red and black with wings and antennae. They giggle and dance around and hold out their candy buckets. I love it. They end with a unison chorus of "I love you Grandma!"

I cry. I am not left out. I am part of it all. I want to laugh and hug them both and tell them that I love them to pieces. And a big big thank you to Shannon for remembering to include me on the fun. Yahoo! Happy Halloween. I wish them tons of goodies.

Day Off

There is absolutely nothing on my calendar today! How amazing is that? I want to sleep in, but alas! I cannot keep myself from opening my eyes, cannot keep my brain from turning on. I decide to read. After all, I do have a paper to write. I stay quiet until Kiel rouses, then wander to the living room to do some reading there in between laundry and dishes.

I wouldn't call it lolly gagging exactly, but it is close to that. Sugar is confused and does not know quite what to make of the whole thing. I drag the boys to Wegman's to pick up groceries, something we have not done together for a number of weeks. They are happy to load the cart, and I am happy to be at it before my energy runs out. We stock up. I wonder if we will be able to get it all in the refrigerator!

Drew is off to a birthday party, and Kiel to work on changing the oil in his car. I relish the quietness and return to the reading assignments. Before I realize it, I drift off into a nap. I wake with a start, pick up the book only to drift off again. Its OK. There is nothing pressing. I take full advantage of the break, closing the book and tipping the recliner back. Resting is as important as being productive.

Everyone needs at least one day here and there to do nothing. No guilt. Just renewal. I take a deep breath and relax. Nice.

Late Night Dinner

A long day. Back to back meetings. A Friday night with boys out of the house, engaged in their activities. I have been blessed by the gift of two tickets to the Rochester Oratorio Society's opening concert at Hochstein. What joy! I invite a friend and pick her up at 7:15.

We collect our tickets and find a seat right down front, settling in to await the much anticipated event. The first half of the concert is amazing. A full blown concert in and of itself, and well done. At intermission, a new ensemble built from the larger choir regales us with blues and oldies music most engaging.

Before we could blink, the second half began, a two piano and percussion rendition of Carmina Burana. The percussionists didn't look old enough to be out alone at night much less performing such demanding music. Surely they are amazingly gifted in their skill. The primitive earthy pounding of beat answered by guttural cries rising from the voices of the many, lilting flute intertwined. It is engaging. Two hours fly by. We are enraptured.

Afterwards, we meet with my benefactor and agree to share dinner at a local food with fries place. We flop into the booth, still in the thralls of the concert, chattering about music and choirs and voice lessons and stuff. What a wonderful evening. I hardly notice the late hour, hardly feel the day's tiredness.

At last, we call it a day and go our separate ways, I to my bed to dream of music and singing and joy. What a gift. Thankfulness pervades my heart as I drift off, lulled by memories of music echoing in my brain.

Moon Fog

Magical morning filled with tendrils of fog wisping across grassy green meadows, bits of moonlight filtering down from a disappearing not-quite-full moon and sifting across the landscape. Sugar snorted her way across the yard, whimpering and rolling in the clutter of yellow leaves laid neatly beneath trees like so many petticoats delicately unstrung and dropped neatly around the ankles.

On the far side of the clearing, a young deer ambled slowly toward the road, unconcerned with dog or human or car. At the edge of the road, it stood still, lazily glancing to the right, pausing, looking left before tiptoeing across the wet black pavement and disappearing into the woods beyond haughtily indignant at her morning ablutions being interrupted by rude staring.

The air is so ethereal I half expect angels to descend and stir the swirling fog, turning white into glitter and brilliance. I step gingerly along the sidewalk, half holding my breath for fear I will break the spell. Sugar and I are alone in the white mist, our faces washed clean of dreariness, the sole sound a jingling of Sugar's dog tags.

Halfway home, two squirrels race around the craggy trunk of an ancient pine, scolding Sugar for intruding on their morning food gathering, their raid on the bird feeder, an exercise in acrobatics well developed to produce plentiful seed and nuts. We hurry past, Sugar growling low in her throat, swallowing before it escaped into sound.

I shiver with excitement. Surely something wonderful will happen on such a morning as this. I cannot wait to dip into the day and see what awaits. Bountiful blessings will pour, I am convinced. How enchanting.

All the Livelong Day

My morning began with dragging Drew out of bed at 6:20 AM, followed by a 7:15 doctor appointment, morning and afternoon teaching sessions, two scheduled and two unscheduled late afternoon meetings, an evening reference shift and a touch-base session with the evening supervisor. I wandered home around 10:30 PM.

This is not how my days usually go, but for some reason lately I find I am on the go all day long. Whether it is preparation for classwork or for my March 6 recital or for family stuff like Drew's Robotics and Soccer or Kiel's wedding prep, there is just so much life to be lived! I am delighted to be kept occupied, but I must guard against letting go of the important things.

I actually missed my morning prayers today for the first time in some time. I was sad all day. But after I got home and unwound a bit, I decided to read both Vespers and Compline. It was like taking a long relaxing hot bath. How luxurious to breathe in and out the prayers of the ancients, the thoughts of the Almighty.

He restores my soul. It is so true. I climbed into bed and slept sweet peace. Thank God.

Teaching Week

Every semester brings a week of teaching many sections of the writing classes about how to locate and navigate the library's myriad resources. This is the week for Fall semester. I love interacting with students, watching each class respond in their own way to the overload of information. Some of them eagerly participate, others shy and barely responding, others feeling that they know this stuff already and checking out while I talk.

I try to make things as hands on as possible and as relevant to their paper as I can to avoid that glassy-eyed stare and the outright heads on the table snoring! Where do these resources come from and how are they created and what do they offer? So often I discover someone is looking for journal articles in a book database, or looking for books in a subject-specific journal database. It is a confusing maze of tracks that are not well defined, no matter how hard we try to make it transparent.

How happy I am when someone, after struggling to find articles and books about a particular topic of interest, is able to find plenty in a database they did not know existed to which I can point them! These days though, we are much more about narrowing results from a billion plus to a manageable handful - and all without need to travel anywhere to look at unique documents.

Who knew there were so many written materials out there? WorldCat alone has 179 million records! Imagine trying to house all that stuff! Fortunately, all I have to do is point people to the resources that are working on organizing it all, and show them how to use the interfaces. Good thing! I would never be able to know enough in my head to find every possible resource for every possible subject.

Knowing everything about everything - I believe that is God's domain, yes?

Shots and More Shots

I call the doctor's office first thing. Yes, they can fit me in this afternoon. I take the appointment even though I am scheduled to work at the reference desk. I know this takes precedence. My colleague understands and arranges coverage. I move slowly, put on my coat, manage to make it to the car, buckle myself in. I sit for long minutes waiting for my breathing to calm down and my strength to build back up after the exertion of walking.

I drive slowly to the clinic, take the elevator to the second floor, smile at the sign on the door instructing anyone with respiratory illness to request a mask, and sign in. I barely have time to sit before the nurse calls my name and takes me back. I bare my arm while she preps the shot. She informs me that not only am I getting a B-12 shot, but a flu and H1N1 shot since I am still in the "at risk" category.

Gulp. Last time I got the flu shot I ran a temperature and felt lousy for a day. Maybe the B-12 shot will cancel out the effect of the flu shot? I have no choice in the matter and no time to protest as the nurse jabs me, then jabs me again. I say a prayer of thanksgiving and wobble home to collapse in the chair. Early to bed again tonight. I am confident that tomorrow will be better.

Where Has All the Energy Gone?

I've been doing fine. Really. I woke ready to go, conducted the choir at service, worked with the chimers afterwards, considered going to my office to work on a paper, but decided to go home first and check in on things. No sooner did I arrive than suddenly, without so much as a hint, as if someone had pulled a plug, my strength disappeared. What on earth?

I know that from time to time I have bouts of tiredness, but this is different. This is leaden arms and legs. This is working to breathe. This is bone weariness that a nap will not fix. I think back. Is there a reason for this? As I reflect, I try to remember when I had my last B-12 shot. I fish my Blackberry from my pocket and press the calendar icon. I search carefully, but the last shot I see was in September. I have missed my October infusion of energy.

This is not good. Tomorrow I will call the doctor first thing and get in as soon as I can. Today there will be no paper writing. There will be no going to the office. There will be no making of dinner, no doing of dishes or anything else that requires me to move. Today there will be sitting in the chair napping. There will be sipping of cold water. There will be snuggling with Sugar who senses something is out of whack. There will be going to bed early.

These are the issues I must see to. Do not let the shot fall overdue. Stay on top of it. Sigh. It is good to be in a position to get such help readily. I am blessed even if a bit unorganized.

Chorale and Women's Choir

I arrive at the Cultural Life Center at Roberts a good fifteen minutes before the concert. The parking lot is not overly full, and I park close. No sense walking far in the rain. I pop open my small music print umbrella my Mother gave me one Christmas and head for the auditorium. Fellow concert goers nod politely, hurrying to avoid too much wetness.

The hall is comfortably filled. I pick a seat on the right side of the front section, a row half occupied already, and settle into the aisle seat. Glancing around, I see familiar faces, happy conversation, friends meeting, families sitting together. It is a gentle ambiance.

The women's choir enters from the front of the auditorium and takes the first four or five rows of seats. They want to hear the Chorale before they sing. They are beautiful in their concert black, hair done up, colorful makeup, high heel clacking on the floor. A hush settles over the crowd. We wait.

I expect the welcome announcement, but instead, there is a swooshing of dresses as the women of the Chorale make their way on stage, followed by the men from the opposite side of the platform. Heels clomp on wooden floor, singers stepping up or down the single riser until everyone is in place. Then a pause, and Dr. McGhee enters to applause.

The pianist is already in place. He gives a single pitch. Dr. McGhee raises his arms in expectation, and looks across the span of singers. All are ready. They watch. We watch. And then the downbeat. Sound floods the air as sixty voices unite, drawing us on a journey of sound and memories and emotions. I have conducted the Frostiana "Choose Something Like a Star" and I know how difficult it is to tune, how challenging to make the lines Say Something. The intensity builds. They take us well over the top, urging us to feel their angst. It is good.

The women's choir presents us with a bright palate of pieces from many cultures in many languages. It is pungent, exhilarating, fun. A good change from the Chorale's first half. The women love what they are singing. Their faces shine, especially when they are singing the tough stuff, and doing it well. They know it. We know it. We all grin with joy.

Chorale returns, bringing a nice mix of spirituals and contemplative musics. I had come to the concert tired, a bit weary from unfolding events at work. I wanted to just stay home and rest. But I knew many of the singers and I did not want to miss their offering, so I went despite the tiredness. As the concert drew to a close, I realized that they had sung me happy. I felt better, less tucked out. I was smiling. How refreshing to be uplifted in such a pleasant way at the end of a long week.

They should definitely do it again, and often!

Tidbit Tussle

I walked out of the Library and nearly ran into two birds zipping around the corner. Angry cawing and scolding blasted my ears as the huge birds swooped just clear of my head. I ducked, then turned in the direction they flew to see what the ruckus was about.

A huge black crow with a cheese puff in its beak was darting close to the ground while immediately above him a seagull squawked angrily, giving chase. The crow ducked and dodged around trees, flipping under the eaves of Garlock, slicing through the small space between the dorms and back to the parking lot, barely clearing parked cars, breezing between bushes, flitting here and there at a dizzying pace, the seagull never more than an inch or two behind him, relentless in his pursuit, determined to have the cheese puff for his own.

Was it the bright orange color? Had the crow stolen the puff from the seagull's grasp? Did the seagull promise his younguns a tasty treat only to have it snatched away?

I stood riveted to the ground, watching the two birds fight over the dubious prize. It was all out war. I was sure that at any moment the crow would crash into something, taking the gull down with him. I was stunned by how they maneuvered, pulling up from disaster at the last minute, barely missing some unexpected object as they wheeled and turned. How did they calculate so quickly?

At last they flew out of sight. I can only imagine the outcome. In the long run, I wonder that the gull didn't give up and just return to the place where he found the first puff to see if there were any more to be had. Or better yet, perhaps he could have raided the dining hall's dumpster. I am pretty sure there are all sorts of goodies there for the taking.

Whoever ended up devouring the orangey cheese puff may have discovered that it tastes like styrofoam and stains the feathers for days.

Ah, me. How like we humans, determined to have what our neighbors have, not because there isn't enough to go around, or that there aren't other things that would do us as well. Whoever gets their way in the end often discovers they didn't really want the thing anyway. Sigh.

All that energy expended over a scrap of garbage. Do I do that? I sure hope not.

Compline

Java Joe's. A unique blend of kitsch and culture tucked between Barrett Alley and a music store, the Eastman School of Music's preferred hangout and caffeine connection. The dark walls are crammed with klediments from remote countries and niches, jumbled together in some sort of avant gaarde montage.

The acrid pungence of burnt coffee grounds smacks you in the face as you approach the single weathered wood and glass front door. Eclectic musics swirl through the air, blending with the loud conversations of people huddling round small tables packed as tightly as sardines in the proverbial tin.

There is no line at the counter, just dazed customers waiting to jump in and order as soon as a bar jockey frees up. Blackboards touting peculiarly named drinks dangle at dizzying angles overhead, ultra artistically drawn in colored chalks. I spot my friend immediately, off to one side of the array of noise and buzzing activity. I wade through mounds of people and we hug, glad to be together after a long summer that pulled us in opposite but satisfying directions.

We catch up over a strawberry smoothie (me) and a steaming cup of decaf laced with coconut, mint and almond (her). Ummmmmm. Too soon, we must head over to the Episcopal Church, wanting to be seated well before Compline begins. I have not savored the echoing resonance and ambiance of Compline's musical farewell to day and embracing of the evening, the wrapping of one's arms in God as sleep enfolds the soul.

It is deliciously fulfilling as always. In the flickering candlelight, the silence interrupted by squeaking of floor boards and gentle coughing and rustling of coats and papers. We gather, we people who seek a blessed night of peace in the house of the Almighty to pray our songs of heartfelt love to our Creator Redeemer, to hold his hand and quell our shattered nerves, our disjunct lives.

O Lord, grant me and those I love a safe evening and a peaceful end. . .
Watch over me and those I love and bring us in safety to a new day. . .

Voices rise and fall in mesmerizing rhythm unhindered by instrumental perfections. We are lulled through confession, the ave maria, the nunc dimmitis, the final amen. Too soon, shoes clomp gently against the wooden floor, muffled as the singers file out, their brown robes swaddling them against the harm of the world.

A hush settles over the sanctuary. People are in no hurry to return to the outside world. I gaze straight up at the red robed form of Jesus hanging on a crucifix overhead, at the huge angel praying beneath the altar, at the tapestry of the last supper mounted over the chancel area. It is good to be in this place. It is good to be with friends. It is good to be well. It is good to hear praise and prayer sung. It is good to have some continuity.

Deep breath. Yes, peace of God be with me and with all those I love. With my friend, with my children, with my Mom, with my siblings. Peace on earth. Amen.

Bonus!

I have a meeting in the Administration Building. It's just down the sidewalk from the Library. I am happy for an excuse to get outside. There is a slight chill in the air, but the bright yellow golden leaves practically glow with flame as they flutter in the breeze. Winter is coming, no doubt. But right now it is glorious. I bought a magazine filled with autumn trees blazing red and orange to send to Mom who is in Tennessee at the moment and missing all this splendor.

I tear myself away from the scenery and smile as I enter Rinker. I proudly take the stairs instead of the elevator. Even though I am well over the chemo induced muscle weakness in my legs, I have avoided doing stairs for months, concerned that my still shaky legs would give out and I would take a bad tumble. Not that I had any reason to think that, I just did.

Perhaps it was a ploy to continue being careful of myself. Perhaps not so much about muscle weakness as the overall recovery process needing more time to unfold. Whatever the reason, I have turned a corner after my encounter with the speech pathologist and the muscle weakness of my vocal apparatus and have begun taking stairs once again.

Going up is fine. I have no issues with that. Coming down is another matter altogether. I find myself holding on to the rails with care, watching my feet like a hawk in case I misstep. I don't of course, and I feel like an old woman being so slow and careful. But at least I am taking the stairs. I far prefer the back stairs in the library because they are covered in a rubber coating. The front steps are hard stone and narrow, with little strips on the lip of the step that catch on your shoe.

It may take awhile before I am skipping freely up and down like a young girl, but I enjoy my new found freedom, my lessening need to be watchful, to take care. It is a wonderful bonus. Added to the amazing fall day, a downright grinning smile of joy.

Going In Anyway

Bleh! My stomach is churning and my head aches. I turn over and realize that I am probably running a fever. I am hot and sweaty, aching. I decide to stay home. And yet. I have felt far worse. This pip is going around, and it seems to hit people in different ways. I close my eyes and listen to Drew fumbling around getting ready for school.

I begin to pray. I drift in and out of sleep, feeling like I am so hard asleep that I can't wake up. I toss. I turn. I take a sip of water. Deep breath. Sleep more. At last I waken feeling better. Not my usual self, but the fever seems to have dissipated, the aching has stopped, my tummy is calmer.

Do I still need stay home and rest, hoping to throw this bug for good? I think I can handle it. I glance at the clock. There is still time to get to work before my first meeting. I decide to take a hot shower. That really helps. I dress and head out, thankful that I seem to be OK. Not that the world will come to an end if I don't show up, but I would rather stay in the saddle for awhile.

Pointless Game Attendance

I don't get to go to many of Drew's soccer games. Often they happen on Thursday nights when I am working with the choir. Sometimes on weekends I can go, but the last few have been when I had weekend duty at the library. I have to pick those days before we are even close to knowing his soccer schedule.

Tonight there is a home game, and I am planning to leave the moment my reference desk duty ends, right on the stroke of 5. The game begins at 4:30, so even considering traffic, I should get to see about half of the game.

But the deck is stacked against me. There is a long and slow train followed by an accident in the middle of rush hour traffic. By the time I finally manage to arrive, there are only 2:24 minutes left in the second half. They are down 5 to 1. I stand there for the few minutes and watch Drew run back and forth, kick the ball, lose the ball, regain the ball, and scramble around.

And then they are done. It is cold. I sit in the car to await Drew's coming back outside, only to hear him tell me he is staying for a special Robotics meeting. Sigh. I head home. If I had known, I probably wouldn't have tried to drive all the way over to the east side just to see 2 minutes of a game they lost.

On the other hand, it was probably the time he most needed to see a caring face, the most important time for him to know I try my best to be part of what he does. At least he will get a ham and scalloped potato dinner out of it. I have no idea how I got overlooked in the sign up for meals. Not that I am complaining, mind you. Just that I would like to be able to do my part.

And maybe that is what I did in some very small way today.

Bad Pork

I am fortunate to have an intern at choir this semester. He really took it on the chin at the last rehearsal as the accompanist tried to follow his lead. I wonder he didn't just quit on the spot! He is a good musician, but new at conducting. He does very well for as little experience as he has had so far. Once he does get some experience he will be excellent. His musical ability is solid.

He has been conducting one piece each month, and I try to select a piece that will offer him a single challenge rather than a plethora of difficulties. This month perhaps I did him the disadvantage of selecting a piece the choir worked very hard on last year, a piece we sang at the Cluster Choir event. They did a great job of singing my interpretation of the music.

Unfortunately, the intern heard the music in a somewhat different vein. He tried to convince the choir to do it his way, and the choir was willing. But when the accompanist had a hard time with it, things began to fall apart. I wasn't sure whether to intervene or just let him learn on his own. Sometimes the best way to get something is to struggle with it yourself.

In the end, I did make a small suggestion, and he said his instructor had told him the same thing. He tried it and it worked.

This morning though, I got a call from him. Turns out he had some bad pork and had been up all night being sick. So much for conducting the piece. I feel bad that he put so much work into it and won't even be able to try it out. Well, back to the drawing board. It is as much a learning process for me to find repertoire that will help him as it is for him to learn how to meet the conducting challenges of each score.

Read till Your Eyes Bleed

Oy. Here I am again with three entire books that must be read before I can write the required paper. At least there is only one paper due this week. I rise early, and read for 2 hours. Then I start a load of laundry when quiet hours are over. I read while clothes wash. I flip them to the dryer, and start another load in the washer. I read while clothes dry. I flip, I read.

I had hoped to finish the first book by 2 or 3, but the reading drags on. This treatise on liberation theology is dense. Sometimes I reread a passage multiple times before I get the gist of his thinking. He does not follow a logical sequence, so I have to keep reviewing where we are in his argument. Some of what he writes is sensible. Some is radical. Some surprising, some sour grapes. I plow on, taking breaks when my vision goes blurry to fold a basket of stuff or wash a few dishes.

Drew is at Robotics, Kiel is sleeping most of the day. Sugar lays at my feet, sighing and staring at me with soulful eyes. She would so rather be taking a run in the park. Me too. I can only console myself with the knowledge that this is temporary. A mere 15 weeks, and this is the halfway point. 7 more weeks to go. Hang in there.

I manage to get through 2 of the readings. Tomorrow I will be able to finish and write. Perhaps I will get Monday to breathe and review. I can't imagine how my classmates are managing. But this will be over soon. And I may even get over the double vision!

Trustees Meeting

Unheard of! Employees of this institution are asked not to talk with members of the Board. A "firable offense" I have heard some people even say. But two of the trustees asked to meet with us to provide feedback about the president's 5 year evaluation.

Not surprisingly, the room was full. The atmosphere was tense. Faculty have had no raise of any appreciable nature in almost five years. Our benefits are being constantly whittled away. There is little offered along the lines of a reprieve from these tight confines. We finally have a chance to be heard. Will they listen?

They talk first. They mention the dire economic situation, especially in western New York. They talk about beginning a capital campaign to continue improving the campus in order to attract enough students to stay out of debt, a status we are grateful to have. We listen, hoping against hope for some shred of change.

But it does not come. I am too new to speak on behalf of anyone. But the "big name" people are not afraid to broach the tough subjects. They speak out for raises, for benefits, for channeling money into supporting what we already have. They ask what changes are being considered to find solutions.

There are no answers. Only a grim realization that this is how it is and there is no wiggle room. We are being responsible, but you can only do so much with such an economy. And there it ends. The hour is past and there are other meetings calling the trustees. It is a silent and heavy hearted group who break up and wander off.

Last Day

We knew it was coming. Our ILL Supervisor has been with us since she was an undergrad student, serving as a student worker, then staff member. She began her Master of Social Work program, and in May she graduated! Yeah! What a great accomplishment.

And then the interviews started. She applied for a number of positions here and elsewhere, and interviewed for several. One place hired her and then encountered a job freeze and had to rescind. We knew she would eventually get a good position and be leaving us. We toyed with a few ideas about restructuring after her position came open, but nothing really serious.

And then suddenly she was telling me she had been hired. Her dream job even. The one she would have wanted if she could call the shots. I am so happy for her as she enters her chosen realm of career and work.

Our team is once again under reconstruction. She has left us in great shape and we can slide for a bit until replacements arrive. But her last day turned out to be somewhat fractured as she tried to both wrap up things here and get all the pieces in place for starting there.

I think we said good bye three times before she was able to have her exit interview here, her physical for her new place, her forwarding disclaimers all in place. Leaving is not easy, but at least she is going to something she really wants to do. We will miss her smiling face, but fortunately she is not going far and we will continue to see her from time to time.

Good bye, but not for permanent.

Smooth as Butter

Meetings! They can be the bane of productivity. We have our fair share around here like everyone else. Often our meetings hit snags. Somebody asks a question, and before you know it, you are not only off topic, but deeply involved in serious discussion of importance that has to be explored, but has nothing to do with the agenda. How frustrating!

Particularly this is true if there are philosophical differences of opinion. You cannot move forward if every horse hitched to the wagon is trying to run in a different direction. Of course, you want a balance of perspectives, but at some point the talking has to end and the action begin.

As we have been working on our strategic plan, our mission and vision statements, our core values, we have encountered all sorts of conversations and the process has been lengthy. We are moving forward, but sometimes it feels like less than a snail's pace.

Then there are days like today. Somehow we found ourselves in a good place. There was conversation and discussion, but it was extremely productive. We lay our concerns and ideas and suggestions boldly on the table, held them up to scrutiny, then made decisions and moved forward!

This was our second round of defining core values. The first one made about a millimeter of progress, and got tabled. Today though, we marched bravely through each value, crafting our innermost guidance system into meaningful succinct wordage with which we all felt comfortable.

Smooth as could be. We ended our meeting ahead of the scheduled time, then sat there looking at one another in amazement. No one moved. We didn't want to break the spell. Bask in it as long as you can, because a meeting like that doesn't come round too often.

Online Kerflafel

How weird! I was teaching a class in the use of WorldCat, a database of the holdings of libraries from around the world. Pretty much if something ever existed in print, it will be in this database. There are 180 million records for your searching enjoyment. Nowhere close to the 30 billion pages on the web, but an overwhelming amount of material nonetheless.

Anyway, we were doing searches just to get a sense of what might be out there on topics of interest. Mostly to learn how to navigate and what the records look like and where to find the limits options, how to email, request through Interlibrary Loan, etc. One student raised her hand to tell me that when she clicked on the title of a book, it brought up a record for something totally unrelated.

I tried it out. I typed in cats, and found a record for Kitten's First Full Moon - a book we actually own here at Golisano Library (our holdings are part of the database). I clicked on the title, and got a record for Einstein's Universe - a book on astrophysics among other heady topics. Pretty far removed from a children's book on astrophysics!

Life is like that sometimes. You think you know what you are getting (or getting into) and it turns out to have nothing to do with your reality. I click on "quiet evening at home" and get a house full of guests of my children who are talking loudly and playing music on high E and being rowdy. I click on "pay off your car" and I end up with a thousand dollars worth of repair bills!

Of course, the potential for online damage from disjointed reality is far more serious than simple life complications. It is a bit scary to search for yourself on the web and discover hundreds of pages about yourself and your activities. I wonder what would happen if the same bug that was affecting WorldCat affected all online links? You could click on my name and end up with Lord only knows what kind of website.

Well, hopefully, WorldCat will get their issue fixed before the hour is up. The world is mixed up enough without any online kerflafel happening. Let's return to some sense of reality where books about cats end up being really books about cats.

Stapled

Ever have a dvd player fall off a shelf and nail you on the head? Poor Andrea did. In fact, the whole shelf came unattached from the wall and the darn thing bonked her squarely on the noggin. She must have seen stars. I got the call at work - MOM! Help - what do I do?

Head wounds bleed profusely. First thing is to apply pressure and try to get the bleeding to stop. Kiel did have to snip a bit of hair out of the way. It took a long time but once they were able to see the actual damage, it was fairly deep and long. They tried butterfly bandages, but that wasn't holding well. Finally they determined they should go to the ER and get some stitches.

They would have gone to Urgent Care, but that had already closed. There was no help for it. They took iPods to help with what turned out to be a 9 and a half hour stretch of waiting, despite the fact that they could see no one else in the place. In the end, they think the nurses thought they might be dealing with a case of domestic violence. They kept asking how the injury happened.

When the doctor finally did show up, he was rather gruff. Told her it would hurt just as much if he gave her Novocaine as to just put the staples in. She was so tired by that time that she just said put the darn staples in. Two ended up being three just because the doctor's trigger finger stuttered.

What a horrible way to begin a fresh new week, and one of break at that. Poor baby. Definitely a week to forget.

Perfect Numbers

Today is October 10, 2010. Or, in the boys' lingo, 10/10/10 - and it is 10:10 pm. So we get that wonderful string of numbers, 10:10 10/10/10! Over the next few years there will be other great dates, and many people have already figured this out. A friend of mine told me her daughter tried to get a wedding space reserved for 11 am on 11/11/11, but it was already taken. Of course, there will always be 12/12/12. Another good choice will be 9/10/11. Or 10/11/12. You get the idea.

Numerology is a fascinating subject. There are still materials out there about how numbers play a role in the writing of Scripture. I forget all the details of this interesting topic, but it runs along the same line as every sentence adds up to the same number, every chapter has the same value, etc. There is even speculation that the perfect language is math.

Musically, there is much written about the symbolism of numbers in particularly Baroque music (Bach especially) where, for example, in music about Peter denying Christ, the number 3 figures prominently - the number of instruments, the harmony based in thirds, the leaps in the melodic line being thirds, the number of phrase repetitions being 3, etc. Fascinating stuff even if the composer was unaware of future interpretation that would be pressed on top of the music.

Well, bottom line - where were YOU at 10:10 10/10/10? Me? I was home with Drew and Sugar enjoying a bit of rest and relaxation.

They Will Come

A month has already passed since our first recital rehearsal. It is time for our second Second Saturday rehearsal. I arrive early to set up and run through the music one last time to ensure that I am prepared. At five minutes before start time, there are only a handful of people there. One of the singers worries that it will be slim pickings. But I assure her that they will come.

I wonder that I have so much faith, but the choir has never let me down, even when I am asking more of them than usual. How fortunate I am to have such dedicated people to work with! I know full well how difficult it is to drag yourself out early on a Saturday morning for two hours of working on music that you may not even like. I try to make it as painless as possible, and to build in moments of fun and laughing.

I know they take pride in singing well, and that they may even appreciate the opportunity to get in a little more practice. And I did move the time from afternoon to morning at their request. Somehow I thought they might prefer to sleep in, but turns out they have plans and want time to do other things as well.

What a great group of people! Sure enough, at the stroke of 9am, the chairs were full and we began with stretching, humming, lip trills, yahming and zinga zinga zooing. Today's plan is to work on as much of the repertoire as possible, and by end of rehearsal to have looked at all pieces except one. My hope is that by January rehearsal, we will have worked on all the pieces and have plenty of time to fine tune.

Stay tuned for more on the recital - meanwhile, save March 6, 2011, Sunday at 3pm. We will then explore the Lord's Prayer through music together. Now, back to Tavener.

Speech Therapy

I almost didn't keep the appointment with the ear, nose, throat doctor. I still don't have my full singing range back, but its much better. I get less drop out. And I assume that the improvement will continue over time. They told me that it was a full two or three years for their opera patients to recover enough voice to continue their careers.

Still, the impact of the coming change in insurance made me decide to go just for a touch base to make sure everything is as expected. The doctor decides he can see enough just by sticking a mirror halfway down my throat so that he will not need to do a full scope. I am happy with that. But he mentions that I should see his speech pathologist, who happens to have an opening right then.

OK. It couldn't hurt, and I should do those sorts of things now while I can afford them. The speech doctor is an interesting person. He is widely read, innately curious, and an avid reader. He supports the arts even though his taste in music is more along the popular rock and roll venue. We strike up conversation that no one but musicians would find compelling and are both very involved in debate.

It turns out to be a ploy. He needs to hear me talk unselfconsciously. He stops the debate to tell me that I have what they term vocal fry. As a cancer specialist, he has seen this from systemic radiation before. Turns out the muscles supporting the voice box are weakened by the radiation as are the diaphragm muscles. So I don't get as much air moving in and out of my lungs while at the same time, the vocal cords sit at a lower than normal position and do not resonate as they should.

The entire pitch of my voice has dropped over time, and since I run out of air before I run out of words, I drop the final words of my sentences even lower and they come out with a rattling froggy sound. This damages the cords over time, and I get additional stress because people cannot hear the final words, so they ask me to repeat, and I end up saying everything at least twice. Stressed vocal cords indeed.

Cheer up. There are some exercises that can help. It is just like when I had to have physical therapy for my legs. When you lose muscle mass and tone, you need simple exercises to build the muscle back into proper shape. So I now start my day with "eee's" and swooping "oooh's" both up and down. I consciously raise the last few words of sentences, I take breaths before I think I need to, I try to speak at a higher pitch level.

Over time, these strategies will help regain speaking ability, and as a nice bonus, my singing ability. I am glad I came. Not only to learn about my voice, but also to meet a well educated doctor whose conversations encourage me to explore a few new topics myself.

Health Insurance Tale of Woe - Coming to a Company Near You

I knew it would not be pretty, the meeting about the change in health care plans. HR laid out the scenario in all its ugly reality. Costs keep soaring (yes, I know). Next year the current plan will cost a whopping additional near 16%. The committee decided to change to a high deductible savings plan option.



I listen to the impact and my heart sinks. While I am grateful to even have the option of getting health care, even on the new plan it will cost me 15% more, and sadly, even more of the regular costs will now be out of my pocket. Sigh. Flat salaries, less contributed to retirement, and now more to shell out for health care. And I cannot be without it. Lord preserve me!



For healthy people, this plan makes some sense. They will get to keep any money they do not spend on health care, and it becomes a sort of IRA for them. But for me it may mean that I will not be able to afford the care I need when I need it. I will have to pay out - on top of my monthly payments to participate in this plan - $6,000 up front before insurance does much of anything for me. I figure at the rate of care I am currently handling for myself and the boys, that will come about the end of January. Well before I have anywhere near that amount in my account.



Now the possibility that I will face denial of care is quite real. I fear where we are going in this country on the health care scene. One shiny faced employee related how her husband's company has had this plan for awhile, and it all works out rosy peachy for her. Doctors have been happy to let people make payments (the shiny faced employee's family has not needed such) . . .



Of course, she is not battling cancer either. I wonder if she would be floored to know that my health care last year ran well over $500,000. And that there have already been times when the insurance denied a medication or a test that the doctor felt was necessary.



I have heard on the news stories of how someone sold all that they had and still could not afford the medical care that they needed. We want to believe that these stories are exceptions - somehow the person managed to get themselves in a pickle, or something was awry with the policies of some fly by night company. I don't think it is as uncommon as we hope. Even one of my sons with health issues has had to hope the ER will take him in despite no health insurance and no money.

Well, there is no hope for it. This will be the only option. Take it or leave and, and I cannot leave it. Sigh. The saving grace is that God has always taken care of me, and just because the situation looks scary is no reason to think that God will somehow abandon me now. If he can get me through chemo, this should be a walk in the park.

Photo Shoot Reunion

The seminary asked if I would be willing to have my picture taken as part of their campaign to renew their brochures and website photos. I guess that would be OK. I am featured on one of the Concordia brochures and I wish to be an equal opportunity model. I believe I represent the "older white woman rejoining the workforce" contingency. Besides, its on my morning off, and its only an hour.

I show up at the designated time to discover that not everyone is able to make the exact time. They have coffee and doughnuts (Timmie's!), so I just hang around until a few others show up including the photographer. One by one bleary eyed students enter the classroom, and it turns out I know most of them.

Having begun with one Cohort, but being delayed due to health issues and squeezing in a few regular classes between core courses has exposed me to people in a variety of Cohorts from 19 to 24. It gets to be silly. As each person enters, I greet them and we hug and catch up on news. I am one of the few who knows people from other groups.

It works well though. As we casually chat, they pose us and the photographer snaps lots of natural shots of students interacting. Throw in a few faculty and we are good to go. Before I know it, an hour has stretched into two before we finally wind it up. New brochures are good. Mostly I am glad for a chance to see everyone and reconnect. Yeah!

To the Doctors

Drew's cough is much worse. A number of people I know who have this cold are now dealing with bronchitis. In light of Drew's past encounter with chlorine gas that resulted in a bad case of pneumonia, I have no wish to let this get beyond help. I call the doctor to schedule an appointment. I am told there are no openings, and that if someone cancels, they will call me.

I wait. There is a call. We get cut off. By the time I get them back, the opening is taken. I guess tomorrow will work, but the receptionist suggests urgent care. OK. I call. We have a 2pm appointment. It is the same place Drew went when he sprained his ankle. They are pleasant. The wait is not too long, maybe a half hour. The doctor is obviously a pediatrician used to dealing with younger patients, but he is kind and understanding.

Its viral. BUT there are things we can do to make him more comfortable. Ever heard of cough pearls? Me either, but we get a prescription and head to the pharmacy. Unfortunately, since Drew is rarely sick, I have never had to fill a prescription for him, and they will need to contact the insurance company first. We go home to wait. Drew would rather be sleeping.

After several rounds of phone interaction, we finally sort out that Drew's birthdate information is incorrect. Once we get past that hurdle, we are finally able to fill the scripts. Without insurance, $69. With insurance, $55. Not a great savings, but at least something. And now if Drew ever needs medicine, he is good to go. At least until we change insurance next year.

Meanwhile, poor baby with his swollen red nose and watery eyes. He dutifully takes his cough pearls and inhaler and ibuprofen and sips hot honey tea and sucks a cough drop and blows his sore nose. Then he slips back to bed and into a restless sleep until the virus runs its course and lets him be. Aw.

Finishing the Paper

One down. One to go. It takes about an hour a page, all told, not including the first reading of the materials, to complete a paper. Each paper is 5 to 6 pages. So there is at least 12 hours of just paper writing here. Not to mention the hours of reading, tracking quotes for the ministry file, and doing the spiritual formation exercises. Hear me whine?

You would think I hate doing this, but the truth is that I am finally beginning to understand some of the philosophies that have impacted my religious journey. Not my faith so much, just the ways in which that faith has found community and expression. It is fascinating to trace how the reactions I have had over time match the writings of the theologians. Nice to be able to articulate and turn over in your mind reasons for why you were uncomfortable with some iterations of Church and why others have so much appeal.

Today, I know I will finish my paper. I am not particularly relishing the work, but I am encouraged that the product of all this labor is well worth the effort. So I dig in once again, wishing it could all somehow magically flow from my head to the monitor screen in a straight forward fashion rather than helter skelter and then needing intervention.

Outside the day is gorgeous. The kids are planning a park expedition. The leaves are wonderful hues of gold, yellow, bronze, red, and every shade inbetween. The sky is alluring blue. I am thankful that I do not have an outside window in my office or the call of the outdoors might be too much to resist. Even the fully opened delicate pink rose by the front door chides me not to waste my time inside today. But I do resist. And if I work very hard, perhaps I can still manage some breath of fresh air before nightfall.

Work along steady and constant. Keep plugging away. Soon you will be done and free. Never mind that next week you will do the same thing again. Just concentrate on today. This is not forever. Only for a season. And like any seed planted, will bear good fruit on down the road when you need it most. And you DO know what those seasons can be like.

Papers Out the Wazoo

OK, after putting my feet up for a good week, the crunch has hit. I now must write two - count them, two! - 1200 word papers! Remind me again why I am doing this? It is hair pulling to wrestle with these materials. Balance social justice issues with theological trends. Pull bits and pieces from various authors all with their own agendas, make some kind of sense of it, and, oh yes, don't forget to actually answer the question!

I hunker down in my office. No sense trying to figure this out at home. Too many distractions, too easy to slide into a nap, too many people ready to interrupt you. In my office, I have only a work chair (don't look at the comfy one in the corner with the Psalm 23 throw quilt inviting you to rest just under the delightful wall hanging of the Madonna and child with book next to the Tiffany stained glass floor lamp) and lots of desk space to spread the dozen resources out, marking pages, checking references.

Get the general outline, flesh in the arguments, locate appropriate quotes for introduction and/or conclusion. Keep pounding after it. Ignore time flying by. You are stuck here until you get at least one of these papers done and a darn good start on the other! Your reward will be going home before dark. Think. Wrestle. Write. Review. Revise. Reread. Think. Wrestle. Write . . .

Catching Up

The cycle of the seminary class I am taking right now is such that after every 5 weeks of class, we get a week's reprieve. What a difference it makes not to have to keep pushing or holding your nose to the grindstone. It gives you a chance to breathe, do all those things you haven't done because you were so involved with classwork, and check in with people you love. I know some of my classmates use the time to catch up with papers they haven't been able to complete and readings they never got to.

I have been fortunate in not falling behind. The 300+pages of reading and assimilation of materials takes a good bit of time, even for someone like myself who reads fast. I took a great speed reading course when I was in 6th grade, and apparently the training stuck. Really, it was a machine that projected the text on the wall a word or a line at a time. The light would move slowly at first, revealing the next word or line. Over time, the speed at which the light progressed was increased, training your eyes to move in the desired patterns at faster rates while the comprehension tests traced your progress of understanding. That doesn't even begin to address the other projects like the Ministry File or the Scripture Journal we are required to keep.

Of course, some readings are easier to manage than others. The writings of Dr Martin Luther King Jr are fascinating and encourage you to keep going. Other authors are more thick in their prosody, forcing you to re-read every single passage to try and ascertain what in the world they are getting at. Obtuse at best.

Given this full extra week, I had hoped to read ahead, write papers for at least two weeks forward, and be smug about the progress. I did no such thing. Instead, I caught up with the kids, put the house in better shape, took time to be outside and enjoy the world before winter sets in, and lay around doing nothing, sitting in the recliner with Sugar tucked by my side.

Sigh. So much for being progressive!

Drew

Drew didn't go to school this morning. He has to be really not feeling well to miss calculus. I know he has had a stuffy nose and cough, but he is taking over the counter stuff and upped his vitamin C. I am concerned. I have to be at the desk at 9, but right afterwards, I head home to make sure he is alright.



He is still in bed, eyes glassy, nose red and swollen, cough deep and wracking. He has had some honey tea, but poor baby is miserable. This is not something I can fix, and he is already doing the things that need to be done except for drinking more fluids. I ask what he would like to drink, and he waves me off. He would rather just be left alone.



I ache to hug him and comfort him as I used to do when he was little. But he is a man now. Caring takes a new method of delivery. More along the lines of checking in, making sure he has Kleenex and cough drops, when he is less zonked, having movies at the ready. And watching to make sure things don't suddenly take a turn for the worse.



I am much less fastidious about keeping everything sanitary and germ free these days because my immune system is not under direct attack. Still, the cautions remain. I have been using a separate towel which hangs apart from anyone else's. Before touching faucets, I use the sanitizing wipes. I don't eat or drink after anyone, even just a bite. I make sure when I run the dishwasher that there is plenty of hot water. At work I wipe down everything in the public areas, especially phones, where I am scheduled to be after someone else has touched things.



And I take my own preventive Vitamin C and keep the walking exercise going. Stay healthy. Otherwise you are not able to take care of Drew when he is not feeling up to par. Healthy is good.