I hate playing games. It all started when I was a kid and my brothers and sister and I got together on Sunday afternoons to play board games. This was quite illegal as we were supposed to be resting quietly in our own rooms. Somehow that never stopped us.
Being one of the oldest, my game playing skills were a little more advanced than my younger brother and sister, and I easily beat them every game. This made them furious. They would throw game pieces and upturn the board and stomp around and generally throw temper tantrums, disrupting the game and ending anything like fun.
One particular Sunday afternoon, my youngest brother got so mad that he drove a pencil down through my younger sister's head. The blood spurted everywhere and of course, brought my parents running.
We were shuffled off to our rooms, thinking that poor sister was dead for sure. It was quite traumatic. From that day on, I absolutely refused to play board games with anyone. There was no way I was taking any chances on someone getting injured by bad sportsmanship and hard feelings over little pieces of paper and plastic. Competition is not my thing.
Even in school, spelling bees tied my stomach in knots, even though I generally did quite well. Math bees the same. I simply cannot abide seeing someone lose at a game. Just because we are not all equally gifted at the same things is no reason to make someone feel badly.
But I finally found a game I can play with the kids where there are no winners and no losers. It all starts innocently enough. I poke one of the kids with my pointer finger, then run. They chase after me, vying for a poke at me. I can call no poke backs, and then they have to get someone else to poke me.
We have an uproariously fun time racing about poking each other, laughing, and falling over each other in my tiny apartment. What a hoot. And in less than five minutes, its all done. Everyone is laughing, no one is angry, and we go on about our business of washing dishes or doing laundry or whatever as if nothing happened.
Except we are all smiling and the weight is lifted. Go ahead and try it out.
POKE. (no poke backs).
Diary of a daughter, sister, mom, librarian, musician, Christian, cancer patient, writer, friend, . . .
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Invisible Man
I didn't notice him when first I sat down at the crowded table in Panera's. The bowl of steaming broccoli soup and half a turkey sandwich and the cup of rich dark peach tea held my full attention. I was ravenous. I selected a small table in the back area behind the firepit where there was less commotion, though the whole place was hopping. I chowed down for a few minutes on the sandwich until I took the edge off my hunger.
I took a long slow sip of the hot tea, held the soothing liquid in my mouth a few minutes before swallowing, enjoying the warmth spreading through my chilled body. Then I sat back munching a few chips and looked around at my fellow bread breakers. There were couples and families and student groups and singles and business people and workmen. What a mix of community sections. This is a popular place.
As I finished my sandwich, one lone guy caught my attention. He seemed a bit nervous, sitting in the dark far corner, eyeing the lunch crowd. Every once in awhile he got up, went over to the trash cans, poked around a bit, then went back to his seat. A couple of times he filled up a paper cup with water and swigged it down. Odd. No one else seemed to pay him any attention.
It took me awhile to catch on. He was tracking when someone threw away perfectly untouched food. Sometimes an unopened bag of chips, sometimes an unwanted roll. He examined them carefully, then shoved them into his backpack. Curious, I continued watching him discretely, trying not to stare directly at him. While I finished my lunch, he snagged a number of food items including several apples.
I noticed that he was wearing sandals and shorts, peculiar attire for the coldness of the air outside. His sweatshirt seemed thick and warm though. I wondered. He was fairly young with rough calloused hands. What was his game? How long had he sat in Panera's unnoticed, plucking food from the garbage? Was he just out of work? This place was too far from downtown for this to be a homeless vagrant. He seemed cleanshaven enough.
An idea began to form in my head. In the trunk of my car was a bag of clothes I was planning to drop in a Goodwill box. I hadn't gotten around to it. I knew there was a pair of jeans in good condition and a pair of sneakers that looked to be this young man's size. Right outside the window was a trashcan. It might work.
I gathered my lunch remains and cleared out, heading for my car. I opened the trunk and picked up the bag of clothes, walking back towards the trashcan outside Panera's. I made sure to bump against the window repeatedly, making noise about what I was doing, holding up the jeans and the sneakers before dropping them in the can. Then I walked back to the car and pulled out of the parking space.
Discreetly, I nosed into another space with full view of the can and waited. Minutes later, the young man came outside, looked around, then headed to the trash can. He pulled out the jeans and sneakers and a few other things and quickly tucked them into his pack and took off across the parking lot.
Well, now. I wonder if he really needed that stuff or if he was just a rag picker making money off discards. Either way, no one else in Panera's seemed to have noticed him at all. It was as if he didn't exist. Or was invisible. I wonder how often I have missed invisible people in the normal course of a day. Probably a lot.
I took a long slow sip of the hot tea, held the soothing liquid in my mouth a few minutes before swallowing, enjoying the warmth spreading through my chilled body. Then I sat back munching a few chips and looked around at my fellow bread breakers. There were couples and families and student groups and singles and business people and workmen. What a mix of community sections. This is a popular place.
As I finished my sandwich, one lone guy caught my attention. He seemed a bit nervous, sitting in the dark far corner, eyeing the lunch crowd. Every once in awhile he got up, went over to the trash cans, poked around a bit, then went back to his seat. A couple of times he filled up a paper cup with water and swigged it down. Odd. No one else seemed to pay him any attention.
It took me awhile to catch on. He was tracking when someone threw away perfectly untouched food. Sometimes an unopened bag of chips, sometimes an unwanted roll. He examined them carefully, then shoved them into his backpack. Curious, I continued watching him discretely, trying not to stare directly at him. While I finished my lunch, he snagged a number of food items including several apples.
I noticed that he was wearing sandals and shorts, peculiar attire for the coldness of the air outside. His sweatshirt seemed thick and warm though. I wondered. He was fairly young with rough calloused hands. What was his game? How long had he sat in Panera's unnoticed, plucking food from the garbage? Was he just out of work? This place was too far from downtown for this to be a homeless vagrant. He seemed cleanshaven enough.
An idea began to form in my head. In the trunk of my car was a bag of clothes I was planning to drop in a Goodwill box. I hadn't gotten around to it. I knew there was a pair of jeans in good condition and a pair of sneakers that looked to be this young man's size. Right outside the window was a trashcan. It might work.
I gathered my lunch remains and cleared out, heading for my car. I opened the trunk and picked up the bag of clothes, walking back towards the trashcan outside Panera's. I made sure to bump against the window repeatedly, making noise about what I was doing, holding up the jeans and the sneakers before dropping them in the can. Then I walked back to the car and pulled out of the parking space.
Discreetly, I nosed into another space with full view of the can and waited. Minutes later, the young man came outside, looked around, then headed to the trash can. He pulled out the jeans and sneakers and a few other things and quickly tucked them into his pack and took off across the parking lot.
Well, now. I wonder if he really needed that stuff or if he was just a rag picker making money off discards. Either way, no one else in Panera's seemed to have noticed him at all. It was as if he didn't exist. Or was invisible. I wonder how often I have missed invisible people in the normal course of a day. Probably a lot.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Decorating for Christmas
I never used to allow Christmas decorations to be put up until after December 6, Michael's birthday. But today Drew asked if he could get the tree out and start. Drew never knew Michael, wasn't even thought of when Michael died. Kiel was only a baby and doesn't remember Michael at all. It is about time I moved on from that tradition. Not that I will forget Michael, but there is no sense hanging on to sadness. So I told Drew to go ahead.
True to his word, he dragged the artificial tree into the living room and set it up. Never mind fluffing out the branches or plugging it in. It is enough to start the ball rolling. And he did bring up the box of decorations. Slowly over the next few days I knew we would pick away at decorating. I am still somewhat done in by the darn chemo stuff, but I am enjoying starting the Christmas season early.
Last year Christmas was so tinged by Dad's illness and passing that it was barely acknowledged. I am sure the boys missed the normal cheer. They never spent a lot of time with their Grandpa. By the time they were old enough to engage in conversation, Dad was slowing down and often too tired to interact with them when we visited. But they respected my emotions and toned the holiday down.
I sense that Drew's eagerness to kick start the celebration is driven in part by last year's quiet Christmas and last year's cancer junk from me. So I am happy to accommodate his wishes. Let's have a joyous and light hearted time this year and keep the lights going. I even managed to hang a handful of ornaments and fluff a few branches while he was flitting about. Yeah! Christmas! Let the merriment begin.
True to his word, he dragged the artificial tree into the living room and set it up. Never mind fluffing out the branches or plugging it in. It is enough to start the ball rolling. And he did bring up the box of decorations. Slowly over the next few days I knew we would pick away at decorating. I am still somewhat done in by the darn chemo stuff, but I am enjoying starting the Christmas season early.
Last year Christmas was so tinged by Dad's illness and passing that it was barely acknowledged. I am sure the boys missed the normal cheer. They never spent a lot of time with their Grandpa. By the time they were old enough to engage in conversation, Dad was slowing down and often too tired to interact with them when we visited. But they respected my emotions and toned the holiday down.
I sense that Drew's eagerness to kick start the celebration is driven in part by last year's quiet Christmas and last year's cancer junk from me. So I am happy to accommodate his wishes. Let's have a joyous and light hearted time this year and keep the lights going. I even managed to hang a handful of ornaments and fluff a few branches while he was flitting about. Yeah! Christmas! Let the merriment begin.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Grumpy Accordian Player
Yesterday on the way in to Eastman Theater, we were greeted by a large gentleman dressed in a ragged hoodie and sporting an accordion, seated on the stoop by the front doors. His case was open and he kept up a constant barrage of verbiage aimed at passersby, in particular, the theater goers.
"Come on, now. Not even a dollar for an old man? Where is your Christmas spirit? You can afford to go to the theater but not to help out a poor musician? Not even a dollar? Not even a quarter? What is wrong with you?"
The commentary sounded angry and unending. Not once did I hear this gentleman play a song. He sponged a chord here and a blat there, but no real song. I wanted to tell him that he would catch more cash if he actually played and was any good. Or at least if he said nice things. There is that adage about catching more flies with honey than vinegar.
Instead, I just walked past him without making eye contact, my ears burning under his condemnation, my ire rising in determination not to be emotionally black mailed into supporting God only knows whom. And that is what brought me up short. Was this man not a child of God, no matter how bleak his situation or how black his character?
Still, I gave the man no more thought while I introduced my guests to the production. It was already a sacrifice on my part to purchase these tickets. Now to be asked to give a generous handout to some unknown person felt too heavy a burden.
He was still there as we headed back to our car, still harassing the crowd with his sarcastic remarks. I hurried past, hearing one woman tell another to wait because their friend got "caught" by the old man's pleas for help. Their tone of voice indicated their disapproval of her weakness in giving cash to the accordion player.
I heard the words tumble around in my brain. How do I know he won't just spend it on drugs and liquor? What right does he have to make others feel bad? Where are the police? If he is really hungry, why doesn't he go to the Open Door Mission? He can get a meal and a bed there. Get out of the snow and the cold. Where did he get that accordion? Does it even work? Does he really know how to play it? Isn't this just a scam? What did he really want the money for? Why didn't he just get a job like normal people? We work hard for our money. Why should we give it to someone who refuses to work?
All the Scrooging ugly words of our culture poured in and out of my thoughts. When I worked at Eastman, we were given coupons for a free meal at the Open Door Mission to hand out to anyone panhandling. I never had to use mine, but I do remember one beggar berating summer lunch eaters about how it was our fault he was in the situation he was in. If we would just help him out, he wouldn't have to beg. A mounted policeman took him away quickly.
So what would it have hurt if I had given the cranky accordion player a dollar? If he misused it, God would hold him accountable, right? After all, who's responsibility is it to help those who are down and out? Isn't he my neighbor? Shouldn't I be concerned at his distress? If the churches were reaching out to the homeless, would I even have encountered this man? Isn't the money I have provided by God's grace anyway? It could be me down there begging for help.
I will admit, I went back to see if the old man was there during other performances, but I didn't see him. I wanted to talk to him, see why he was there and whether I could connect him to someplace that could help him. Maybe the police removed him. Maybe he just gave up because no one was willing to drop money in his case. Or maybe he was an angel just testing the goodwill of the community. I will never know.
And I still haven't resolved my response to these sorts of encounters. I am more likely though to do what I believe is right and be generous, leaving the results to God's grace. If it's a scam it will be found out. Meanwhile, I make sure I am helping the reputable organizations as often as I can. Perhaps my extra change in the Salvation Army buckets and my dollar donations to the food bank through Wegmans this year is a direct response to the grumpy accordion player. Perhaps.
"Come on, now. Not even a dollar for an old man? Where is your Christmas spirit? You can afford to go to the theater but not to help out a poor musician? Not even a dollar? Not even a quarter? What is wrong with you?"
The commentary sounded angry and unending. Not once did I hear this gentleman play a song. He sponged a chord here and a blat there, but no real song. I wanted to tell him that he would catch more cash if he actually played and was any good. Or at least if he said nice things. There is that adage about catching more flies with honey than vinegar.
Instead, I just walked past him without making eye contact, my ears burning under his condemnation, my ire rising in determination not to be emotionally black mailed into supporting God only knows whom. And that is what brought me up short. Was this man not a child of God, no matter how bleak his situation or how black his character?
Still, I gave the man no more thought while I introduced my guests to the production. It was already a sacrifice on my part to purchase these tickets. Now to be asked to give a generous handout to some unknown person felt too heavy a burden.
He was still there as we headed back to our car, still harassing the crowd with his sarcastic remarks. I hurried past, hearing one woman tell another to wait because their friend got "caught" by the old man's pleas for help. Their tone of voice indicated their disapproval of her weakness in giving cash to the accordion player.
I heard the words tumble around in my brain. How do I know he won't just spend it on drugs and liquor? What right does he have to make others feel bad? Where are the police? If he is really hungry, why doesn't he go to the Open Door Mission? He can get a meal and a bed there. Get out of the snow and the cold. Where did he get that accordion? Does it even work? Does he really know how to play it? Isn't this just a scam? What did he really want the money for? Why didn't he just get a job like normal people? We work hard for our money. Why should we give it to someone who refuses to work?
All the Scrooging ugly words of our culture poured in and out of my thoughts. When I worked at Eastman, we were given coupons for a free meal at the Open Door Mission to hand out to anyone panhandling. I never had to use mine, but I do remember one beggar berating summer lunch eaters about how it was our fault he was in the situation he was in. If we would just help him out, he wouldn't have to beg. A mounted policeman took him away quickly.
So what would it have hurt if I had given the cranky accordion player a dollar? If he misused it, God would hold him accountable, right? After all, who's responsibility is it to help those who are down and out? Isn't he my neighbor? Shouldn't I be concerned at his distress? If the churches were reaching out to the homeless, would I even have encountered this man? Isn't the money I have provided by God's grace anyway? It could be me down there begging for help.
I will admit, I went back to see if the old man was there during other performances, but I didn't see him. I wanted to talk to him, see why he was there and whether I could connect him to someplace that could help him. Maybe the police removed him. Maybe he just gave up because no one was willing to drop money in his case. Or maybe he was an angel just testing the goodwill of the community. I will never know.
And I still haven't resolved my response to these sorts of encounters. I am more likely though to do what I believe is right and be generous, leaving the results to God's grace. If it's a scam it will be found out. Meanwhile, I make sure I am helping the reputable organizations as often as I can. Perhaps my extra change in the Salvation Army buckets and my dollar donations to the food bank through Wegmans this year is a direct response to the grumpy accordion player. Perhaps.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Nutcracker
"You've never seen the Nutcracker?" I ask in amazement as both my daughter-in-law and my soon to be daughter-in-law shake their heads. We'll just remedy that right now! I call the box office and order three tickets in the nosebleed section. I made the boys go when they were little, but they were none too impressed. And I never took them again. I have often dreamed of taking my grand daughters when they are a little older and can appreciate it, but here is a chance to go that fell right into my lap. I am excited to introduce them to this classic.
On the drive there I wonder if they will find it interesting or be bored out of their socks. I hope they will like it. We park and pick up our tickets, then climb and climb and climb stairs up past the mezzanine and round into a tight stairwell that you could mistake for an attic entrance. The Eastman Theater was renovated last year, and this is the first performance I have attended in the new space with the box seats and all.
I forgot that the old world elegance of the building is striking to people who have never been there. We settle into our seats while the girls look around at the gilded woodwork, the sparkling crystal chandelier, the plush velvet seats, the ornate statues and wall decor. They giggle about sitting where we could be wiped out if some Phantom of the Opera thing unfolded.
We watch while families with young children fill in seats around us. There is excited chatter everywhere, ushers repeatedly telling audience members that they cannot take pictures in the theater. At last the lights dim and the music begins. The girls are amazed that the orchestra is so far under the stage but can be clearly heard.
The production is as I remember it. Fabulous costumes and props, lots of choreography to match the music, and of course, the music! I have always liked Tchaikovsky, and this particular work is enchanting. I steal glances at the girls. They are glued to the stage, drinking in the beauty, mesmerized by the dancing. The story is easy to follow. At intermission, we make our way to the marble bathroom and stand in line waiting our turn. I ask how they like it and am met by enthusiastic nods and excited descriptions of the favorite parts. Yes! Converts!
The second part is as wonderful as the first, and too soon the whole thing is over. We can barely tear ourselves away, the sugarplums still dancing in our heads. On the drive home, I suggest that they keep this tradition going with their children. After all, everyone should see the Nutcracker live at least once in their lives!
On the drive there I wonder if they will find it interesting or be bored out of their socks. I hope they will like it. We park and pick up our tickets, then climb and climb and climb stairs up past the mezzanine and round into a tight stairwell that you could mistake for an attic entrance. The Eastman Theater was renovated last year, and this is the first performance I have attended in the new space with the box seats and all.
I forgot that the old world elegance of the building is striking to people who have never been there. We settle into our seats while the girls look around at the gilded woodwork, the sparkling crystal chandelier, the plush velvet seats, the ornate statues and wall decor. They giggle about sitting where we could be wiped out if some Phantom of the Opera thing unfolded.
We watch while families with young children fill in seats around us. There is excited chatter everywhere, ushers repeatedly telling audience members that they cannot take pictures in the theater. At last the lights dim and the music begins. The girls are amazed that the orchestra is so far under the stage but can be clearly heard.
The production is as I remember it. Fabulous costumes and props, lots of choreography to match the music, and of course, the music! I have always liked Tchaikovsky, and this particular work is enchanting. I steal glances at the girls. They are glued to the stage, drinking in the beauty, mesmerized by the dancing. The story is easy to follow. At intermission, we make our way to the marble bathroom and stand in line waiting our turn. I ask how they like it and am met by enthusiastic nods and excited descriptions of the favorite parts. Yes! Converts!
The second part is as wonderful as the first, and too soon the whole thing is over. We can barely tear ourselves away, the sugarplums still dancing in our heads. On the drive home, I suggest that they keep this tradition going with their children. After all, everyone should see the Nutcracker live at least once in their lives!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving with Ramseyes
I had promised to get boots for Ramseyes the next time I saw him, and this is it. I decide we should try to go today, hoping that the crowds will be thinner on Thanksgiving Day than on Black Friday. We head out. I am happy to discover that while there are some people shopping, the mostly the crowd consists of store employees setting out sales displays for tomorrow. Yeah!
We wander about and finally find the perfect boots for a rambunctious two year old. Mark wants to look at a few things, but Ramseyes is impatient. We suspect he may be thirsty, so I take his hand and the two of us venture off together in search of a drink. It occurs to me that this is really the first time we have been alone except for when he was a baby.
He looks up at me with trusting eyes as we wander farther from his parents. I wonder if he will get scared. But there are too many distractions. Displays of all kinds. Especially trucks. This young man is all boy. He makes truck sounds and reaches his hands out, asking to hold a bright yellow dump truck. How can a Grandma resist?
We did find a drink, but he wasn't too interested in it. People watch us walk past and I don't mind when they ask how old my grandson is. When Drew was little people used to ask me that, not realizing I was the Mom, not the Grandmom. But I was older when he was born, so I understood. This is different. I am happy to be the Grandmom.
I am still somewhat wobbly from the chemo, and soon I find I will either have to sit down somewhere or lean heavily on the cart. We put Ramseyes in and I push slowly, leaning and trying not to let my heavy breathing be heard. Soon we are headed home where Mark will cook our Thanksgiving dinner and hopefully the boys will finally be up.
Mark is a wonderful cook - one of those people who just knows how to make food taste extraordinary. I don't ask where the two pounds of butter went or what is in the gravy. I just eat. It is good. The company is good. And the Grandma and the two year old go to bed early while the big boys play. We can do the dishes tomorrow.
We wander about and finally find the perfect boots for a rambunctious two year old. Mark wants to look at a few things, but Ramseyes is impatient. We suspect he may be thirsty, so I take his hand and the two of us venture off together in search of a drink. It occurs to me that this is really the first time we have been alone except for when he was a baby.
He looks up at me with trusting eyes as we wander farther from his parents. I wonder if he will get scared. But there are too many distractions. Displays of all kinds. Especially trucks. This young man is all boy. He makes truck sounds and reaches his hands out, asking to hold a bright yellow dump truck. How can a Grandma resist?
We did find a drink, but he wasn't too interested in it. People watch us walk past and I don't mind when they ask how old my grandson is. When Drew was little people used to ask me that, not realizing I was the Mom, not the Grandmom. But I was older when he was born, so I understood. This is different. I am happy to be the Grandmom.
I am still somewhat wobbly from the chemo, and soon I find I will either have to sit down somewhere or lean heavily on the cart. We put Ramseyes in and I push slowly, leaning and trying not to let my heavy breathing be heard. Soon we are headed home where Mark will cook our Thanksgiving dinner and hopefully the boys will finally be up.
Mark is a wonderful cook - one of those people who just knows how to make food taste extraordinary. I don't ask where the two pounds of butter went or what is in the gravy. I just eat. It is good. The company is good. And the Grandma and the two year old go to bed early while the big boys play. We can do the dishes tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Copycatting
Mark and family are coming for Thanksgiving! Yeah. I look forward to spending some time with Ramseyes who is two and full of energy. Maybe I can scoop up some energy for myself! They arrive with a flood of baggage and paraphernalia, and it takes us some time to figure out where to put everything and still have room to move.
Finally we are gathered in the living room and chatting. Ramseyes watches everyone with wide opened eyes. I am amazed at how quickly he figures out how to do what other people are doing. It evolves into a game. Kiel makes a sound, Ramseyes makes the same sound. Andrea makes a sound and moves her head, Ramseyes does the same. He is quick. He barks like Sugar and even Sugar does a double take!
What fun feeding him movements and sounds and watching him emulate. The best copying he does is when I scoop him up and hug and kiss him and he hugs and kisses right back. I enjoy it while he is willing. I suspect he will soon resist such loving on.
He drinks in all the attention. An adorable little copycat. And fast! So far he has dumped the contents of two boxes of cereal on the floor and removed half the dishes from the lower cupboard faster than flash. No one keeps up with him, not even his Dad. This is going to be a fun weekend!
Finally we are gathered in the living room and chatting. Ramseyes watches everyone with wide opened eyes. I am amazed at how quickly he figures out how to do what other people are doing. It evolves into a game. Kiel makes a sound, Ramseyes makes the same sound. Andrea makes a sound and moves her head, Ramseyes does the same. He is quick. He barks like Sugar and even Sugar does a double take!
What fun feeding him movements and sounds and watching him emulate. The best copying he does is when I scoop him up and hug and kiss him and he hugs and kisses right back. I enjoy it while he is willing. I suspect he will soon resist such loving on.
He drinks in all the attention. An adorable little copycat. And fast! So far he has dumped the contents of two boxes of cereal on the floor and removed half the dishes from the lower cupboard faster than flash. No one keeps up with him, not even his Dad. This is going to be a fun weekend!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Gonna Make It
Oh grueling day. I have another round of high school instruction AND a first year seminar class to teach. The day did start out on a better note than yesterday, but I am still exhausted. I realize I cannot stand the whole time students are researching. I will have to sit even if I keep popping up to assist students. Hopefully, no one will think it unusual.
The morning goes alright, and at noon I dash home and rest, not even bothering to eat more than a piece of toast. I am shaky as I head back to work, but I think I can do it. As soon as the class is over, I will lie down in the break room until I have recuperated. I can feel my legs shake as I present information, but my hands do not betray my situation. The kids are engaged and ask good questions. We joke and banter about resources. The time passes quickly. I end up letting them out ten minutes early, and head for the couch. Fortunately, no one comes in the room, and after about 20 minutes, I am OK.
I am most grateful that this evening's class is a short one. Everyone else has their personal spiritual formation sessions, and I did that last time around. Whew! I will be able to go home early. As I head towards home, I thank God for helping me cover my responsibilities and ask him to heal my body so I can get back to work. At just that moment, the clouds parted and the moon showered the road with bright light. Better days are ahead. I will not be locked in this broken loop forever. Right now though, I just have to get home.
The morning goes alright, and at noon I dash home and rest, not even bothering to eat more than a piece of toast. I am shaky as I head back to work, but I think I can do it. As soon as the class is over, I will lie down in the break room until I have recuperated. I can feel my legs shake as I present information, but my hands do not betray my situation. The kids are engaged and ask good questions. We joke and banter about resources. The time passes quickly. I end up letting them out ten minutes early, and head for the couch. Fortunately, no one comes in the room, and after about 20 minutes, I am OK.
I am most grateful that this evening's class is a short one. Everyone else has their personal spiritual formation sessions, and I did that last time around. Whew! I will be able to go home early. As I head towards home, I thank God for helping me cover my responsibilities and ask him to heal my body so I can get back to work. At just that moment, the clouds parted and the moon showered the road with bright light. Better days are ahead. I will not be locked in this broken loop forever. Right now though, I just have to get home.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Crash and Numb
I peel my eyes open and for a moment, I have to think where I am. Oh, right. Monday morning in my room. I open the Library today. I glance at the clock. Yikes! It is already 7am and I need to be there by 7:30. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and nearly scream. What on earth?
Every joint is on fire. Every spot on my body hurts. My hands and feet are tingling and numb. This isn't right. I'm supposed to be over chemo by now. I urge my body to stand and shuffle to the bathroom, turn on the hot water and slump in the shower, willing the hot water to fix my broken body. My head is pounding, my feet feel as if there are knives stabbing them all over.
Tears roll down my face and disappear into the foggy steam of the running water. God, help me. Please help me. After a few minutes, I will myself to climb out of the shower and dress. Sugar needs walking and I must get to work and unlock the doors. After that I can figure out what to do.
I crawl down the steps like an old woman bent beneath years of arthritis, wincing with every step. Sugar wags her tail impatiently while I struggle to open the front door. She eyes me nervously, wondering what I am doing. I don't even walk around the corner with her. She will have to take care of business right by the door. It takes me precious minutes to mount the stairs and plop her food in her dish.
Never mind breakfast or even a cup of hot tea. I fumble for my purse and head to the car. Driving is easier. All I really have to do is sit. I force myself to focus. It would never to do make a careless mistake and cause an accident. Fortunately, my coworkers have figured out that I am running late and have already begun the opening procedures. I joke about Monday blues and help finish, then head to my office.
I close the door and sit in my comfy chair, lean my head against the wall, and shut my eyes. The protests of my muscles overwhelm me and I give in to it fully. Gradually, the screaming subsides and calms to a dull roar. Better. Better. I move to my desk and open email, sorting through tons of stuff. This will be a grunt work day. I will not trust myself to do anything important. I save tasks of a highly repetitive nature for just such days.
I open my statistics files and start filling in columns from the various reports. All the while I am shaking my head. I am supposed to be fine today. What happened? Haven't I cooperated fully with the work going on in my body? Haven't I turned aside and rested? After all, I blew an entire weekend on recovering. This is not fair. I will not get my paper done. I am not even sure I can be here a full day.
I take care of the calendar obligations, but by 4pm, I know I am done. I head home a bit early after sending my professor an email of explanation as to why I will not be turning in my paper tomorrow. It is the first time in - well - ever that I have not had an assignment done when it should have been done. Can't be helped. The world will not come to an end. But I wonder as I slide into bed how long the siege is going to last.
I guess I will have to count on a longer down time for these maintenance things. Sigh.
Every joint is on fire. Every spot on my body hurts. My hands and feet are tingling and numb. This isn't right. I'm supposed to be over chemo by now. I urge my body to stand and shuffle to the bathroom, turn on the hot water and slump in the shower, willing the hot water to fix my broken body. My head is pounding, my feet feel as if there are knives stabbing them all over.
Tears roll down my face and disappear into the foggy steam of the running water. God, help me. Please help me. After a few minutes, I will myself to climb out of the shower and dress. Sugar needs walking and I must get to work and unlock the doors. After that I can figure out what to do.
I crawl down the steps like an old woman bent beneath years of arthritis, wincing with every step. Sugar wags her tail impatiently while I struggle to open the front door. She eyes me nervously, wondering what I am doing. I don't even walk around the corner with her. She will have to take care of business right by the door. It takes me precious minutes to mount the stairs and plop her food in her dish.
Never mind breakfast or even a cup of hot tea. I fumble for my purse and head to the car. Driving is easier. All I really have to do is sit. I force myself to focus. It would never to do make a careless mistake and cause an accident. Fortunately, my coworkers have figured out that I am running late and have already begun the opening procedures. I joke about Monday blues and help finish, then head to my office.
I close the door and sit in my comfy chair, lean my head against the wall, and shut my eyes. The protests of my muscles overwhelm me and I give in to it fully. Gradually, the screaming subsides and calms to a dull roar. Better. Better. I move to my desk and open email, sorting through tons of stuff. This will be a grunt work day. I will not trust myself to do anything important. I save tasks of a highly repetitive nature for just such days.
I open my statistics files and start filling in columns from the various reports. All the while I am shaking my head. I am supposed to be fine today. What happened? Haven't I cooperated fully with the work going on in my body? Haven't I turned aside and rested? After all, I blew an entire weekend on recovering. This is not fair. I will not get my paper done. I am not even sure I can be here a full day.
I take care of the calendar obligations, but by 4pm, I know I am done. I head home a bit early after sending my professor an email of explanation as to why I will not be turning in my paper tomorrow. It is the first time in - well - ever that I have not had an assignment done when it should have been done. Can't be helped. The world will not come to an end. But I wonder as I slide into bed how long the siege is going to last.
I guess I will have to count on a longer down time for these maintenance things. Sigh.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Early to Bed
Sunday. I am doing OK. I make it to church, manage to stand upright and smile, participate in the service. But after my duties are complete, I know I will head home and do more resting. That darn paper naggles at the back of my mind, but once again I am helpless to address it. I just go home.
Sugar and I sit together for a bit, but my body feels like it weighs a ton. Moving is taxing. I don't bother to fix lunch. The boys are out and about, doing what kids do. It is more difficult to rest today. I finally admit defeat and go to bed - in the middle of the day. There is no help for it. By my count, this is day three and I ought to be feeling better by now. I am still suffering from the "hit by a mack truck" syndrome.
I roll over and pull my warm hat down over my eyes, relieved at the darkness, hug my hot water bottle, console myself with the knowledge that tomorrow is after the third day I and will be better and back to normal. Sleep it off. Let the chemo finish its work. Tomorrow is resurrection day.
Sugar heaves a big sigh and buries her nose in the blanket. I know just how she feels.
Sugar and I sit together for a bit, but my body feels like it weighs a ton. Moving is taxing. I don't bother to fix lunch. The boys are out and about, doing what kids do. It is more difficult to rest today. I finally admit defeat and go to bed - in the middle of the day. There is no help for it. By my count, this is day three and I ought to be feeling better by now. I am still suffering from the "hit by a mack truck" syndrome.
I roll over and pull my warm hat down over my eyes, relieved at the darkness, hug my hot water bottle, console myself with the knowledge that tomorrow is after the third day I and will be better and back to normal. Sleep it off. Let the chemo finish its work. Tomorrow is resurrection day.
Sugar heaves a big sigh and buries her nose in the blanket. I know just how she feels.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Still Standing - Sort Of
Oy. Three days of feeling like you've been plowed into by a truck. Maybe I can just sleep through most of it. I decide to stay in bed until almost 10am - an unheard of event. Then I actually sat in a chair and didn't do anything but rest. I fussed a bit about the paper I need to write which is due Tuesday, but there isn't anything I can do about it. It will have to wait. Hopefully I can address it in a day or two when I am feeling better.
Sugar climbed into the chair with me, and curled up with a sigh. She is moping probably because I am none too active. Together we close our eyes and drift in and out of sleep. I can only tell that time is passing because the sunshine and shadows change angles. While I dream, I let the chemo sweep any cancer cells out of my system. Today I make no progress forward. I also do not slide backwards. I stand still, treading time while my chassis undergoes maintenance.
I am aware of the presence of God touching my heart, restoring my confidence, pulling me back from the precipice of darkness. I rest, I wait quietly, I receive the strengthening of God, I allow it to wash over me, feeling the tenderness and positive encouragement. Soul maintenance. Mind renewal. Bits of Psalms float in and out of my sleepy consciousness. God is my rock. God is my strength. God is my joy. God is my wholeness.
I do not move, I do not work. I simply inhale the restoration. It is good. I am blessed.
Sugar climbed into the chair with me, and curled up with a sigh. She is moping probably because I am none too active. Together we close our eyes and drift in and out of sleep. I can only tell that time is passing because the sunshine and shadows change angles. While I dream, I let the chemo sweep any cancer cells out of my system. Today I make no progress forward. I also do not slide backwards. I stand still, treading time while my chassis undergoes maintenance.
I am aware of the presence of God touching my heart, restoring my confidence, pulling me back from the precipice of darkness. I rest, I wait quietly, I receive the strengthening of God, I allow it to wash over me, feeling the tenderness and positive encouragement. Soul maintenance. Mind renewal. Bits of Psalms float in and out of my sleepy consciousness. God is my rock. God is my strength. God is my joy. God is my wholeness.
I do not move, I do not work. I simply inhale the restoration. It is good. I am blessed.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Chemo
Here we go again. I am in no particular hurry to arrive at the cancer clinic. I bring my comfortable big pink bag that Pastor Sherri gave me at the beginning of this leg of my journey with cancer. I am wise enough now to know not to bring a lot of reading, and though I still believe that keeping my mind working in mathematical patterns is important, I also know I will likely rest a lot. So the bag is not as crammed as it has been in the past. I make sure I have a warm hat and a sweater that buttons. And plenty of space for port access from my tee shirt neck.
I am ready for feeling a bit crummy and tired for a few days, a small price to pay for continued absence of any symptoms of cancer. Today I decide I will just be quiet and peaceful. I will breathe deeply and concentrate on all the many many things I am grateful for. A hot shower to relax my muscles. A warm soothing cup of ginger green tea. A friendly lick from Sugar before I leave. A dependable car to drive. A son to drive me to treatment. I am so blessed. Not to even mention the insurance coverage that will take care of this little $10,000 treatment.
The nurse is one I know and like. She hands me the little white plastic medicine cup with my management pills and I obediently down them one at a time, taking big swigs of the cold water. She accesses my port quickly and efficiently, hooking me up to fluids as the yukky feeling from the meds begins to hit. It's rather like drawing a dull gray curtain over your world. Everything becomes a bit foggy and blurred. You feel a tad headachy and sluggish, and you have to fight through it to think.
I read a bit, then my Rituxan arrives. A second nurse verifies that this is me and this is my meds before my nurse can hang the bag and start the drip. My oncologist upped the dosage of the Decadron to help lessen the impact later, and we have agreed not to go full bore with the dosage administration. The nurse suggests that it is not the speed at which I get the Rituxan, but just that my body has been adjusting and each reaction may indeed be different. We still go slow. They are wonderful at humoring my half baked ideas. Especially when it doesn't really matter to them one way or the other.
I tell myself that its just a few days. I will bounce back quickly now that I am recovering from the main impact. Just be patient. Let the toxins roll in, kill the enemy, and roll out dragging those cancer cells with them. Let it pass quickly.
Soon Kiel appears and its time to go home. Last time I had a window of feeling OK before the real slump hit. Maybe because I took the meds so quickly. Today I do not have that window. I am struggling before I even get to the car. The tiredness, the blah's, the drained feelings are already in full swing. Go home. Sleep it off. You have a whole weekend to throw this. I settle back into the car seat and close my eyes. We will be home soon. I am blessed to have a home where I can be comfortable and where I have help. Yup. It's all good. It's all good.
I am ready for feeling a bit crummy and tired for a few days, a small price to pay for continued absence of any symptoms of cancer. Today I decide I will just be quiet and peaceful. I will breathe deeply and concentrate on all the many many things I am grateful for. A hot shower to relax my muscles. A warm soothing cup of ginger green tea. A friendly lick from Sugar before I leave. A dependable car to drive. A son to drive me to treatment. I am so blessed. Not to even mention the insurance coverage that will take care of this little $10,000 treatment.
The nurse is one I know and like. She hands me the little white plastic medicine cup with my management pills and I obediently down them one at a time, taking big swigs of the cold water. She accesses my port quickly and efficiently, hooking me up to fluids as the yukky feeling from the meds begins to hit. It's rather like drawing a dull gray curtain over your world. Everything becomes a bit foggy and blurred. You feel a tad headachy and sluggish, and you have to fight through it to think.
I read a bit, then my Rituxan arrives. A second nurse verifies that this is me and this is my meds before my nurse can hang the bag and start the drip. My oncologist upped the dosage of the Decadron to help lessen the impact later, and we have agreed not to go full bore with the dosage administration. The nurse suggests that it is not the speed at which I get the Rituxan, but just that my body has been adjusting and each reaction may indeed be different. We still go slow. They are wonderful at humoring my half baked ideas. Especially when it doesn't really matter to them one way or the other.
I tell myself that its just a few days. I will bounce back quickly now that I am recovering from the main impact. Just be patient. Let the toxins roll in, kill the enemy, and roll out dragging those cancer cells with them. Let it pass quickly.
Soon Kiel appears and its time to go home. Last time I had a window of feeling OK before the real slump hit. Maybe because I took the meds so quickly. Today I do not have that window. I am struggling before I even get to the car. The tiredness, the blah's, the drained feelings are already in full swing. Go home. Sleep it off. You have a whole weekend to throw this. I settle back into the car seat and close my eyes. We will be home soon. I am blessed to have a home where I can be comfortable and where I have help. Yup. It's all good. It's all good.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Bishop Kearney High School
What an extraordinary connection. I attended a workshop awhile back about how to partner with high schools to help seniors make the transition from high school to college research a bit smoother. I came away with the contact information of a high school librarian who was interested in bringing her students to a college setting! A good match for sure.
We both pursued the idea, and today, the first group of students from the high school will be on campus to learn how to find scholarly resources to write a required paper. Over the next few days, we will host 100 students and help them find journal articles and books on their topics of interest - issues like teen suicide and violence in the media. Hefty subjects.
I'm not sure what I expected. But what we encountered were extraordinarily polite and well mannered and serious young men and women who were better listeners than some of our college students! They asked terrific questions, and didn't let things slide if they didn't understand something. It was a joy and pleasure helping them find resources. If this is any indication of the level of student coming into college next year, it will be a great class. I wish them all well on their papers.
We both pursued the idea, and today, the first group of students from the high school will be on campus to learn how to find scholarly resources to write a required paper. Over the next few days, we will host 100 students and help them find journal articles and books on their topics of interest - issues like teen suicide and violence in the media. Hefty subjects.
I'm not sure what I expected. But what we encountered were extraordinarily polite and well mannered and serious young men and women who were better listeners than some of our college students! They asked terrific questions, and didn't let things slide if they didn't understand something. It was a joy and pleasure helping them find resources. If this is any indication of the level of student coming into college next year, it will be a great class. I wish them all well on their papers.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Crunching Numbers
I have looked at this insurance decision every which way from Sunday trying to figure out the best game plan. No matter how I slice the paycheck, I will have to be creative. My poor brain just can't wrap around the choices. I sigh and decide to meet with HR one more time, trying to sort through the options.
I lay out my various ideas, and my counselor starts punching buttons on her adding machine. She tries a few things I haven't thought of. No matter what convoluted plot we cook up, the bottom line is that I am not prepared for this curve ball. We keep talking it through, speculating about one thing and another. We write columns and columns of figures, adding, subtracting, scheming.
Finally we come to the least painful scenario we can manage, and I sign my name. Done. I walk back to my office wondering what I have gotten myself into. Ah, well. There is always something to wrestle with, and the good Lord always manages to take my twisted figuring and turn it into a work of art. It will be interesting to see how this one works!
I lay out my various ideas, and my counselor starts punching buttons on her adding machine. She tries a few things I haven't thought of. No matter what convoluted plot we cook up, the bottom line is that I am not prepared for this curve ball. We keep talking it through, speculating about one thing and another. We write columns and columns of figures, adding, subtracting, scheming.
Finally we come to the least painful scenario we can manage, and I sign my name. Done. I walk back to my office wondering what I have gotten myself into. Ah, well. There is always something to wrestle with, and the good Lord always manages to take my twisted figuring and turn it into a work of art. It will be interesting to see how this one works!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Flying Backwards
Wind! It blew across Elmgrove Avenue with such force I feared Baby would become airborne any minute. The tufts of air tugged at my car, rocking it, making me swerve like some drunken driver. I grasped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white with with the sheer force of gripping, trying to wrest control of the vehicle from the capriciousness of the windstorm. I have not experienced such strong winds in a long time.
Ahead of me debris skittered across the road, papers and empty cups and whatnot. Then, like something out of a weird movie, a large black crow, wings flapping furiously, slowly drifted backwards past my windshield. The poor bird was working as hard as it could, but simply made no progress in overcoming the effect of the wind. I started laughing. I have never seen a bird fly so laboriously just to be pushed backwards! It was the silliest thing.
The darn bird was apparently squawking judging by the frantic motions of its beak, but I could not hear it over the wind noise. I slowed down to watch. The bird hovered for long minutes, suspended in the lane where I was driving, finally able to at least hold its own. Then, moments before I would have hit it, the bird swooped down to just millimeters above the pavement, got out from the air stream, and took off like a shot in the direction it had been trying to go.
Yup - life is like that. Sometimes you work so hard to get somewhere when really you should drop down and recalculate, finding a less resistant path. Sweet.
Ahead of me debris skittered across the road, papers and empty cups and whatnot. Then, like something out of a weird movie, a large black crow, wings flapping furiously, slowly drifted backwards past my windshield. The poor bird was working as hard as it could, but simply made no progress in overcoming the effect of the wind. I started laughing. I have never seen a bird fly so laboriously just to be pushed backwards! It was the silliest thing.
The darn bird was apparently squawking judging by the frantic motions of its beak, but I could not hear it over the wind noise. I slowed down to watch. The bird hovered for long minutes, suspended in the lane where I was driving, finally able to at least hold its own. Then, moments before I would have hit it, the bird swooped down to just millimeters above the pavement, got out from the air stream, and took off like a shot in the direction it had been trying to go.
Yup - life is like that. Sometimes you work so hard to get somewhere when really you should drop down and recalculate, finding a less resistant path. Sweet.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Last Rose of Summer
Every morning Sugar and I scurry outside into the brisk fall air while it is still semi dark. I am amazed that the grass is still green though the branches of the trees are naked and stark. The grounds keepers have dutifully shredded the fallen leaves into powered mulch and even the bushes have for the most part shed their greenery, except of course for the burning bushes who are molting but manfully trying to hang on to their foliage as best they can despite the inevitability of their autumnal enforced nap.
For the past few days I have been aware that the rose bush, whose last flower has long since fallen one petal at a time to the brown dirt beneath, has suddenly begun to produce buds again, fooled by the unseasonable warmth and sunshine. "Don't do it!" I want to whisper to this beautiful plant. "Hang on to your vitality. It will be stripped from you soon enough and you will turn old and pithy and incapable of flowering ever again. Don't use up all your strength on an Indian summer."
But I say nothing. I quietly walk by with my mouth shut, watching while the little plant strain to put forth new life, new growth. I am sure the cruel winter will descend with a vengeance and obliterate her hard work without a second thought. But I hold on to a sliver of hope - hope that the flowers will beat the snow, or somehow outlive it.
Every day the buds are a little bigger, a little looser, a little closer to unveiling their beauty. I hold my breath every morning as I go out the door, wondering whether they have bloomed. Every day they are closer. Then suddenly, one of their faces opens shyly and nods toward the warm sun. I heave a sigh of relief. At least one of them made it. But how long can it last?
For three full days the gentle rose opened fuller and fuller revealing deep peach and pink colors fading to a delicate ivory at the edges. I made Sugar stop for long minutes while I drank in the beauty and exquisite craftsmanship. How fortunate am I to be blessed by such incredible and awesome gracefulness! I wonder if any of my kids or neighbors have been captured by the rose's spell. I shall be sad when the flower is spent.
Perhaps this rose is wiser than I. Why hold back? Why not take every opportunity to produce beauty and fragrance while you still can? Why not bless those around you by being who you are despite the possibility of winter's advance? Yes, bloom in the Indian summers of life and glory in the pure joy of life. Winter will come soon enough.
For the past few days I have been aware that the rose bush, whose last flower has long since fallen one petal at a time to the brown dirt beneath, has suddenly begun to produce buds again, fooled by the unseasonable warmth and sunshine. "Don't do it!" I want to whisper to this beautiful plant. "Hang on to your vitality. It will be stripped from you soon enough and you will turn old and pithy and incapable of flowering ever again. Don't use up all your strength on an Indian summer."
But I say nothing. I quietly walk by with my mouth shut, watching while the little plant strain to put forth new life, new growth. I am sure the cruel winter will descend with a vengeance and obliterate her hard work without a second thought. But I hold on to a sliver of hope - hope that the flowers will beat the snow, or somehow outlive it.
Every day the buds are a little bigger, a little looser, a little closer to unveiling their beauty. I hold my breath every morning as I go out the door, wondering whether they have bloomed. Every day they are closer. Then suddenly, one of their faces opens shyly and nods toward the warm sun. I heave a sigh of relief. At least one of them made it. But how long can it last?
For three full days the gentle rose opened fuller and fuller revealing deep peach and pink colors fading to a delicate ivory at the edges. I made Sugar stop for long minutes while I drank in the beauty and exquisite craftsmanship. How fortunate am I to be blessed by such incredible and awesome gracefulness! I wonder if any of my kids or neighbors have been captured by the rose's spell. I shall be sad when the flower is spent.
Perhaps this rose is wiser than I. Why hold back? Why not take every opportunity to produce beauty and fragrance while you still can? Why not bless those around you by being who you are despite the possibility of winter's advance? Yes, bloom in the Indian summers of life and glory in the pure joy of life. Winter will come soon enough.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Cluster Choir
Hooray and hallelujah! I am not in charge of Cluster Choir this year. In fact, after last year's event, the directors met and decided to make some changes to the flow of events. Now there are two event directors - one for the music and one for the organizational details. Much saner.
All I have to do this year is forward the information about bringing dishes and the who what where's to the choir, and prepare our music (3 songs we have done in the past that might be of interest to other choirs) and the pieces for the whole group to sing (selected by the current director). Sweet.
I was a bit delayed in arriving for the 3pm rehearsal since my PrayerSong rehearsal ended right at 3. As I entered the sanctuary, sound swirled in the air around me as people worked on one of the mass pieces. It's nice to conduct a larger ensemble once in awhile. The wash of sound can be exhilarating. I sat down in a back pew and just listened.
The concert itself probably had more choir members than attendees, but the cause our offering would support - a local hospice - appreciated our efforts. Each choir proudly presented its favorite beloved music - a veritable palate of delectable selections. One could get lost in the beauty of the music and the peace that filled the sanctuary. A lovely evening altogether, though a long and demanding day.
The best part of the evening was hanging out with the choir in our designated space. We had lots of comfy seating, and some were stretched out napping while others chatted quietly. One kind soul went to the local store and procured bottles of drinking water - a much needed resource. I thankfully sipped the cool refreshing liquid, grateful for his thoughtfulness. I was blessed sitting there watching everyone enjoy our time together.
This is family at its best. One singer helping the kids of another singer with their math homework, another kid babysitting, another singer befriending one of our college students. Isn't it great to belong? All of us just hanging out, chilling until the concert. Then each one giving their all to make our part of the concert be the best we can. Its a huge outpouring of time and energy, but we always come away with new music in our ears and a warmth in our hearts. And an offering to help those who need a hand.
All I have to do this year is forward the information about bringing dishes and the who what where's to the choir, and prepare our music (3 songs we have done in the past that might be of interest to other choirs) and the pieces for the whole group to sing (selected by the current director). Sweet.
I was a bit delayed in arriving for the 3pm rehearsal since my PrayerSong rehearsal ended right at 3. As I entered the sanctuary, sound swirled in the air around me as people worked on one of the mass pieces. It's nice to conduct a larger ensemble once in awhile. The wash of sound can be exhilarating. I sat down in a back pew and just listened.
The concert itself probably had more choir members than attendees, but the cause our offering would support - a local hospice - appreciated our efforts. Each choir proudly presented its favorite beloved music - a veritable palate of delectable selections. One could get lost in the beauty of the music and the peace that filled the sanctuary. A lovely evening altogether, though a long and demanding day.
The best part of the evening was hanging out with the choir in our designated space. We had lots of comfy seating, and some were stretched out napping while others chatted quietly. One kind soul went to the local store and procured bottles of drinking water - a much needed resource. I thankfully sipped the cool refreshing liquid, grateful for his thoughtfulness. I was blessed sitting there watching everyone enjoy our time together.
This is family at its best. One singer helping the kids of another singer with their math homework, another kid babysitting, another singer befriending one of our college students. Isn't it great to belong? All of us just hanging out, chilling until the concert. Then each one giving their all to make our part of the concert be the best we can. Its a huge outpouring of time and energy, but we always come away with new music in our ears and a warmth in our hearts. And an offering to help those who need a hand.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Baby's Back!
Man, have I missed my Malibu! I cannot imagine why it takes the shop an entire week just to fix a little dent and a broken tail light, but that seems to be the norm. Makes you half think they have some sort of deal with the car rental place! Never mind, the insurance paid for the rental.
AND I stuck to my guns with the insurance company insisting that this accident was not my fault, and sure enough, even though they didn't think it would be successful, I got a check to cover the full amount of my deductible. Nice. Especially since the other car once again didn't get a scratch on it!
When the call came, I was just about to leave work, so I hurried right over. I reminded myself not to leave any paperwork in the glove compartment, and to take all the stuff out of the back seat of the rental car. After signing the paperwork and checking out Baby's smooth new backside, I climbed in.
Just like I remembered. The seat fit perfectly. The dials and knobs were in the same familiar places. She steered easily and with just the right amount of response. Ahhhh. In a world of excruciatingly fast paced and continual change, familiarity is such a welcomed occurrence.
Perhaps I am just getting old, but I have come to appreciate a bit of continuity in my life. Even if that continuity is just a familiar car interior. Welcome home, Baby. It's good to have you back. Now I suppose you will be expecting a full tank of gas and a slurp or two of fresh oil!
AND I stuck to my guns with the insurance company insisting that this accident was not my fault, and sure enough, even though they didn't think it would be successful, I got a check to cover the full amount of my deductible. Nice. Especially since the other car once again didn't get a scratch on it!
When the call came, I was just about to leave work, so I hurried right over. I reminded myself not to leave any paperwork in the glove compartment, and to take all the stuff out of the back seat of the rental car. After signing the paperwork and checking out Baby's smooth new backside, I climbed in.
Just like I remembered. The seat fit perfectly. The dials and knobs were in the same familiar places. She steered easily and with just the right amount of response. Ahhhh. In a world of excruciatingly fast paced and continual change, familiarity is such a welcomed occurrence.
Perhaps I am just getting old, but I have come to appreciate a bit of continuity in my life. Even if that continuity is just a familiar car interior. Welcome home, Baby. It's good to have you back. Now I suppose you will be expecting a full tank of gas and a slurp or two of fresh oil!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Heart Pounding Call
Don't you just hate it when someone from your doctor's office leaves you a voice mail message and tells you to call them right away because its urgent? I have to admit, my heart skipped more than a few beats. What on earth? I was just at my doctor's and everything was fine! I just got a fabulous "get out of jail" card from my oncologist. I am in the free and clear, am I not?
My fingers tremble as I push the buttons to redial the number. Rats! They are on lunch and not answering the phones. I try to busy myself with work at my desk, my eye glued to the clock, waiting a respectable ten minutes after they are open again before I call. I squirm as the phone rings, trying not to imagine any bad scenarios. "Your C levels are off the chart. Come in immediately. We will admit you to the hospital and take out all your insides." I giggle at my ridiculousness.
After ten rings, the receptionist answers and before I have the chance to say my name, she asks me to hold. Without waiting for an answer, I am switched to elevator music. This does not help my frame of mind. When will I ever learn not to panic? I am sure its nothing serious. I tap my finger impatiently, ticking off the minutes while I wait. One, two, five, eight. . .
Finally I hear the woman' voice asking how she can help me. I explain that I am returning the nurse's call, and she puts me on hold while she figures out where the nurse is and whether she can talk right now. The nurse is in helping the doctor, but the reason she called was that my Vitamin D levels are too low and I need to start taking a supplement right away before things get any more serious.
I blink. Vitamin D? That's the emergency? You've got to be kidding! I thank her, heaving a huge sigh of relief and shaking my head in disbelief. I am sure they had no idea what their message might sound like to someone who has been through all sorts of real medical emergencies!
On second thought, maybe this means more than I think. I decide to do some research. Turns out that low levels of Vitamin D can contribute to muscle weakness, something I struggle with, and given the involvement of my bone marrow and bone with the cancer, it would be helpful not to develop osteoporosis which it also helps prevent. Vitamin D is instrumental in preventing colon cancer and tooth loss as well as helping regulate your weight and revving up your immune system.
All that stuff impacts me. I wonder. Could I have avoided all this mess just by taking Vitamin D? Well, no use fussing about what might have been. I dutifully go to the store and get the prescribed vitamin. Let's just see if this wonder pill makes that much difference.
My fingers tremble as I push the buttons to redial the number. Rats! They are on lunch and not answering the phones. I try to busy myself with work at my desk, my eye glued to the clock, waiting a respectable ten minutes after they are open again before I call. I squirm as the phone rings, trying not to imagine any bad scenarios. "Your C levels are off the chart. Come in immediately. We will admit you to the hospital and take out all your insides." I giggle at my ridiculousness.
After ten rings, the receptionist answers and before I have the chance to say my name, she asks me to hold. Without waiting for an answer, I am switched to elevator music. This does not help my frame of mind. When will I ever learn not to panic? I am sure its nothing serious. I tap my finger impatiently, ticking off the minutes while I wait. One, two, five, eight. . .
Finally I hear the woman' voice asking how she can help me. I explain that I am returning the nurse's call, and she puts me on hold while she figures out where the nurse is and whether she can talk right now. The nurse is in helping the doctor, but the reason she called was that my Vitamin D levels are too low and I need to start taking a supplement right away before things get any more serious.
I blink. Vitamin D? That's the emergency? You've got to be kidding! I thank her, heaving a huge sigh of relief and shaking my head in disbelief. I am sure they had no idea what their message might sound like to someone who has been through all sorts of real medical emergencies!
On second thought, maybe this means more than I think. I decide to do some research. Turns out that low levels of Vitamin D can contribute to muscle weakness, something I struggle with, and given the involvement of my bone marrow and bone with the cancer, it would be helpful not to develop osteoporosis which it also helps prevent. Vitamin D is instrumental in preventing colon cancer and tooth loss as well as helping regulate your weight and revving up your immune system.
All that stuff impacts me. I wonder. Could I have avoided all this mess just by taking Vitamin D? Well, no use fussing about what might have been. I dutifully go to the store and get the prescribed vitamin. Let's just see if this wonder pill makes that much difference.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Daylight Savings Time
The "fall back" date seemed later than usual this year. Don't we always do this extra hour while we are still in October? Maybe I am just recalling it incorrectly. Anyway, it felt like a mere drop in the proverbial bucket. Did I really get to sleep in an extra hour on Sunday? I guess so, but it flew by so fast it hardly made a dent.
Poor Sugar feels the same way. She is still on spring time. At 5pm she starts looking accusingly at me, as if to say - "It's dinner time! Get up and feed me!" and in the wee early hours of the morning I hear her whimpering as if to say "Why aren't we getting up?" Or at least turning on the light to read devotions even if it is still dark out there.
How confusing it must be for her to suddenly have her entire world shifted down by an hour! I can relate. That's kind of how it is when I get these darn maintenance chemos. Everything goes into slow motion. I am already dreading the upcoming one, but I am determined to remain thankful that I have the option. Its sure a whole lot better than the alternative!
Maybe Sugar's shift isn't quite so drastic, but I know when your tummy says eat and your bowl is empty, its just plain rude. She'll adjust. Eventually.
Poor Sugar feels the same way. She is still on spring time. At 5pm she starts looking accusingly at me, as if to say - "It's dinner time! Get up and feed me!" and in the wee early hours of the morning I hear her whimpering as if to say "Why aren't we getting up?" Or at least turning on the light to read devotions even if it is still dark out there.
How confusing it must be for her to suddenly have her entire world shifted down by an hour! I can relate. That's kind of how it is when I get these darn maintenance chemos. Everything goes into slow motion. I am already dreading the upcoming one, but I am determined to remain thankful that I have the option. Its sure a whole lot better than the alternative!
Maybe Sugar's shift isn't quite so drastic, but I know when your tummy says eat and your bowl is empty, its just plain rude. She'll adjust. Eventually.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
PT Cruiser Type Rental
Wow! I took Baby in to get her crumpled fender straightened out - finally - and the rental car provided is one of those cool looking cruiser types. It practically screams out "Hot Mama!" Gingerly I climb behind the wheel, not sure I am up to such a classy car. I fuddle with the seat buttons and check out where the lights, wipers, mirrors and other gadgets are located. The console offers a place to plug in your iPod - and satellite radio. I am so last century. This stuff is normal now for cars.
I gaze sadly at my own little Malibu, glad that she will be better soon, but I will miss her. She fits me comfortably and we know each other well. But there is no help for it. I must get to work, and this new jobber will be taking me. I pull up to the exit and wait for cars to pass before pulling out. The wheel turns strangely under my hands, the car hair-trigger responsive. This will take some adjusting.
By the time I am halfway to work, Baby is long forgotten as I discover all the benefits of this new vehicle. People actually stare at me as I drive by, envious of my cool ride. The car purrs and yowls its way to my work place, and I am delighted to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. I could get used to this.
After a few days though, I realize that I don't want to get used to the new car (and especially the payments that would require). The seats don't fit me comfortably. I sit higher up than in my Malibu, and the view is different. I begin to wish they would hurry up and return Baby so I can get back to things as normal. But even with the return of Baby, things are not normal. Despite the shininess of her fender fixed, I see that Baby needs more work. All my hopes of setting aside money that would have gone towards the car payment evaporates as I start figuring out the cost of new brakes, a tie rod, new tires and other little falling apart stuff. Ack.
Its sort of like with my body. While the cancer is at bay, I need to do some "updating" of body parts that are aging. I can't necessarily get a brand new body quite yet, but neither am I content to make do with worn out accoutrement's. So begins my renewed efforts of eating better, walking more, taking care of the dry skin and the limp gray hair. Time to do a makeover - for both Baby and me! And I think I actually have the energy to start.
I gaze sadly at my own little Malibu, glad that she will be better soon, but I will miss her. She fits me comfortably and we know each other well. But there is no help for it. I must get to work, and this new jobber will be taking me. I pull up to the exit and wait for cars to pass before pulling out. The wheel turns strangely under my hands, the car hair-trigger responsive. This will take some adjusting.
By the time I am halfway to work, Baby is long forgotten as I discover all the benefits of this new vehicle. People actually stare at me as I drive by, envious of my cool ride. The car purrs and yowls its way to my work place, and I am delighted to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. I could get used to this.
After a few days though, I realize that I don't want to get used to the new car (and especially the payments that would require). The seats don't fit me comfortably. I sit higher up than in my Malibu, and the view is different. I begin to wish they would hurry up and return Baby so I can get back to things as normal. But even with the return of Baby, things are not normal. Despite the shininess of her fender fixed, I see that Baby needs more work. All my hopes of setting aside money that would have gone towards the car payment evaporates as I start figuring out the cost of new brakes, a tie rod, new tires and other little falling apart stuff. Ack.
Its sort of like with my body. While the cancer is at bay, I need to do some "updating" of body parts that are aging. I can't necessarily get a brand new body quite yet, but neither am I content to make do with worn out accoutrement's. So begins my renewed efforts of eating better, walking more, taking care of the dry skin and the limp gray hair. Time to do a makeover - for both Baby and me! And I think I actually have the energy to start.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Girls Night Out
We three comrades in arms meet every month just to relax and catch up with each other. It is so soothing to know that you are not alone, but that everyone has stuff they are working on fixing - and much of it is the same stuff. I hear them discuss how their parents are doing and what their children are up to, and I smile. This is life. This is normal. This is us doing what women everywhere do. What we can. When we can. Without driving ourselves nuts.
Today we meet at one of our homes and literally break bread together. The food is hot and delicious. The conversation is punctuated with laughter, the weather outside chill but unable to touch us. We are all listened to respectfully, compassionately. Where else could I possibly expect anyone to understand what I am struggling with, how I feel when my family is a bit overly much, how frustrating it is to stretch a dollar beyond what even the good Lord would think reasonable.
OK, I am blessed because I do have a number of places and situations where I am clearly in good company, but I cherish this particular group immensely. We are sisters. And I am fortunate to have sisters in many places - four even from my own family. Isn't it wonderful when God blesses you with caring and intelligent women who nurture you and challenge you and help you take the next steps even when those steps are difficult?
Tonight we linger at table long after the plates are empty and our stomach full, chatting, enjoying being free from the usual grinding demanding hectic schedule. I can't imagine anywhere I would rather be than surrounded friends like these. I look into their eyes and smile as I pray for each of them.
Today we meet at one of our homes and literally break bread together. The food is hot and delicious. The conversation is punctuated with laughter, the weather outside chill but unable to touch us. We are all listened to respectfully, compassionately. Where else could I possibly expect anyone to understand what I am struggling with, how I feel when my family is a bit overly much, how frustrating it is to stretch a dollar beyond what even the good Lord would think reasonable.
OK, I am blessed because I do have a number of places and situations where I am clearly in good company, but I cherish this particular group immensely. We are sisters. And I am fortunate to have sisters in many places - four even from my own family. Isn't it wonderful when God blesses you with caring and intelligent women who nurture you and challenge you and help you take the next steps even when those steps are difficult?
Tonight we linger at table long after the plates are empty and our stomach full, chatting, enjoying being free from the usual grinding demanding hectic schedule. I can't imagine anywhere I would rather be than surrounded friends like these. I look into their eyes and smile as I pray for each of them.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Oncologist Report
I have to admit, there are little things about how I feel that don't seem quite right. It's worrisome. They could be nothing, but then again, it could be serious. Some days I have no energy - like the plug has been pulled and my power steeing is revoked. Some days I can feel swollen glands gone amuk in my body - all over. Some days I can't seem to get food and drink to move through my system well. Some days I spend in the bathroom. Some days for no apparent reasons I hurt all over.
I'm not trying to borrow trouble, and for the most part, I chose to ignore these irritations - chalk it up to my body having gone through a lot of distress. But on days like today, the thoughts tend to creep into my consciousness. Is the cancer back? Am I going to have to face death and dying all over? Go through heaven only knows what this time?
After all, last week I had to have a complete body scan - neck to toe. And this time they asked me to drink two full bottles of that white slimey slightly orangey tasting chalky barium stuff - a full cup every ten minutes for an entire hour before they took me back. The test was a quick zip zip of less than five minutes! But the results - that is what makes me pause today.
My concern shows up in my blood pressure - an unbelievable 172 over 90. Egads - just last Wednesday it was excellent. There is no hiding my steeling against any potential trouble. My doctor comes in and I realize how wonderful it is to see her. I have not been with her for 6 months now. She introduces me to her new nurse.
"This is Mrs. Gillie who has beaten two kinds of cancer against all odds. We are very proud of her."
The words hit me with direct impact. Wow! I am a winner! I have beaten that ugly cancer twice - and through tough conditions at that. My spirit rises with joy. I can almost feel my blood pressure going down. The doctor brings up the results of my scan and turns the monitor so I can read along. It is good. It is in fact, excellent. Even that mass we had seen on the last scan has shrunk.
She does an physical exam. Everything is as it should be. And then the bonus: she sits back and tells me about how she is organizing an event to ask for bone marrow donors for the purpose of trying to help match people who have combinations of ethnic background - many of whom are African American. They almost never find a match in the donor base because these people have so many racial components to consider.
She asks if PrayerSong would be willing to come and sing! I am delighted to be asked, and I commit immediately. There is no date set yet, but she will be in touch. I tell her about my March recital, and she wants to come. I will send her a flier as soon as I pull one together. We are friends who have this commonality of fighting against the devastation of cancer. It is a wonderful camraderie.
I float out of the clinic. Oh, I know this is far from the end of my journey, but it is GOOD to celebrate this milestone in my treatment. A heavy weight has lifted from my shoulders. Life is not all about fighting cancer - I am free to follow other more preferable activities. Body be hanged. I am going to dance - dance - dance - dance - dance!!!!
I'm not trying to borrow trouble, and for the most part, I chose to ignore these irritations - chalk it up to my body having gone through a lot of distress. But on days like today, the thoughts tend to creep into my consciousness. Is the cancer back? Am I going to have to face death and dying all over? Go through heaven only knows what this time?
After all, last week I had to have a complete body scan - neck to toe. And this time they asked me to drink two full bottles of that white slimey slightly orangey tasting chalky barium stuff - a full cup every ten minutes for an entire hour before they took me back. The test was a quick zip zip of less than five minutes! But the results - that is what makes me pause today.
My concern shows up in my blood pressure - an unbelievable 172 over 90. Egads - just last Wednesday it was excellent. There is no hiding my steeling against any potential trouble. My doctor comes in and I realize how wonderful it is to see her. I have not been with her for 6 months now. She introduces me to her new nurse.
"This is Mrs. Gillie who has beaten two kinds of cancer against all odds. We are very proud of her."
The words hit me with direct impact. Wow! I am a winner! I have beaten that ugly cancer twice - and through tough conditions at that. My spirit rises with joy. I can almost feel my blood pressure going down. The doctor brings up the results of my scan and turns the monitor so I can read along. It is good. It is in fact, excellent. Even that mass we had seen on the last scan has shrunk.
She does an physical exam. Everything is as it should be. And then the bonus: she sits back and tells me about how she is organizing an event to ask for bone marrow donors for the purpose of trying to help match people who have combinations of ethnic background - many of whom are African American. They almost never find a match in the donor base because these people have so many racial components to consider.
She asks if PrayerSong would be willing to come and sing! I am delighted to be asked, and I commit immediately. There is no date set yet, but she will be in touch. I tell her about my March recital, and she wants to come. I will send her a flier as soon as I pull one together. We are friends who have this commonality of fighting against the devastation of cancer. It is a wonderful camraderie.
I float out of the clinic. Oh, I know this is far from the end of my journey, but it is GOOD to celebrate this milestone in my treatment. A heavy weight has lifted from my shoulders. Life is not all about fighting cancer - I am free to follow other more preferable activities. Body be hanged. I am going to dance - dance - dance - dance - dance!!!!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
First PrayerSong Rehearsal
We've been on hold for such a long time. The past year cancer treatment followed by recovery meant I had to stop trying to pull together a group of women to sing in cancer clinics. It really made me chafe, having to wait to continue this activity. But I have barely been able to keep doing the necessary stuff let alone the things I would truly prefer to do. Today I have asked interested people to come together and start afresh. It took about all the reserves I had just to put the music folders together!
Now at long long last, we timidly begin again. It is the wrong time of year. I should have started in September, but I just didn't have the oomph to do it. I am so grateful for friends who are willing to humor me and come sing my dream. It is so humbling to know they are not singing because they have a passion for cancer patients particularly - music yes, but there are many opportunities in this community to sing.
I suspect it is more that they know my heart and are willing to give up precious time to rehearse in case I am able to follow through and get us into the clinics more than just here and there. Their patience and kindness is overwhelming. Three of us meet today, and warm up together. It is new and we stumble about getting ourselves into a routine.
And then we read through the first piece. Though we are few in number, the magic of the music, of the text and sound melding together, brings a soothing wash of peace to my heart. Yes, I am well enough now to reach out to others who are not so well. With the help of my friends, we will be able to carry comfort wrapped in sound and spoon feed a few hungry souls. Soon. Soon. And to record our efforts for the dvd of Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients.
I hope. I hope this is able to grow and expand until we are able to send little groups into the clinics on a regular basis and no one feels overwhelmed, but each singer does her part to reach into the community with a healing salve. I am deeply gratified to be able to take up this piece again and I bathe its gentle beginning in a sea of prayer. May the music carry the peace of Christ to the hurting and suffering.
Now at long long last, we timidly begin again. It is the wrong time of year. I should have started in September, but I just didn't have the oomph to do it. I am so grateful for friends who are willing to humor me and come sing my dream. It is so humbling to know they are not singing because they have a passion for cancer patients particularly - music yes, but there are many opportunities in this community to sing.
I suspect it is more that they know my heart and are willing to give up precious time to rehearse in case I am able to follow through and get us into the clinics more than just here and there. Their patience and kindness is overwhelming. Three of us meet today, and warm up together. It is new and we stumble about getting ourselves into a routine.
And then we read through the first piece. Though we are few in number, the magic of the music, of the text and sound melding together, brings a soothing wash of peace to my heart. Yes, I am well enough now to reach out to others who are not so well. With the help of my friends, we will be able to carry comfort wrapped in sound and spoon feed a few hungry souls. Soon. Soon. And to record our efforts for the dvd of Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients.
I hope. I hope this is able to grow and expand until we are able to send little groups into the clinics on a regular basis and no one feels overwhelmed, but each singer does her part to reach into the community with a healing salve. I am deeply gratified to be able to take up this piece again and I bathe its gentle beginning in a sea of prayer. May the music carry the peace of Christ to the hurting and suffering.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Fall Back and Punt
I struggled back to my car from my foray into the mall with the Hallmark bag dangling from my arm, leaning into the wind and sheltering from the rain the recordable books I had just bought for my grandchildren. My phone was ringing and I was out of breath as I finally managed to slide into the car and slam the door shut. I wrestled with the phone, barely managing to get it out of my pocket and answer it before it went to voice mail.
I seriously considered not bothering to answer until I saw it was from the Church accompanist. Must be important. I pushed the green answer icon. "Hello?" Lourdes' voice called my name. "Esther! I cannot play for you tomorrow. I am in the hospital."
"What!!?? Are you OK?" No she was not OK. She had collapsed in the middle of the night and had a friend take her to the emergency room with appendix trouble. The doctor wanted to immediately do surgery, and Lourdes wanted no part of it. But her friend convinced her and she had her appendix laproscopically removed. Even before she was fully free from the effects of the anaesthesia she started fussing to be allowed to go home!
I understand her angst. No insurance. No money. Bah. I wanted to weep for her. I wanted to fix the situation. But what I really had to do was figure out how to do Sunday worship without an accompanist. The anthem was to have been the Rutter "The Lord Is My Shepherd" from his Requiem. A challenging piece to sing and to play. There was no way for the choir to sing that without my direction and without Lourdes there to play.
With a bit of grace and a few changes, we flipped the service around to allow me to direct from the keyboard. Of course, I have other pianists in the congregation and choir who can fill in also, and will call upon them if Lourdes will be out longer, but knowing her spunk, I suspect she will be back quicker than blink.
Lord have mercy! Some days you just have to do your best and leave the rest in the good Lord's hands.
I seriously considered not bothering to answer until I saw it was from the Church accompanist. Must be important. I pushed the green answer icon. "Hello?" Lourdes' voice called my name. "Esther! I cannot play for you tomorrow. I am in the hospital."
"What!!?? Are you OK?" No she was not OK. She had collapsed in the middle of the night and had a friend take her to the emergency room with appendix trouble. The doctor wanted to immediately do surgery, and Lourdes wanted no part of it. But her friend convinced her and she had her appendix laproscopically removed. Even before she was fully free from the effects of the anaesthesia she started fussing to be allowed to go home!
I understand her angst. No insurance. No money. Bah. I wanted to weep for her. I wanted to fix the situation. But what I really had to do was figure out how to do Sunday worship without an accompanist. The anthem was to have been the Rutter "The Lord Is My Shepherd" from his Requiem. A challenging piece to sing and to play. There was no way for the choir to sing that without my direction and without Lourdes there to play.
With a bit of grace and a few changes, we flipped the service around to allow me to direct from the keyboard. Of course, I have other pianists in the congregation and choir who can fill in also, and will call upon them if Lourdes will be out longer, but knowing her spunk, I suspect she will be back quicker than blink.
Lord have mercy! Some days you just have to do your best and leave the rest in the good Lord's hands.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Green Lights Out Plot
What is going on with the traffic lights around Rochester? I have seen at least a half dozen traffic lights where the green light is either burned out entirely, only half showing, or flashing, stuttering, blinking or whatever you want to call it when the light doesn't behave itself! It's a bit weird.
I half smile as I consider that it could be some sci-fi alien force sending us a coded message. Or it could be that all the kids sitting at red lights playing with their handheld video games have drained the power which burned out the green lights since they are lowest on the fixture. I suppose it could be that all the rain we have been having lately has seeped into the holder and zapped the wires.
Or maybe the economy is so tight that they can no longer pay the team that normally changes these lights, so they have all gone wanting. Perhaps they track these outages through some sort of software that has a glitch in it due to an upgrade (right, dream on). I could keep guessing.
The interesting result is that there is no difference in the flow of traffic whether the green light works or is out. We are like trained robots. As long as the red light comes on and goes off, regardless of whether the green light shows up, cars go! On beyond even Pavlov.
It reminds me of a time when I was a kid playing "red light, green light" with the neighborhood kids. The person up front said "Mother may I?" instead of green light, and nobody even heard her except me. Everybody started running while I just stood there. And nobody believed me when I repeatedly told them that she said the wrong words.
I wonder how many areas of my life I am navigating without the appropriate signals? Have I even checked to see if there is a reason I am on automatic pilot? Do I need to change course, change behavior, pay more attention to what it is I am supposed to be doing? Make sure I am in the right game and on the right street?
Every once in awhile I find the need to take a little inventory and make sure all the green lights are working and all the streets are clear to go. I guess today is as good as any.
I half smile as I consider that it could be some sci-fi alien force sending us a coded message. Or it could be that all the kids sitting at red lights playing with their handheld video games have drained the power which burned out the green lights since they are lowest on the fixture. I suppose it could be that all the rain we have been having lately has seeped into the holder and zapped the wires.
Or maybe the economy is so tight that they can no longer pay the team that normally changes these lights, so they have all gone wanting. Perhaps they track these outages through some sort of software that has a glitch in it due to an upgrade (right, dream on). I could keep guessing.
The interesting result is that there is no difference in the flow of traffic whether the green light works or is out. We are like trained robots. As long as the red light comes on and goes off, regardless of whether the green light shows up, cars go! On beyond even Pavlov.
It reminds me of a time when I was a kid playing "red light, green light" with the neighborhood kids. The person up front said "Mother may I?" instead of green light, and nobody even heard her except me. Everybody started running while I just stood there. And nobody believed me when I repeatedly told them that she said the wrong words.
I wonder how many areas of my life I am navigating without the appropriate signals? Have I even checked to see if there is a reason I am on automatic pilot? Do I need to change course, change behavior, pay more attention to what it is I am supposed to be doing? Make sure I am in the right game and on the right street?
Every once in awhile I find the need to take a little inventory and make sure all the green lights are working and all the streets are clear to go. I guess today is as good as any.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
William
William is not quite two. He comes to the Library almost every day with his Mom and sits in the chair next to her while she checks her email and Facebook and does a bit of web surfing. He is a cherub with limited patience.
For the first ten minutes or so, he happily munches on the snacks Mom brings. I watch him stick a round cookie in his mouth and draw it in and out while he makes faces. Then he hops down from the chair and wanders just out of Mom's reach. She plops him back in the chair. He throws a cookie on the floor, and Mom sighs, retrieves the cookie and chucks it in the trash. He squeals loudly and she hushes him.
I can't imagine she is getting anything done. These little games continue. William hands Mom a gooey half chewed cookie. She takes his offering, placing it back in the container and wiping her hands on her jeans. William begins to push the chair (which is on wheels) around the table, bumping into corners and walls. Mom reseats him and pulls him up to the computer where she is working. He sits for about a half minute, them begins fuddling with the mouse.
Mom slaps his hand, telling him to behave. He swings his feet and pouts. Soon he is down again and off chasing a student who happened to wander past. Mom runs after him. He lies down on the floor, kicking his feet and making a racket. She shushes him, gathers him in her arms and heads back to her seat. Absorbed in her Facebook, she doesn't realize that William has wandered off, clear down to the cafe where he is making eyes at the girls seated in the first booth.
Mom jumps up with a start, panicked. They reconnect. Soon William is attempting climbing the stairs. Mom to the rescue once again. An hour later, Mom gives up, scoops William, cookies and carry bag into her arms and heads for the door. William grins over her shoulder and waves a brassy good bye to anyone who is looking. Good-bye, William. I am sure we will see you tomorrow!
For the first ten minutes or so, he happily munches on the snacks Mom brings. I watch him stick a round cookie in his mouth and draw it in and out while he makes faces. Then he hops down from the chair and wanders just out of Mom's reach. She plops him back in the chair. He throws a cookie on the floor, and Mom sighs, retrieves the cookie and chucks it in the trash. He squeals loudly and she hushes him.
I can't imagine she is getting anything done. These little games continue. William hands Mom a gooey half chewed cookie. She takes his offering, placing it back in the container and wiping her hands on her jeans. William begins to push the chair (which is on wheels) around the table, bumping into corners and walls. Mom reseats him and pulls him up to the computer where she is working. He sits for about a half minute, them begins fuddling with the mouse.
Mom slaps his hand, telling him to behave. He swings his feet and pouts. Soon he is down again and off chasing a student who happened to wander past. Mom runs after him. He lies down on the floor, kicking his feet and making a racket. She shushes him, gathers him in her arms and heads back to her seat. Absorbed in her Facebook, she doesn't realize that William has wandered off, clear down to the cafe where he is making eyes at the girls seated in the first booth.
Mom jumps up with a start, panicked. They reconnect. Soon William is attempting climbing the stairs. Mom to the rescue once again. An hour later, Mom gives up, scoops William, cookies and carry bag into her arms and heads for the door. William grins over her shoulder and waves a brassy good bye to anyone who is looking. Good-bye, William. I am sure we will see you tomorrow!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Good Report
I am determined not to be late for my doctor's appointment. I even left time to scrape the frost from the car windows and warm the car before heading out. Last night I made sure the gas tank was full. Traffic is not bad despite the brilliant sun blinding us over every rise and around every corner. East is not the ideal direction to be heading at 7 AM these days.
Five minutes before my appointment, I park at Clinton Crossings and make my way to the second floor - using the stairs, thank you very much! I check in and am called right back. They are so punctual here. I love it. Usually, I dread the taking of vitals. Those automatic blood pressure cuffs squeeze my arms so tightly my fingers turn purple. Here, they take your blood pressure manually and it is not painful. How kind.
Surprise! My blood pressure is an amazing 120 over 70 - the best it has been in some long time. I rack my brain to identify a reason. Hey - maybe I am just getting better! Overall the exam was encouraging. We are checking levels to see if there is something that can be done about the tiredness, but otherwise, her suggestion is that I get back to exercising on a regular basis, and something more than just walking the dog. That and lose a bit more weight.
How nice to have a positive report for a change!
Five minutes before my appointment, I park at Clinton Crossings and make my way to the second floor - using the stairs, thank you very much! I check in and am called right back. They are so punctual here. I love it. Usually, I dread the taking of vitals. Those automatic blood pressure cuffs squeeze my arms so tightly my fingers turn purple. Here, they take your blood pressure manually and it is not painful. How kind.
Surprise! My blood pressure is an amazing 120 over 70 - the best it has been in some long time. I rack my brain to identify a reason. Hey - maybe I am just getting better! Overall the exam was encouraging. We are checking levels to see if there is something that can be done about the tiredness, but otherwise, her suggestion is that I get back to exercising on a regular basis, and something more than just walking the dog. That and lose a bit more weight.
How nice to have a positive report for a change!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Benefits Ups and Downs
Oy. What a nightmare. I worked with the HR rep to figure out how to deal with this new health insurance scenario. We thought we had a plan. I would try to enroll Kiel and Drew in Healthy NY and drop down to the single person plan here. That way the amounts are half what the family plan demands.
I called their hotline number only to discover that it had been disconnected. After a bit of web scrolling, I located another number and called. They recommended that Kiel do Healthy NY and Drew apply for Child Health Plus. Sounded like this would work. But, alas! For Kiel to be on Healthy NY, he would have to pay $240 a month and there is a $3000 annual limit for prescriptions. His prescription is $2000 a month. And his paycheck would barely cover the monthly premium. That would be $2880 a year for just Kiel and he could not get the prescription that he needs. So that's out. He will have to find a solution before he turns 26 though.
As for the Drew part, I can apply, but they can't guarantee that he will be accepted AND he has to be off my insurance totally before they can take him. That's too risky. What if I take him off my insurance and they don't approve him? I could not get a straight answer about whether he would be eligible even though I have insurance through my work. They say you must have no options, not that you just can't afford the plans offered. No, I am stuck. I have to stay on the family plan for at least the first year.
Which means coming up with $2600 in January and an additional $3400 in February as Kiel's prescriptions hit and my chemo happens. Goodness. HR thought I could do it through my flex spending account, but it turns out I can only use that money for dental and vision. That won't work. The only other option is that they will give me loans as my needs arise, and I can do a payroll deduction to pay them back. I am grateful for this option. Still, now I wonder if I will have to find a less expensive apartment to be able to afford rent! Tough being the sole income for a household.
Well, God has always provided, and I see no reason why He will stop now. It will be an interesting year, that's for sure.
I called their hotline number only to discover that it had been disconnected. After a bit of web scrolling, I located another number and called. They recommended that Kiel do Healthy NY and Drew apply for Child Health Plus. Sounded like this would work. But, alas! For Kiel to be on Healthy NY, he would have to pay $240 a month and there is a $3000 annual limit for prescriptions. His prescription is $2000 a month. And his paycheck would barely cover the monthly premium. That would be $2880 a year for just Kiel and he could not get the prescription that he needs. So that's out. He will have to find a solution before he turns 26 though.
As for the Drew part, I can apply, but they can't guarantee that he will be accepted AND he has to be off my insurance totally before they can take him. That's too risky. What if I take him off my insurance and they don't approve him? I could not get a straight answer about whether he would be eligible even though I have insurance through my work. They say you must have no options, not that you just can't afford the plans offered. No, I am stuck. I have to stay on the family plan for at least the first year.
Which means coming up with $2600 in January and an additional $3400 in February as Kiel's prescriptions hit and my chemo happens. Goodness. HR thought I could do it through my flex spending account, but it turns out I can only use that money for dental and vision. That won't work. The only other option is that they will give me loans as my needs arise, and I can do a payroll deduction to pay them back. I am grateful for this option. Still, now I wonder if I will have to find a less expensive apartment to be able to afford rent! Tough being the sole income for a household.
Well, God has always provided, and I see no reason why He will stop now. It will be an interesting year, that's for sure.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Lasagna Dinner
The sign up sheet hung on the refrigerator door in the staff break room for a couple of weeks. When I signed up to bring 2 lasagnas, there were already many signatures of my colleagues, and for more than just lasagna - for fresh Italian bread, cookies, salad fixings and all the trimmings a hungry student could want. I always bring one vegetable in cheese sauce (no tomato sauce) and one chicken lasagna, just to be different - also with cheese, no tomato sauce.
It is a bit of a hoop jumper to figure out how to get them cooked in time and still bring them piping hot out of the oven at 5 PM when the students arrive. Somehow, it works out. There is something fulfilling about wrapping the hot trays in towels and tucking them safely on the floor in the back seat of the car, gingerly navigating the 5 miles to the library from my searing oven, backing up to the loading dock, lifting them with oven mitted hands from my car to the mailroom area, the carting them upstairs to the Fireside Reading Room where tables are set and the buffet is redolent with wonderful homey smells of great food.
Students actually stay and chat, clustered around tables groaning with food. A few fill a take out box and run to class, but mostly they stay. It's the best part of the dinner - having an opportunity to converse and get to know people better. I am fascinated by the different majors, the career plans discussed, the family stories that are told, the whole interaction. This is my adopted family, and I am delighted to set aside an evening for connecting.
As a bonus, I didn't end up doing any of the cleanup. By the time I checked, everything was tidy and put away. How amazing is that!
It is a bit of a hoop jumper to figure out how to get them cooked in time and still bring them piping hot out of the oven at 5 PM when the students arrive. Somehow, it works out. There is something fulfilling about wrapping the hot trays in towels and tucking them safely on the floor in the back seat of the car, gingerly navigating the 5 miles to the library from my searing oven, backing up to the loading dock, lifting them with oven mitted hands from my car to the mailroom area, the carting them upstairs to the Fireside Reading Room where tables are set and the buffet is redolent with wonderful homey smells of great food.
Students actually stay and chat, clustered around tables groaning with food. A few fill a take out box and run to class, but mostly they stay. It's the best part of the dinner - having an opportunity to converse and get to know people better. I am fascinated by the different majors, the career plans discussed, the family stories that are told, the whole interaction. This is my adopted family, and I am delighted to set aside an evening for connecting.
As a bonus, I didn't end up doing any of the cleanup. By the time I checked, everything was tidy and put away. How amazing is that!