This year, Bishop David Roller is the featured speaker at our opening gathering time. I have come to appreciate the pomp and fuss of this event, proud to be able to wear the appropriate robes and be identified with my school and profession. The music is inspiring, the announcement of faculty honors awarded significant.
I have heard Bishop Roller's name mentioned a number of times as featured speaker for various functions but have never been able to attend any of them as my duties required my presence elsewhere. I look forward to finally meeting him and hearing what he has to say. He is an engaging story teller who relates to us, with modern commentary and insertion of current details, a story from the Bible. He is entertaining and thought provoking.
I wait for the application, the "in light of this, what ought I to do differently" part. But he does not give us that. He ends the story and sits down! No conclusions drawn. This is new. Now I will have to think about the story and listen to the Spirit for myself. How unusual. And how interesting. I am sure what I need to glean from the story is not the same as what others need to hear.
I mention this twist to several colleagues. They noticed it too. Some of them try to tell me what the conclusions are that Bishop Roller inferred. I smile. I did not hear that. I do not want to hear that. I have my own ideas and I want to allow them to develop, to see where it leads me. How refreshing to discover someone who doesn't have all the answers, who isn't trying to fill my ears with rhetoric and thou shalt nots. You get so tired of that.
I make a mental note. Next time I am asked to speak, see if I can model after this approach. I will be thinking about his story for awhile, wrestling with the many facets encountered. That's a good thing.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
E is for E-ikes!
I knew I only had a few dollars to tide me over to payday, so when my gas tank was getting low, rather than fill it up, I only put in enough to get me through - what cash I happened to have in my purse. I happily went on my way secure in the knowledge that I would fill it up later. Then I ended up having to go extra places due to one thing and another. Using more gas than just what it takes to get from home to work and back. Drew had materials due at the library, I ran out of eggs and made a trip to the store - you know, all those little things that make life so busy.
So I was headed to the east side of the city for a medical test when I suddenly, grace of God, happened to look at my gas gauge. Yikes! Talk about going on a whisper and a prayer! I was on Jefferson Road before it turns commercial, sailing along meadows and railroad tracks and horses contentedly munching grass. The traffic ahead of me was going an agonizing ten miles under the speed limit.
Lord, please help me not to run out of gas before I get to a gas station! I do mental calisthenics trying to think where the nearest gas station is. I know if I just stay on this road, there is one a few miles ahead. Can I make it that far? I have no way to know and there is nothing I can do but keep driving and get as far as I can. I grip the steering wheel tighter as if that would somehow make the gas go farther. I sit at attention, knowing I need to be in the left lane, but if I run out of gas, that isn't a good place to be.
Minutes tick by. I get three red lights. Finally, up ahead, I can see the Hess station green and white sign. I have only yards to go. Oncoming traffic is heavy. Please don't let me stall out waiting to turn! I glance at the red needle. It is well below the E. I see a small opening and I take it, quickly turning into the station and halting before the first available pump. Made it! Thank God.
As I fill the tank, I can't help wondering if my forgetfulness is chemo related or just old age. No matter. Crisis avoided and I will make my appointment OK.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Never Do Scans After Chemo
My oncologist decided that part of the followup of my symptom complaint is to run CT scans now (as opposed to in 3 more months) to make sure there is no cancer activity especially in light of the throat doctor's identification of new nodules in my neck area. Because of the delay in chemo, I am having to do scans right after getting Rituxan. So on top of no rest for the weary and the crunch of working during the 3 day window of feeling yukky, I am now forced to make Monday extra long by going for scans at 6 pm. Nothing to eat or drink 4 hours beforehand, so hungry and thirsty too.
The nurse brings me my 2 bottles of barium to drink, one 8 ounce glass every ten minutes until scan time. My portions are chilled and have a slight citrus flavor. I watch the TV monitors as CNN news reporters try their best to make mountains out of molehills, repeatedly reviewing every possible gory detail of a story no one really cares about, in hopes of creating shock and anger where no reaction is forthcoming. Two other scan victims in the waiting area are quaffing white gunk and ticking off the required eight rounds. Too bad there isn't some incentive for this like your hair gets stronger or your nails grow an inch.
I am full to almost nauseous when they finally call my name. I sit in another small room waiting for the machine to be available, then am taken back to my old friend, Joe Scanner. He has not changed one iota since last we met. I obediently climb up on his tongue and am dipped into the maw repeatedly so they can take pictures of my internal creepy crawlies. A quick ten minutes and I am free to slip my earrings back on and leave.
I consider getting dinner, now that its 7:30, but I am not up for it. In fact, I am aching everywhere. My legs are numb with neuropathy. My arms feel so heavy I can barely turn the steering wheel. I manage to get home, crawl inside and up the stairs and lie in bed wishing I had some magic wand to make the barium pass and the body stop hurting. I do not have a magic wand. Sugar snuggles next to my legs, sympathizing, but I push her away. Any little pressure is painful.
I take my Divine Hours book, turn to Monday compline reading, slowly whisper the words to myself. My hope is in God. I trust in God. He hears and delivers me from all my troubles. Lord, give me a peaceful night and a comfortable end of day. Be with me through the long dark night. Send your angels to watch over me until morning's light. And please let my body stop aching. Amen.
I set the book down. It is too painful to turn over, so I just lie still. Songs from my childhood float through my mind. My Lord knows the way through the wilderness. All I have to do it follow. Strength f0r today is mine all the way, and all that I need for tomorrow. I drift off at last.
The nurse brings me my 2 bottles of barium to drink, one 8 ounce glass every ten minutes until scan time. My portions are chilled and have a slight citrus flavor. I watch the TV monitors as CNN news reporters try their best to make mountains out of molehills, repeatedly reviewing every possible gory detail of a story no one really cares about, in hopes of creating shock and anger where no reaction is forthcoming. Two other scan victims in the waiting area are quaffing white gunk and ticking off the required eight rounds. Too bad there isn't some incentive for this like your hair gets stronger or your nails grow an inch.
I am full to almost nauseous when they finally call my name. I sit in another small room waiting for the machine to be available, then am taken back to my old friend, Joe Scanner. He has not changed one iota since last we met. I obediently climb up on his tongue and am dipped into the maw repeatedly so they can take pictures of my internal creepy crawlies. A quick ten minutes and I am free to slip my earrings back on and leave.
I consider getting dinner, now that its 7:30, but I am not up for it. In fact, I am aching everywhere. My legs are numb with neuropathy. My arms feel so heavy I can barely turn the steering wheel. I manage to get home, crawl inside and up the stairs and lie in bed wishing I had some magic wand to make the barium pass and the body stop hurting. I do not have a magic wand. Sugar snuggles next to my legs, sympathizing, but I push her away. Any little pressure is painful.
I take my Divine Hours book, turn to Monday compline reading, slowly whisper the words to myself. My hope is in God. I trust in God. He hears and delivers me from all my troubles. Lord, give me a peaceful night and a comfortable end of day. Be with me through the long dark night. Send your angels to watch over me until morning's light. And please let my body stop aching. Amen.
I set the book down. It is too painful to turn over, so I just lie still. Songs from my childhood float through my mind. My Lord knows the way through the wilderness. All I have to do it follow. Strength f0r today is mine all the way, and all that I need for tomorrow. I drift off at last.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday Celebration
I have been working with the pastor of Community of the Savior to officially become a member there. I have to admit that although I have attended many many churches in the past, both because we moved often and because I work at places where my family generally doesn't attend, I rarely have felt a strong connection to any particular place of worship.
I have worked in many denominations, and am comfortable in a variety of liturgies and formats both formal and informal. I have become members of churches here and there for one reason or another, but rarely because I felt that this church was where *I* belonged. But from the very first time I attended a service at CoS I felt I had finally come home. I fit. I could truly worship and fellowship. I wasn't just fitting into someone else's way of connecting with God. This was how I would do it on my own with no one else to consider.
What a dilemma! To work in one church and feel at ease and welcomed there, part of a community, yet to know that ultimately, you belong elsewhere. I love the church where I work, love the people. The services are perfectly fine. Yet my spirit aligns with CoS in ways I can hardly understand let alone explain. I wrestled with this for some time. In the summer I attend at CoS. I know that where I work, I am ministering. At CoS I am feed. Perhaps that is the difference. You can't continually give out without taking in, and that usually happens for me in different settings.
After much conversation and prayer I decided I would officially become a member at CoS, but that will not affect my loyalties to the church where I serve. So today I stand in front of the congregation and join. I am welcomed as a member with the understanding that my attendance will not be regular. After service we gather in the fellowship hall and a congregational meeting is held. My heart is full. I am among friends and fellow laborers in a place where I can kneel before God as my spirit longs to do. Yes, it is alright.
I have worked in many denominations, and am comfortable in a variety of liturgies and formats both formal and informal. I have become members of churches here and there for one reason or another, but rarely because I felt that this church was where *I* belonged. But from the very first time I attended a service at CoS I felt I had finally come home. I fit. I could truly worship and fellowship. I wasn't just fitting into someone else's way of connecting with God. This was how I would do it on my own with no one else to consider.
What a dilemma! To work in one church and feel at ease and welcomed there, part of a community, yet to know that ultimately, you belong elsewhere. I love the church where I work, love the people. The services are perfectly fine. Yet my spirit aligns with CoS in ways I can hardly understand let alone explain. I wrestled with this for some time. In the summer I attend at CoS. I know that where I work, I am ministering. At CoS I am feed. Perhaps that is the difference. You can't continually give out without taking in, and that usually happens for me in different settings.
After much conversation and prayer I decided I would officially become a member at CoS, but that will not affect my loyalties to the church where I serve. So today I stand in front of the congregation and join. I am welcomed as a member with the understanding that my attendance will not be regular. After service we gather in the fellowship hall and a congregational meeting is held. My heart is full. I am among friends and fellow laborers in a place where I can kneel before God as my spirit longs to do. Yes, it is alright.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Car Starting Trick
Of course, the abominable timing of the delayed chemo means I have to be at work for the student worker reconnection event not at the top of my game. My circulation supervisor is out on medical leave, and the date of this afternoon of review and welcome back is carved in stone. I wake feeling tired but OK, and I do absolutely nothing until I have to be at the library.
The event goes well and I finally meet the newer students with whom I have not yet intersected. We update them on changes in policy and procedure, remind them about how to do certain things that can be a bit tricky, and give them time to get to know each other since they will depend on each other to cover shifts when a sub is needed. We wrap up with a quick trial run of our open house game Libraryopoly, then gather for pizza and snacks. I am OK despite the recent chemo.
But I do not linger. I head for the car as soon as I can, leaving the clean up in others' capable hands. I turn the key. A few seconds of grinding noise, but the car does not start. I try again. Still no luck. Rats. I call AAA and they will send a truck. I know its not the battery because everything else works. I sit waiting, wishing I could just go home, starting to feel worn and weary. Then I get a call from AAA. They tell me to turn the key to the "On" position, wait ten minutes, and try again. Seems strange, but it sure couldn't hurt.
Just as the truck calls to tell me they are almost at my location, the ten minutes is up. I turn the key. Vroooom. Huh! AAA calls back to check my progress and I tell her the trick worked! How did she know? She encounters this often. There is an antitheft component for this car that sometimes goes awry. She will not count the call as one of my services. Just then the truck appears, and I explain. He scratches his head, and writes it down. He never heard of such a thing either. Live and learn.
Right now, I just want to go home and lie down. And thankfully, I can now get there.
The event goes well and I finally meet the newer students with whom I have not yet intersected. We update them on changes in policy and procedure, remind them about how to do certain things that can be a bit tricky, and give them time to get to know each other since they will depend on each other to cover shifts when a sub is needed. We wrap up with a quick trial run of our open house game Libraryopoly, then gather for pizza and snacks. I am OK despite the recent chemo.
But I do not linger. I head for the car as soon as I can, leaving the clean up in others' capable hands. I turn the key. A few seconds of grinding noise, but the car does not start. I try again. Still no luck. Rats. I call AAA and they will send a truck. I know its not the battery because everything else works. I sit waiting, wishing I could just go home, starting to feel worn and weary. Then I get a call from AAA. They tell me to turn the key to the "On" position, wait ten minutes, and try again. Seems strange, but it sure couldn't hurt.
Just as the truck calls to tell me they are almost at my location, the ten minutes is up. I turn the key. Vroooom. Huh! AAA calls back to check my progress and I tell her the trick worked! How did she know? She encounters this often. There is an antitheft component for this car that sometimes goes awry. She will not count the call as one of my services. Just then the truck appears, and I explain. He scratches his head, and writes it down. He never heard of such a thing either. Live and learn.
Right now, I just want to go home and lie down. And thankfully, I can now get there.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Chemo No Fooling
My friend and I chat as we head down the hall toward the infusion center. This is new for her, familiar for me. The check in, the vitals, following the nurse down the hall to a bay, selecting a pod (near the window, thank God) and turning the chair to see what can be glimpsed of the real world on beyond the beeping IV machines.
We settle in. It is wonderful to have someone there to chat with. I try to explain what is going on as I get my premeds and get hooked up. The nurse chimes in with slight corrections and further clarifications as needed. So the Rituxan drip begins. 50, then 100, then 150. For each bump up in speed of infusion, I open one of the presents that the kindly church mice have sent along. This month we have a Dr. Seuss theme. Horton sent his friend Morton, a cheerful gray stuffed elephant, to oversee the proceedings. We begin with the book Horton Hears a Who. We giggle over a squishy caterpillar whose tail lights up with flashing colored charm when smacked. Sort of the way I sometimes feel with the chemo stuff. We smack our lips as we eat the Godiva chocolate pearls, sharing them with the nurse.
At 200 I experience some reaction symptoms, and we stop the drip for a bit while I ingest more medication. I am now beginning to feel a bit woozy. Good thing we already had our lunch. My eyes want to close, my mind wants to drift off. Talking is more challenging. My friend lets me drift and opens the book she brought. Chemo will take longer today. I have to stop twice, then back down on the rate.
By the time I am done it is after 5pm. I worry that she needs to be home for her family, but she is OK with the time frame. Already I can tell it is going to be a bumpy night. I hate to take any more medication after the wads of stuff I have already downed, but I suspect it will be a Tylenol night. I ache everywhere.
The bright spot awaiting me is that dinner was delivered already, and my friend's husband also sent along a loaf of his wonderful home made bread and some peanut butter cookies. The boys and I will fare well with food, blessed immeasurably by the thoughtful care of our church family. How blessed I am!
Heat. Munch. Thank God. Sleep. The evening's agenda.
We settle in. It is wonderful to have someone there to chat with. I try to explain what is going on as I get my premeds and get hooked up. The nurse chimes in with slight corrections and further clarifications as needed. So the Rituxan drip begins. 50, then 100, then 150. For each bump up in speed of infusion, I open one of the presents that the kindly church mice have sent along. This month we have a Dr. Seuss theme. Horton sent his friend Morton, a cheerful gray stuffed elephant, to oversee the proceedings. We begin with the book Horton Hears a Who. We giggle over a squishy caterpillar whose tail lights up with flashing colored charm when smacked. Sort of the way I sometimes feel with the chemo stuff. We smack our lips as we eat the Godiva chocolate pearls, sharing them with the nurse.
At 200 I experience some reaction symptoms, and we stop the drip for a bit while I ingest more medication. I am now beginning to feel a bit woozy. Good thing we already had our lunch. My eyes want to close, my mind wants to drift off. Talking is more challenging. My friend lets me drift and opens the book she brought. Chemo will take longer today. I have to stop twice, then back down on the rate.
By the time I am done it is after 5pm. I worry that she needs to be home for her family, but she is OK with the time frame. Already I can tell it is going to be a bumpy night. I hate to take any more medication after the wads of stuff I have already downed, but I suspect it will be a Tylenol night. I ache everywhere.
The bright spot awaiting me is that dinner was delivered already, and my friend's husband also sent along a loaf of his wonderful home made bread and some peanut butter cookies. The boys and I will fare well with food, blessed immeasurably by the thoughtful care of our church family. How blessed I am!
Heat. Munch. Thank God. Sleep. The evening's agenda.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
40 Amazing Years
At the awards ceremony today, our library director was honored for 40 years of service. Can you imagine working in the same place for 40 years? And still being excellent at what you do? And still looking forward to coming to work every day (with joy, he said!)? I cannot fathom how that must feel. Al was asked to talk about his time here, and he presented us with a very humorous yet thoughtful and insightful speech which was well received.
He speculated on the future of print materials, what role digital media will play, whether we will ever tame the Internet, how the world might look in twenty years or so. To him, this changing environment represents a wonderful challenge to librarians with many opportunities to reinvent ourselves. He actually said "From my perspective, it’s still fun, if a little scary, to be an academic librarian!"
I couldn't help feeling proud of him and of his accomplishments over the years. He is a very humble person yet equal to a good fight should one be required. His annual reports are well phrased and his diplomacy is legendary. I have learned much from this man who has encouraged me to learn to be less of a lightning rod and more of a barrier remover. How much easier it is to see how my own headstrong and passionate pleadings for some quest could be presented to better effect in light of his actions and approaches.
He cited a number of influential people who helped him grow from a young inexperienced librarian to the remarkable person he is today. If I ever were to make such a list, his name would definitely be on mine. Congratulations on a job well done.
He speculated on the future of print materials, what role digital media will play, whether we will ever tame the Internet, how the world might look in twenty years or so. To him, this changing environment represents a wonderful challenge to librarians with many opportunities to reinvent ourselves. He actually said "From my perspective, it’s still fun, if a little scary, to be an academic librarian!"
I couldn't help feeling proud of him and of his accomplishments over the years. He is a very humble person yet equal to a good fight should one be required. His annual reports are well phrased and his diplomacy is legendary. I have learned much from this man who has encouraged me to learn to be less of a lightning rod and more of a barrier remover. How much easier it is to see how my own headstrong and passionate pleadings for some quest could be presented to better effect in light of his actions and approaches.
He cited a number of influential people who helped him grow from a young inexperienced librarian to the remarkable person he is today. If I ever were to make such a list, his name would definitely be on mine. Congratulations on a job well done.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Faculty Retreat
Ah, here we go. Time to prepare ourselves for the upcoming school year. I am grateful to set aside health concerns and switch my focus elsewhere. We have many new faculty this year - a dozen or more. Our incoming freshman class is robust and large. SAT score requirements have been raised, so they will be more prepared to deal with the paper writing and class assignments. It promises to be a good year.
We are moving from a division structure to a school structure, and some of our retreat engenders conversations about how that will play out and what that might mean. We examine diversity with the help of our guest speaker. He urges us to see that many places think of diversity as inviting a guest into your home, but that the model ought to be everyone moving into a place where the playing ground is determined by all occupants. It is difficult to move from one model to another.
We break bread together, catch up with those who have been absent over the summer, are brought up to date by administrators, and worship together. I look forward to these retreats every year both for the fellowship and the challenges they present. This year I find myself realizing how much more I understand the culture here and how many more people I actually know in our institution. And how many more people are getting to know me. This is both wonderful and scary. Wonderful because it is so good to belong somewhere. Scary because I don't want to get so comfortable that I lose my edge.
Today I am happy to see everyone, to come together for a common purpose, to help find better ways to transform lives that will shape and serve our world. Here we go indeed.
We are moving from a division structure to a school structure, and some of our retreat engenders conversations about how that will play out and what that might mean. We examine diversity with the help of our guest speaker. He urges us to see that many places think of diversity as inviting a guest into your home, but that the model ought to be everyone moving into a place where the playing ground is determined by all occupants. It is difficult to move from one model to another.
We break bread together, catch up with those who have been absent over the summer, are brought up to date by administrators, and worship together. I look forward to these retreats every year both for the fellowship and the challenges they present. This year I find myself realizing how much more I understand the culture here and how many more people I actually know in our institution. And how many more people are getting to know me. This is both wonderful and scary. Wonderful because it is so good to belong somewhere. Scary because I don't want to get so comfortable that I lose my edge.
Today I am happy to see everyone, to come together for a common purpose, to help find better ways to transform lives that will shape and serve our world. Here we go indeed.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
A Day of Doctors
Now for the followup. Today I meet with my oncologist in the morning, my primary care doctor in the early afternoon, and my cardiologist in the late afternoon. I wonder if I could convince them to all meet me at the same time and check in with each other! But that is not the way the system works despite their verbiage about having a team approach to health care. Instead, I get to spend the entire day at the same facility bouncing from one office to the next.
So the upshot of my ridiculous reporting of numerous irritating symptoms? All the tests show I am extraordinarily healthy! Symptoms be dammed. I reluctantly agree that it is good to know my body is sound even if somewhat leaky and creaky. My real conclusion is that the medical profession does not yet have the tools and paradigms to really measure the effect of chemo and radiation on the human body. My symptoms are not imaginary. Just not caused by traditional diseases that have those symptoms. Perhaps I should be talking to the researchers who have worked with victims of mass radiation from bombs and meltdowns. Bet I'd get more satisfaction from them.
Ah, well. I still have a few more tests to run. Like a sleep study (I suppose lack of sleep can make you think you are having a heart attack). And a neurological exam. That might explain the severe muscle spasms and track the ongoing neuropathy. Of course, I think it would be wonderful if someone were working on a solution to preventing chemo induced neuropathy. Just identifying it so that you know why your darn fingers don't work isn't particularly helpful!
Meanwhile, I continue to smile and nod as my "team" figures out what to do with me. I know they deal with people in much worse shape, so dealing with nuisance symptoms like mine is probably not high on their priority lists. I appreciate that they have listened to my complaints - which I will just keep to myself here on out - and tried to suss out some solutions. But truth be known, I want to work with a research team that is addressing the question of why chemo causes these symptoms and how the damage might better be assessed and perhaps even prevented. Where are the brainiacs when you need them??!!
So the upshot of my ridiculous reporting of numerous irritating symptoms? All the tests show I am extraordinarily healthy! Symptoms be dammed. I reluctantly agree that it is good to know my body is sound even if somewhat leaky and creaky. My real conclusion is that the medical profession does not yet have the tools and paradigms to really measure the effect of chemo and radiation on the human body. My symptoms are not imaginary. Just not caused by traditional diseases that have those symptoms. Perhaps I should be talking to the researchers who have worked with victims of mass radiation from bombs and meltdowns. Bet I'd get more satisfaction from them.
Ah, well. I still have a few more tests to run. Like a sleep study (I suppose lack of sleep can make you think you are having a heart attack). And a neurological exam. That might explain the severe muscle spasms and track the ongoing neuropathy. Of course, I think it would be wonderful if someone were working on a solution to preventing chemo induced neuropathy. Just identifying it so that you know why your darn fingers don't work isn't particularly helpful!
Meanwhile, I continue to smile and nod as my "team" figures out what to do with me. I know they deal with people in much worse shape, so dealing with nuisance symptoms like mine is probably not high on their priority lists. I appreciate that they have listened to my complaints - which I will just keep to myself here on out - and tried to suss out some solutions. But truth be known, I want to work with a research team that is addressing the question of why chemo causes these symptoms and how the damage might better be assessed and perhaps even prevented. Where are the brainiacs when you need them??!!
Monday, August 22, 2011
Another Port Draw
OK - a complete lab workup pre and post new meds. Covering all the bases. So once again I find myself in the infusion center for a port access. As the nurse does her usual 1-2-3 poke, she notices my uber bruised arms and hands. She asks what happened. I tell her about the echo cardiogram where they had to give me medication via IV and had a gosh darned time finding a vein. Five stabs, and the one they used was positional and almost shut down before we ended the test. The resulting purple is gorgeous. And typical. And why I love my port.
She clucks her tongue and tells me that the next time I have to have a test in a facility that is not authorized for port access, I should come to the infusion center where they will access first. Then go to the test. Then come back for deaccession. I had no idea I could have done that! I am SOOOOO happy to know it. I could have kissed her - no need for agony anymore anywhere. Yahoo. Good to know.
She clucks her tongue and tells me that the next time I have to have a test in a facility that is not authorized for port access, I should come to the infusion center where they will access first. Then go to the test. Then come back for deaccession. I had no idea I could have done that! I am SOOOOO happy to know it. I could have kissed her - no need for agony anymore anywhere. Yahoo. Good to know.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
New Meds
It took awhile for me to connect with the new water pills that the cardiologist asked me to try. By the time I got them from the pharmacy and stopped having tests run, a few days had passed. The nurse told me that I would likely find myself running to the bathroom while the fluid drains from my system and that I should take them in the late afternoon so I don't have to be disrupted either at work or during the night.
So today I took them. It is true that when I did go to the bathroom, the volume was heftier. But I didn't go more frequently or at inconvenient times. I don't think they are actually all that effective. I suppose if I did have heart trouble, then this medication would be more effective. I am meeting with the cardiologist to do a follow up and we will discuss it then. But I think this experiment is a bust. I will be happy to give it up.
So today I took them. It is true that when I did go to the bathroom, the volume was heftier. But I didn't go more frequently or at inconvenient times. I don't think they are actually all that effective. I suppose if I did have heart trouble, then this medication would be more effective. I am meeting with the cardiologist to do a follow up and we will discuss it then. But I think this experiment is a bust. I will be happy to give it up.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Amazing Pastoral Visit
Mom. How I wish you were back to being you. I miss you. I keep wanting to call you up and chat on the phone, but you are not taking calls. I used to send you a card everyday to cheer you up until you told me to stop. Then you would accept emails once in awhile, but even those are now taboo. I want to call you on the phone and yell at you. Come back. Stop trying to die. Don't check out. I need you. I know you are having a hard time with Dad gone and all, but your kids need you here. Please let us connect with you. Please.
When we shared that with the pastor who used to serve with Dad at the little log cabin church in Lake George, he was deeply moved. He has taken a church in Ohio and we thought it so kind that he returned for Dad's services. But what he just did went way beyond duty or loyalty straight to love. He set aside his current responsibilities to drive all the way to Tennessee for one day's worth of sitting with Mom. What an amazing sacrifice on his part. How we appreciate his loving action. What an amazing man.
Even better, he talked with Mom to say just what we all want and need her to know. That she is not dead and not likely to die any time soon. That we treasure her and want her to continue to be part of our lives, interested in what we are doing, willing to chat on the phone or at least read our emails. He was able to tell Mom that God has not called her home no matter how much she wants to go there. And he was very caring in how he spoke with Mom.
Mom, I hope you heard him. Even if you don't talk with me as a result, if it puts you in a better place, we will all be happy. Dear Mom, you have loved us for so long through all the good and bad times. We have made cookies together, snuggled babies together (mine and yours), shared Christmases, built houses, taken vacations, slept in tents together and worked out homework assignments between the two of us. We pulled weeds side by side and shopped sales, coupons in hand, bargain hunters extraordinaire. We took the same floral arranging class at TSTI. We have worshiped in the same pew, sung the same hymns and read the same devotions together. We are in pictures together.
Now suddenly you have ended our relationship without so much as a by-your-leave. I hurt for you. I imagine how filled with pain you are, how angry, how miserable, how lost. But I am lost too, for I have been stripped of both father and mother in one fell swoop. Please come back. You are not so close to Jordan that you can't turn around to chat. Please be willing to talk to me of your pain. Let me be the one who does the listening for a change, while you are the one distraught. Let me hug you and kiss away tears you have not yet cried in some small gesture to assuage your grief.
We await your return, Mom. I sure hope the pastor did not waste his time coming to minister to you. Allow us to love you because that is what we want and that is what you need. Heart healing. Not an easy thing. But you can do it Mom. Please try.
When we shared that with the pastor who used to serve with Dad at the little log cabin church in Lake George, he was deeply moved. He has taken a church in Ohio and we thought it so kind that he returned for Dad's services. But what he just did went way beyond duty or loyalty straight to love. He set aside his current responsibilities to drive all the way to Tennessee for one day's worth of sitting with Mom. What an amazing sacrifice on his part. How we appreciate his loving action. What an amazing man.
Even better, he talked with Mom to say just what we all want and need her to know. That she is not dead and not likely to die any time soon. That we treasure her and want her to continue to be part of our lives, interested in what we are doing, willing to chat on the phone or at least read our emails. He was able to tell Mom that God has not called her home no matter how much she wants to go there. And he was very caring in how he spoke with Mom.
Mom, I hope you heard him. Even if you don't talk with me as a result, if it puts you in a better place, we will all be happy. Dear Mom, you have loved us for so long through all the good and bad times. We have made cookies together, snuggled babies together (mine and yours), shared Christmases, built houses, taken vacations, slept in tents together and worked out homework assignments between the two of us. We pulled weeds side by side and shopped sales, coupons in hand, bargain hunters extraordinaire. We took the same floral arranging class at TSTI. We have worshiped in the same pew, sung the same hymns and read the same devotions together. We are in pictures together.
Now suddenly you have ended our relationship without so much as a by-your-leave. I hurt for you. I imagine how filled with pain you are, how angry, how miserable, how lost. But I am lost too, for I have been stripped of both father and mother in one fell swoop. Please come back. You are not so close to Jordan that you can't turn around to chat. Please be willing to talk to me of your pain. Let me be the one who does the listening for a change, while you are the one distraught. Let me hug you and kiss away tears you have not yet cried in some small gesture to assuage your grief.
We await your return, Mom. I sure hope the pastor did not waste his time coming to minister to you. Allow us to love you because that is what we want and that is what you need. Heart healing. Not an easy thing. But you can do it Mom. Please try.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Chemo Cancelled
Did you ever hear of such a thing? I got a call from the cardiologist himself, the head guy, early this morning. He just wanted to reassure me that my echo cardiogram was fine and that I am not having heart problems. I can hardly imagine a doctor doing this sort of calling. Usually I just wait until my next appointment to hear the news. I always figure that if anything was terribly amiss, I would get a call to come in. What a tremendous lift to actually get the test results so fast and from the man himself!
Then he told me that even though he had cancelled my chemo until we checked things out, he felt I could go ahead and do it anyways. Wait. What? That would have been today, and I am already at work and off the infusion center's schedule. He suggests I talk with Dr. Young to see if they will take me anyways. Oh rats! Somewhere in the back of my head I was hoping they might decide that my body had had enough chemo and I would be excused from the rest of the gig. What was I thinking???
There is no help for it. I dial the doctor's number and patiently endure the constantly repeating message "All our operators are busy assisting other patients. Please stay on the line and we will take your call in the order in which it was received. Your call is important to us." < blurb of cheesy music inserted here >. Maybe she will say I can at least skip this month's because I am beyond the acceptable date limit. A ray of hope shines briefly before my eyes. The receptionist picks up and before I can say Jack Robinson or any thing else for that matter, I am back on the schedule for next Friday.
That's that. One day of Rituxan forthcoming. No escape, excuse or get out of jail free card. I tell myself that I ought to be grateful. This supposedly keeps the cancer at bay longer. I am fortunate that my insurance covers these $10,000 treatments. It's not like they are doing surgery or removing any limbs. Still, as much as I focus on the good parts, the shadow hangs over me half the day until I contact my friend who has agreed to go with me. She is still able to be there for me. OK. I feel a little better. And the church mice have already sent along a bag of presents to cheer me while I am undergoing. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.
For now though, I will just think about other things and enjoy the day at hand. Think I will find a funny movie to watch tonight. Just to keep that at bay naggling thought that even though the tests show I am heart healthy, it didn't bother to figure out why I am having those symptoms. Wait - don't go there. Just be glad you are heart healthy and leave it at that.
Then he told me that even though he had cancelled my chemo until we checked things out, he felt I could go ahead and do it anyways. Wait. What? That would have been today, and I am already at work and off the infusion center's schedule. He suggests I talk with Dr. Young to see if they will take me anyways. Oh rats! Somewhere in the back of my head I was hoping they might decide that my body had had enough chemo and I would be excused from the rest of the gig. What was I thinking???
There is no help for it. I dial the doctor's number and patiently endure the constantly repeating message "All our operators are busy assisting other patients. Please stay on the line and we will take your call in the order in which it was received. Your call is important to us." < blurb of cheesy music inserted here >. Maybe she will say I can at least skip this month's because I am beyond the acceptable date limit. A ray of hope shines briefly before my eyes. The receptionist picks up and before I can say Jack Robinson or any thing else for that matter, I am back on the schedule for next Friday.
That's that. One day of Rituxan forthcoming. No escape, excuse or get out of jail free card. I tell myself that I ought to be grateful. This supposedly keeps the cancer at bay longer. I am fortunate that my insurance covers these $10,000 treatments. It's not like they are doing surgery or removing any limbs. Still, as much as I focus on the good parts, the shadow hangs over me half the day until I contact my friend who has agreed to go with me. She is still able to be there for me. OK. I feel a little better. And the church mice have already sent along a bag of presents to cheer me while I am undergoing. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.
For now though, I will just think about other things and enjoy the day at hand. Think I will find a funny movie to watch tonight. Just to keep that at bay naggling thought that even though the tests show I am heart healthy, it didn't bother to figure out why I am having those symptoms. Wait - don't go there. Just be glad you are heart healthy and leave it at that.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Port Draw
Normally I schedule my port draws early in the morning so I can get in and out before I have to be at work. Today, since this is unscheduled but high priority, I find myself trudging down the hallway to the infusion center at 4 in the afternoon. The place is practically deserted. No one in the waiting room. Only one receptionist behind the counter. Intake nurses laughing and playing in the check in area, relieved the day is at its end.
I check in, offer my arm for the inevitable armband with all my vitals imprinted in the little square Q mark, step on the scales and watch my blood pressure monitor go berserk, reinflating to squeeze the bajeebies out of my arm in retribution for my white coat anxiety levels. Normally I am ushered to a small cubicle for my port draw, but the nurse who services that area has gone for the day. I am taken to an infusion pod. I cringe inside even though I know I am only here for bloodwork.
The nurse seats me and locates an access kit. She begins unpacking the myriad pieces. Her phone rings. She answers and is immediately drawn in to an issue elsewhere. She excuses herself and disappears. I lean back in the recliner and shut my eyes. I have never been on this wing of the center. While there are windows, it seems shadowy and dark here. There is a gentleman in one of the other pods. He looks weak and tired, pale and without any strength. I say a quick prayer for him. It must be serious for him to be here this late. He is alone, how sad. His IV machine starts beeping and he opens his eyes, startled. The nurse does not come and he closes his eyes, too tired to be concerned.
The nurse returns and apologizes to the man, turning off his machine and resetting. He must not be done yet. She hangs a small bag of blood, pats his hand, then turns to me again with apologies. I tell her not to worry. I am in no hurry. After bloodwork, I am going home and am not anxious to sit in rush hour traffic. Better to sit here in peace. She flashes me a grateful smile just as her phone rings again. She apologizes and is out of the room in a flurry of white. I take a deep breath, enjoying the quietness. Outside a crow caws. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. But the noise dies away quickly and I am left with only the gentle whir of the IV machine in the pod next door.
A verse from the 23rd Psalm flits through my mind. "He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul." I recall wandering through Letchworth State Park with Drew, leisurely enjoying the rainbows dancing in the spray of the fountain near the Glen Iris Inn, surrounded by deer grazing on the grassy lawn, the beautiful fall colors reflecting in the still pond just down the road. I relax. My breathing slows. I could take a nap here. What a precious moment of rest.
In a few minutes, the nurse returns and releases the man in the other pod, calling a golf cart to transport him back to the lobby area where his family is picking him up. I am sure the very thought of walking that far was overwhelming to him. At last, almost an hour after I arrive, the nurse is able to help me. We chat and laugh while she sterilizes my port area and hooks up all the geegaws and gadgets, sigh with relief when the blood flows easily, and in less than ten minutes (eight of which were prep), I am on my way smiling. Rush hour is over now and I am rested.
I pray for the nurse as I head to the parking garage, thanking the good Lord that I am walking under my own steam, feeling far better than my pod compatriot, and heading to my own comfy cozy apartment where I can continue my peaceful jaunt by the still waters. I do feel restored. Life is good.
I check in, offer my arm for the inevitable armband with all my vitals imprinted in the little square Q mark, step on the scales and watch my blood pressure monitor go berserk, reinflating to squeeze the bajeebies out of my arm in retribution for my white coat anxiety levels. Normally I am ushered to a small cubicle for my port draw, but the nurse who services that area has gone for the day. I am taken to an infusion pod. I cringe inside even though I know I am only here for bloodwork.
The nurse seats me and locates an access kit. She begins unpacking the myriad pieces. Her phone rings. She answers and is immediately drawn in to an issue elsewhere. She excuses herself and disappears. I lean back in the recliner and shut my eyes. I have never been on this wing of the center. While there are windows, it seems shadowy and dark here. There is a gentleman in one of the other pods. He looks weak and tired, pale and without any strength. I say a quick prayer for him. It must be serious for him to be here this late. He is alone, how sad. His IV machine starts beeping and he opens his eyes, startled. The nurse does not come and he closes his eyes, too tired to be concerned.
The nurse returns and apologizes to the man, turning off his machine and resetting. He must not be done yet. She hangs a small bag of blood, pats his hand, then turns to me again with apologies. I tell her not to worry. I am in no hurry. After bloodwork, I am going home and am not anxious to sit in rush hour traffic. Better to sit here in peace. She flashes me a grateful smile just as her phone rings again. She apologizes and is out of the room in a flurry of white. I take a deep breath, enjoying the quietness. Outside a crow caws. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. But the noise dies away quickly and I am left with only the gentle whir of the IV machine in the pod next door.
A verse from the 23rd Psalm flits through my mind. "He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul." I recall wandering through Letchworth State Park with Drew, leisurely enjoying the rainbows dancing in the spray of the fountain near the Glen Iris Inn, surrounded by deer grazing on the grassy lawn, the beautiful fall colors reflecting in the still pond just down the road. I relax. My breathing slows. I could take a nap here. What a precious moment of rest.
In a few minutes, the nurse returns and releases the man in the other pod, calling a golf cart to transport him back to the lobby area where his family is picking him up. I am sure the very thought of walking that far was overwhelming to him. At last, almost an hour after I arrive, the nurse is able to help me. We chat and laugh while she sterilizes my port area and hooks up all the geegaws and gadgets, sigh with relief when the blood flows easily, and in less than ten minutes (eight of which were prep), I am on my way smiling. Rush hour is over now and I am rested.
I pray for the nurse as I head to the parking garage, thanking the good Lord that I am walking under my own steam, feeling far better than my pod compatriot, and heading to my own comfy cozy apartment where I can continue my peaceful jaunt by the still waters. I do feel restored. Life is good.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Echo Cardio Stress
Talk about divine providence. I drew the master cardiologist of the Rochester area who just happened to be on call in the crisis clinic for cardiology. He is a wonderful gentleman whom I immediately trust. Somehow he reminds me of Einstein and a Swiss clockmaker all in one body. Yet when he speaks, his intelligence is immediately apparent, though he never makes you feel dumb. He sits with me and together we pour over my medical history now entered in the new and improved database online, examining the chemo and radiation I have had to see whether there is potential for heart damage from the drugs. There is some small indication of heart issues, but the risk is low.
More risk from family history. I describe the symptoms. He is concerned that I might be having some congestive heart trouble. He schedules an echo cardiogram with stress inducing meds to be done asap, and sends me home with water pills. I head to the lab for the chest xray and call the infusion center to make an appointment for the bloodwork. I refuse to mess up my arms with bruises and puncture wounds when I have a perfectly good port. My veins are still paper from all the treatments I have had.
Sigh. I guess I hadn't thought about all the necessary tests to find out what is going on. I hate all this medical poking and prodding. I have already had so much of that. But if they can fix some of these constant revolving symptoms, I suppose it might be worth the effort.
So now I am lying on my side hooked up to machines and watching my heart beat in living color on the monitor in front of me. How fascinating to see the floppy valve flutter back and forth in perfect rhythm. It always looks like it is confused, unsure of what it is expected to do. Maybe it will miss the mark and not close off the valve. Yet somehow it always manages at the last possible split second to land exactly where it must to cover the opening. So flexible yet so sturdy. Imagine how many times in your life that little flap of skin flexes and apparently with extreme efficiency and the least amount of energy. Without it working properly - even if there is a pinhole leak - you die. God sure makes a dependable tight design. Experts calculate that a reasonable number of heartbeats in a lifetime is somewhere in the neighborhood of 3 billion!
They begin giving me the medicine that will cause my heart to work harder and faster. What an odd sensation, to be lying perfectly still, yet you are panting and huffing because your heart is working up a lather. Last time I had one of these tests, I had to run on a treadmill for a certain length of time until my heart reached a certain rate. While this seems easier (at least I won't fall on my face!) its also weird. I feel like a car in park with someone's foot on my accelerator! Man, am I humming.
The technician whirls her little ball to get just the right angle and shot of my active heart, clicking now and again, stretching little arrows across the still shot to measure, saving, moving to the next heart section. I am like a little kid. How much longer before we reach point goal? Can I move yet? The technician drops a little panel in the table so she can get new angles. Just a little bit more, then the meds can stop and you can rest. Twenty minutes at full tilt feels like a long trek in the desert. Whew! I am happy to hear the nurse tell me she has stopped pushing drugs.
In minutes my heart returns to a normal pace and my breathing slows until I no longer hear loud gasps for air sliding past my vocal cords. They let me rest until they are confident that I am OK. I get a glass of water and sit up slowly. The nurse winks at me and says that while she cannot officially read the results of the test, I can be sure that if anything untoward had shown up, they would have called the cardiologist in right away. Unofficially of course. I thank her, gather my things and wobble out to the car. Good to know. If I can survive that, then the likelihood of congestive heart failure is pretty slim.
More risk from family history. I describe the symptoms. He is concerned that I might be having some congestive heart trouble. He schedules an echo cardiogram with stress inducing meds to be done asap, and sends me home with water pills. I head to the lab for the chest xray and call the infusion center to make an appointment for the bloodwork. I refuse to mess up my arms with bruises and puncture wounds when I have a perfectly good port. My veins are still paper from all the treatments I have had.
Sigh. I guess I hadn't thought about all the necessary tests to find out what is going on. I hate all this medical poking and prodding. I have already had so much of that. But if they can fix some of these constant revolving symptoms, I suppose it might be worth the effort.
So now I am lying on my side hooked up to machines and watching my heart beat in living color on the monitor in front of me. How fascinating to see the floppy valve flutter back and forth in perfect rhythm. It always looks like it is confused, unsure of what it is expected to do. Maybe it will miss the mark and not close off the valve. Yet somehow it always manages at the last possible split second to land exactly where it must to cover the opening. So flexible yet so sturdy. Imagine how many times in your life that little flap of skin flexes and apparently with extreme efficiency and the least amount of energy. Without it working properly - even if there is a pinhole leak - you die. God sure makes a dependable tight design. Experts calculate that a reasonable number of heartbeats in a lifetime is somewhere in the neighborhood of 3 billion!
They begin giving me the medicine that will cause my heart to work harder and faster. What an odd sensation, to be lying perfectly still, yet you are panting and huffing because your heart is working up a lather. Last time I had one of these tests, I had to run on a treadmill for a certain length of time until my heart reached a certain rate. While this seems easier (at least I won't fall on my face!) its also weird. I feel like a car in park with someone's foot on my accelerator! Man, am I humming.
The technician whirls her little ball to get just the right angle and shot of my active heart, clicking now and again, stretching little arrows across the still shot to measure, saving, moving to the next heart section. I am like a little kid. How much longer before we reach point goal? Can I move yet? The technician drops a little panel in the table so she can get new angles. Just a little bit more, then the meds can stop and you can rest. Twenty minutes at full tilt feels like a long trek in the desert. Whew! I am happy to hear the nurse tell me she has stopped pushing drugs.
In minutes my heart returns to a normal pace and my breathing slows until I no longer hear loud gasps for air sliding past my vocal cords. They let me rest until they are confident that I am OK. I get a glass of water and sit up slowly. The nurse winks at me and says that while she cannot officially read the results of the test, I can be sure that if anything untoward had shown up, they would have called the cardiologist in right away. Unofficially of course. I thank her, gather my things and wobble out to the car. Good to know. If I can survive that, then the likelihood of congestive heart failure is pretty slim.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sidelined
I always have symptoms. Its just part of going through cancer and treatment. There are days when I feel terrible - achy and pained and slow. I have given up reporting them because they are so transitory. But I am sick and tired of being sick and tired, so I decide to make a list over the course of a week of all the various complaints I encounter. I faithfully jot down all the symptoms I feel and find I have a considerable list. Maybe, I tell myself, maybe they are not all from cancer. Maybe there is actually something that can be done about some of them.
I have my normal checking in appointment with my primary care physician, and she seems to be the person I should discuss these symptoms with. Maybe they will be seen not through the cancer lens, but from a normal person perspective. I hand her my list. Her eyes widen and she turns to me. "Why did you wait so long to bring this to my attention - this is a huge list. I won't have time in a short 15 minute check up to properly address all these things."
I wanted to say - I have brought them up repeatedly with you and other doctors, and the answer is always - nothing really we can do about this. It is just part of your health picture. But I just sit there feeling like I have done something wrong and regretting bringing it up at all. She whirls into action, calling in her nurse and barking out a string of orders.
I want her to see a cardiologist today - call the crisis clinic. Set up an appointment with neurology. Get her in to the sleep center. Send her downstairs for a chest x-ray and lab work. We'll get to the bottom of this. And by the way, call oncology and tell them she can't have chemo until we have figured out what is going on here. And she disappears into the next patient appointment. Huh.
The nurse begins to step through the hoops. Maybe there is something that can be done to help me feel better. I am stunned and ever so slightly optimistic.
I have my normal checking in appointment with my primary care physician, and she seems to be the person I should discuss these symptoms with. Maybe they will be seen not through the cancer lens, but from a normal person perspective. I hand her my list. Her eyes widen and she turns to me. "Why did you wait so long to bring this to my attention - this is a huge list. I won't have time in a short 15 minute check up to properly address all these things."
I wanted to say - I have brought them up repeatedly with you and other doctors, and the answer is always - nothing really we can do about this. It is just part of your health picture. But I just sit there feeling like I have done something wrong and regretting bringing it up at all. She whirls into action, calling in her nurse and barking out a string of orders.
I want her to see a cardiologist today - call the crisis clinic. Set up an appointment with neurology. Get her in to the sleep center. Send her downstairs for a chest x-ray and lab work. We'll get to the bottom of this. And by the way, call oncology and tell them she can't have chemo until we have figured out what is going on here. And she disappears into the next patient appointment. Huh.
The nurse begins to step through the hoops. Maybe there is something that can be done to help me feel better. I am stunned and ever so slightly optimistic.
Monday, August 15, 2011
First Day
How wonderful that we have hired our new Evening Supervisor. She begins today. I am excited to have her here at least a couple of weeks before the semester begins. There is SO much to teach her. I try to prioritize by order of what she will need to know on her own the most. First, how to maintain building security and close the building. Second, how to process reserve requests. Third, circulation procedures, then Interlibrary Loan stuff. Fourth, student hiring and supervision protocol. And oh yes, don't forget how to use our phone and email systems and our online resources.
I think back to when I first started here. What was helpful? What proved to be important going forward? Was there something missing that would have been helpful. Good thing I made notes back then. I pull them out and look them over. We have gotten more sophisticated about bringing in new people. We have an orientation checklist of the myriad details to cover - a thousand things we take for granted that a new person will not know unless you show them!
What a complicated world the library is. On the surface and to the rest of the world, we are a simple and smoothly running place with the occasional bump when something electronic doesn't work right. Behind the scenes is a complex matrix of work that takes all our strength to keep humming - not unlike that tangle of cords plugged into the same power strip and going to every imaginable type of appliance.
I love this world. I plan to not overwhelm our new hire. I hope she will love it as much as I do. So far, so good. One down and a bazillion to go.
I think back to when I first started here. What was helpful? What proved to be important going forward? Was there something missing that would have been helpful. Good thing I made notes back then. I pull them out and look them over. We have gotten more sophisticated about bringing in new people. We have an orientation checklist of the myriad details to cover - a thousand things we take for granted that a new person will not know unless you show them!
What a complicated world the library is. On the surface and to the rest of the world, we are a simple and smoothly running place with the occasional bump when something electronic doesn't work right. Behind the scenes is a complex matrix of work that takes all our strength to keep humming - not unlike that tangle of cords plugged into the same power strip and going to every imaginable type of appliance.
I love this world. I plan to not overwhelm our new hire. I hope she will love it as much as I do. So far, so good. One down and a bazillion to go.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Major Decluttering
Our small apartment is not conducive to amenable traffic patterns. The three of us often get in each other's way just trying to take care of daily business like showers or food preparation. There are times that stuff accumulates which collectively becomes an overwhelming roadblock to productivity (and sometimes even just walking!). Today I decided to address this situation from both sides of the coin.
First, I separated the two boys. Drew stays in the bedroom, and Kiel takes over what once was a living room. Kiel has slowly been collecting household stuff to set up his own place once he gets married, and Drew and I are drowning in second household klediments. So we asked Kiel to put all his stuff in his new area. Drew and I each took some of the living room stuff into our bedrooms, leaving Kiel what he needed.
What a difference that made all on its own. While I am sad to lose a common living area, the change makes everything work better. Less clutter, more organization, better functionality and a LOT less fighting. The kitchen can breathe again. I can find my dishes and pans, and I stopped tripping over shoes and bags and whatnot.
Of course, the corollary is that to make room in my space for the additional stuff, I had to declutter my own collections. It was pretty easy to scroll through the closet and let go of things like a stack of great baskets that I never use and thought would make nice gift containers. Odds and ends of hats left over from my chemo bash days. Clothing that I never wear. Instruments I never play like a hand held harp with a broken string. You know, all those unused space hogs.
Once I was down to the basic "I actually need this" stuff, I realized that a few good storage containers would be beneficial, so I trotted off to Bed Bath and Beyond, coupon in hand, to select appropriately sized plastic ware. Ugh - the very word makes me shutter. I still had my necessaries stored in nice cardboard boxes that I acquired at least a decade ago. The labels have been crossed out and rewritten a dozen times and the corners are weary. But they are awkward and heavy, difficult for my older self to handle. Time to find something more manageable where I can see the contents before pulling it off the shelf.
I shed about a third of the contents of my bedroom and it felt GOOD! I organized and made things work more conveniently. That's a plus. AND after sorting through my stacks of bedding and towels, I realized that much of it was stained, full of holes, and thin. I tossed the stack of crappy and old, took my JC Penney coupon and white saled my way to nicer linens.
So it turned out to be a great idea to turn the living room into another bedroom. And the best upside? The boys now spend time congregating in my bedroom and are talking to me more than they have done in the last few years. Sweet.
First, I separated the two boys. Drew stays in the bedroom, and Kiel takes over what once was a living room. Kiel has slowly been collecting household stuff to set up his own place once he gets married, and Drew and I are drowning in second household klediments. So we asked Kiel to put all his stuff in his new area. Drew and I each took some of the living room stuff into our bedrooms, leaving Kiel what he needed.
What a difference that made all on its own. While I am sad to lose a common living area, the change makes everything work better. Less clutter, more organization, better functionality and a LOT less fighting. The kitchen can breathe again. I can find my dishes and pans, and I stopped tripping over shoes and bags and whatnot.
Of course, the corollary is that to make room in my space for the additional stuff, I had to declutter my own collections. It was pretty easy to scroll through the closet and let go of things like a stack of great baskets that I never use and thought would make nice gift containers. Odds and ends of hats left over from my chemo bash days. Clothing that I never wear. Instruments I never play like a hand held harp with a broken string. You know, all those unused space hogs.
Once I was down to the basic "I actually need this" stuff, I realized that a few good storage containers would be beneficial, so I trotted off to Bed Bath and Beyond, coupon in hand, to select appropriately sized plastic ware. Ugh - the very word makes me shutter. I still had my necessaries stored in nice cardboard boxes that I acquired at least a decade ago. The labels have been crossed out and rewritten a dozen times and the corners are weary. But they are awkward and heavy, difficult for my older self to handle. Time to find something more manageable where I can see the contents before pulling it off the shelf.
I shed about a third of the contents of my bedroom and it felt GOOD! I organized and made things work more conveniently. That's a plus. AND after sorting through my stacks of bedding and towels, I realized that much of it was stained, full of holes, and thin. I tossed the stack of crappy and old, took my JC Penney coupon and white saled my way to nicer linens.
So it turned out to be a great idea to turn the living room into another bedroom. And the best upside? The boys now spend time congregating in my bedroom and are talking to me more than they have done in the last few years. Sweet.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
'Shrooms, Stools and Other Fungi
Just yesterday there was no sign of anything untoward growing on the lawn. Today there are little pockets of mushrooms and toadstools scattered here and there and everywhere. Where did they come from? I am sure the excess rain is the reason they are suddenly appearing, but where have they been hiding? Their roots or spores or whathaveyou have lain dormant, ready to sprout with the right conditions. And voila! Here they are.
Isn't that just like so many things in our lives. Given the right environment, suddenly things appear from nowhere to populate our worlds. Good and bad things. In the right setting, blessings seem to multiply or bad things seem unavoidable. Seasons occur when for some inexplicable reason you are blessed with a plethora of sweaters, for example. Or books. Or concert tickets. And just as inexplicably, they disappear without warning or so much as a by your leave.
We shall see how long the fungus lasts. Once the rain dries up they may well collapse into their dormant state, waiting for the right set of conditions to happen. You just never know.
Isn't that just like so many things in our lives. Given the right environment, suddenly things appear from nowhere to populate our worlds. Good and bad things. In the right setting, blessings seem to multiply or bad things seem unavoidable. Seasons occur when for some inexplicable reason you are blessed with a plethora of sweaters, for example. Or books. Or concert tickets. And just as inexplicably, they disappear without warning or so much as a by your leave.
We shall see how long the fungus lasts. Once the rain dries up they may well collapse into their dormant state, waiting for the right set of conditions to happen. You just never know.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Picnic
The last Friday of summer that the campus closes early. For the last few years, we have been celebrating this last hurrah by gathering together at our Operation Manager's house and having a picnic. Next Friday we will work the full 9 to 5. But today we leave off at 3:30 and head out for our picnic. It's a great time for us to relax, chat, catch up, chew the fat and just plain old be together. Nobody fusses about making sure everything is perfect (except maybe our hostess) - we all just bring a dish, plunk ourselves down in a comfy place and watch the smoke rise from the BBQ pit where the chicken is being hickory infused.
We nibble snacky stuff while we gather, sipping iced tea and cool water, and razz each other about one thing or another. It's like stepping onto the set of Happy Days and just hanging out in the seclusion of a quiet backyard where the dog chases a ball and the butterflies flutter and the birds sing. We lounge about on pine benches and Adirondack chairs and wicker rockers and folding lawn chairs, grouping and regrouping, fading in and out of various conversations and sometimes just being quiet and drinking it all in.
When the chicken is ready, we pile baked beans and macaroni salad and leafy greens onto paper plates and dig in, relishing every outdoorsy bite. The mosquitoes stay away, the bees don't bother us, and the sun slowly sinks, painting the air a dusky dull. We linger on, loathe to tear ourselves from so gentle and peace filled a place. It is good for family to be together. Drew loves coming every year, finding good conversation with interesting people a bonus. This year he compares notes about college with someone who just completed his first year. He learns some helpful tricks.
At last, the weary world beckons us from our tranquility and we climb into the car and make our way home. Drew sighs with contentment and I rest my head, tired but happy. OK, so I have adjusted to letting Drew be the chauffeur and I don't panic quite so much. Though not a big to-do at a park somewhere, it makes up for having to miss other picnics I would have like to have gone to. Maybe next year Drew and I will make it to Hamlin Beach for our own day out. But for now I am happy to have picnicked with friends in the back yard.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Mixed Signals
I left the house early this morning to run to the grocery store for supplies. I signed up to make a casserole for someone who just had a baby, and I need to get a few things. Halfway to the store, in the glare of the bright sun, I spotted a flagman. Though he had a flag held out toward me, he seemed to be motioning me into the other lane, so I started to pull into the left lane, then realized that there was a construction truck coming out of a road. I steered back into my lane and stopped just shy of the flagman. He read me the verbal riot act, and I was a bit miffed because his signals were unclear.
I proceeded to the store, putting the incident out of my mind. But on the way back, at a traffic light, there was that same flagman. His construction endeavors had moved down the road, but now I was wise to this guy. I slowed way down and stopped even though we had the green light. There were a dozen cars on both sides of the light, and once again, this guy, though holding the flag out, motioned with his arms for traffic to go.
Suffice it to say that I did not go, having encountered this communications situation earlier. But other cars started, only to realize that there were large construction trucks coming out of a side road. The cars all slammed on their brakes, and this misfit flagman yelled at them all angrily. I am sure he thinks that all the drivers on the road today are stupid. Truth is, he has no idea how to function as a clearly communicating flagman. Huh. I wonder how many others people will be fooled by this ridiculous exercise before they replace him with a competent director!
I proceeded to the store, putting the incident out of my mind. But on the way back, at a traffic light, there was that same flagman. His construction endeavors had moved down the road, but now I was wise to this guy. I slowed way down and stopped even though we had the green light. There were a dozen cars on both sides of the light, and once again, this guy, though holding the flag out, motioned with his arms for traffic to go.
Suffice it to say that I did not go, having encountered this communications situation earlier. But other cars started, only to realize that there were large construction trucks coming out of a side road. The cars all slammed on their brakes, and this misfit flagman yelled at them all angrily. I am sure he thinks that all the drivers on the road today are stupid. Truth is, he has no idea how to function as a clearly communicating flagman. Huh. I wonder how many others people will be fooled by this ridiculous exercise before they replace him with a competent director!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Purple Glory
All summer, the morning glory vine has been lush and green and overflowing the trellis. I have seen a trumpet or two of purple, but most of the strength of the plant this year seems to be in the vine itself.
Today I was delighted to see several deep purple and white flowers nodding nonchalantly in the breeze. I pulled Sugar over for a closer look. Splotches of purple are hiding beneath the greenery. I count a full dozen beauties tucked away, shyly peeking out at me. How gorgeous. Sugar is impatient. She is not impressed with the flowers. She has other things on her mind, like the half dozen robins plucking away at the grassy lawn in front of the building.
I glance around me at bright blue skies and cone-laden deep green pines and gloriously flowering bushes so loaded with white blossoms they appear to be brides adorned for a wedding. How amazing this world is today. Locusts are taking a reprieve and I hear the gentle call of the mourning dove who has been away on vacation.
This is going to be a great day.
Today I was delighted to see several deep purple and white flowers nodding nonchalantly in the breeze. I pulled Sugar over for a closer look. Splotches of purple are hiding beneath the greenery. I count a full dozen beauties tucked away, shyly peeking out at me. How gorgeous. Sugar is impatient. She is not impressed with the flowers. She has other things on her mind, like the half dozen robins plucking away at the grassy lawn in front of the building.
I glance around me at bright blue skies and cone-laden deep green pines and gloriously flowering bushes so loaded with white blossoms they appear to be brides adorned for a wedding. How amazing this world is today. Locusts are taking a reprieve and I hear the gentle call of the mourning dove who has been away on vacation.
This is going to be a great day.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Farewell Phil
Only a few days left before our Evening Supervisor will make the trek to Illinois to begin his adventure in the wide world of library science. He is a veritable workhorse and we will miss him very much. We take him to Panera's for a farewell luncheon, commandeering the big table and hogging the ordering line.
We sit and chat comfortably about all sorts of topics, but especially about things Phil might encounter in Illinois since at least two of us have lived there before. We chat about how the collection is half Dewey decimal and half Library of Congress classification system. We chat about local restaurants and activities (football! - this is a big ten school), how hard it is to get a graduate assistant position, the convenient location of his apartment. I loved my time in Illinois, and I hope he will too.
We have conspired to razz him about his card, pretending that it is lost and we can't figure out where it is. He says its OK, he will be here until Friday, and if we don't find it by then, we can mail it as he will give us his new address. We finally 'fess up to the joke and hand him his card with the Barnes and Noble gift certificate inside. He is surprised and we all laugh. These are great times.
On the way out, our newest librarian leans over and whispers to me, "So its true! Librarians really DO talk about Dewey decimal over lunch!" I laugh. I have never thought about it, but I guess it must be true. After all, where else would you ever have such a conversation that everyone not only understood, but enjoyed. Phil will fit right in to the library world.
We sit and chat comfortably about all sorts of topics, but especially about things Phil might encounter in Illinois since at least two of us have lived there before. We chat about how the collection is half Dewey decimal and half Library of Congress classification system. We chat about local restaurants and activities (football! - this is a big ten school), how hard it is to get a graduate assistant position, the convenient location of his apartment. I loved my time in Illinois, and I hope he will too.
We have conspired to razz him about his card, pretending that it is lost and we can't figure out where it is. He says its OK, he will be here until Friday, and if we don't find it by then, we can mail it as he will give us his new address. We finally 'fess up to the joke and hand him his card with the Barnes and Noble gift certificate inside. He is surprised and we all laugh. These are great times.
On the way out, our newest librarian leans over and whispers to me, "So its true! Librarians really DO talk about Dewey decimal over lunch!" I laugh. I have never thought about it, but I guess it must be true. After all, where else would you ever have such a conversation that everyone not only understood, but enjoyed. Phil will fit right in to the library world.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Popsicle
Wouldn't you think that a brand new building the likes of our library would be able to control the temperature of the air inside? We are usually cold in the winter, especially when the outside temps are single digits. But I in particular am absolutely freezing in the summer. I suspect my office is the coldest place on campus including the freezers in the dining hall. I wear sweaters and cover up in blankets, and make all kinds of excuses to leave my deep freeze and be out in the main part of the building where is it even a bit muggy, but certainly not frigid!
What is even more surprising, my constant remarks in the winter are about how the baseboard heating units never come on even on the coldest of days. But TODAY - with the outside temperatures in the high 80's, the darn baseboard heat nearest the reference desk is pinging and complaining. I put my hand on the metal side and nearly burned my palm. That's just downright crazy.
We need more engineers who can create a controllable and simple system of HVAC so that I am not encountering some twilight zone temperature while trying my best to focus on my job. Not that I am complaining because I am very grateful for my job. It just seems that a LEEP building that is so environmentally aware ought not to be wasting resources, especially these days.
What is even more surprising, my constant remarks in the winter are about how the baseboard heating units never come on even on the coldest of days. But TODAY - with the outside temperatures in the high 80's, the darn baseboard heat nearest the reference desk is pinging and complaining. I put my hand on the metal side and nearly burned my palm. That's just downright crazy.
We need more engineers who can create a controllable and simple system of HVAC so that I am not encountering some twilight zone temperature while trying my best to focus on my job. Not that I am complaining because I am very grateful for my job. It just seems that a LEEP building that is so environmentally aware ought not to be wasting resources, especially these days.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Worship
This week I am feeling better, though my body is definitely not behaving itself. But at least I can go to church, and Drew is still willing to go with me. He has never seen Nazareth College before, and we decide to drive around on the campus before service so he can get an idea of the place. They buildings are architecturally distinct, evincing a sort of old world charm without being down at the heels.
After the tour, we head into the chapel at the seminary building, and Drew is greeted by people who know him. I am so pleased that people take time to make him feel at home. We sit quietly waiting for the service to begin, and he leans over and says "There's a LOT of music in the bulletin." It's true. There is a lot of service music, but it all has a purpose. I hope he will see how it fits together.
This is very different from his experiences at more contemporary places where one can be a spectator and watch other people do the singing. Here, you are invited to be a full participant. I know Drew is very interested in theology right now, and Dr. Cullum's sermon provides much food for thought. I know we will have some good discussions later. Drew will grill me, I am sure.
After service, we gather in the fellowship hall over food and coffee (or in my case, water). I introduce Drew around, and once again, people are genuinely interested in him, ask him about his schooling, his plans for college, his interests. Drew, who had only allotted me ten minutes for after service chatting, finds himself drawn in and before you know it, almost an hour has disappeared. He is not bored or feeling left out.
On the way home, he says, "I like smaller churches." I understand. And I agree. It is nice to be part of a caring family. Drew agrees to go with me again next week - after all, there is a picnic scheduled - free food! His one regret is that the service is so early. Now if they would just move it to 1 in the afternoon, I think he would be a convert.
After the tour, we head into the chapel at the seminary building, and Drew is greeted by people who know him. I am so pleased that people take time to make him feel at home. We sit quietly waiting for the service to begin, and he leans over and says "There's a LOT of music in the bulletin." It's true. There is a lot of service music, but it all has a purpose. I hope he will see how it fits together.
This is very different from his experiences at more contemporary places where one can be a spectator and watch other people do the singing. Here, you are invited to be a full participant. I know Drew is very interested in theology right now, and Dr. Cullum's sermon provides much food for thought. I know we will have some good discussions later. Drew will grill me, I am sure.
After service, we gather in the fellowship hall over food and coffee (or in my case, water). I introduce Drew around, and once again, people are genuinely interested in him, ask him about his schooling, his plans for college, his interests. Drew, who had only allotted me ten minutes for after service chatting, finds himself drawn in and before you know it, almost an hour has disappeared. He is not bored or feeling left out.
On the way home, he says, "I like smaller churches." I understand. And I agree. It is nice to be part of a caring family. Drew agrees to go with me again next week - after all, there is a picnic scheduled - free food! His one regret is that the service is so early. Now if they would just move it to 1 in the afternoon, I think he would be a convert.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Salon
My sister offered to take me to her salon so I can have my hair colored and cut by a reliable hairdresser in time for the upcoming wedding. What a generous offer. She picked me up and we headed out to the east side of the city, stopping first to grab a bite of lunch at Wegmans and catch up on Mom's status and the ongoing emptying of Mom's house so that it can be sold to cover the cost of her upkeep.
Then we headed across the street to a strip mall where the salon is housed. The minute I walked in I knew I was out of my league. Everything was chrome and glass and very upscale. The hairdressers wore the latest couture including shoes with tall heels and fashionable designs. I gulped, realizing I had probably not dressed appropriately. After all, coloring one's hair can be messy so I didn't wear anything particularly good.
We are greeted by name and directed to our clinicians. First, I get a cut. There is not much to cut, really. My hair does not grow well after all the chemo and radiation damage. It is still pretty thin and fragile. But my stylist knows immediately how to address my messed up hair. First, she uses a shampoo and conditioner especially designed for "mature and damaged hair." I am surprised at the difference that makes. Then she snips away at my mop, taking very little off, but when she is done, the cut is extraordinary. I look much better already!
On to the color specialist. I show her my wig. I have received so many compliments when I wear it that I think the color is a good one for me. She sizes me up in the wig, then mixes up her magic and applies it to my head. She takes great care to ensure that the application is done well and even. And then I sit for a half hour while it takes effect. It does not smell anywhere as pungent as other colors I have had done, and it does not burn either. But it seems so black!
Another treatment with special shampoos including one that immediately cures any damage the color may have done. Interesting. This is the royal treatment for sure. Then I am whisked away for drying and styling. They use a special thickener spritz and (you didn't hear this from me) a spray powder that covers my bald spots and makes them the same color as my hair instead of the blinding skin white.
I look in the mirror, and I scarcely know who I am. Wow! What a lift to feel like you look good for a change. On the way out, my sister hands me two bags of products that they have used on me today. What a sweetheart! And we have an appointment for another round right before the wedding. Thanks, Jan, for being so considerate. I would not have known where to go even if I could have afforded such a wonderful treat.
Then we headed across the street to a strip mall where the salon is housed. The minute I walked in I knew I was out of my league. Everything was chrome and glass and very upscale. The hairdressers wore the latest couture including shoes with tall heels and fashionable designs. I gulped, realizing I had probably not dressed appropriately. After all, coloring one's hair can be messy so I didn't wear anything particularly good.
We are greeted by name and directed to our clinicians. First, I get a cut. There is not much to cut, really. My hair does not grow well after all the chemo and radiation damage. It is still pretty thin and fragile. But my stylist knows immediately how to address my messed up hair. First, she uses a shampoo and conditioner especially designed for "mature and damaged hair." I am surprised at the difference that makes. Then she snips away at my mop, taking very little off, but when she is done, the cut is extraordinary. I look much better already!
On to the color specialist. I show her my wig. I have received so many compliments when I wear it that I think the color is a good one for me. She sizes me up in the wig, then mixes up her magic and applies it to my head. She takes great care to ensure that the application is done well and even. And then I sit for a half hour while it takes effect. It does not smell anywhere as pungent as other colors I have had done, and it does not burn either. But it seems so black!
Another treatment with special shampoos including one that immediately cures any damage the color may have done. Interesting. This is the royal treatment for sure. Then I am whisked away for drying and styling. They use a special thickener spritz and (you didn't hear this from me) a spray powder that covers my bald spots and makes them the same color as my hair instead of the blinding skin white.
I look in the mirror, and I scarcely know who I am. Wow! What a lift to feel like you look good for a change. On the way out, my sister hands me two bags of products that they have used on me today. What a sweetheart! And we have an appointment for another round right before the wedding. Thanks, Jan, for being so considerate. I would not have known where to go even if I could have afforded such a wonderful treat.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Last Interview
This candidate used to be one of our student staff assistants. She was excellent then, and it is easy to see that she has only improved since she graduated and made her way into the wide world. She is back to do a graduate degree. She sits across the table from us, calm and confident.
We work through the job description, making sure to discuss all the various responsibilities and what that might indicate. It is a daunting list for a part time job. We are expecting miracles. She understands much since some of these are duties she undertook as a student worker.
Then we get to the "trying to figure out how your skills and gifts will match this position" questions. She must wonder why on earth we are doing such a thorough grilling for a relatively minor position. But we are a team here. We need someone on board who will work well with what is already in place, someone who understands our family and our insistence on excellence.
I wish I could hire everyone we have talked to and a few we did not interview. They are all deserving and capable. The job market is tight, which is only a blessing to those of us who will be able to hire such stellar employees as have applied for our position. I am so grateful I am on the hiring side and not the seeking side.
We work through the job description, making sure to discuss all the various responsibilities and what that might indicate. It is a daunting list for a part time job. We are expecting miracles. She understands much since some of these are duties she undertook as a student worker.
Then we get to the "trying to figure out how your skills and gifts will match this position" questions. She must wonder why on earth we are doing such a thorough grilling for a relatively minor position. But we are a team here. We need someone on board who will work well with what is already in place, someone who understands our family and our insistence on excellence.
I wish I could hire everyone we have talked to and a few we did not interview. They are all deserving and capable. The job market is tight, which is only a blessing to those of us who will be able to hire such stellar employees as have applied for our position. I am so grateful I am on the hiring side and not the seeking side.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Another Excellent Interview
I am amazed. Today's candidate is even better than yesterday's if that is possible. Our give and take is natural and she is asking the kinds of questions and making the kinds of comments that a long time employee might ask and make. Our connection feels very natural. I could totally see myself working with this person.
I think about Kiel interviewing for jobs. I hope he finds himself in as good a position as we are in. I have been on both sides of the interviewing process. I know what an employer hopes for, and the nervousness that a candidate feels. I try to explain to Kiel what he might encounter, what the employer is looking for, what communicates best.
He is trying to do all the right things. Its difficult in this tight economy to get your start. There is nothing particularly fair about the process, and the best candidate sometimes doesn't get the gig when there are political currents or previous bad experiences to be dealt with. Somebody invariably has to take a chance and bring in those new to the job market, trusting that they will work out.
I pray for Kiel and put him in God's hands. There is a place for him, and between him and the good Lord, he will find his way and his place. I sure hope it happens soon!
I think about Kiel interviewing for jobs. I hope he finds himself in as good a position as we are in. I have been on both sides of the interviewing process. I know what an employer hopes for, and the nervousness that a candidate feels. I try to explain to Kiel what he might encounter, what the employer is looking for, what communicates best.
He is trying to do all the right things. Its difficult in this tight economy to get your start. There is nothing particularly fair about the process, and the best candidate sometimes doesn't get the gig when there are political currents or previous bad experiences to be dealt with. Somebody invariably has to take a chance and bring in those new to the job market, trusting that they will work out.
I pray for Kiel and put him in God's hands. There is a place for him, and between him and the good Lord, he will find his way and his place. I sure hope it happens soon!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Another Interview Process
We are in the process of orienting our new librarian hire! Yeah! How wonderful to start handing off those lists of projects waiting for the right person to fill the bill. But now, we are saying goodbye to our Evening & Reserves Supervisor who has decided to do his Library Science degree at my alma mater, UIUC. (Yes, I absolutely bragged about how wonderful the program is there!)
We posted and within a week I had ample applicants, and the pool is stellar. Such perfect matches, complete with the expertise we need. They will quickly be able to pick up and run with the systems and processes we need overseen. This is exciting. The pool for this job is usually not great because the hours are so late. Who wants to get off work after midnight?
Today we met the first interviewee. She was delightful. And astute. If all the candidates are this stellar, we will have a hard time selecting just one. Thank you, Lord, for the encouragement. Perhaps this fall will not be so challenging after all.
We posted and within a week I had ample applicants, and the pool is stellar. Such perfect matches, complete with the expertise we need. They will quickly be able to pick up and run with the systems and processes we need overseen. This is exciting. The pool for this job is usually not great because the hours are so late. Who wants to get off work after midnight?
Today we met the first interviewee. She was delightful. And astute. If all the candidates are this stellar, we will have a hard time selecting just one. Thank you, Lord, for the encouragement. Perhaps this fall will not be so challenging after all.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Bike's Finally Back!
Did you call? I ask Drew. I am struggling to provide the transportation support he needs to get to driver's ed and back. I really ought not to be taking extra time from work to ferry him about, and with his wounds, he hasn't been able to walk really.
No. I understand his reticence to assert his right as a paying customer and insist that they treat him better. Two weeks to fix a slightly out of shape bike is too long. Call. I insist. Better to learn to be bold now when the stakes are not high. He calls. He beams from ear to ear. Yes, it is ready. After work, he drives us to the place (my heart in my throat), and I make him go in by himself. I sit in the car. Besides I am still pretty wrung out from Sunday's fiasco.
I watch people wandering in and out of the sporting goods store, amazed at how many overweight people go in there. Of course, I have no leg to stand on. At least they are trying to take up some sport. Soon Drew comes out with the bike and I do not offer to help him mount the bike rack and hook the bike down. He manages quite competently. I rest.
He drives back, but the speed on 390 is a bit much on the bike and we are both nervous, so he exits earlier and we wend our way home at a more reasonable pace. He gleefully recites out loud all the places he can now go without having to wait for a ride. The Library, the store, class - isn't it amazing how mobile a little thing like a bike can make you!
I am happy for him. I am happy for me. I am relieved that the darn thing was fixable and all is well. Then I hear him plotting about how he will go pick up his car - once he is able to save up enough money to buy one after he gets a job . . .
No. I understand his reticence to assert his right as a paying customer and insist that they treat him better. Two weeks to fix a slightly out of shape bike is too long. Call. I insist. Better to learn to be bold now when the stakes are not high. He calls. He beams from ear to ear. Yes, it is ready. After work, he drives us to the place (my heart in my throat), and I make him go in by himself. I sit in the car. Besides I am still pretty wrung out from Sunday's fiasco.
I watch people wandering in and out of the sporting goods store, amazed at how many overweight people go in there. Of course, I have no leg to stand on. At least they are trying to take up some sport. Soon Drew comes out with the bike and I do not offer to help him mount the bike rack and hook the bike down. He manages quite competently. I rest.
He drives back, but the speed on 390 is a bit much on the bike and we are both nervous, so he exits earlier and we wend our way home at a more reasonable pace. He gleefully recites out loud all the places he can now go without having to wait for a ride. The Library, the store, class - isn't it amazing how mobile a little thing like a bike can make you!
I am happy for him. I am happy for me. I am relieved that the darn thing was fixable and all is well. Then I hear him plotting about how he will go pick up his car - once he is able to save up enough money to buy one after he gets a job . . .
Monday, August 1, 2011
Junebug Song
Maybe you call them locusts. Whatever they are, they are already going at it hale and hearty when I awaken at the crack of dawn. The drilling insistence of their complaint tells me it will be a hot and muggy day. Maybe worse than even the last few days. I flip through my wardrobe, seeking something that will allow me to be comfortable in the dripping wetness of outdoors, but amply protected against the exuberance of the air conditioning that turns my office into a deep freeze.
Ah. A dress. I am not in the habit of wearing such things. In fact, until recently, I no longer even owned a dress. I have had to play unfeminine roles for so long that I have lost touch with my gentle side. When I was praying one day, it seemed the Lord was encouraging me to get back in touch with that. Apparently I have a hard edge that needs to be softened.
So I scanned sales fliers for awhile, and took a bit of time trying on current styles. Yuck. I don't care for the stuff out there. Tight, short, uncomfortable. Not exactly a garb you can nurture in. Shoot, you can hardly walk in some of those deals. Eventually I found a style I could embrace, and purchased 2. The first time I wore one, I was shocked at the difference it made. Not only was I a bit less aggressive, but people reacted to me quite differently. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but I am gradually recalling hugging little children and not being the "take charge and bark commands" person.
I know it sounds silly. But I need to follow this through and see where it goes, what I need to recapture inside. And I had forgotten that in the summer, a dress can be cooler than pants. Another benefit. So today I select the plaid seersucker, hook Sugar to the leash, and wander outside for a closer listen to those heat indicators whose persistent dissonance takes me back to another era and the quiet stability of my grandmother's place where the junebugs accompanied the morning trip to the tree stump by the kitchen window where Gram deposited the leftover oatmeal for the critters.
Maybe it won't be too hot to enjoy the day after all.
Ah. A dress. I am not in the habit of wearing such things. In fact, until recently, I no longer even owned a dress. I have had to play unfeminine roles for so long that I have lost touch with my gentle side. When I was praying one day, it seemed the Lord was encouraging me to get back in touch with that. Apparently I have a hard edge that needs to be softened.
So I scanned sales fliers for awhile, and took a bit of time trying on current styles. Yuck. I don't care for the stuff out there. Tight, short, uncomfortable. Not exactly a garb you can nurture in. Shoot, you can hardly walk in some of those deals. Eventually I found a style I could embrace, and purchased 2. The first time I wore one, I was shocked at the difference it made. Not only was I a bit less aggressive, but people reacted to me quite differently. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but I am gradually recalling hugging little children and not being the "take charge and bark commands" person.
I know it sounds silly. But I need to follow this through and see where it goes, what I need to recapture inside. And I had forgotten that in the summer, a dress can be cooler than pants. Another benefit. So today I select the plaid seersucker, hook Sugar to the leash, and wander outside for a closer listen to those heat indicators whose persistent dissonance takes me back to another era and the quiet stability of my grandmother's place where the junebugs accompanied the morning trip to the tree stump by the kitchen window where Gram deposited the leftover oatmeal for the critters.
Maybe it won't be too hot to enjoy the day after all.
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