Tour for Jim

My brother has traveled here from Tennessee to help with my sister's garage sale. He has been house sitting for one of my other sisters since Mom passed. I don't get to see him often, and even though in the daytime he is helping set things out and mark prices, I thought perhaps he might be interested in seeing where I work. I doubt he will get up here again any time soon, if ever. He is amenable to the idea and meets me in the library. I show him around and he likes the building (who wouldn't!), but when I get to my office, he is taken aback.

Why would they give me such a huge office? I smile, and mention that I am, after all, a professional librarian and the Director of Public Services. He, like the rest of my siblings would be, is shocked. They all think of me as a little old lady who checks out books and shushes people. Surely I am no more than a glorified store clerk. I remind him that I do have 2 master's degrees and am working on a doctoral degree, that I turned down a 6 figure job at the Library of Congress to come here, and that it takes a great deal of education and experience to run a library well.

He is duly impressed, though I am not sure he entirely gets it.  People have this conception of librarians as second class citizens. They think that any old person can work in a library. When we have open positions, I am always amazed at the number of people who think that because they like to read books they would be perfect for a job in a library. The few times I have interviewed someone without library experience, they can't even answer the basic questions and when we start talking library tools, they are completely in the dark. I ask for their sense of the library as a whole, and they can't even see beyond the chair in which they are sitting.

If I were interviewing for a doctor position, would they think they were qualified because they like to do healthy things like walking? If I needed an opera singer, would they qualify if they like to listen to jazz? You get the idea. The library profession is in need of upgrading its image. I think I will start telling people I am an informatics engineer - one small piece of what I do. Maybe that will get a bit of respect! Meanwhile, perhaps one brother sees my role in a bit better light.

RIT Convocation

RIT has offered all kinds of orientation activities for both the freshmen and for their parents. Today, that all winds down. The last parent activity is Convocation. I sneak away from work to attend, wanting to see how they hold their convocation. Drew is surprised that I want to come, and happy because he forgot his phone charger and desperately needs it!

How unusual to sit in the bleachers and look out over a sea of brown tee-shirted students who are whooping and hollering and doing waves. There is a palpable excitement in the air. Faculty have stood outside and high-fived students as they entered the field house. The huge jumbotron shows us everything, even activity that is too far away to be seen. As well, the close captioning scrolls along with sometimes humorous interpretations of what is being said. There are live interpreters on raised platforms all throughout the building.

Most of what is presented feels like a huge pep rally. The platform party consists of the deans of the 8 or 9 schools, the president and provost and a few others. They tell students that they have been given the opportunity of a lifetime and that if they don't take advantage of it, they might as well go home now and let someone else become a world force to be reckoned with. They are told that they will graduate with a desirable benefit of resources in their faculty and friends who will continue to help them succeed all their lives. They are urged not to throw away this  gift by getting involved with alcohol or drugs. They show videos of the social events that will happen throughout the year. We know how to work, and we know how to have fun.

Yeah! Have a blast. And when all is said and done, go get a great job because we have a 95%+ placement rate right out of college. I am inspired! After they are dismissed, I stand up in the bleacher and look for Drew in the sea of students milling about. I figure if I just stay put, he will find me, and he does. Thanks for the phone charger, gotta go. Love ya, having a great time. See you later. Wow - OK. I am not concerned about you being homesick, that's for sure. Now to go enjoy my own freedom.

And So It Begins

Drew has been counting down the days. He scrambled to get every form and paper where it belongs. He even endured getting a shot when in fact he had already had it but the paperwork did not support that. (He was none too happy with that piece). He contacted his roommate ahead of time and had all his ducks lined up. He even invited his roommate and his roommate's parents to dinner (at least he told me about it before they arrived!). They are a lovely family from New Jersey, nervous about their only son moving so far away from home. So much going in in preparation to the BIG DAY.

But here at last we have arrived at move-in day. Once again, I am impressed with RIT's process. They sent people in advance colored labels to put on their luggage and items. We are assigned a time to arrive, they have the student pick up their keys, then we drive to the circle in front of the dorms. There, we take everything out of the car and set it on the curb. Once the car is empty, I drive to the parking lot and take the shuttle back to the dorm while Drew and a ton of helpers carry all his belongings upstairs. He is completely moved in and less than an hour has gone by. Not bad. There are not really any long lines - just a short wait to get on the elevators. Still, considering they are moving 4000 freshmen in, it all went smoothly.

Drew is on the 8th floor of a 9 story dorm. His room is across the hall from the bathroom and right next to the stairs. It is beastly hot in the room, but he sets up his fans and soon it is bearable. Since we can't take the elevators down (reserved only for those bringing stuff up), we walk down the stairs and head to the shuttle in order to get to the field house where Drew collects a backpack full of swag and along the way signs up for things he is interested in like getting a parking sticker for my car so I can come on campus to pick him up. And turning in that health form proving he had the darn shot. He tells me he politely but in no uncertain terms registered his displeasure about the mix up. Meanwhile, they have a packet for the parents as well - complete with a calendar that tells me what is happening on campus when.

At this point I am exhausted and have to find a comfy chair to sit and wait it out until he is finished. He brings me a cup of cold water and I am thankful that the day does not turn out to be an ordeal that over taxes my already over taxed body. We go home after that - Drew allowing it because he can see I am beat, and because he forgot a few things that he will need. Eventually, I recover and take him back. It feels strange dropping him off and knowing I will not see him for awhile. I make him give me a hug. He is embarrassed, but complies, grinning from ear to ear as he heads into his new home.

Mission accomplished. Last child off to college and out of the house. Or at least partially out of the house.

Doggie Dreams

It is late at night. I am reading an article for my research and Sugar is curled up in the recliner next to me. Suddenly, she begins to move her legs as if she is running. She starts yipping and whimpering. She must be dreaming.

What do dogs dream about? Chasing cats? Chasing rabbits? Running free with no leash and no constraints? Do dogs have nightmares? Is she scared or being chased by the big bad wolf? Should I wake her and save her from the monster? Poor little puppy.

I watch her for a few more minutes and just as I decide to wake her, she stops, heaves a huge sigh, and rolls over. Safe for another day. Hope her next dream is full of wonderful things and no scary monsters. Me too. I haven't had any scary dreams in some long time. I guess if things in your life have been scary, there is no need to make it up in your dreams. These days my dreams can sometimes be confusing, but for the most part they are innocent. Of course, I may be dreaming right now . . .

View from the Back of the Platform

Today is the Roberts Convocation. Our new Dean of the School of Liberal Arts and Sciences will be speaking. I love the pageantry of robing, colors of the hoods flying behind faculty as they walk, tassels nodding. Faculty line up in the hallway of the Cultural Life Center, waiting for the cue to move into the auditorium, marching toward the platform, all eyes on the lines of learned people taking their places on the platform. The library faculty usually bring up the end of the line and we are seated at the back of the platform.

After the opening prayer, we are seated, and I am buried in a sea of black robes and backs of heads. I crane my neck to see the various people who take part in the service, from the reader of Scripture to the president and provost. It is tiring to try and follow all the movement. Once the speaker is introduced, I sit back in my seat to listen, and my eyes wander past the platform to those seated in the audience. The house is full including the balcony. Everyone is listening intently, as if somehow they can absorb in the hearing of this speech everything they need to know to succeed in college. The Dean's presentation addresses complicated and weighty topics.

I find myself wondering what is going through their minds, all these students that sit out there, beyond the platform, where once I myself sat. I remember when I first went to college, all the hopes and dreams and expectation and sheer newness of it all. It seemed then as if the whole world was at my disposal. Do these students think the same thing? Or do they bring the disillusionment of constraints that preceeding generations have placed on them?

It is difficult to see their faces from where I find myself sitting these days, tucked away at the back of the platform behind many others who share my life's path. I have great hopes that these students will find the cure for cancer, will solve the global warming problem, will disarm aggressive nations and defuse politically hot issues. I hope they will be smarter, more caring, more informed, more altruistic than we have been to date. Can they do it? Of course! Will they do it? That remains to be seen. I sure hope they will make vast strides in all the right directions.

Too Sick for Church

I open my eyes and roll over. Whoa! My body is in full revolt. Not a single muscle intends to cooperate. Everyone is on strike. I try again to get up, but immediately admit defeat and lie back on the bed, too tired to barely breathe. OK. I shouldn't have pushed through yesterday. Today I am completely wiped out. I know I will not be able to get to church or anywhere else. 

My kids know I am really in a pickle if I am so tired I don't go to church. That may even be more serious than the famous line "if I weren't so tired I'd go to the bathroom." The boys check in, concerned. There is nothing to do but wait until my body recovers and can function. I embrace my limitations and decide to enjoy lounging around doing nothing. I stare at the dirty dishes in the kitchen and ignore them. I think about picking up the junk mail and tossing it out, but I leave it lie right where it is.

Instead, I curl up in the blue recliner, wrap the blue afghan around me snugly, close my eyes, and let my mind wander while Sugar stares at me, concerned. I can go anywhere my head wishes to take me and usually I am off to somewhere I would love to explore - Jerusalem, the Vatican, touring monasteries peppered throughout the world, lying on a warm sandy beach sipping a cool drink - the possibilities are endless. Or I can work on that novel I have been writing in my mind for the last few months. But today, I barely start to dream and my mind shuts down. Interesting. I don't think I have been too tired to dream for quite some time.

Sigh. I spend the day dozing, nibbling (thank God for the plethora of tasty food people brought by!), dozing, watching mindless drivel on TV, dozing, dozing, dozing. I am too tired to really sleep deeply, but bit by bit over the course of the day, strength returns and the shaking stops. By bedtime, I think I can manage sleeping and I gratefully fall back into bed at 9:30. Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to manage work. I think so. Just nothing too strenuous.

More Paper Work

Today I need to finish my second paper. I have nothing on my calendar, and head to my office where I can think in peace and quiet. I am still tired, but should be able to handle just sitting and typing. As the day wears on, people keep interrupting me and wanting to talk. I am frustrated because I really want to get this paper done - it is due today - and I can feel my energy dissipating quickly. But it is not to be. People are more important than paper deadlines, so I concentrate on the person in my office and do what I can to address whatever is the concern.

At last I am rounding up my work. Inside I am a bowl of jiggling jello and mush. My head is pounding and my hands shake. I am so close. I am proofing for the second time. Suddenly, I think that what I have written is junk. Chemo has squandered my brain and I am not thinking clearly. This paper is not on target. I get the assignment out and read it again, going through the paper to see if I have answered the paper and done what was asked. Yes, it is there but not entirely clear and linear. I need to tighten it up and do a bit of connecting work.

I take a short break, get a drink of cold water, stretch, pray, and head back to my draft. Yes, I can see where I could improve things. Another half hour, and I am more satisfied with the results. I know it is not my best work. I can't help it. I submit, knowing I have pushed myself beyond my endurance. Why do I wait so long to get things done? So atypical of me. No matter. Right now I just need to go home and rest. The results are in God's hands anyway. I can only be what I can be.

Jumping In Early

Normally, I don't have any library orientation sessions this early in the semester. Classes for undergraduate level courses begin next Monday. But the graduate courses, especially some of the online programs, are starting new cohorts that happen to coincide with this crazy week. I am asked to do a class for the Masters of Social Work program, followed by a commuter orientation. They are back to back, but I should be able to step from one room to another and keep presenting for the 2 hours.

Except. Except that the MSW class got delayed and didn't show up until they were supposed to be done. Yikes! I quickly asked 2 colleagues to cover the commuter orientation since that one is mostly a tour and how-to do library stuff. They graciously agree so that I can still provide the necessary overview of finding books and journal articles for the masters students. It all works out. But I can tell that the added stress has taken its toll. Besides that, the steroid effect has worn off. I am shaky and exhausted, and I waste no time wrapping things up and going home where I collapse in my recliner.

Sugar senses that I am not myself. She climbs up beside me and we rock gently, thankful that someone is bringing dinner and I can just get a plate of nutritious food, fill my tummy, and drift off to sleep until it is time to go to bed. Sigh. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Keep Peddling

One more day of commitments for the faculty retreat. We have an entire day to work on upcoming changes and expectations. I know better than to expect that there will be anything I can safely eat at the breakfast spread, so I eat before I come. Today the new schools are holding meetings, and we librarians are invited to attend and be part of their conversation about how to function in the new organization.

I am glad I am not required to do anything other than sit and listen. I can manage that. I am glad that the pastor change his meeting with me so I can go home right after the sessions end. I take notes. I work on being present and absorbing the discussions and concerns. I also serve on faculty senate and it is helpful for me to hear the thoughts of other faculty.

I move from room to room as the schedule requires, and focus on participating fully. I just keep going because God is my strength and my fortress and he will under gird my attempts to give my all to the work at hand and my ability to know when to call it quits and go home. Another blessing that the steroids are holding out, but I am beginning to fade.

Celebrating 5 Years

No rest for the weary. Good thing they loaded me up with steroids! I have a 2 day faculty retreat I am required to attend. Today they are recognizing people who have been with the institution for certain lengths of time. Five years is the first milestone, and I have reached that point. Hard to believe. It does not seem as if I have been here 5 whole years already. I recognize others in the 5 year category who began when I did. Nice.

What surprises me is that people noticed my 5 year award. Many commented on my achievement. Of course, most of them thought I had been here a lot longer. Thinking it was because I am older, I asked what gave them that impression. The unanimous response? Because I know everything! Well, that's because I arrived at the same time as the new building opened and I was involved with all the new policies that had to be decided. 

At the worship service, I am asked to help serve communion. What better way to be healed than to offer Christ's healing to others. Take the body of Christ, broken so that I will not have to be. Take the blood of Christ, shed so mine won't need to spill out. I pray for each person, amazed that my Roberts family has come together once again for this solemn moment of sharing and caring and being united in purpose and mission. We are the body of Christ, supporting one another, bearing one another's burdens, celebrating one another's joys.

I am surprised to learn that another faculty person was at the infusion center yesterday getting Rituxan at the same time as I was there. She is able to take it faster and only spent 5 hours there, but had we known we would have chatted. Today, while I am a bit weary, I am holding my own. At end of day, I will go home and to bed early, but I am OK. My colleague left in the middle of the afternoon session, too worn to go on. She didn't get the full round of steroids.

There you have it. Different paths for each of us, and by God's grace we are able to do what needs to be done.

Chemo

I arrive at 7 am, have labs done, meet my new oncologist (my beloved Dr. Young has moved to Philadelphia). He is the head of the lymphoma department and the originator of the trial I am part of. Bless my stars, he informs me that they have been tracking the amount of radiation we are exposed to due to the trial, and have decided we are getting too much, so I will not longer have so many scans. Only 1 per year!!!! Hallelujah! I have expressed concern about the radiation exposure for years now. I am happy that someone listened and did something about it. Now on to the infusion center.

Oh, rabbits. The wonderful nurse I had last time is on vacation and I get another nurse who has not worked through my scenario. I patiently explain to her that I get the big guns up front, but she is not buying it. She prefers to give the least amount of drugs and add more in if needed. Better for the person. Right. I explain that I always have a reaction, but she just smiles and gives me pills. For a moment I want to scream at her and throw the pills at her head. But I remember that I am under God's grace and perhaps he has another idea. I sigh, surrender, and take the darn pills. At least I won't sleep through the day.

But I do see that there is a need for me to be awake. A gentleman arrives around 11:30, new to the cancer game. He is angry and belligerent and quite vocal about not wanting to be here or cooperate with the process. I listen, knowing that it won't do me any good to try and allay his fears. He just needs to vent. After he is set up, he finally realizes I am there, looks at me, and asks what I am in for. I tell him. He asks if I am a new patient, and when I tell him I have played the cancer game for nearly a decade, he pelts me with question after question.

Turns out he is a musician who has played with some of the jazz greats of our time. He owns an instrument repair business. When he finds out that I used to work at Eastman, and that I know the musicians he mentions and am impressed, he relaxes. We have a wonderful conversation until I start having the predictable reaction. I call the nurse. She shakes her head. Gotta get the big guns. She consults with the head nurse, and sure enough, here comes the IV stuff. I apologize to my pod mate and tell him I will be asleep shortly. So true.

Before he leaves, he wakes me enough to leave his email. Would I please contact him? He appreciates being able to ask a veteran about treatment options. Hum. A veteran. But OK. I am able to take the whole bag of Rituxan and find myself wobbling down the hall at 5:30 pm, hoping I will be able to drive myself home OK. I know that I can always sit in the car if I am not up to it yet. Fortunately, I can manage and happily head home to Sugar and a provided meal and a quiet night to sleep it off.

Pre-Chemo Jitters

I have been warned before that sometimes when people have been undergoing cancer treatment such as chemo for awhile, just the thought that you are about to get it again can make you nauseous and feel weak. I have only experienced that once or twice, and it was mild. I recognized it right away. Today though, it is not nausea or weakness that I am experiencing. It is downright rebellion. I just don't want to go through this again. To quote the familiar saying, I am sick and tired of being made to feel sick and tired. I entertain the thought of just saying NO!!!!

I recognize that I am short tempered and argumentative. I feel shaky and cross. Glorified menopause. Boo. I want to run and hide. In fact, I would like to hop the nearest plane and head for the Bahamas or somewhere that the infusion center would never find me. Kvetch, kvetch. I remind myself that I am fortunate to be able to afford and receive this treatment. I remind myself that chemo is not my enemy, but helps me deal with cancer. Cancer is the foe here. Right. Get mad at the cancer. Get a grip for cryin' out loud!

Fortunately, I will not have much time to dwell on this. I have a full schedule today. Providing a library orientation for new faculty at Roberts followed by the first senate meeting of the academic year, then helping our new reserves person process requests and getting the new evening supervisor set up, train of the new course management upgrade, meet with the Provost and Academic Vice President to talk about budget issues, and make sure everything is covered so I can be out tomorrow! Phew! Mission accomplished.

Go home, walk the dog, make sure the apartment is clean and everything is caught up because I won't have any energy to do anything for awhile, stock the cupboards and put gas in the car. Tire yourself out and refuse to think about tomorrow. And for goodness sake, don't let any gloomy thoughts penetrate your breath praying. God is with you. Nothing has changed. Chemo or no chemo, the anticipation alone will kill you if you let it, so don't let it.

Besides, you asked for prayer at church, and by God's grace, you brought all this to the foot of the cross and received strength and encouragement to walk on unencumbered by fear and jitters. You were anointed by the pastor and prayed for by the elders with passion and touched by Christ. Walk in THAT now and be at peace. God is with you even in the worst chemo treatment you have ever been asked to endure.

Picnic

Poor Drew got scheduled to work in the morning today, and will not be able to go to church with me. And today is the church picnic at Eastman Durand Park! We have both been looking forward to this time of fellowship and fun.I decided to bring a whole watermelon which I have carefully packed in ice in my red ice chest. That melon is huge! I suspect it will feed Coxey's Army.

It is a beautiful day for a picnic - the sky is blue, the air a comfy temperature, the lake shimmering in the sun. The drive along the lakeshore is pleasant. People are boating and walking about and sitting on the grass and walking dogs and children. The feel of summer is very much evident.

I locate the shelter where we are meeting and park in the shade. Someone helps me cart the heavy watermelon up to the dessert table. We will cut it when the people are ready to eat melon. I sit and chat with friends and new acquaintances while we wait for everyone to arrive. No one is in a hurry. At last the food is blessed and the line forms to fill plates.

This is always an iffy proposition for me. I sort through the dishes to see if there is anything I can eat without compromising my well being. Yes, there are some things. I giggle to myself as I compare my sparsely filled plate with those around me overflowing with goodies. You would think I would lose weight on such a restricted diet, but I don't.

Still, the conversation is filling. I enjoy watching the intergenerational games being played. You have to really coax us adults to get in there, but the kids jump right into the thick of things. There is even an easter egg hunt! I love to hear the laughter and squeals of delight. Even the dog got into the swing of things.

Before I realize, it is time to go pick up Drew from work. I have had a wonderful afternoon and will share all the fun with Drew. It was just like having a family BBQ in the back yard. Just with a big yard and lots of family.

Paper Work

Some papers write themselves easily. Others refuse to come together no matter what you do. Still others, like this one, come together and then fall apart only to make sense and then open up other worlds until you are so confused you aren't in the least bit clear about what you are trying to say!

Time to step back and let it simmer  until your head clears. Despite copious notes, outlines, inserts from the wording of the assignment, the information just won't jell. There are too many rabbit holes and complex issues for me to keep my brain focused on one single aspect - or for that matter to even wrap my head around the bigger morass of understandings.

In some respect, it may be because this is new territory. I am trying to do the math and intertwine several fields to make a consolidated new pile. Like stacking odd shaped items that keep sliding off each other. Difficult to stack apples and bananas into a ten foot tower! Well, this is a good sign. Grappling with concepts brings new understanding. You can't just digest regurgitated info forever. I am confident that a good night's sleep will help me see things more clearly. That and a solid dose of Holy Ghost insight!

Ah, Sweet Rain

I awaken to the muted thumping of my upstairs neighbors' feet on their floor/my ceiling. The room is still a murky gray and I slip from between the covers to open the blinds and discover the day. I am not a big blind lover, but until I get my curtains hung, I am sentenced to living behind closed windows, cut off from the world that invigorates me. I must have green and blue and sunshine or I wither and wilt.

Today, the world is softened by the overcast sky. I hear the continual drip drip drip of rain clambering down the rainspout and dribbling onto the concrete below. The window glass is speckled by drops of water that have splashed up from the grass. It is a gentle and comforting sound, lowering blood pressure and racheting back the intensity of wound-tight schedules. I tiptoe to the kitchen to make a cup of Prince of Wales tea (no citrus), then adjust my pillows so I can sit comfortably on my bed and read my devotions.

I begin with my Small Book of Prayers, a little red book filled with time-tested prayers. I select the entries  for second week of the month, Friday morning. I find these scripted prayers help me think bigger and engage in a wider diversity of concerns. Then I sing Psalms (yes, SING - they are, after all, songs) and read the gospel passages and prayers in Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours: Prayers for Summertime. After that, I turn to my own little prayer journal to jot down what is on my heart today, people, projects, issues. Finally, I turn to my large print NRSV Bible and read a Proverb and a section from, right now, the gospel of John. I ponder these readings for a bit, letting the Holy Ghost direct my thoughts. Sometimes I get the most amazing insights during this time - not exactly lectio divina, but along that line.

Sugar is curled up at the foot of the bed, her tail covering her nose. She knows that I will begin my day when I am ready and not before and has given up begging for my attention during these first moments I am awake. It is just at this point that I am finally ready to enter into awareness of God. Up to this point, it has been more like prep work, getting myself realigned and adjusted, cleaned up, focused. Kind of religious calisthenics or eating a healthy meal or reading a letter from a loved one.

So far, I have not actually done anything more than engage my mind and perhaps my heart. Now comes the important part - to be with God. To move from reading about to being in the presence of God. Set those love letters aside and hug in person. Radical thought, I know. Over the top. One must be properly prepared to meet the king, even if he is your father. For the next however many minutes, I seek an audience with the Creator - a morning hug, if you will - before I head out for the day.

I am not always successful in sensing his presence. Some days it is as if I showed up for the date and he did not. Or I got the place wrong. Or the time wrong. Or I just don't realize who he is and I pass by not connecting, strangers in the night. Or I am not appropriately attired. Other times though, it is sweet. I sense his love and care and grace, his uplifting strength. It is refreshing and invigorating. Those are the times I hang on to and embrace. What is a day without the one you love? What is a day indeed without the satisfying connection that makes me breath and live and have my being.

A Tale of Two Campers

Last weekend I was supposed to go camping in Maine with my brother and his wife. I wanted to go and had been looking forward to it. But somehow I ran out of steam. I knew a whole week beforehand that I just didn't have the resources to undertake the trip, but I held off telling my brother, hoping I would magically get reinvigorated. Didn't happen. I finally let him know that I just couldn't swing it. I felt badly deserting him at the last minute, but he understood. I moped a bit during the weekend, but couldn't even manage to go to the end of the season library picnic. Just didn't have it in me. I sat home and rested.

My brother's wife called me to tell me what I had missed out on. At first, I thought she was going to go on and on about how wonderful it had been and how I really should have been there. But the tale she told had me laughing hysterically and thanking my lucky stars I had reneged. Turns out the weather forecast was for balmy weather, no rain. So they pitched their tent sans cover tarp, meaning there was just netting between them and the stars.

Along about midnight, they were awakened by a clap of thunder and decided maybe it might be advisable for them to get up and put the tarp over their tent. They no sooner gotten up and started digging for the tarp than the skies opened up and the deluge began. Within seconds they were both totally soaked. They fumbled for the tarp anyway, first finding the wrong one, then the right one, and amidst lightning flashes, managed to get the tarp in place.

Meanwhile, the tent, with its 2 feet of canvas siding, had filled with water and everything inside including their clothes was floating in water. Bummer. Not a dry stitch in the tent. They took refuge in their car, assuming that the rain would peter out in a few minutes. They spent a good half hour laughing and strategizing about how to proceed when it occurred to them that the rain was not letting up and would probably continue for the rest of the night.

They decided to surrender and find a hotel room for the night, but there was nothing available. They called every hotel in the area only to be told there was no vacancy. Finally, they did find one room, but it was $200 for the night. Desperate and weary, they agreed to the cost and took the room. Fortunately, the clerk took one look at their bedraggled state and only charged them $100.

They spent the next day at a laundromat drying everything out and debating about the wisdom of staying or just packing it in and heading home. Upshot of it was, they went shopping at the LL Bean Outlet Store, then went home. I am SOOOO glad I didn't end up pushing to go when I was so tired, then having to deal with the deluge and the flood and the added cost without any of the benefit of enjoying a campfire (!) and nature in its gentle form.

The best benefit I got from the whole experience was an hour of hysterical laughter as I was hearing of their exploits. I could just picture the scene and the frantic racing about in the midst of sheets of water rolling down on them. And a very grateful heart that I had paid attention to reality and called it quits before I got soaked. Literally.

Morning Off

Since I work late on Wednesdays, I generally plan all my errand running and appointments for Wednesday mornings. I like to get stuff done, but of course it means that by the time works ends at 9 pm I am exhausted. Today went a bit differently. Instead of getting up and getting out and doing all those little things that need attention, I just stayed home. I took extra time about devotions, Sugar and I took an extra leisurely walk, then I lollygagged about, watched a movie, had several cups of hot tea with my toast, and just sat still.

I didn't miss the running around at all. I am sure at some point all those little things will get done, but being quiet was thoroughly enjoyable. Sugar curled up on my lap and sighed contentedly as if to say 'sure wish we could do this more often.' I agree. We should indulge in a delicious slice of peace more often. Nice. I breezed into the 9 pm closing with no trouble. No trouble at all.

Strategizing

I have never been good at politics. It does not occur to me to "play the game" in order to ensure that outcomes favor my position and thinking. I am not especially good at remembering to see the big picture and where my needs fall within that whole, nor have I ever been wont to wine and dine the powers that be in order to curry favor. Perhaps this is an area where I need to learn some skills. Like the saying goes, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

I do know that there is a time for wisdom though, and as I pray about projects and initiatives, sometimes the good Lord whispers an idea in my head. If I am prudent, I will act on it. I am not always prudent. Fortunately God is patient and will bring an idea around repeatedly until I get it. I can be pretty thick headed.

I did manage to finally wise up for one of my projects and connect with someone in the know who does have political savvy and is willing to explain stuff to me. I listen with respect and hear this person diplomatically inform me of the options, then speak recommendations that make sense based on the workings happening. It all seems so simple when you know all the pieces. Now I can maneuver with informed action rather than just blundering ahead like I often do. I suspect the project will launch nicely without a struggle. Thank God for wise counselors and friends who are in your corner.

Fallen Angel

I wanted to hang a nice wreath on my front door, and had been looking around to find just the right thing. So many of my neighbors have wonderful door decor that I am inspired. I didn't want to hang anything seasonal that would require owning multiple wreaths. Rather I was looking for some generic but pleasing decoration. It took quite awhile but I finally found a country home piece that was grape vine twisted into the shape of an angel, with halo and blue checkered ribbon. Nicely understated yet uplifting. And quite reasonably priced - under $10.

Drew agreed to hang it for me. We had found a dark green hook (the color of the outside door) that sticks on the door (no nail holes). He put it up and I was enjoying being greeted by an angel every time I came home. This morning, I opened the door to walk Sugar, and found my angel down on the ground between the green door and the screen door. Oh, poor baby. Poor little angel. No flying for you. I barely had time to scoop her up and set her on the counter before Sugar dragged me outside. My whole walk was tinged with the sadness of the grounded angel. I barely noticed the sun poking through the clouds or the beautiful cattails and milkweed pods.

Turns out that the hook came loose. The angel wasn't damaged from her fall at all. Somewhere underneath this incident lies a comment on another reality. I shall let you draw your own conclusion about fallen angels and their encounters with grace that keep them from harm. I shall simply wish all the little angels I know happy flying and mounds of grace when they mess up.

Rain Disconnect

My poor mint plant died during the move. My one big casualty. Mint is usually so hardy you can't kill it if you want to, but this little spearmint plant never did do what it should have. I want to replace it, and decided to stop on the way home at the Garden Factory and pick up a new one. The sky was overcast when I entered their huge store and greenhouses, a few raindrops splattering against the windshield. Drew elected to stay in the car (texting I suspect) while I ran my simple errand.

No sooner had I entered the building than the sky was rent in two and a forceful deluge let loose. It was rather exciting what with all that water pounding down on us. You could hardly hear yourself think in the greenhouse - I have never heard such an echoing drumming sound like that. Here and there the water managed to make its way inside, creating little puddles about on the blacktop. Sheets of water curtained the glass walls, making you feel as if you were in an underwater tunnel.

For awhile I wandered slowly about, more interested in the rain than finding a mint plant, but then I realized that the majority of the greenhouse was empty. While there were a few fall mums available, most of the rest of their stock was gone. No houseplants. No herbs. Bummer. Maybe they moved them inside. Not willing to dash through the waterfall shower outside, I made a circuitous route around the perimeter of the huge complex. Not an herb in sight, not even a packet of seeds. Talk about out of season! All I could find were fall bright orange and gaudy yellow red leaved wreaths and door decor. Not my cup of tea.

I gawked a bit longer, reticent to brave the elements, but tiredness won out, and I texted Drew to pull up to the front door. Despite the 2 second dash into the car, I was drenched. The rain was coming down so fast that the parking lot was a standing pool of inches deep water. As we headed toward home, the water ran down my back, trickling in rivulets to the seat. Half a mile down the road, the rain let up to a steady normal rain, then a fine mist. By the time we reached home, not a sign of rain existed. The driveway pavement was bone dry, the sun was shining, the grass was without a drop of water.

How strange just a few miles can make! From deluge to drought in a few thousand feet. Interesting.

Hummingbirds and Jack Rabbits

Sugar and I decided to take a long walk. I am up for some exercise and a bit of exploration of our new digs. I have mostly stuck to walking near our end of the complex, but the time has come to investigate more of my new world. We head toward the stop sign, then I urge Sugar to move beyond it and into the as yet unknown. She keeps looking back at me with worried eyes. Is this right? Should we keep going? This is wild country. She is not sure it is safe.

We had been walking on the edge of the road, but now I turn into an open field. The grass is short, the buttercups are rife, and I embrace wandering on the good earth. Sugar steps gingerly onto the grass, then looks at me as if to say she thinks I have gone daft. Then, seeing I am resolute, she begins to run across the field to the safety of the sidewalk on the other side. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a good sized jack rabbit jumps up and dashes off to the left into the brushy bushes along the marshy area, the little puff of white of its tail disappearing into the cattails and milkweed pods. Clearly other animals have gone down this rabbit hole, for it is a well worn bending of the grasses.

Sugar is startled, jumps back and whimpers. What are you doing?? Help me. I am not a wild animal. I laugh at her confusion, and we head to the safe sidewalk and wander around near the empty business buildings. We discover a good sized holding pond of scummy green and brown water with just a tiny fence between grass and water. A huge bullfrog jumps out of the grass right in front of Sugar and she scurries behind me, out of harm's way. She tugs on her leash, begging me to turn back to the house. I oblige, but walk slowly. The weather is warm, the breeze gentle, the day welcoming.

Others are outdoors too. Two young boys riding big wheels tricycles clack noisily up and down the sidewalk by their house. The older boy calls out that he likes my puppy. I thank him and he goes back to his furious driving. Several other walkers nod and smile. I greet a young woman who sees Sugar and comes to say hello. I note the porches and patios, appreciating all the unique decorations and plants and lawn furniture. Finally, we make it completely around the complex and head home. Just before Sugar reaches the safety of her own little place, we encounter a bejeweled hummingbird darting in and out of hibiscus flowers at a nearby neighbors - to the scorn of a carefully placed hummingbird feeder.

I stand and watch for awhile and Sugar, sensing she is back in familiar territory, rolls around in the grassy area and snuffles the air. Finally, we head inside to get a drink of cold water and rest. Nice orientation. I think it deserves a repeat. Just not today. I think I will do more walking here. Nicer scenery.

Gettin' the Skinny

Such a quiet and pleasant neighborhood! Lots of people are out walking dogs early in the morning. My kind of place. In the evening I barely see any lights on anywhere. I wonder if people really go to bed early? So far I have met 6 or 7 of my neighbors. Mostly because they are walking their dogs and Sugar insists on greeting all her canine neighbors.

Several times, I have encountered a nice young man who lives catty corner to me. He has a puppy named Beretta (but who is so friendly and playful I don't think he will live up to his name). This morning, since Beretta is not leashed, she frolicked up to Sugar and the two of them had a grand time rolling around and playing while we owners chatted.

He warned me to be very careful about the uneven sidewalks. Seems a number of people, especially older residents (hum, I think I qualify) have taken bad falls. In fact, the previous resident of my unit took a nasty fall by the garbage dumpsters, broke her hip and shoulder, and lay there awhile until a neighbor discovered her later with her dog all tangled up in its leash nearby. She left because she felt the complex staff showed no concern for her while she was recovering. Interesting.

Then he filled me in on the rest of my neighbors - who lives in which unit, who is young, who is older, where they work if they do, who is likely to complain about stuff, who is gone on weekends, etc. I got the complete skinny on everyone. He has lived there a whole year, just signing his second year lease. But apparently it is easy to get to know your neighbors and he has a wonderful way of disarming people with his charm and kindness.

I almost feel like I have entered a Lake Woebegone zone! I hope the honeymoon era lasts a good while. Meantime, I need to work on my patio. I have a ways to go to make it as welcoming as most of the other places look. My plants need some revitalizing and maybe I should add in a bird feeder (resist the urge to get more stuff!!!). I finally got the flag to stay put, but I definitely need to repaint my wind chime. Nice to be encouraged to take pride in where you live.

A Light Heart

Sugar has not yet settled into a morning routine. Every day we head in a different direction. Every day she sniffs new territory. Nice to explore, but the unpredictability is time consuming. Today I stand on the sidewalk near the stop sign 3 buildings down from our house while she noses about. The sky is overcast and swirled with mounds of gray clouds. Rain is predicted - a good thing, really.

I look up, stretching my neck and suddenly I am struck with wonder and amazement. There in the center of the swirling grayness an opening in the clouds in the shape of a heart! I kid you not. A perfect heart shaped window of light - pure shimmering sunlight - pouring through the rent in the storm clouds. It was as if the love of God couldn't help itself from spilling into the darkness. And somehow that love caressed all the bumpy frustrations of the past few months, melting at their hardness like heat softens an ice cream cone. I hadn't realized how uptight I have been.

I stood there a long while until Sugar tugged impatiently at her leash. I hope the heart of light has touched others this morning as well. What a glorious way to begin an otherwise dreary day.

Darn Paper

I have written, edited, rewritten, rearranged, changed the focus, scrapped, gone back to the drawing board, re-read the sources, thought about, discussed, and written some more. But this paper simply will not behave itself. Just when I think I have it on track, it derails and I am back to square one. I am determined to get this completed! I cast about to see where the problem lies.

I have had papers that were obstinate before, but I suspect this time the trouble is that I have not yet finished my internal processing and I am trying to make several points simultaneously. Sort of like my summer has worked out. Many projects, lots of progress, but no clear focus so nothing is complete. Now I will survey all the pieces on my plate and select one, focusing my attention and energy. If I am fortunate, I will be able to filter out the other attention grabbers and conquer the whole one piece at a time. Yes, I think that will work. I will give it whirl and hope for something solid to turn in.

Tuesdays with Esther

I missed last week due to the move. Way too worn out. But tonight we are back. It was a shot in the arm to see everyone and work on cards together. I know the cancer patients will enjoy tonight's offerings. Such creative and pretty designs. Every card is so original and cheerful, filled with flowers, birds, butterflies, monkeys, dolphins, starfish, bows, ribbons, cutout shapes and patterns in every color of the rainbow.

The one thing we struggle with is what to say on the inside - Have a day filled with comfort and peace. May you be surrounded by loving friends and family. Wishing you peace and strength. Ideas? We would welcome some cheerful sayings to write in. Of course, we have the stamps that say things like You Are in My Thoughts and Know That Someone Cares About You. Those are good, but there is something a bit more personal when you hand write a little message.

Our conversation tonight was filled with joking around, stories of our summer activities, updates on family members' travels and just plain fun stuff. Meanwhile, we created 15 new cards for the stack which is now well over 100. Plus we have 4 completed shawls - oh, 5 now. One just arrived right now! A beautiful crocheted warm brown with rose and other soft hues mixed in. Someone will love the softness and thickness of this one! Next week will be our last summer session. After that things get crazy until the semester is launched and settles down a bit. We will resume again in September when I can figure out the where and when stuff.

Sure hope this keeps going for a way long time.

Long Day

My life is not my own. It has always belonged to the people who live with me. What I do and what I eat and where I go seems to be at others' beck and call and need. While this is especially true when your children are little, it doesn't go away when they grow up. The impact is different, but it still shapes you.

I had thought that once my children move out and I live by myself, I will be the one deciding when I rise and when I retire, what I eat and when, how I will spend the money I earn. I am beginning to suspect it is all a lie. With Drew's new job and the need to share a car, I find myself stranded and bumped about driven by the whims of his supervisor. Two days a week the boy must be at work by 7 am, and that means I must be at work by 6:30 am in order that he get where he needs to be. Sigh. OK. I am happy you have a job. You need a job. I just wish it didn't mean I had to sign on too.

Whine, grumble, gripe, complain. I am a crotchety old coot. Who would have thought such a small thing would make me so pouty! Really, I need to just get over it and be grateful. It's not so hard a thing. Besides, this is Drew's time to figure things out and plan ahead and get his act together. I ought to be grateful that he is trying so hard to succeed. Inhale. Exhale. This too shall pass.

Thank God for Sunday

I awake at my usual early hour despite my late night retiring. I know not only that I will go to church, but I long to be there - to be in the midst of the familiar and the uplifting, to partake of communion and be filled with the Word. To be touched by the One who loves me and cares what happens to me. To hear again the encouraging words of life and blessing. To be with friends and be touched by their smiles, their stories, their ah-ha's of the week.

Drew is a bit surprised that I am up. He would rather have spent the day sleeping I suspect. But no matter. I walk the dog and we climb in the car and head east (how appropriate) with gratefulness that the car is working and the way is clear to travel. It looks like rain, but we are undaunted by the weather.

We sit in the sanctuary surrounded by reminders of faith - the beautiful stained glass windows depicting Jesus as he touched lives, the tall white candles softly lighted, the open Bible, the paraments of green swaddling the altar and the pulpit, gracious flowers on the window sills, the pastors in their monk-like robes and stoles.

My feet touch the rich luxurious thick red and yellow patterned carpet beneath my sandals. The chair hugs me gently, the soft cushion comforting, the arms supportive. I relax and close my eyes letting the quiet of the room wash me clean from the noise and bustle of the week. The playful voices of little children assure me that what I am experiencing will continue long after I am gone.

And so we begin. Together we sing words of encouragement. We confess our sins and receive God's cleansing. We listen to the Word of God read and sung. We nod and smile during the time for children. The Word is brought to us. The bread is broken. The cup lifted high. The body of Christ broken for me. The blood of Christ shed for me. Take and be healed. Take and be whole.

Yes, this realigns my twisted misshapen life to what is pure and good and right. This reassures me that everything is going to be all right. This bath refreshes and rejuvenates and enlivens. Afterwards, we gather to be with each other, to check in and be hugged. Yup. No matter how bumpy the night, thank God there is always Sunday. Its just like going home for Christmas. Without the angst.

Late Night Meltdown

Ooo. I feel terrible. I am unsettled. I can't get things to behave and be orderly. Every time I manage to clear a spot it fills up again with more stuff. I feel like I am being drowned. After all I have done to ensure things will fit, they don't. Or at least the continual clutter makes it feel that way. Will Drew ever find time to take care of his stuff? If he would just stay home long enough we might make some progress. I am totally unstrung by all the plastic shelving units that are uneven and cluttered with a myriad of messy wires from sound systems and games and whatnot not to mention the scattered boxes half empty, the dirty clothes on the floor, the scraps of paper everywhere.

Tonight is more than just move-in distress though. I know I have been fighting the usual annoying symptoms - darn cough, aches and pains, fading in and out of chemo brain. Part of the reason for the move is so I can manage things more easily. Tonight I just can't seem to get myself to bed. I watch a silly old movie where it is snowing (How to Marry a Millionaire with Marilyn Monroe) and I keep moaning 'snow' as if the coming winter were upon us any minute. Even Drew remarks on my situation, especially when it gets to be 2 am and I say I don't think I will be able to go to church in the morning. Now that's disturbing for him to hear.

Then I remember. God is my comfort and shield, a very present help in time of trouble. With a sigh, I lie down and rehearse my angst to his ears. I am old. I am dysfunctional. I am headed downhill. I have no reprieve. I am - but the truth is, God is. God is able, God is love, God is my source and supply, God is my healer, God is with me, God is in charge. And on that little note, I sigh with relief, my eyes close and I drift off to sleep dreaming of the place he is preparing for me. I am pretty sure it will not be filled with clutter!

Meet the Neighbors

Sugar and I are still trying to find our routine for walking. So far either she has been desperate (she has been so worked up over the move that she is all off kilter) or too nervous to take care of business. We have a little quad by the front door that extends the length of the property. There are sidewalks and grass and small trees - a lovely place to meander.

Tonight as we walk about, I am struck by how many of the apartments are dark. Not a light to be seen. No "porch lights." No windows lighted up. Every place is so dark it feels as if the place is deserted. I know it can't be because there are cars in the parking lots. But do these people all go to bed at 9 pm? Or just sit in the dark? I have seen a few people out and about - mostly young women walking their dogs. There is one family with children. Overall though, it is as if I am living in a ghost town.

I am sure I will meet the neighbors soon. The verandas all look so inviting with their welcome mats and slates inviting visitors. They have flags and plants and comfy chairs. One would think this a porch community, not an unoccupied territory! Well, Sugar finally relaxes enough to take care of business, and I am too tired to be concerned about meeting neighbors. Tonight I will just sink into my easy chair and budge with each rise of energy to tuck one more little thing into its new place. I'll meet the neighbors tomorrow.

Chaos

Sigh. I don't function well when things around me are in an uproar. I worked so hard to get my new place under control. Perhaps I am, after all, a control freak. My bathroom, kitchen, laundry room and bedroom are mostly settled. Really, it is the living room become Drew's room that is spilling over into the dining room and hallway. You can hardly find a spot to put your foot down!

Of course, the new wrinkle is the lack of a storage area. So I now find tucked in my super giant sized closet the spare tire, the Christmas decorations, the camping gear and various other non-personal items. Normally, these things would go in the front hall closet, but that is where Drew's things must reside, and it is already too small to accommodate his stuff. So I tuck it carefully in my area. It fits OK - the closet is well shelved and there is lots of room beneath my hanging clothes for the plastic bins.

Several living room items like the tray tables are now living in my bedroom as well. I had not realized that Drew is a "keeper of unnecessary stuff" - he has not yet learned to keep it light and be free of the burden of possession. Unlike home owners, apartment dwellers must, out of self defense, not hang on to things 'just in case.' I wish Drew could pack rat all his desired boxes and bits and pieces to his heart's content. But he will not have that luxury unless he manages to purchase a house and stay put there for decades like my grandparents Appleby. I can still smell the heat and dry wood and dust of the attic in the summer when we got to explore the castoffs of an older generation. They were lucky to have a place to keep their history. Even for them though, comes a time when you have no choice but to let go. You can't take it with you, as the saying goes.

One of my colleagues has mentioned that his first retirement task is to purge his garage, shed, basement, attic and house of thirty years of collecting stuff. Of hanging on to something just in case. Of not wanting to discard something that still has some life in it. I understand both the reason a person would end up in such a state and the daunting task he will face when the time comes. I watched my parents break down my grandparents home of 60 years. I watched my siblings break down my parent's home of 30 years. Neither was a pretty picture.

But that is neither here nor there. At the moment, my task is a bit more paring. This is a good step for me and the size of the new place a help in weeding things down to a more manageable state of affairs. After all, how much stuff does one person need, really? A few clothes, a few dishes, a comfy chair and bed, a small table - and by most of the world's standards, owning such I am considered tremendously wealthy and blessed. I refuse to purchase any more storage areas or enabling cabinetry. I will shed what I cannot accommodate and do so with joy. I just wish Drew wasn't so sad about tossing empty packages and boxes that his stuff came in.

Cleaning Up Afterwards

Yikes! You think you are keeping things clean and well cared for, but once you have moved everything out, you realize how many little pockets of dirt have to be taken care of. I am becoming more committed to an annual spring cleaning - and in fact had planned to do just that this year before I thought of moving. When I was in high school, I often was hired by local women, most of them older and either single or widowed, to assist with the spring cleaning rituals.

Well I remember washing windows with newspaper and vinegar, taking all the dishes from cupboards and scrubbing out the insides, examining for breaks and chips and tossing the bad ones while washing and reshelving the good ones. We moved all the furniture to the centers of the rooms and thoroughly scrubbed the exterior walls, removing pictures and cleaning them carefully, chasing away spiders and brushing down cobwebs, all the while the windows thrown wide open to let the fresh spring air chase the winter doldrums and germs from the premises.

The women tied kerchiefs around their heads to keep the dust and dirt from their hair, but didn't hesitate a moment to clamber up on chairs to reach the top shelves and send a shower of dust on my head from the top of kitchen cabinets. Stairs were particularly challenging. Their houses usually had a front and back set, and most of them had removable runners or step coverings that had to be carefully taken up and washed while the wood steps were massaged with oil soap to rejuvenate the dried out wood. While none of my employers had coal heat, their furnaces managed to sap the strength of all the woodwork, and I spent hours polishing and rubbing and feeding all kinds of wood in every imaginable place.

I have lived in my apartment for four years and not done a thorough spring cleaning even once. Shame on me. I blame it on my various health challenges, but I am sure I could have hired someone to come and help. Seeing the result of four years of neglect helps me understand the importance of this little task. Next spring I hope to do just that. Meanwhile, today, we scrub and clean and vacuum and mop until it is past noon. But I feel as if we have done what needed to be done and our efforts will pass muster. The only place I cheated was in replacing the drip pans under the stove burners. I don't believe any amount of scrubbing could have saved them. But we are done, the keys are turned in, and we can focus on settling in. Something tells me this is the last move I will undertake for some long time. I hope so. I would like to be still for a bit.