Traveling is a bit trickier these days since I have a much smaller window of "holding power" after eating food. And the kinds of food I can tolerate are restricted, especially when I am traveling and under the added stress of encountering new situations. I don't mind learning to manage this small inconvenience. After all, the alternative is to have an ostemy, and I didn't care for that one bit when I had the temporary one.
I have figured out what I can handle in fast food places (almost nothing), and where to be creative about finding wholesome foods that are not health foods. For me, everything must be cooked, no whole grain stuff, have no seeds or chunks, not be seasoned with certain spices (cinnamon is one of the worst offenders) - its an art form to stay fed on the road.
The other half of the art form is knowing when to eat to time things so that you won't end up having an accident. This whole scenario is what makes me drive whenever I possibly can. I can control what I do and how it gets done much more, and avoid ending up feeling yucky or in distress or worse yet, wearing a diaper. But that is no reason not to take public transportation. You just have to figure out how to do it to minimize potential trouble.
So I only had a half a banana for breakfast, and a half glass of ginger ale for lunch. Even with that, as soon as I reached my destination, I headed straight for a bathroom and spent some quality time there. I built that into my shuttle reservation - I pretty much knew I couldn't just whoosh straight from the luggage pickup area to the shuttle for a 40 minute ride to campus. And I was right.
So my strategy was to get lunch/dinner at the airport before hopping on the shuttle, porting it to campus, and eating once I arrived (there are precious few eating places anywhere near campus, and until you get in the dorm and find a payphone, no way to order anything - cell phones aren't always working on the further shores of almost into Canada). Unfortunately, I didn't think about the size of the airport where I landed, and while there were several eating places, there was nothing I could tolerate in the way of a full meal.
So I opted for a scone and an iced tea. Not much after eating lightly all day. And while I was trying to munch that down and check in all at the same time (which was a pleasant surprise since registration didn't start until four and it was nowhere near four), the tornado alarm went off and we all scurried into the tunnels to wait it out. I gave up on eating.
My hope was that one of the other students would have a car and be planning to go out for a meal and I could hitch a ride. But there weren't many students arriving, and they ate before they came on campus (knowing what isn't there themselves!). So I was out of luck. I sighed and thought of checking the vending machines, but decided I would just pray about it, which I did. I asked the good Lord if He would take me to dinner and provide the kind of food I could eat.
Not twenty minutes later, one of the professors poked his head in the door and said hi, and that he had provided a schedule of when the dining hall would be open this year (they are only open if they have large enough groups on campus - sports campus, conferences, etc. There aren't enough students in our program for them to open up.) This was a vast surprise since last year they were not open the whole first week or so.
We chatted a few minutes, then I talked with some friends from last year, then went to my room. I glanced at the schedule. The dining hall is rarely ever open on a weekend. Lo and behold, they were open for some group called the LutherHostel. I went over to the dining hall to see if I could buy dinner there. I asked the ladies serving, and after they checked my status, told me I could go through the line. Roast chicken, carrots cooked in a butter sauce with basil, fresh salad (which I politely turned down), roast potatoes - perfect! Topped off with a steaming mug of chamomile tea to ward off the chill of the fog rolling off the lake.
While I ate, I got to hear the lecture to the group of retirees. It was an interesting history of the college and a glimpse of future plans. Afterwards, with a happy tummy, I went to pay at the cashiers, and the lady there said they wouldn't take my money - the meal was free! How often does *that* happen? I usually pay not just for my meal, but for my kids as well. What a treat that was.
Not a bad way to start the week. Not bad at all.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Cru-chi-fix-oos at dusk
Antonio Lotti was an Italian composer who lived in the late 1600's early 1700's. He was music director at San Marco's, writing for the services there. While I don't know many of his compostions, I absolutely love his settings of the Crucifixus which he wrote for from 5 to 10 voices. I hadn't heard his stuff in awhile, but last night I went to pick up Drew from youth group and discovered that they had extended the time and I was going to have to wait a half hour before he was ready. This was after working both jobs. I was a bit irritated, but then I decided to spend some gas keeping the car cool and listening to music while I waited. It was a lovely evening, and I popped one of the CDs that floats about in my car into the deck.
It turned out to be a St Olaf recording. I think Anton Armstrong is one of the best contemporary choral directors, especially of sacred music. St Olaf has a strong religious tradition steeped in excellent music, and Anton brings that to a higher level with his insightful interpretations and instinctive grasp of the musics he conducts. It is another instance of someone who, like my amazing pianist friend, makes the music so effortless that you get wrapped up in it while at the same time realizing how unique and rare the talent and discipline that brings it forth in such a wonderful way.
I lay the back of my seat down and peered up into the heavens. It was dusk, and there were a handful of stars clear and bright, peeking over the dark shadow of trees across the street from the church's parking lot. At that moment, Lotti's Crucifixus a 8 came on. I immediately pressed repeat.
For the next 20 minutes, my car became a cathedral, filled with the swirling sounds of voices embracing the precious gift of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. The piece starts with the lowest voices entering one at a time with the simple word 'Crucified' in Latin. The pitches slide in and out of dissonance, creating an environment at once sad, filled with pain, yet comforting and secure. Every entrance was clear, every moving line transparent, every ounce of significance there for the taking.
Anton's choir is a college choir, and the bass voices are quite resonant, the soprano voices clear and untroubled by pitch problems, floating effortlessly above the pithy center voices. Lotti brings us in and out of thick lament, contrasted by quiet reflection. Armstrong gives us all the right breathing space, letting the music take its time to touch us, to make sense, to register before moving us further toward total awe.
Hearing this amazing performance juxtaposed against the height of the dusky star-sprinkled sky suddenly created an eerie awareness of how vast the world I cannot see, how close that unseen world, how small my perspective, my point of view. It was tremendously liberating! Our God is indeed an awesome God.
I highly recommend the Lotti Crucifixus a la st Olaf and Anton at dusk. Its far better than any outdoors performance I have experienced to date.
It turned out to be a St Olaf recording. I think Anton Armstrong is one of the best contemporary choral directors, especially of sacred music. St Olaf has a strong religious tradition steeped in excellent music, and Anton brings that to a higher level with his insightful interpretations and instinctive grasp of the musics he conducts. It is another instance of someone who, like my amazing pianist friend, makes the music so effortless that you get wrapped up in it while at the same time realizing how unique and rare the talent and discipline that brings it forth in such a wonderful way.
I lay the back of my seat down and peered up into the heavens. It was dusk, and there were a handful of stars clear and bright, peeking over the dark shadow of trees across the street from the church's parking lot. At that moment, Lotti's Crucifixus a 8 came on. I immediately pressed repeat.
For the next 20 minutes, my car became a cathedral, filled with the swirling sounds of voices embracing the precious gift of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. The piece starts with the lowest voices entering one at a time with the simple word 'Crucified' in Latin. The pitches slide in and out of dissonance, creating an environment at once sad, filled with pain, yet comforting and secure. Every entrance was clear, every moving line transparent, every ounce of significance there for the taking.
Anton's choir is a college choir, and the bass voices are quite resonant, the soprano voices clear and untroubled by pitch problems, floating effortlessly above the pithy center voices. Lotti brings us in and out of thick lament, contrasted by quiet reflection. Armstrong gives us all the right breathing space, letting the music take its time to touch us, to make sense, to register before moving us further toward total awe.
Hearing this amazing performance juxtaposed against the height of the dusky star-sprinkled sky suddenly created an eerie awareness of how vast the world I cannot see, how close that unseen world, how small my perspective, my point of view. It was tremendously liberating! Our God is indeed an awesome God.
I highly recommend the Lotti Crucifixus a la st Olaf and Anton at dusk. Its far better than any outdoors performance I have experienced to date.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Summer Camp
When you were young, did your parents send you to summer camp? I was fortunate to go nearly every summer, and sometimes for more than one week. There were all sorts of flavors of summer camp. My first experience was Camp Pattersonville. What a unique place that was. You drove up a winding, twisty, steep, one-car-only hill, backing down if you met someone coming the other way. Every few feet there was a sign that told you to honk your car horn, and they meant it! It told people at the top of the hill that someone was coming up so they didn't start down.
The cabins were quite rustic - screens for windows, bunk beds with not much mattress, outhouses that stank to the high heavens, and a ice cold pool where you were tortured every morning into learning how to swim.
Meals were an adventure. It was their sworn duty to teach young children proper table manners like sitting up straight, not leaning your elbows on the table, eating EVERYTHING on your plate, saying 'please' and 'thank you' - I can't tell you how many times I ended up with cleanup duty due to elbows on the table.
There were songs that are *still* stuck in my head, games played by the whole camp like capture the bacon and steal the flag, overnight hikes where you slept under the stars and found out how uncomfortable dew can make you feel, and brushing your teeth at the communal trough outdoors!
We learned arts and crafts like weaving long lanyards out of pretty colored strands of plastic or sewing a leather coin purse. We got to manage money every night at the camp store where you got snacks like ice cream cones and licorice. We cleaned our cabins for inspections, kept our assigned schedules, and scurried about in the 'wild.' We heard Bible stories, memorized verses, and drank bug juice.
Best of all were the evening campfires. Your whole cabin - all eight of us girls - walked down together and perched on a log in front of a huge stack of wood. The director lit the fire, and we sang together, toasting s'mores. Then we listened as he talked to us, telling us stories, teaching us about life, about God, about behaving. You could look at the stars, hear the tree frogs chirping, the locusts singing. Then, after the fire had died to embers and you were done yakking with friends, you sauntered back to your cabin guided by your trusty flashlight. You could shine it on the path and avoid stepping on something you would regret; you could wave it in the darkness ahead of you, illuminating bushes and other kids; you could point it into the sky and see how far up the beam would go before you lost sight of it.
Such a little light for such a huge darkness. When we were all heading back together, it wasn't so bad. There were lots of little lights pointing out lots of things. You could see the path, the landscape, the sky. One night my shoe lace was untied, and I stopped to tie it. When I looked up, everyone else had walked around a bend in the path and they were out of sight. I was alone and the darkness was closing in. My tiny light didn't do much to help me see where to go.
I was a bit scared. I knew if I just walked towards the sound of talking ahead I would be fine. But I also bumped into several bushes and unexpectedly jolted into little dips in the road, lurching forward awkwardly. I went as fast as I could without totally falling down. It was not comfortable having one flashlight against the night. I was greatly relieved when I turned the corner and came into the light of the few street lights scattered about the main compound. No one had really noticed that I had lagged behind, and I never said anything.
But I remember how scary and uncomfortable it felt. Sometimes when I am traveling along the path of cancer and I am experiencing what others experience - those predictable and 'normal' symptoms and reactions, it is encouraging to see by the little lights of those around me. Sometimes when I am going off on some unpredicted tangent and feel alone with the darkness closing in, it's a bit intimidating. I am always able to get relief by shining the streetlight of God's word on the situation.
It may be night, but I don't have to stumble in the darkness. Prayer keeps me in the compound where the lamp posts are. Thanks for everyone who is praying. I'm also praying for my friend Ann who just had a biopsy. She is in a lot of pain and doesn't want to take the pain meds because they make her sleep and she doesn't want to miss life by sleeping it away. So please add her to your prayers tonight. Perhaps the added light will show her a better way.
The cabins were quite rustic - screens for windows, bunk beds with not much mattress, outhouses that stank to the high heavens, and a ice cold pool where you were tortured every morning into learning how to swim.
Meals were an adventure. It was their sworn duty to teach young children proper table manners like sitting up straight, not leaning your elbows on the table, eating EVERYTHING on your plate, saying 'please' and 'thank you' - I can't tell you how many times I ended up with cleanup duty due to elbows on the table.
There were songs that are *still* stuck in my head, games played by the whole camp like capture the bacon and steal the flag, overnight hikes where you slept under the stars and found out how uncomfortable dew can make you feel, and brushing your teeth at the communal trough outdoors!
We learned arts and crafts like weaving long lanyards out of pretty colored strands of plastic or sewing a leather coin purse. We got to manage money every night at the camp store where you got snacks like ice cream cones and licorice. We cleaned our cabins for inspections, kept our assigned schedules, and scurried about in the 'wild.' We heard Bible stories, memorized verses, and drank bug juice.
Best of all were the evening campfires. Your whole cabin - all eight of us girls - walked down together and perched on a log in front of a huge stack of wood. The director lit the fire, and we sang together, toasting s'mores. Then we listened as he talked to us, telling us stories, teaching us about life, about God, about behaving. You could look at the stars, hear the tree frogs chirping, the locusts singing. Then, after the fire had died to embers and you were done yakking with friends, you sauntered back to your cabin guided by your trusty flashlight. You could shine it on the path and avoid stepping on something you would regret; you could wave it in the darkness ahead of you, illuminating bushes and other kids; you could point it into the sky and see how far up the beam would go before you lost sight of it.
Such a little light for such a huge darkness. When we were all heading back together, it wasn't so bad. There were lots of little lights pointing out lots of things. You could see the path, the landscape, the sky. One night my shoe lace was untied, and I stopped to tie it. When I looked up, everyone else had walked around a bend in the path and they were out of sight. I was alone and the darkness was closing in. My tiny light didn't do much to help me see where to go.
I was a bit scared. I knew if I just walked towards the sound of talking ahead I would be fine. But I also bumped into several bushes and unexpectedly jolted into little dips in the road, lurching forward awkwardly. I went as fast as I could without totally falling down. It was not comfortable having one flashlight against the night. I was greatly relieved when I turned the corner and came into the light of the few street lights scattered about the main compound. No one had really noticed that I had lagged behind, and I never said anything.
But I remember how scary and uncomfortable it felt. Sometimes when I am traveling along the path of cancer and I am experiencing what others experience - those predictable and 'normal' symptoms and reactions, it is encouraging to see by the little lights of those around me. Sometimes when I am going off on some unpredicted tangent and feel alone with the darkness closing in, it's a bit intimidating. I am always able to get relief by shining the streetlight of God's word on the situation.
It may be night, but I don't have to stumble in the darkness. Prayer keeps me in the compound where the lamp posts are. Thanks for everyone who is praying. I'm also praying for my friend Ann who just had a biopsy. She is in a lot of pain and doesn't want to take the pain meds because they make her sleep and she doesn't want to miss life by sleeping it away. So please add her to your prayers tonight. Perhaps the added light will show her a better way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)