These days I can't seem to get warm. Even on days when its not so cold outside. Somehow my core temperature just won't get cooking. I wrap up in blankets, bundle in sweaters, double sock my feet, and go to bed with hot water bottles every night. Nothing seems to help, not even the extra layer of fat around my middle.
There's no particular reason for me to always feel cold. I am not ill. I am not spending days outside. I am not sitting inactive. In fact, I try to walk as much as I can, just to get the blood moving.
The only thing that seems to help is to wait until I have safely delivered the carpool kids to school, and on the way back to work, I crank the heater knob to the reddest part of the dial, turn the fan to the highest setting, and swivel all the ducts towards myself. I get a good 40 minute drive with hot, hot, hot. Its enough to make a greenhouse envious.
About the time I am pulling into the parking lot at the library, I am warm. It is exquisite. I sit there for a few minutes with my fingers hugging the vents, letting my body shiver out the last ounce of cold, wishing I could just stay there.
But alas! I must open the car door and step out, sad at how quickly the warmth evaporates and I am back to coldness. No steaming cup of hot tea, no wool sweater, no space heater can work the same magic. I must content myself with the knowledge that I will drive carpool again soon.
And maybe, when I retire, I can live in the tropics!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Late Training
Whoever invented the saying 'better late than never' was obviously not required to come back to work after a full day to do a training session for students. Not that I mind training students. Of course, it should have been the job of my circulation supervisor. She isn't up to it and is still struggling to keep things at the desk working - a real uptick in activity for her in the new building, one she is none too happy to find herself dealing with.
So I am in charge of the students who have upper level responsibilities and can sub for staff when needed. They are all good students, very responsible, interested in doing a good job, willing to go the extra mile despite the measly pay increase. So back I drag myself for the 9pm session. I have promised munchies, and I stop at Tim Horton's to grab some Tidbits and Dove chocolates.
I realize how different their lives are from mine. They are at the high point of their day, transitioning from 'student' to 'social life' - they are alive, bright-eyed, animated, laughing, looking forward to spending time with friends. I am yawning, slightly fuzzy, bleary-eyed, looking forward to spending time sitting down alone.
Its that way except on nights when I get to do music. Nights when I am directing choir practice, selecting songs for PrayerSong, attending Compline, singing. Then I am awake, energetic, focused - even if I have been up for hours and pummeling out work at the library and home. Ah, me. So often I wish I lived in a world that was all music. Maybe that's what heaven will be.
Meantime, we step through the agenda, they seem happy to learn how to supervise students, how to close the building, how to do the advanced circulation pieces. The hour flies by before I realize, and soon I am heading off for my snug little bed and they to their various activities. It wasn't bad at all, intersecting with a different world. Even if it wasn't a music one.
So I am in charge of the students who have upper level responsibilities and can sub for staff when needed. They are all good students, very responsible, interested in doing a good job, willing to go the extra mile despite the measly pay increase. So back I drag myself for the 9pm session. I have promised munchies, and I stop at Tim Horton's to grab some Tidbits and Dove chocolates.
I realize how different their lives are from mine. They are at the high point of their day, transitioning from 'student' to 'social life' - they are alive, bright-eyed, animated, laughing, looking forward to spending time with friends. I am yawning, slightly fuzzy, bleary-eyed, looking forward to spending time sitting down alone.
Its that way except on nights when I get to do music. Nights when I am directing choir practice, selecting songs for PrayerSong, attending Compline, singing. Then I am awake, energetic, focused - even if I have been up for hours and pummeling out work at the library and home. Ah, me. So often I wish I lived in a world that was all music. Maybe that's what heaven will be.
Meantime, we step through the agenda, they seem happy to learn how to supervise students, how to close the building, how to do the advanced circulation pieces. The hour flies by before I realize, and soon I am heading off for my snug little bed and they to their various activities. It wasn't bad at all, intersecting with a different world. Even if it wasn't a music one.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tough Cookie
It took me forever to get an appointment with the head of the chaplaincy department of Roswell Cancer Institute in Buffalo. Online, their spiritual support for cancer patients looks amazing! They seemed to offer the most services and pastoral care of anyplace I had ever seen. I contacted them to see if there was some event where we (PrayerSong) might come and sing. I thought they would send me contact info, or a schedule or form, or some resource about how to sign up or training we could take etc.
Instead, the head of the program said I had to meet with her first. So I asked for an appointment, and it was like pulling teeth to get a time set. I thought she must be terribly busy and wondered that she was willing to meet with people right at the start. She cancelled the first appointment, then asked to meet on a day I had to teach a class. I explained my working situation, and she sent me a rather curt email with a mutually acceptable date to meet.
I wasn't sure what I expected, really. But certainly not what I got. She began our conversation with a defensive "I'm pretty sure I can't help you." and it went downhill from there. It was as if she had already decided against letting me be involved in anyway with anyone. I could tell that from her explosive, "We don't let anyone in a patient's room without a rigorous training process that requires 22 weeks of intensive meetings and complete commitment. It takes a whole year, and I have to know you intimately before I will even consider allowing you to talk to a patient. And even then I don't let most of the people who go through the program deal directly with patients."
I tactfully tried to ask about chapel services, which elicited, "I am not about to let some Christian cram their God down the throat of a dying patient. Don't get me wrong, I am a Christian, but you people have no idea what its like to have cancer." Hum. I made the mistake of mentioning that I had been through cancer and in fact may still be dealing with it. That's when things really blew up. I cannot imagine what precipitated her outburst, but something must have burned her hard. She went off like a Roman candle, her arms flailing the air, her voice getting louder and louder.
I started praying, "Lord, show me what to do, what to say. Are you closing the door here? Should I just leave? What am I doing here? What are you showing me?" I just got quiet and let her talk. She was definitely advocating - not interfaith service, but a no-faith inoffensive mishmosh of nothing specific. They do 2 annual services for family members who have lost a loved one to cancer - nothing religious in them. They do Catholic mass since 65% of their patients are Catholic - no music. You can't do any music that even remotely smacks of one type of faith over another. After all, what happens if a Muslim happens to attend a service and you are singing a Baptist hymn? Or a Jewish person. He will be offended. . .
I listened respectfully for awhile. I think she thought I would leave. I just kept asking what might be allowed. How could we help? What are the rules? She finally quieted down, and suggested that I talk with the head of volunteer services to sing in the lobby. Has to be at noontime. Can't be anything religious. Doesn't affect her program in any way. Translation: go away and leave me alone. I began to chat a bit, telling her about myself, my background, my training.
I think she finally realized I was not who she thought I was, whatever that might be. She finally said, "You wouldn't believe the nuts who are coming out of the woodwork lately who just want to make themselves feel better at someone else's expense." Then we were both quiet for a few minutes while her sentence faded from the air. I sat still and waited. Finally she told me about a workshop she was sponsoring on Friday. A gentleman who had national expertise in dealing with the terminally ill. She showed me the flier. I knew inside that I was to sign up for it, so I did on the spot without even knowing much about it.
And as soon as I did that, I felt a release to leave. She seemed much friendlier as I exited her little office. Not sure what that was all about. Perhaps the Lord sent me to be a shock absorber. That's fine. Perhaps it is the beginning of a tough relationship. Perhaps she puts everyone through the same process to see who might pass her test. Perhaps she just found out she has cancer, or just lost someone she loves to cancer. I don't know. We shall see what the good Lord has in mind.
Meanwhile, I am a bit reeling from the very idea that it is inappropriate to offer hope to those who might be seeking answers as they face their final hours on earth. If not then, when?
Instead, the head of the program said I had to meet with her first. So I asked for an appointment, and it was like pulling teeth to get a time set. I thought she must be terribly busy and wondered that she was willing to meet with people right at the start. She cancelled the first appointment, then asked to meet on a day I had to teach a class. I explained my working situation, and she sent me a rather curt email with a mutually acceptable date to meet.
I wasn't sure what I expected, really. But certainly not what I got. She began our conversation with a defensive "I'm pretty sure I can't help you." and it went downhill from there. It was as if she had already decided against letting me be involved in anyway with anyone. I could tell that from her explosive, "We don't let anyone in a patient's room without a rigorous training process that requires 22 weeks of intensive meetings and complete commitment. It takes a whole year, and I have to know you intimately before I will even consider allowing you to talk to a patient. And even then I don't let most of the people who go through the program deal directly with patients."
I tactfully tried to ask about chapel services, which elicited, "I am not about to let some Christian cram their God down the throat of a dying patient. Don't get me wrong, I am a Christian, but you people have no idea what its like to have cancer." Hum. I made the mistake of mentioning that I had been through cancer and in fact may still be dealing with it. That's when things really blew up. I cannot imagine what precipitated her outburst, but something must have burned her hard. She went off like a Roman candle, her arms flailing the air, her voice getting louder and louder.
I started praying, "Lord, show me what to do, what to say. Are you closing the door here? Should I just leave? What am I doing here? What are you showing me?" I just got quiet and let her talk. She was definitely advocating - not interfaith service, but a no-faith inoffensive mishmosh of nothing specific. They do 2 annual services for family members who have lost a loved one to cancer - nothing religious in them. They do Catholic mass since 65% of their patients are Catholic - no music. You can't do any music that even remotely smacks of one type of faith over another. After all, what happens if a Muslim happens to attend a service and you are singing a Baptist hymn? Or a Jewish person. He will be offended. . .
I listened respectfully for awhile. I think she thought I would leave. I just kept asking what might be allowed. How could we help? What are the rules? She finally quieted down, and suggested that I talk with the head of volunteer services to sing in the lobby. Has to be at noontime. Can't be anything religious. Doesn't affect her program in any way. Translation: go away and leave me alone. I began to chat a bit, telling her about myself, my background, my training.
I think she finally realized I was not who she thought I was, whatever that might be. She finally said, "You wouldn't believe the nuts who are coming out of the woodwork lately who just want to make themselves feel better at someone else's expense." Then we were both quiet for a few minutes while her sentence faded from the air. I sat still and waited. Finally she told me about a workshop she was sponsoring on Friday. A gentleman who had national expertise in dealing with the terminally ill. She showed me the flier. I knew inside that I was to sign up for it, so I did on the spot without even knowing much about it.
And as soon as I did that, I felt a release to leave. She seemed much friendlier as I exited her little office. Not sure what that was all about. Perhaps the Lord sent me to be a shock absorber. That's fine. Perhaps it is the beginning of a tough relationship. Perhaps she puts everyone through the same process to see who might pass her test. Perhaps she just found out she has cancer, or just lost someone she loves to cancer. I don't know. We shall see what the good Lord has in mind.
Meanwhile, I am a bit reeling from the very idea that it is inappropriate to offer hope to those who might be seeking answers as they face their final hours on earth. If not then, when?
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