Thursday, July 31, 2008
A Makeover, A New Do.
You've all heard about this soul searching inventorying I've been doing while waiting for a knee to heal. But wait, there's more. This could go on a long spell. In the news a day or so ago I read an article made from interviewing one hundred Centenarians, asking them for healthy aging tips; what they believe best keeps people, not just healthy, but enjoying life more. Their answers were rated for importance, starting at number one, and going down their list.
I won't bombard you with numbers, just give you enough to make their ideas more clear. Number one from 90% of them, is staying close to family and friends, and the next one, 89% encouraged keeping your mind active. Number three, I probably won't have a problem with. It's about laughing, and having a sense of humor. Studies about dealing with Cancer strongly stress relaxing and laughing. including laughing at oneself.
Remember last winter when the lock on my car door froze, and broke, and after having to hop in and out from the passenger side several weeks while waiting for repairs, and watching three hundred dollars slip away for parts and labor, it was sheer luxury getting in and out of the car, like most folks do, until a few days ago.
I won't bombard you with numbers, just give you enough to make their ideas more clear. Number one from 90% of them, is staying close to family and friends, and the next one, 89% encouraged keeping your mind active. Number three, I probably won't have a problem with. It's about laughing, and having a sense of humor. Studies about dealing with Cancer strongly stress relaxing and laughing. including laughing at oneself.
Remember last winter when the lock on my car door froze, and broke, and after having to hop in and out from the passenger side several weeks while waiting for repairs, and watching three hundred dollars slip away for parts and labor, it was sheer luxury getting in and out of the car, like most folks do, until a few days ago.
I did not push it hard. was kind and gentle, but the part inside the car door simply rolled off and into my hand. I didn't say any bad words but I wanted to. Being the practical person I am, I immediately went into survival mode about how to now get in and out of the car. I checked the interior handle again, but it would not budge, then thought, o.k., that's fifty percent. I can walk up to the car and get right in. It's the getting out that's the problem.
Since I've nursed this knee problem two months now, I was not looking forward to climbing over, like I did last winter. To make it easier on the knees I got a pillow and set it on the passenger seat. Twice I climbed out of the car like that. But last week I parked at the grocery store, and before crawling out, suddenly had a light bulb moment. Ah ha, Maybe if I roll the car window down, that's right, all I have to do then is reach out, and open the door from the outside of it.
I stayed in the car a few minutes more before getting out, because I was laughing so hard I was afraid store secutity might think I'm an escaped crazy lady, and come after me with a safety net. I'm not sure which I laughed the most about, figuring out how to get in and out of the car, or having a belly dancing laugh attack, from not figuring it out sooner. Do you think this may be the kind of needed humor this survey is talking about.
Other pointers from these people who are a hundred years old, rate being spiritual in the top five, suggestions, and having a reason to look forward to new days is right up there with religion. Being independent, and interested in what's happening in the world are high on the list, and eating right, and being active pretty much fills the list. These people who have learned how to live, strongly advise us to never stop learning, and they attribute not living long and well to stress, but maintain we can do something about that.
If you can handle a few more stats, 19% of the hundred use cell phones; 12% have used the internet, and 3% say they've dated someone they met online. But they didn't say how young or old they were when they dated, although the ages could go high. A favorite 83 year old uncle wasn't crazy about living alone after my aunt died, so he checked out singles at the senior center, and married a southern lady from New Orleans, Louisiana who was eight'y. Since they both
Since I've nursed this knee problem two months now, I was not looking forward to climbing over, like I did last winter. To make it easier on the knees I got a pillow and set it on the passenger seat. Twice I climbed out of the car like that. But last week I parked at the grocery store, and before crawling out, suddenly had a light bulb moment. Ah ha, Maybe if I roll the car window down, that's right, all I have to do then is reach out, and open the door from the outside of it.
I stayed in the car a few minutes more before getting out, because I was laughing so hard I was afraid store secutity might think I'm an escaped crazy lady, and come after me with a safety net. I'm not sure which I laughed the most about, figuring out how to get in and out of the car, or having a belly dancing laugh attack, from not figuring it out sooner. Do you think this may be the kind of needed humor this survey is talking about.
Other pointers from these people who are a hundred years old, rate being spiritual in the top five, suggestions, and having a reason to look forward to new days is right up there with religion. Being independent, and interested in what's happening in the world are high on the list, and eating right, and being active pretty much fills the list. These people who have learned how to live, strongly advise us to never stop learning, and they attribute not living long and well to stress, but maintain we can do something about that.
If you can handle a few more stats, 19% of the hundred use cell phones; 12% have used the internet, and 3% say they've dated someone they met online. But they didn't say how young or old they were when they dated, although the ages could go high. A favorite 83 year old uncle wasn't crazy about living alone after my aunt died, so he checked out singles at the senior center, and married a southern lady from New Orleans, Louisiana who was eight'y. Since they both
have lots of money, I assume their relationship is for companionship, and/or romance.
Of course not everybody wants to be married. I found at least one woman written about in "When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple" in a poem called "Warning", by Jenny Joseph.
Of course not everybody wants to be married. I found at least one woman written about in "When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple" in a poem called "Warning", by Jenny Joseph.
Because it's so long, I'm not showing all of it here, but enough to share how she feels about getting old.
When I an old woman I shall wear purple.
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
When I an old woman I shall wear purple.
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Here We Go Again, some old, some new.
If you'd like to know more about type 1 juvenile diabetes, like my great grandson, Cameron has, click on Barb's "A Chelsea Morning", and then from Barb's blog click on other posts and information about this kind of diabetes. By the time I get elderly diabetics at the nursing home, many of them have already had arm or leg amputations.Sometimes it may be a hand, or foot, but it's a difficult way to live their elderly years.
One of the biggest problems in taking care of these patients is their intake of sweets and carbs. The pervasive attitude about food intake is that since they're old, why should it matter. It matters because it helps bring on other problems. They are more likely to get infections, and when they do, it is harder to get them healed. Women patients who are diabetic get more urinary tract infections than those who aren't. It's like everything affects everything. Another side effect is the loss of eyesight.
The best treatment for not developing diabetes, is to eat healthy foods, stay away from, or limit alcohol intake, and get some kind of exercise. Smoking affects how well the insulin works. Our country is in an obesity epidemic because of our fast food way of life. If you'd like to, read the articles or posts I mentioned above about the juvenile diabetes, and more information about the kind I see in nursing homes may be posted later.
But on to less intense subject matter. The surprise brown paper package I sent to my grandson is somewhere between Colorado and California, and with that done, I plunged right in to fight writer's block, and won the challenge, and turned out two more chapters. When a grand daughter writes to encourage: "Stay strong-you were meant for this!" I have to believe it, even if I'm not psychologicaly pumped.
Soon I will go back to work. Everything in me does not want to do this, but I must for a while. So to get myself ready, I mean me, not the uniforms. They've been hanging in the closet two months. I just thought it would help if I let some muscles know they'll be working more, and it's been driving me nuts, not keeping up with the yard, so I got my shiny new garden tools out, and started trimming the dead parts of those early flowers that look like the emblem of France.
A few weeds met their demise in the process, but I wisely saved some of the work for tomorrow. I positioned the spray hose one last time for the evening, and went inside and set a timer. Wanted to get out of my wet clothes,but decided to wait til the last spraying was done.
Looked outside as I headed out the door, and counted eight robins slowly walking around. None of them pecked, as if searching for worms, and none took flight, and then I figured it out. They were doing a summer water dance, and nobody was going to spoil it for them, so I didn't. If there had been a pool for them to lounge in, I think they'd have ordered little umbrella drinks. I learned a lesson from the robins. While I was getting caught up in hurrying to do a certain amount of yard work, they were waiting for the summer water party to start.
Wouldn't you think dragging the waterhoses around to spray the yard counts as exercise. At the rate I'm going, it will take four more days to clear the dead stuff out, and that's about how much time I have, before working some shifts.
I think I'm getting this exercise stuff down well, and when I can make it fit with work's scheduling, I want to water exercise and Yoga. as part of something called the Silver Sneakers program at a rec center. free to.... I can hardly say it out loud, free....to.......... seniors!
One of the biggest problems in taking care of these patients is their intake of sweets and carbs. The pervasive attitude about food intake is that since they're old, why should it matter. It matters because it helps bring on other problems. They are more likely to get infections, and when they do, it is harder to get them healed. Women patients who are diabetic get more urinary tract infections than those who aren't. It's like everything affects everything. Another side effect is the loss of eyesight.
The best treatment for not developing diabetes, is to eat healthy foods, stay away from, or limit alcohol intake, and get some kind of exercise. Smoking affects how well the insulin works. Our country is in an obesity epidemic because of our fast food way of life. If you'd like to, read the articles or posts I mentioned above about the juvenile diabetes, and more information about the kind I see in nursing homes may be posted later.
But on to less intense subject matter. The surprise brown paper package I sent to my grandson is somewhere between Colorado and California, and with that done, I plunged right in to fight writer's block, and won the challenge, and turned out two more chapters. When a grand daughter writes to encourage: "Stay strong-you were meant for this!" I have to believe it, even if I'm not psychologicaly pumped.
Soon I will go back to work. Everything in me does not want to do this, but I must for a while. So to get myself ready, I mean me, not the uniforms. They've been hanging in the closet two months. I just thought it would help if I let some muscles know they'll be working more, and it's been driving me nuts, not keeping up with the yard, so I got my shiny new garden tools out, and started trimming the dead parts of those early flowers that look like the emblem of France.
A few weeds met their demise in the process, but I wisely saved some of the work for tomorrow. I positioned the spray hose one last time for the evening, and went inside and set a timer. Wanted to get out of my wet clothes,but decided to wait til the last spraying was done.
Looked outside as I headed out the door, and counted eight robins slowly walking around. None of them pecked, as if searching for worms, and none took flight, and then I figured it out. They were doing a summer water dance, and nobody was going to spoil it for them, so I didn't. If there had been a pool for them to lounge in, I think they'd have ordered little umbrella drinks. I learned a lesson from the robins. While I was getting caught up in hurrying to do a certain amount of yard work, they were waiting for the summer water party to start.
Wouldn't you think dragging the waterhoses around to spray the yard counts as exercise. At the rate I'm going, it will take four more days to clear the dead stuff out, and that's about how much time I have, before working some shifts.
I think I'm getting this exercise stuff down well, and when I can make it fit with work's scheduling, I want to water exercise and Yoga. as part of something called the Silver Sneakers program at a rec center. free to.... I can hardly say it out loud, free....to.......... seniors!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Still Working On That Schedule, and other assorted things.
If you've read my last few posts, you know I got a care package together for a grandson who needs some encouragement. It's all wrapped and ready to mail, and while I'm at the Post Office will send off budget stuff. I can't hardly believe I'm getting put together. Remember, I'm one of those who dodges anything resembling paper work, or serious signs of efficiency. I have family and friends who enjoy working with spread sheets, but that definitely is not me. I only have a vague idea of what a spreadsheet is, or does, and if I can swing it, may never learn.
In my nursing I manage the insane paper work, only by intense determination. I realize much of the world thrives on double entry bookkeeping, and somebody must keep the records straight, but I pray it's not me. I much prefer writing a silly or sensitive poem, or a story of some kind, or, Please God, let me write a page turner book.
That is why I am so happy with what I did today. Had reached a point in my literary endeavor where I smacked right into writer's block. I knew what it's about. I didn't want to relive some really painful history, but it's part of the story, a very important part. I dodged it all week, and then I sat down today, and willed myself to hang with it till it's on paper. I froze a few times. I cried angry and hurtful tears, but I got it all out. Two long chapters of it.
I did other things today, watered thirsty grass, and did more straightening of this study. Now that I'm into making some order of this, it's beginning to feel good, knowing where to find certain things. I didn't resort to sharpening pencils, I mean a girl can only tolerate so much orderliness.
In looking for appropriate books to send the grandson, I saw again some I've started, but not stayed with. One I am really getting into again is Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior. I so relate to the humaneness he gives to biblical characters. After all, we are in this universe together, and timeless guidelines for getting through it are intended for us all. As I work on this book, there will be other parts of it hard to live again. Please pray for me that I don't let fear of remembering get in the way of writing it.
In my nursing I manage the insane paper work, only by intense determination. I realize much of the world thrives on double entry bookkeeping, and somebody must keep the records straight, but I pray it's not me. I much prefer writing a silly or sensitive poem, or a story of some kind, or, Please God, let me write a page turner book.
That is why I am so happy with what I did today. Had reached a point in my literary endeavor where I smacked right into writer's block. I knew what it's about. I didn't want to relive some really painful history, but it's part of the story, a very important part. I dodged it all week, and then I sat down today, and willed myself to hang with it till it's on paper. I froze a few times. I cried angry and hurtful tears, but I got it all out. Two long chapters of it.
I did other things today, watered thirsty grass, and did more straightening of this study. Now that I'm into making some order of this, it's beginning to feel good, knowing where to find certain things. I didn't resort to sharpening pencils, I mean a girl can only tolerate so much orderliness.
In looking for appropriate books to send the grandson, I saw again some I've started, but not stayed with. One I am really getting into again is Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior. I so relate to the humaneness he gives to biblical characters. After all, we are in this universe together, and timeless guidelines for getting through it are intended for us all. As I work on this book, there will be other parts of it hard to live again. Please pray for me that I don't let fear of remembering get in the way of writing it.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Planning The Day, and a shopping trip.
I feel way behind here, I am way behind here. Yesterday I began the day right. Connected with Saint Matthew before getting into other stuff, and completed his book in the Bible, and added to that by reading more about Levi Matthew in Max Lucado's chapter about him in "Next Door Savior". By the time I did all that, I thought I was ready for whatever the day might bring. I'd received a phone call about a grandson, and planned a shopping trip for him, and hoped before the day was over to write another chapter of my book.
I began my list of errands by checking my bank balance, and while at the bank met a young women so pregnant her belly button stuck out like a watermelon stem.The July day was very hot, and she'd just missed her bus to get to a doctor's appointment. Ordinarily I'd not even talk to a stranger who wanted a ride, but this pregnant person did not need to be walking that far, and especially not in such hot weather. I really couldn't see any way this almost incapacitated pregnant young lady could possibly hurt me. I was more concerned she might go into labor.
When she asked me for a ride, I threw a few rapid questions her way, to decide if she was truthful, and she was, and I drove her to her doctor's office, with her thanking me profusely all the way. It is possible she didn't have bus fare, and I had to leave it up to her to get home after the appointment, but who am I to question or judge. Have I never been stranded, or poor. She obviously had no one to help her. She didn't need me stripping away what little dignity remained.
I hadn't started my special shopping yet, and decided to get a box and wrapping paper first, then found a store packed with excited school kids, and exasperated mothers. There's nothing like a noisy aisle of children, crazy with the glee of a new school year, or their piercing squeals to convince ragged Moms how much they need a certain item. I got what I needed, and got out of there.
Most of what I bought was school supplies. Can you imagine that. The short approved shopping list read: "Phone cards", religious items, stamps, and pens and paper The first thing I chose after the pens and papers was a Bible, an NIA version by Zondervan that's sewn so it lies flat when open. I chose the Burgundy/Tan one because to me it looks more masculine. It's for another grandson who got himself in trouble. This story has a potentially good ending, or should I say, a potentially new beginning.
This is happening in California, so I wasn't there when He finished paying for the wrong he'd done, But his Dad was, which totally surprized him, since family hadn't visited while he was there.
This is the best part of this story, even more than his father being there. A Christian ministry for prisoners goes there regularly, and when someone is released, they are there to offer immediate help, and a continued rehab program that goes on a full year.
The whole idea of it isn't to only save their weary souls, They've already been working on that. They are there to continue the ministry Jesus offered the downtrodden, the hungry, the naked, those in prison; those in need of physical help, and in need of encouragement.
So often (and I've surely been guilty of this) we complain about how America seems headed straight to Hell. The quality of moral values, or the lack of them in our country would point to that. But thank God a religious group in California is steadfastly doing something about it.
This time I'm sending my grandson the Bible, and pens and pencils, and colored highlighters, and a dictionary, and writing pads, and Max Lucado's "Cure for the Common Life" seemed a good place for him to start reading. I can't be with this grandson, but I can do something to let him know I care. Things on my to do list can wait for another day. I have a package to wrap and mail, and I can't wait for the next shopping trip.
I began my list of errands by checking my bank balance, and while at the bank met a young women so pregnant her belly button stuck out like a watermelon stem.The July day was very hot, and she'd just missed her bus to get to a doctor's appointment. Ordinarily I'd not even talk to a stranger who wanted a ride, but this pregnant person did not need to be walking that far, and especially not in such hot weather. I really couldn't see any way this almost incapacitated pregnant young lady could possibly hurt me. I was more concerned she might go into labor.
When she asked me for a ride, I threw a few rapid questions her way, to decide if she was truthful, and she was, and I drove her to her doctor's office, with her thanking me profusely all the way. It is possible she didn't have bus fare, and I had to leave it up to her to get home after the appointment, but who am I to question or judge. Have I never been stranded, or poor. She obviously had no one to help her. She didn't need me stripping away what little dignity remained.
I hadn't started my special shopping yet, and decided to get a box and wrapping paper first, then found a store packed with excited school kids, and exasperated mothers. There's nothing like a noisy aisle of children, crazy with the glee of a new school year, or their piercing squeals to convince ragged Moms how much they need a certain item. I got what I needed, and got out of there.
Most of what I bought was school supplies. Can you imagine that. The short approved shopping list read: "Phone cards", religious items, stamps, and pens and paper The first thing I chose after the pens and papers was a Bible, an NIA version by Zondervan that's sewn so it lies flat when open. I chose the Burgundy/Tan one because to me it looks more masculine. It's for another grandson who got himself in trouble. This story has a potentially good ending, or should I say, a potentially new beginning.
This is happening in California, so I wasn't there when He finished paying for the wrong he'd done, But his Dad was, which totally surprized him, since family hadn't visited while he was there.
This is the best part of this story, even more than his father being there. A Christian ministry for prisoners goes there regularly, and when someone is released, they are there to offer immediate help, and a continued rehab program that goes on a full year.
The whole idea of it isn't to only save their weary souls, They've already been working on that. They are there to continue the ministry Jesus offered the downtrodden, the hungry, the naked, those in prison; those in need of physical help, and in need of encouragement.
So often (and I've surely been guilty of this) we complain about how America seems headed straight to Hell. The quality of moral values, or the lack of them in our country would point to that. But thank God a religious group in California is steadfastly doing something about it.
This time I'm sending my grandson the Bible, and pens and pencils, and colored highlighters, and a dictionary, and writing pads, and Max Lucado's "Cure for the Common Life" seemed a good place for him to start reading. I can't be with this grandson, but I can do something to let him know I care. Things on my to do list can wait for another day. I have a package to wrap and mail, and I can't wait for the next shopping trip.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Man Plans, God looks Down, And Rearranges.
A while back to get more done, I began forming a more structured daily routine. Not being someone who almost couldn't breathe unless everything is organized precisely and exact, my doing even simple things with enforced sameness took real determination. I mean, if I were an important executive, a plaque on my desk would read: "A neat desk is a sign of a sick mind".
I don't think this approach to life is genetic. Mine is more of a maverick thing. The idea of exact sameness about doing so many routine things sounds boring. I love greeting random days like they'll never come again. I adore keeping my calendar as unfilled as possible. Dealing with the knee injury, and then another trip to ER, proved that daily routines can be interrupted, but the very next day, God gives you a brand new morning.
I was glad, though, that I clung to my new routine on this day, Otherwise I wouldn't have read the last two chaptures of Matthew, and took time to reflect on how they should guide me, nor had time for a quick shower before heading to the doctor's appointment. I bogged down a little after it, and made the huge mistake of not eating before going to the grocery store.
We were to do a cookout later, which excited me. This day being so special, with the doctor finding everything o.k, I wanted to celebrate. I chose very good things to go with the cookout. I'm a Maverik, remember. Who says you can't have cantaloupe and Washington State cherries, along with mounds of veggies, olives, and peppers at cookouts. The son who was the volunteer cook for it, is leaving soon to work out of state, where his trade is more needed, and pays more, and I just thought it would be a nice thing to do, to surprise him at the cookout with his most favorite dessert, a cheesecake, a really scrumptious cheesecake.
I got a nice one for him. But we got sweet relief from this hot July. It rained, and said son needed a break, after getting things done before leaving town, and suggested that I go with him for a dinner Black Eye'd Pea cooks very well. Now my fridge is more than full of those great cookout things, and I'm just as packed with BEP's fried okra. All I posibly could eat to go with it would be cornbread, a slice of onion, and a pot of black eye peas, or some beans. Since I'll be back at work soon, there's healthy foods for lunches.
I'm not surprised I didn't work on the book today, but had a great visit with a son. As long as God arranges it, there'll be days to work on the book. But in case I need more material to write on, I hope He sends me days not all krinkled up from being squashed between the pages of a Day Timer, or lost in a too long list of things to do. It isn't just that we need to pick a few daisys, or stop and hear a bird sing. We need to find ourselves, and what we're suppose to be doing, and if we do, that will honor our Lord the very best way.
I don't think this approach to life is genetic. Mine is more of a maverick thing. The idea of exact sameness about doing so many routine things sounds boring. I love greeting random days like they'll never come again. I adore keeping my calendar as unfilled as possible. Dealing with the knee injury, and then another trip to ER, proved that daily routines can be interrupted, but the very next day, God gives you a brand new morning.
I was glad, though, that I clung to my new routine on this day, Otherwise I wouldn't have read the last two chaptures of Matthew, and took time to reflect on how they should guide me, nor had time for a quick shower before heading to the doctor's appointment. I bogged down a little after it, and made the huge mistake of not eating before going to the grocery store.
We were to do a cookout later, which excited me. This day being so special, with the doctor finding everything o.k, I wanted to celebrate. I chose very good things to go with the cookout. I'm a Maverik, remember. Who says you can't have cantaloupe and Washington State cherries, along with mounds of veggies, olives, and peppers at cookouts. The son who was the volunteer cook for it, is leaving soon to work out of state, where his trade is more needed, and pays more, and I just thought it would be a nice thing to do, to surprise him at the cookout with his most favorite dessert, a cheesecake, a really scrumptious cheesecake.
I got a nice one for him. But we got sweet relief from this hot July. It rained, and said son needed a break, after getting things done before leaving town, and suggested that I go with him for a dinner Black Eye'd Pea cooks very well. Now my fridge is more than full of those great cookout things, and I'm just as packed with BEP's fried okra. All I posibly could eat to go with it would be cornbread, a slice of onion, and a pot of black eye peas, or some beans. Since I'll be back at work soon, there's healthy foods for lunches.
I'm not surprised I didn't work on the book today, but had a great visit with a son. As long as God arranges it, there'll be days to work on the book. But in case I need more material to write on, I hope He sends me days not all krinkled up from being squashed between the pages of a Day Timer, or lost in a too long list of things to do. It isn't just that we need to pick a few daisys, or stop and hear a bird sing. We need to find ourselves, and what we're suppose to be doing, and if we do, that will honor our Lord the very best way.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Things Aren't Always As They Seem.
A week ago I wrote here about an email I received. Another blogger, Big Mama, knew my daughters, Barb at A Chelsea Morning, and Bev at Scratchin' The Surface would love getting pictures of houses we'd lived in while in Texas. Big Mama had grown up in the same area, and was going there. She got directions to the houses, and sent pictures of them to my daughters, and her kind thoughfulness to do this unleashed a dirge in me more feverish than rows of dominos, quickly falling.
I wasn't surprised strong feelings rushed out when I saw again where a big chunk of marriage and raising the children was lived. but it did seem to me the boiling growl in my belly was extreme. Feeling nostalgic wouldn't have surprised me. Big amounts of frustration and disappointment, and anger I seldom set free, all those long buried parts of my life there came at me, and I hardly knew what to do with them.
I kept at my book, more fitfully than my stomach was turning. Figuring out what I wanted to say, and writing even a few paragraphs wore me down. like an old saying I'd heard, I didn't have enough energy to cuss a cat. Sometimes a sudden sweat would rise up, from my chin toward the top of my head. (I know, Southen ladies aren't suppose to do that) But it was a sweat. The growling in my belly didn't keep me awake, at least not then, but was there enough I knew it hadn't left. Doing much of anything in the house, or going somewhere was too much to even start, And I realized I'd hardly eaten.
Feeling bad like this was scary, and after I woke up in the night from the misery of it, I watched the symptoms more closely. I am so healthy, people get tired of hearing about it. and I sleep so solidly. Once I slept through an entire parade with marching bands and everything, only two houses away from my bedroom. This was probably only a digestive upset of some kind, and would soon go away.
I knew how I felt about the marriage being so one sided and selfish, and inconsiderate, and it was. It was even worse than that. But surely after almost forty years, I wasn't still angry about it. The feeling bad did not ease. It got worse. When I was awakened out of deep sleep three times in the night on Sunday, I knew what I had to do, and got out of bed, and grabbed a pink shirt to wear over my pink pajamas, and drove myself to the Emergency Room.
I considered calling from my car on the cell phone, to get ER to come out with a wheel chair, because I felt so bad, but feeling as awful as I did, was not up to dealing with a techie thing like that phone with all its buttons. I could have called one of my sons to take me, but at four in the morning they were asleep. It was only about a two mile drive, and could be hours before I'd be done there. I could do this. So wearing my comfy jameys, I did.
This time I got a better bed, not nearly as hard as the last one was, and a nurse everyone, if they have to go to ER, should be blessed with. I don't know if they're told what the patient's occupation is, but there really isn't time for shop talk there, so decided to not mention mine. The sweet young nurse would have gotten an A for everything. She didn't miss the smallest detail. But the best part was that she seemed more than glad to do all the details. When lab results were done she made sure I got them. Because some of my symptoms were red flags for heart problems, she did an EKG, and when it was fine of course, she made it celebration time in that little ER stall I was in.
The final lab test showed I have a urinary tract infection that's been blazing for days, so an IV heavy duty antibiotic was started, and more antibiotics ordered to take at home. I was surprised that it is a UTI, since I didn't show any of its symptoms, and Ive made myself a promise to never forget this, when I'm working with little old women patients who can't tell you much about how they're feeling anyway. Just because they don't show symptoms doesn't mean they don't have problems. I will get an order for lab tests for them as quickly as I can, so treatment can begin without a long wait. When I deal with the elderly again, I will try to make them feel as comfortable and good, and as safe as I did with that young nurse.
These last days have been miserable. But I'm much better now. When I don't feel like writing, when I don't have enough energy to even want to, that will my first clue it's time to be checked. As I walked from ER back to my car, I first thought I'd drive home, and change into clothes more presentable, then get the prescription filled at Wal Mart. I drove a few more blocks thinking about it, and then I did it. Parked the car as close in as I could at old WM's, and hoping I didn't get arrested, but feeling too bad to drive much farther, walked right through their front entrance doors in my pink jameys and that pink shirt I mentioned, and I got those antibiotics. Just thinking about the courage doing that took, revs me up again to work on the book.
I wasn't surprised strong feelings rushed out when I saw again where a big chunk of marriage and raising the children was lived. but it did seem to me the boiling growl in my belly was extreme. Feeling nostalgic wouldn't have surprised me. Big amounts of frustration and disappointment, and anger I seldom set free, all those long buried parts of my life there came at me, and I hardly knew what to do with them.
I kept at my book, more fitfully than my stomach was turning. Figuring out what I wanted to say, and writing even a few paragraphs wore me down. like an old saying I'd heard, I didn't have enough energy to cuss a cat. Sometimes a sudden sweat would rise up, from my chin toward the top of my head. (I know, Southen ladies aren't suppose to do that) But it was a sweat. The growling in my belly didn't keep me awake, at least not then, but was there enough I knew it hadn't left. Doing much of anything in the house, or going somewhere was too much to even start, And I realized I'd hardly eaten.
Feeling bad like this was scary, and after I woke up in the night from the misery of it, I watched the symptoms more closely. I am so healthy, people get tired of hearing about it. and I sleep so solidly. Once I slept through an entire parade with marching bands and everything, only two houses away from my bedroom. This was probably only a digestive upset of some kind, and would soon go away.
I knew how I felt about the marriage being so one sided and selfish, and inconsiderate, and it was. It was even worse than that. But surely after almost forty years, I wasn't still angry about it. The feeling bad did not ease. It got worse. When I was awakened out of deep sleep three times in the night on Sunday, I knew what I had to do, and got out of bed, and grabbed a pink shirt to wear over my pink pajamas, and drove myself to the Emergency Room.
I considered calling from my car on the cell phone, to get ER to come out with a wheel chair, because I felt so bad, but feeling as awful as I did, was not up to dealing with a techie thing like that phone with all its buttons. I could have called one of my sons to take me, but at four in the morning they were asleep. It was only about a two mile drive, and could be hours before I'd be done there. I could do this. So wearing my comfy jameys, I did.
This time I got a better bed, not nearly as hard as the last one was, and a nurse everyone, if they have to go to ER, should be blessed with. I don't know if they're told what the patient's occupation is, but there really isn't time for shop talk there, so decided to not mention mine. The sweet young nurse would have gotten an A for everything. She didn't miss the smallest detail. But the best part was that she seemed more than glad to do all the details. When lab results were done she made sure I got them. Because some of my symptoms were red flags for heart problems, she did an EKG, and when it was fine of course, she made it celebration time in that little ER stall I was in.
The final lab test showed I have a urinary tract infection that's been blazing for days, so an IV heavy duty antibiotic was started, and more antibiotics ordered to take at home. I was surprised that it is a UTI, since I didn't show any of its symptoms, and Ive made myself a promise to never forget this, when I'm working with little old women patients who can't tell you much about how they're feeling anyway. Just because they don't show symptoms doesn't mean they don't have problems. I will get an order for lab tests for them as quickly as I can, so treatment can begin without a long wait. When I deal with the elderly again, I will try to make them feel as comfortable and good, and as safe as I did with that young nurse.
These last days have been miserable. But I'm much better now. When I don't feel like writing, when I don't have enough energy to even want to, that will my first clue it's time to be checked. As I walked from ER back to my car, I first thought I'd drive home, and change into clothes more presentable, then get the prescription filled at Wal Mart. I drove a few more blocks thinking about it, and then I did it. Parked the car as close in as I could at old WM's, and hoping I didn't get arrested, but feeling too bad to drive much farther, walked right through their front entrance doors in my pink jameys and that pink shirt I mentioned, and I got those antibiotics. Just thinking about the courage doing that took, revs me up again to work on the book.
Monday, July 14, 2008
More Than A Memory.
Early this morning I was on my third round of coffee, feeling good, because I was already into more of Saint Matthew's verses, and as soon as I finished with him, I would write more about a lifetime I'm trying to make a book of.
That's what I was doin' when daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface" emailed me for help with directions to houses we'd lived in long ago in Texas. A dear blogger most of you probably know, Big Mama, was making a trip to our hometown and hers' down there, and offered to look up old home places for us.
Emails zipped from Pennslyvania toward Texas and back to Colorado, and out to the Grand Valley in Grand Junction, and on and on, until we'd given Big Mama all the directions we could think of. Then suddenly here come more emails, and a picture of a house that will always be more than a memory, stares back at me from my computer.
To help you understand the significance of what it meant to see this house on Emile Street again, the computer was the instrument that made it possible. But when we lived there, I wrote on an old Underwood typewriter that still used an ink ribbon for the keys to strike to make words, and today we so easily push our computer keys.
That's how long ago it's been since we lived there. Seeing it again brings lots of tears. Immediately I am sentimental. The old house seems to have weathered life well and its trees that were already big, are bigger. For crying out loud, I am personifying this house.
I don't think I have to tell you, for you to understand, how the feelings flowed. One cannot make as many memories as we did there, and it not do that. Seeing the old place again, just to know it still stands, filled my heart so, for a while I had to get away from thinking of it. But I returned, and sat still, and remembered.
I can almost see it now, the picture of the Emile house would be exactly right for the front cover of the book daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' the Surface" plans to write some day. I'm also thinking if someone hasn't already done this, that family therapy might be enhanced if therapists used a "memory" approach. Reading Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning" and Bev 's take on how our life there was, how sometimes our impressions on it differed, made me think of this.
I am so full of writing ideas from today. First, just grateful that Big Mama seized the moment to bring about something so grand. I wouldn't be surprised if both my daughters aren't still going over the wonder of the memories they relived today.
That's what I was doin' when daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface" emailed me for help with directions to houses we'd lived in long ago in Texas. A dear blogger most of you probably know, Big Mama, was making a trip to our hometown and hers' down there, and offered to look up old home places for us.
Emails zipped from Pennslyvania toward Texas and back to Colorado, and out to the Grand Valley in Grand Junction, and on and on, until we'd given Big Mama all the directions we could think of. Then suddenly here come more emails, and a picture of a house that will always be more than a memory, stares back at me from my computer.
To help you understand the significance of what it meant to see this house on Emile Street again, the computer was the instrument that made it possible. But when we lived there, I wrote on an old Underwood typewriter that still used an ink ribbon for the keys to strike to make words, and today we so easily push our computer keys.
That's how long ago it's been since we lived there. Seeing it again brings lots of tears. Immediately I am sentimental. The old house seems to have weathered life well and its trees that were already big, are bigger. For crying out loud, I am personifying this house.
I don't think I have to tell you, for you to understand, how the feelings flowed. One cannot make as many memories as we did there, and it not do that. Seeing the old place again, just to know it still stands, filled my heart so, for a while I had to get away from thinking of it. But I returned, and sat still, and remembered.
I can almost see it now, the picture of the Emile house would be exactly right for the front cover of the book daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' the Surface" plans to write some day. I'm also thinking if someone hasn't already done this, that family therapy might be enhanced if therapists used a "memory" approach. Reading Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning" and Bev 's take on how our life there was, how sometimes our impressions on it differed, made me think of this.
I am so full of writing ideas from today. First, just grateful that Big Mama seized the moment to bring about something so grand. I wouldn't be surprised if both my daughters aren't still going over the wonder of the memories they relived today.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
"But go and learn what this means......."
A few days ago I wrote about forming new habits, to help get through this long healing time. I mentioned reading Bible verses every morning, beginning with the book of Matthew, and included some old perennials on writing, full of varying perspectives. One of those authors said things like : "Whatever you write will reveal your personality, and what ever you are will show through in your writing." But I didn't didn't take that seriously,reasoning it was only one person's opinion. Anyway, What does our behavior have to do with writing well?
I did get serious about starting a book that for years I've wanted to write, and am up to chapter seven. These long years its rested in my heart, and it's taking some effort to put it into words.I realize that our souls must be nourished with more than everyday stuff, and that is why before I write any part of it, I start each day with a talk to my Lord, and read more of what surely is His favorite book.
I don't know for sure why I began in Matthew, but that's where I'm at. Matthew doesn't dance all over the pages like I do. From his first verse, every line is loaded with fourteen karat golden words we would be wise to heed.
Matthew begins with Jesus' genealogy, then leads right into His humble birth, and from there traces our Lord's long journeys often led by angels, to keep Him alive, while fulfilling ancient prophesy, designed by God Himself, to offer salvation. Reaching even the likes of me, as I sit here trying to understand all that ancient wisdom.
Other human beings have trouble with it, too, especially the legalistic religious leaders of that time. Soon after Jesus ends up in Galilee, in the town of Nazareth, and after John the Baptist's time, He is more visible among the people He's come to save, healing the sick and afflicted, forgiving their sins, and forming His coalition of twelve tax collectors, fishermen, those who work with animal skins, and one may have been a doctor.
Throughout His short ministry, Jesus tried explaining morality by using parables. But the religious of that time, even some of His followers, were so entrenched in their Shalts, and Shalt nots, that little room was left in their hearts for the Saviour.
I am a long way from Nazareth, here in Colorado, reading my Bible dutifully, learning more and more how horrible the Scribes and Pharisees were. Before the end of Matthew, they will help crucufy Him. This is pretty heavy reading. I need a break from it, and drive to the our marketplace SafeWay.
I am hardly in the door when a voice calls my name, saying "Hello there. How have you been?" It's a man I used to work with. He's sitting in an area where customers have their Starbuck drinks. Now or again he comes to this store, and buys his groceries then quietly leaves. Today he's waiting for someone else to do the shopping. When I realized it was him, I barely spoke in return, and kept walking away.I didn't have a real reason to avoid him. I just didn't much like the man.
I get down to the other end of the store, and stand a minute, to rest this ailing leg, and think about what I've just done. Before I came to the store, I was reading in my Bible how the religious leaders and the crowds treated Jesus. It was horrible, But why was I so intent upon seeing only what was wrong and terrible, instead of the message Matthew was written for, that Jesus was sent to earth for me, and all I have to do is treat people like I want to be treated.
I turned my grocery buggy back toward where the man sat, and stopped it near him, and asked how he was, and he began talking like nobody had listened to him for days. I know he likes being active with hometown events, so I asked what civic work he's still doing, He says not much these days, that he's only doing three programs. We discuss the coming election, and discover we're voting for the same candidate. Soon a daughter who helped with his shopping walks up, so we end the conversation, and I walk away.
For him, our talking was probably nothing more than filling empty minutes. but sometimes that's what people need. For me it made clear what Jesus meant when the Pharisees quibbled over our Lord and His diciples eating with tax collectors and the sinners.
It's in chapter nine of Matthew, verses ten through thirteen, where Jesus said "But go and learn what this means", I desire COMPASSION, AND NOT SACRIFICE." As I hobbled out of the store, my step felt lighte, and especially my heart. When Jesus said He desires compassion, He meant from all of us, not just those flowing robed Pharisees, and He didn't say it has to be an earth shattering thing that we do, perhaps no more than saying hello. So I'm wondering, is there something to the words of that book writing author that whatever we are will show, in everything we do.
I did get serious about starting a book that for years I've wanted to write, and am up to chapter seven. These long years its rested in my heart, and it's taking some effort to put it into words.I realize that our souls must be nourished with more than everyday stuff, and that is why before I write any part of it, I start each day with a talk to my Lord, and read more of what surely is His favorite book.
I don't know for sure why I began in Matthew, but that's where I'm at. Matthew doesn't dance all over the pages like I do. From his first verse, every line is loaded with fourteen karat golden words we would be wise to heed.
Matthew begins with Jesus' genealogy, then leads right into His humble birth, and from there traces our Lord's long journeys often led by angels, to keep Him alive, while fulfilling ancient prophesy, designed by God Himself, to offer salvation. Reaching even the likes of me, as I sit here trying to understand all that ancient wisdom.
Other human beings have trouble with it, too, especially the legalistic religious leaders of that time. Soon after Jesus ends up in Galilee, in the town of Nazareth, and after John the Baptist's time, He is more visible among the people He's come to save, healing the sick and afflicted, forgiving their sins, and forming His coalition of twelve tax collectors, fishermen, those who work with animal skins, and one may have been a doctor.
Throughout His short ministry, Jesus tried explaining morality by using parables. But the religious of that time, even some of His followers, were so entrenched in their Shalts, and Shalt nots, that little room was left in their hearts for the Saviour.
I am a long way from Nazareth, here in Colorado, reading my Bible dutifully, learning more and more how horrible the Scribes and Pharisees were. Before the end of Matthew, they will help crucufy Him. This is pretty heavy reading. I need a break from it, and drive to the our marketplace SafeWay.
I am hardly in the door when a voice calls my name, saying "Hello there. How have you been?" It's a man I used to work with. He's sitting in an area where customers have their Starbuck drinks. Now or again he comes to this store, and buys his groceries then quietly leaves. Today he's waiting for someone else to do the shopping. When I realized it was him, I barely spoke in return, and kept walking away.I didn't have a real reason to avoid him. I just didn't much like the man.
I get down to the other end of the store, and stand a minute, to rest this ailing leg, and think about what I've just done. Before I came to the store, I was reading in my Bible how the religious leaders and the crowds treated Jesus. It was horrible, But why was I so intent upon seeing only what was wrong and terrible, instead of the message Matthew was written for, that Jesus was sent to earth for me, and all I have to do is treat people like I want to be treated.
I turned my grocery buggy back toward where the man sat, and stopped it near him, and asked how he was, and he began talking like nobody had listened to him for days. I know he likes being active with hometown events, so I asked what civic work he's still doing, He says not much these days, that he's only doing three programs. We discuss the coming election, and discover we're voting for the same candidate. Soon a daughter who helped with his shopping walks up, so we end the conversation, and I walk away.
For him, our talking was probably nothing more than filling empty minutes. but sometimes that's what people need. For me it made clear what Jesus meant when the Pharisees quibbled over our Lord and His diciples eating with tax collectors and the sinners.
It's in chapter nine of Matthew, verses ten through thirteen, where Jesus said "But go and learn what this means", I desire COMPASSION, AND NOT SACRIFICE." As I hobbled out of the store, my step felt lighte, and especially my heart. When Jesus said He desires compassion, He meant from all of us, not just those flowing robed Pharisees, and He didn't say it has to be an earth shattering thing that we do, perhaps no more than saying hello. So I'm wondering, is there something to the words of that book writing author that whatever we are will show, in everything we do.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
A Long Time Coming
Something I can see, feel or caress, a metamorphosis of sort, is changing before my eyes. Thinking only that I needed new daily routines, to get me through the monotony of these crutch wearing days, I decided reading daily Bible verses would be a good thing, and chose the beginning of the new Testament, almost a Bible in itself, the book of Matthew.
I read all of it as an overview, but am reading it again, to not miss anything. Some mornings, instead of taking time to read, I veer away from it, to see how well I can walk outside to get the paper, or I'm eager to know if there's emails. Some days I do better with selfcontrol and priorities. Other times I just blow it. But when I listen to Matthew's ancient words again, I remember what's important.
Another routine I'm forming is reading a book filled with pointers that would help most any writer and, like with the book of Matthew, I'll read this one again.
Then there's this book I got brave enough to begin writing It is the story not only of my life, for that could hardly make Barnes and Noble's reading list. When I first thought about the book, I knew it should be about every woman's story of its time, clawing their way through life as I did.
There is something about the use of a freedom you're not much acquainted with. When my children needed me and my time more, I thought writing as long as I wanted would be almost Paradise. Now, with full days wholly mine, I stare at a blank computer screen, or a writing pad, and squeeze my pen, but my thoughts are safe in their secret places. I'll day dream a while, remembering what came after what, and search for something to work with. Other times I do not want to remember. But I can't tell only part of it. When I started this book I wasn't thinking about psychoanalization. Could it be before we can understand others, we need to know ourselves. I think this book will be a very long one.
I read all of it as an overview, but am reading it again, to not miss anything. Some mornings, instead of taking time to read, I veer away from it, to see how well I can walk outside to get the paper, or I'm eager to know if there's emails. Some days I do better with selfcontrol and priorities. Other times I just blow it. But when I listen to Matthew's ancient words again, I remember what's important.
Another routine I'm forming is reading a book filled with pointers that would help most any writer and, like with the book of Matthew, I'll read this one again.
Then there's this book I got brave enough to begin writing It is the story not only of my life, for that could hardly make Barnes and Noble's reading list. When I first thought about the book, I knew it should be about every woman's story of its time, clawing their way through life as I did.
There is something about the use of a freedom you're not much acquainted with. When my children needed me and my time more, I thought writing as long as I wanted would be almost Paradise. Now, with full days wholly mine, I stare at a blank computer screen, or a writing pad, and squeeze my pen, but my thoughts are safe in their secret places. I'll day dream a while, remembering what came after what, and search for something to work with. Other times I do not want to remember. But I can't tell only part of it. When I started this book I wasn't thinking about psychoanalization. Could it be before we can understand others, we need to know ourselves. I think this book will be a very long one.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
It's about freedom, about rebuilding lives.
As I tried deciding what to call this post, Peter, Paul and Mary's singing seemed to thunder through my ears. The hostages in Columbia, in South America getting free seems almost amazing, especially since we just celebrated all that's defined by the word, Freedom. More stories are still coming about the rescue. So I won't perhaps repeat much you already know, except a few things about freedom.
Ingrid Betancourt, one of those held many years, sent a message to the many still captive. She said their getting free proves there is a God, and someday they also will get out. Then she encouraged them even more with "Don't let yourself be conquered by sadness". I call their rescue amazing, and it is. It's like Bible stories, maybe about Saint Paul, and close calls he had, and the unusual people God chose to help prison door locks fall off.
More stories I've noticed around this fourth of July speak of other things that can imprison. This story is in the Denver newspapers. A veteran who fought in Iraq and his wife are soon to have a home in Colorado, thanks to a group who build houses for needy veterans. This house will have everything he needs, wheelchair ramps, all that stuff, because the war paralyzed him.
The house isn't finished and there's more delay. Someone tore into a shed there, where volunteers building the house store tools they use, and stole them. We probably can't imagine all the problems this young couple has already dealt with, and this theft, at the fourth of July didn't add happy reasons to celebrate, it seemed.
As soon as the story of the theft aired, a big burly carpenter wearing one of those things around his hips they carry tools in, showed up and put new locks on the shed, and the nearest Home Depot is replacing all the stolen tools. A web site is in place for anyone who wants to leave words of encouragement, or some help. When I read about this theft, my reaction was to get really angry, but I've changed my mind about that. Even though it is hard to, I will pray for the thief, or thieves,. This couple at least knows the happiness that caring people brought them. But all the thief got was some replaceable tools.
My first story here told of immense pain and mistreatment, and the hostages not knowing if they'd get out alive. The second part of this post reflects what might have been more helplessness, and disappointment in their fellow Americans.
A mom and dad of another Iraq soldier got the visit all parents pray never comes to them. Only a week before this soldier died in Iraq, he called home, and said "Get us body armor and vehicular armor." The Fox31 story about this soldier says he thought he'd be killed on the road in an unarmored Humvee, and he was.
His father was consumed with guilt and sorrow and burning anger, which he channeled toward the military. He teamed with Sen. Edward Kennedy, to tell Congress how ill-equiped the soldiers are. Then he started a company that develops robotic vehicles that can disable what the enemy kills our soldiers with over there.
He says his creation looks like dune buggies. He calls them "Land Sharks." A few years since starting his company, the dad has good rapport with the military, and got a huge contract from the Pentagon to further develop them. How many soldiers will return alive from this war because this man put his grief to work in a way that helps others. I am thankful I live where the feats of these three stories are encouraged and protected by our government. There is still much to celebate about the fourth, and Old Glory. Happy Birthday America.
Ingrid Betancourt, one of those held many years, sent a message to the many still captive. She said their getting free proves there is a God, and someday they also will get out. Then she encouraged them even more with "Don't let yourself be conquered by sadness". I call their rescue amazing, and it is. It's like Bible stories, maybe about Saint Paul, and close calls he had, and the unusual people God chose to help prison door locks fall off.
More stories I've noticed around this fourth of July speak of other things that can imprison. This story is in the Denver newspapers. A veteran who fought in Iraq and his wife are soon to have a home in Colorado, thanks to a group who build houses for needy veterans. This house will have everything he needs, wheelchair ramps, all that stuff, because the war paralyzed him.
The house isn't finished and there's more delay. Someone tore into a shed there, where volunteers building the house store tools they use, and stole them. We probably can't imagine all the problems this young couple has already dealt with, and this theft, at the fourth of July didn't add happy reasons to celebrate, it seemed.
As soon as the story of the theft aired, a big burly carpenter wearing one of those things around his hips they carry tools in, showed up and put new locks on the shed, and the nearest Home Depot is replacing all the stolen tools. A web site is in place for anyone who wants to leave words of encouragement, or some help. When I read about this theft, my reaction was to get really angry, but I've changed my mind about that. Even though it is hard to, I will pray for the thief, or thieves,. This couple at least knows the happiness that caring people brought them. But all the thief got was some replaceable tools.
My first story here told of immense pain and mistreatment, and the hostages not knowing if they'd get out alive. The second part of this post reflects what might have been more helplessness, and disappointment in their fellow Americans.
A mom and dad of another Iraq soldier got the visit all parents pray never comes to them. Only a week before this soldier died in Iraq, he called home, and said "Get us body armor and vehicular armor." The Fox31 story about this soldier says he thought he'd be killed on the road in an unarmored Humvee, and he was.
His father was consumed with guilt and sorrow and burning anger, which he channeled toward the military. He teamed with Sen. Edward Kennedy, to tell Congress how ill-equiped the soldiers are. Then he started a company that develops robotic vehicles that can disable what the enemy kills our soldiers with over there.
He says his creation looks like dune buggies. He calls them "Land Sharks." A few years since starting his company, the dad has good rapport with the military, and got a huge contract from the Pentagon to further develop them. How many soldiers will return alive from this war because this man put his grief to work in a way that helps others. I am thankful I live where the feats of these three stories are encouraged and protected by our government. There is still much to celebate about the fourth, and Old Glory. Happy Birthday America.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
The Sounds of Angels' Wings
For someone getting around on crutches, it sure feels like I'm busy, and I am. On the fourth I'll begin another year of living, that requires some celebrating my children are taking care of. The steaks are so marinated, and the other stuff is here. They keep bringing more, but what I'd like most hasn't shown yet. If I could have only one special something to celebrate this day, it would be a melon, a sweet one, grown only as the state of Texas can. Don't bother about a cake for me. Bring me an ice cold melon, a fork, and a bib.
I am somewhat weary of how my days are now. Always there are books, and I love this extra computer time taking my mind off this knee. I so relate to how knee problems are to Linds, at "Rocking Chair Reflections" and her imposed days and days on the couch. Times like this can be a brave thing, in itself I also noticed what to me was courageous of "Call Me Grand Ma Dawn. When she wrote of planting trees at their new home, I knew I'll never think of wading boots the same. When you read her post about their home being built, you will understand. If I had to fight a war, I swear Lins and Grand Ma Dawn, would be my first recruits. I can easily imagine their arms in the air, and their determined faces.
When I was a wife with six kids, and hadn't gone to high school, much less graduated, I got books from my elementary age children's school, and bought a set of encyclopedias, as much for me, as for them .Something that turned the direction of my life seemed a small thing then. Seeing a book club introductory offer for one thin dime, I got five different books. One of them a two volume set of high school subjects, self taught. My husband wasn't in favor of me ordering the books. Afraid I'd order too many I suppose. But talk about a man doing what a man's gotta do, this woman was gonna have those books.
The encyclopedia had spelling and learning word groups, from first grade through highschool. I made sure my children learned theirs They were not happy about having two spelling tests each week, one at school, and one from me, but they did them, while I devoured every word I could.
I tell you these things not to brag, but to remind me I've done hard things. I am so burned out in my work. I don't want to do it anymore. I've not been afraid of change or new things, and beginning my next year seems a good time to find if I still can. When God made His angels to help us now or then, so we don't have to depend on chance, or the weather, He also made the wind for their wings.
I am somewhat weary of how my days are now. Always there are books, and I love this extra computer time taking my mind off this knee. I so relate to how knee problems are to Linds, at "Rocking Chair Reflections" and her imposed days and days on the couch. Times like this can be a brave thing, in itself I also noticed what to me was courageous of "Call Me Grand Ma Dawn. When she wrote of planting trees at their new home, I knew I'll never think of wading boots the same. When you read her post about their home being built, you will understand. If I had to fight a war, I swear Lins and Grand Ma Dawn, would be my first recruits. I can easily imagine their arms in the air, and their determined faces.
When I was a wife with six kids, and hadn't gone to high school, much less graduated, I got books from my elementary age children's school, and bought a set of encyclopedias, as much for me, as for them .Something that turned the direction of my life seemed a small thing then. Seeing a book club introductory offer for one thin dime, I got five different books. One of them a two volume set of high school subjects, self taught. My husband wasn't in favor of me ordering the books. Afraid I'd order too many I suppose. But talk about a man doing what a man's gotta do, this woman was gonna have those books.
The encyclopedia had spelling and learning word groups, from first grade through highschool. I made sure my children learned theirs They were not happy about having two spelling tests each week, one at school, and one from me, but they did them, while I devoured every word I could.
I tell you these things not to brag, but to remind me I've done hard things. I am so burned out in my work. I don't want to do it anymore. I've not been afraid of change or new things, and beginning my next year seems a good time to find if I still can. When God made His angels to help us now or then, so we don't have to depend on chance, or the weather, He also made the wind for their wings.
