Flight Song

The Fog, and a Song, and more

2009-10-04T19:22:00.013-06:00

Except for a wonderful road trip with daughter, Bev recently, not much going on here, until an unexpected phone call a few days ago, and a friendly voice introduced herself, and asked if we might take time to meet while she was in Colorado for a Compassion international conference. It was Andrea, from "Decipher The Fog" in blogging land.

I hurried home from church so I wouldn't miss her, and patiently waited, checking the front yard more often than needed, and reading more of the paper, then there she was, in the driveway, getting something from the back of her rental car. Gifts, not just one, but a few of them.

Her Mom, Darlene, at "Thankful For The Thorns, also surprised me with a beautiful setting that looks mirrored, of the famous "Footprints in the sand" story. I plan to make a special place to set it. There were other surprises, but the "Footprints" is my favorite.

How nice, that Andrea drove quite a ways so we could meet. If you could spend time with her, as I did today, you'd immediately know she's a very caring person. Both of us knew our time together was fleeting, so we hurried to cover many things. What I especially noticed was how more alive she seemed, when talking about what "Compassion International" does for children.

I'm probably not explaining enough about it, but am almost certain Andrea will as soon as she completes the trip, From what I've heard so far, it seems to be a rescue mission that helps a huge number of desperately needy children. I'll leave the details to someone who knows much more about it.

Not all of our visit was serious thinking. A few times we laughed about other things, but when you get someone who wants the fog deciphered, and another who dreams of a heavenly song about the wind, it is probably given that we'd weigh heavily toward the serious, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be serious with. Thank you so much, Andrea, for making such a beautiful visit.

An open post to a daughter:

2009-09-18T23:34:00.008-06:00

For many days I knew she would be here, daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface",or "Life of Grits" (About a girl raised in the South) and then she arrived, and she did not disappoint. One son went with her, to be with her father, and then it was my turn; mine, all mine.

The visit with Dad included her taking on getting through eighteen holes of golfing, after flying from PA, and knowing she had a long drive ahead, to get the two of us to my other daughter, Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning". So I do think God understands that this daughter, whose faith is so beautiful, needed a good sleep and rest, before the next phase of her carefully planned sojourn, to be with family, and more miles to drive, so we did not go to Sunday services.

Then we headed West, very West. Both of us packed and prepared for the trip, but did not hurry. Sitting sedentary a lot can result in blood clots forming, and causing serious threats to your health, so we stopped several times, and took time to walk sometimes a block or more, or find a friendly looking spot to enjoy icecream, or something, and then headed out again. None of this not needed rushing through our so beautiful state. and it did not disappoint either. The Aspens were starting to turn, but no severe weather. We took time to drink in all our state's beauty we could. And my new knee really appreciated the rests.

Once we got to Barb's, life picked up speed. Her grand children are so beautiful, and the grandson, about four, immediately fell in love with Bev. She has a way of including whoever is around in the conversation, and she quickly did that with him; showed him how to hold a sea shell so he can hear an ocean roar, or something like that, and he did, while I loved seeing generations of my kin be closer. Something about it helps me know there will be harmony between them long after I'm not here, but even that could be selfish on my part, for perhaps I'm hoping to leave a little of myself.

We stayed up late several nights catching up on family, and even took time to sleep in. Being rested helps enjoy everything more. If I could I would outlaw the concept of multi-tasking. Have you noticed how our culture carefully creates words to make unpleasant things seem like good ideas. I don't care what you call it; physical assaults like that on the body should not exist, and if I am ever elected to a position where I can, I will try to banish it from the working class.

Part of our all being together included a night out for the females of the family, and we agreed an Olive Garden dinner, and a movie was what we needed. It started pretty well, with some diner coming to our table, and asking why some melons could not marry, and cracked up laughing at himself, as he concluded it's because they cantelope. Even I got the idea. But then I had some trouble that caused me to laugh at myself. As the waiter stood at our table, holding a bottle of wine, and an empty wine glass, and asked if we'd like a complimentary one, the word "complimentary" registered in me, and I, like someone who just landed on our country told him yes, and felt like a really stupid fool, when he poured about a thimble full of wine, and handed it to me. For quite a long time my budgeting does not include eating out. Perhaps I may be able to work again, but I haven't for a long time. My church is great about giving me a "Complimentary" box of food every week, but it does not include Olive Garden dining.

For the most part, daughter, Bev paid for our trip. Would only let me help a little now and then, to make me feel better, and it helped that we used my car. On our way back we stopped at different places, and drank in more of the countryside's beauty. Every time I finally take time to fall in love with Colorado again, I wonder why I waited so long, for if you've seen her, you have to know how beautiful she is, like my daughter.

During our last day here together, we drove around so she could see old landmarks connected to her younger years here; and we mailed a box of books back to where she lives, that will help her with her serious world study plan. Then we tried to check on different kinds of housing for me, in case I can sell my house, but we needed somewhere to park. She pulled into a place called "The second Chance Shoppe", run by an auxiliary of our town's hospital, and we went inside to check it out, and I was proud of her all over again. When she paid for what she bought, She asked the clerk for permission to park there, so we could check on the housing, and they were glad to let us. This daughter personifies being a real smooth lady.

Talk about class, Bev had them eager to do exactly what she asked, and she's really good at spotting quality clothing. Got herself some nice blouses and a sweater, and I spotted a wedding gown that may be just right for a member of my church, whose engaged, and could use help in keeping the costs down. I can't wait to tell her about it.

Before Bev had to leave here, even though she was pressed for time, she helped me with computer things I've not learned. I have a really good program for learning spanish. Got it at a thrift store for about four dollars, but a tape I really need is missing, so Bev found it on some place through the computer, for a few dollars, and ordered it for me. I especially appreciate this gift.

After Bev was taken to to the airport tonight, to be with her husband again, and someone brought me home from our last evening together, I walked around awhile in the house, not quite knowing what to do with myself. She gave me so many gifts not necessairly the kind you wrap with ribbon, and I so wished I could do more, but while this uncertain time continues, I must be careful with money. Then I realized the best thing I could give her is myself, and I sat down at this computer she had done a lot of working on for me, and I dusted off the pages of that book I started
long before this surgery, and wrote two new crisp ones for it.

Getting on with the Miscellaneous of Life.

2009-09-01T23:38:00.006-06:00

Here I am again, hoping to bring you something more interesting than knee replacements. Earlier this year I bought a nice Daytimer, kidding myself that I would use it properly. But stil I try, and so I filled up more than half of it,
with medical appointments and birthday reminders, and a few social things, but clearly, my life needed more excitement than these.

Because of the surgeries, I couldn't sit at the computer much for several weeks, and had already given up on dealing with changes in TV reception. So all I had left, for a while, was books. Lots of them, and soon I was in a make believe paradise. Never, not in my entire life, have I had so much time to enjoy getting lost in them. So far I have about four or more started, and it all depends on the frame of mind I'm in. That determines which one gets me today.

I was more than a little surprised how entrenched the old paycheck mentality kept tugging at me. Did not realize it governed even how long I chose to read.
How easily we let ourselves be controled by the very thought of that scares me.

This nice down time may end soon, but I'll not forget what I learned while living it. Could have done without dealing with the skunks that seemed so determined to live beneath my house; and I certainly didn't need that unexpected leak in my roof, but my son helped much with both of those problems, and today he trimmed hanging tree limbs, some of which were getting tangled with electric lines.

I can't tell you how very blessed I am he's nearby, and helps so much. Years ago, when my sons and daughters were almost devouring our set of World Books, that Bev at "Scratchin' the Surface", or "Life of Grits" wrote about today, in her post called "Look It Up", I didn't realize what else they were learning. Not that they always wanted to, but I knew they must, and it's paying off today. While they absorbed their required school work, somehow in the process, maybe because I cared enough to teach them how to learn, they also learned they were loved, and now it's coming back, many times, to me.

As a mom, and sometimes as a grand Ma, I worry about family situations, but today when I drove up out front, and son and grandson were carfully pulling big tree limbs with a rope behand his van, to take them someplace, having designated grandson to walk near the limbs, to keep them going safely, the whole contrived scene of it struck me as so humerous, haven't had such a happy laugh in I don't know when. When I asked son how he thought of doing that with the tree limbs, he said something about having seen it somewhere, maybe people clearing land, but I don't think that idea came from World book. Still, I could be wrong. I know, I know; Look it up.

All This, and King Charles, and a King of my own.

2009-08-25T22:50:00.007-06:00

Last January I had the first surgery to repair my knee. When I knew more surgery was needed, I planned so carefully, everything I could, to get through it. I rearranged things I would use in the kitchen, and even my bed, to make aftercare easier.

It all hinged on one piece of equipment, a spreadout spidery looking thing called a walker, with handles and wheels, and a little basket to transport small things in. Part of it even became a built in make-do seat, which would help when I could go places again. But I was concerned about more important things, like getting myself to the bathroom, or to the kitchen, for food, or maybe some coffee.

If I could manage those things, visiting nurses and physical therapists were all I would need, to get well at home. Otherwise I would have to be in a nursing home, which I wouldn't even let myself think of. I have worked in many of them. Most of the caretakers there do backbreaking work, and care greatly about those in their care. But there's never enough of them to do all the patients need.

I checked with my healthcare coverage, and the hospitals' case manager person, to be certain this walker thing came home from the hospital with me, and was assured, indeed, it would be done. Everybody I asked about it passed me on to someone else. I do know how busy healthcare workers are, and really try to not make their work harder. But I did need this walker thing, if I was in my home, and it wasn't getting done.

So I'm back in my room after the surgery, wondering how to take care of this, and I reach over, and place my little "Bible Promise Book" on the bedside table, along with some other items, and try to not fret, but I am concerned. About that time someone knocks at my door, to come in, and before I can wade through the painkillers in me, to better understand, a voice so alive and friendly surprises me with "Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, who died for your sins?" It sounded more like it needed an exclamation point, instead of a question mark. I know, I know, in today's world, we're to walk gently about expressing such things, but this was the best thing I'd heard all day.

The voice belonged to an obviously God-loving nurse's aide, who wasn't timid about his faith. I asked him his name, and he smiled and said, "Charles, you can just call me King Charles". "Good", I thought, "a sense of humor, too" He asked if I had prayer requests, and I told him about the problem with getting the walker. He looked straight at me, and lowered his voice, and stated as if he really meant it, "You will have it before tomorrow is over." Then he turned and left my room.

The next day I still wondered about it, and each time somebody came to my room, thought maybe, but as it got later, I didn't have much hope, and tried to not think about it. After more hours clicked by, another knock on my door sounded, as King Charles announced himself again, while gaily rolling a new shiny walker, painted my favorite blue, and parked it by my bed, then just as quickly left the room. It was the last time I saw him, and I'll never know how he pulled off this act of faith.

Now I could relax, and let the pain meds soothe me. All I was worried about now was making certain this time there'd be no infections. I am sure I drove the nurses almost crazy about washing hands and not spreading germs, something any medical person shouldn't need reminding about. I just knew I was not taking an infection home this time around. And because of King Charles, I no longer worried about nursing homes.

I don't need to use the walker, but keep it, cause you never know what might happen. These past two months and a little more, King Charles' Jesus has supplied so many things. A neighbor brought fancy coffee several times. My dear friend from church brought home made meals, and lots of other things, and a great assortment of pens and other writing things, for a birthday surprise. Family did lots of thoughtful, helpful things.

When I was ready to work out supporting muscles at a nearby rec. center, at orientation I was the only person there, so the rec center person was like being my personal trainer, except I couldn't afford him, which really makes me appreciate this program called "Silver Sneakers". It's not like I'm lifting weights, but using the treadmill, and the stationary exercise bike seems to be helping this remade leg. I even earned myself a pretty shirt that has silver sneakers on it.

I have planned a whirlwind trip soon with one daughter to visit the other, enjoy Colorado Autumn, eating ice cream, and singing our hearts out as down the road we go. It's time to celebrate getting through the surgerys. Come October I'm scheduled for a repeat of CPR training. Should be interesting, since I'll be taking it with a group of Boy Scouts earing their merit badges. I already cleared it's o.k. to bring something to kneel on.

In going through my favorite book store, I found David Johnson and Tom Allen's "Joy Comes in the Morning" ... and other blessings in disguise". One's a senior pastor of The Church of the Open Door in Crystal, Minnesota since 1980. The other has pastoral evangelistic roles in The Christian and Missionary Alliance. This book was published in 1998, so positions may have changed. But it's so from the Bible, with thoughts like: "The Lord (in Matthew 5) is exposing the false security of the self sufficient" This is exactly what's tranposed in me, when I thought I could fix everything I've dealt with for half of this year. How like our Jesus, who should always be honored Kingly, that He sent an outrageous King Charles to get the point across to me.

To Let You Know.....

2009-06-15T13:54:00.003-06:00

Hello to all of you. Count down almost here, with more surgery scheduled for
June 16.

Will need a few weeks to be up and running again (pun is intended), then hoping to keep in touch much better with you.

Through all of this God has been so good to me. Judith at Flight Song.

Marking Time More Than A Countdown...

2009-06-07T21:54:00.005-06:00

I've never been a detail person. When I was raising my children, I got good at figuring things out as I went. But these past months I've often noticed time passing, and as the date for more serious surgery closes in, I'm especially counting it. Am down to only nine more days.

Almost five months ago I thought in terms of how long certain things needed to get better. Things like a long wait for surgery, and then more time, to heal. Before I knew it, I had used up winter, and then the lily bloomed again.

All that time I still believed my knee would soon work again. But as the days kept rushing, I tried hard to not feel depressed, and turned my thoughts toward improving myself. I live in a quiet and peacefull place, and I certainly had time for it. All I needed to do was to look closer at myself.

If you've never done this, I so recommend it. These are some of the things I discovered. In relationships, whether with family or friends, or people I work with, I nearly always give too much; not just time and interest, but gifts, sometimes money. What I've learned about this is that I don't have to stop being kind and caring, but I do need to do less of it.

Another area that surprised me, is that I was way overboard about worrying. I mean, starting in with it before I even get out of bed, and most of it not needed. This took a lot of real effort to stop, and the tendency remains. I am sure this one will require lots of effort.

Discovering this felt like being blindsided. I did not realize how much I do this. When I'm trying to describe something, or convince someone of something, I give much too much information. It is like, if I can just make it clear enough, they'll understand. This probably especially drives organized people crazy, and to think I've been doing it for years!

This last area, I am so grateful to realize. If I hadn't discovered it about myself, I would not believe it. But I've been doing this. Most of my life I've let other people make important decisions for me. Individuals who knew me before, will be very surprised the next time they deal with me.

In the past, I let realtors convince me what price to offer. There are times I allowed people less qualified than me to tell me where to live. When I'd be shopping with certain ones, I'd come home with stuff I didn't really need. (But I should give myself some credit here. I at least learned to not shop with them). Not in recent years, but long ago, I let neighbors influence me about religion. When I ventured into the dating scene, I must have been easy game. Not much point in trying to change that, but the other big league areas of living will see a lady who now values her own thinking.

This miserable time is about much more than mending my broken knee, and I gladly offer all of it, even the ongoing pain. for what I've learned while trying to get through it.

My daughter, Bev, at "Scratch'en The Surface", or "Life Of Grits", wrote a tremendous post today titled "The Lord Has Promised Good To Me", and ended it with that mighty hymn, "Amazing Grace". As I read it I could see her standing in her church, thinking all the beautiful things racing through her loving brain, and it so encouraged me, remembering how amazing God's Grace is, for He's just done a wonderful thing. I plan to leave this matter of healing my leg to our Lord, and the doctors, and as soon as I'm able, to start using these things I've discovered about me.

What I've Learned These Past Months, Without Trying.

2009-05-30T22:15:00.007-06:00

A little more than four months ago, I had surgery for a knee problem, and looked forward to a quick recovery. Now plans are made for more surgery on the same knee. I am sure other things are going on in people's lives and in this world, but it does not feel that way for me.

As many of you know, I come from an earlier time, certainly qualifying me for this kind of surgery. The time I came from, that we called the Great Depression, taught me many things.

You wouldn't believe how far I can stretch a dollar, or remake clothes so they fit the younger children. I am almost an expert at making old curtains fit new windows. When groceries were scarce, I created new recipes. I am good at a lot of things. But lately I haven't been dealing so well with all this surgery, So I am doing the next best thing, and it's right in character. I will get everything I can from this awful situation.

This is what I've learned from my misery. At least part of the knee problem began because I planted a rose bush. Lesson number one, although I won't be numbering, is, next time someone wants to plant a rose bush for me, I will let them. There's a new appreciation in me for being gracious. Lots of people have shown thoughful courtesies, so I don't dwell on those who didn't. Perhaps they're dealing with problems worse than mine.

There are many things, not in any certain order. This round of surgery I'll make sure I get a nice walker, one with wheels, and a place to sit on if I need to. I already use a different bed. Switched to one I don't have to walk around several times to make.

My kitchen again looks like I've just moved in. Dishes and bowls and flatware are handily situated to eliminate trips. A table near a favorite recliner in the living room is full of books and papers, and things nice to keep handy, to cut down on extra walking.

Because I was smart enough to get a house that's all one level, there are hardly any stairs to deal with. An extra garbage can sits real handy outside, so I don't need to figure out how to get across the backyard patio to where it usually goes.

Early on in dealing with this unwanted loss of mobility, I learned to keep needed things in my huge bag, and to take the lightest books and things to church, and other places, to cut down on heaviness. It's a real hoot to see me bring groceries in, but sometimes neighbors, if they see me, come over and help.

At church, people are especially helpful, opening doors I'd have trouble with, carrying things for me. You wouldn't believe how many details we take so for granted, as long as our arms and legs work like they need to. Once when I'd just gotten there, our pastor saw I had an armful, and got someone to come to my car and help me. The next time I arrived, the same young man hurried over, with his arm extended, a little like how the bridal party walks down aisles. After kind of feeling stuck in stores that got crowded, I learned to go shopping at less busy times.

So far it looks like I have a pretty good grip on things. But I haven't told you what is probably the most important thing. You don't know the times I've lost my wonderful attitude, and cried. Stooped to feeling a little sorry. It's so hard to get through this time. Yesterday I was getting gas for the car. Paid the clerk, and headed back out to fill the tank, and it wouldn't let me. Had cut off because it took longer for me to walk from the store, and my purchase was cancelled.

Other times, people would ask how I'm doing, and offer to come over if I needed something done. Said they would, but didn't. Perhaps it's a little like "Have a nice day", or "How are you?' figures of speech. They are not invested in your day. They don't really want to know.

When this situation began I decided I would use this time wisely. Write more of a story I'm wanting to tell. Practice remembering just met people's names. Be more sensitive to family situations. With all my good intentions, I would just about remake me. But I haven't.

I have done some serious reading these past months, and really worked at not getting into watching dumb T.V. I am shocked at the increase of rawness I see in programs and commercials. I make myself go to social events and things, although it would be easier to just stay at home.

More than a fourth of a year has arrived and gone. Already it is near the end of spring, and another summer. But all is not for nothing, because I've at least done one important thing, made a personal enventory, and know what needs repairing, as much as my knee.

Life Is What Happens While You're........ Or: I Should Have Just Ordered The Fries.

2009-05-22T11:23:00.007-06:00

Because I'd just learned that more surgery's required to fix this ailing leg, I decided to take care of things I've put off, like having snow tires removed, and getting new tags for the car.

On the way to the tire place I realized I was hungry, and remembered a Burger King is close by, and since I'd probably have a wait, could enjoy a burger, and some fries. Then as usual, I did my little"squeeze the cash" mental dance. Perhaps I'd only get fries, lots of fries, for I really like them, and those of you who are Irish will probably understand. There is something about eating potatoes, cooked almost any kind of way that soothes our Irish souls.

But inside the BK it is a noonday madhouse, and I'm so busy dodging people who are in a hurry, and didn't expect to manuever around an unexpected crutch, that I decide what the heck, and blow my entire mental budget by ordering one Whopper Jr, and a regular order of fries, and then for some reason I still don't understand, and wish I hadn't, some onion rings.

I hadn't had onion rings in years, but today was kind of special. I was still getting accustomed to the idea of having more surgery, and anyway the entire order was less than four bucks. The clerk looked a little confused, or mayby she was bewildered, when Iasked her how many rings I would get. She gave me a look like my question would never be answered, so I let it be, and when my order finally came, quickly looked inside the bag and made sure there were three items, and made my way to where I thought there might be some napkins, but couldn't find any, so I left.

At the tire store I got started with the wait, after a nice worker took time to park my car, so I would have to walk less. I found a good spot that wasn't crowded, and pulled out a small book I would enjoy as soon as I ate.

Reaching down into the sack I thought it a little strange that such a little burger was so big. I could see the onion rings, and there seemed to be many, and then I discovered another little burger. But fries? Absolutely none. If it hadn't been so far to walk back over, I would have tried getting the order corrected, but I wasn't about to tackle that, and anyway, the clerk couldn't understand my American English. I tried eating part of the really big whatever it was, and could see it was twice as thick as ordinary burgers, and sure enough, it was chicken, almost oozing in its still cold cheese, even though the 'someone else's order' I got was marked "No Cheese," and the small burger was just as mistreated, trying to get its own breath while drowning in its mound of the goopy yellow stuff.

If I could relive this situation, I would have put everything back in the burger bag, and dump it in the nearest garbage. But as I struggled to make my body comfortable in chairs that leaned too forward, I stuffed an onion ring in my mouth, and immediately realized something had broken. I checked the onion rings again, and they almost felt as hard as the tooth I'd just ruined. That made two teeth that need replacing, but dental work cannot be done until this leg situation is resolved. If tears would have helped, I would have turned them on. But I just sat there, and concentrated on how to place my legs, so I could bear waiting for the tires to be changed.

Eventually it got done, and after having the tire men rearrange the snow tires so I could see through the rear window, I headed to the Dept. of Vehicles, to get the new tags. As I drove, the little red warning light showed again. I was pretty sure it was the rear door, since my driver's side was alright, and the other three doors probably didn't get opened. So I pulled over again, and waited for someone to come by.

With my teeth missing, and my hair needing a good cut, I didn't exactly look like the best desperate housewife. The man looked a little perplexed, but did walk closer. I showed him my crutch, and asked him to close the rear door better, and he did, and I thanked him profusely, then headed to my next stop.

I got as close as I could to the handicapped parking, but two other vehicles were already there, so I took the furtherest spot, and slowly inhaled a few times, before walking again. One of the others getting out of their cars must have said something the first did not lunderstand, or particularly like. Maybe it was just her abupt tone, but the man proceded to tell her what he thought, and she didn't waiver, just kept saying "Come over here so you can see my arm is really gone". She said she lost it in an old war, and that people accuse her all the time of not really needing handicapped parking, because they can't see that an arm is missing. The man explains he's a Vietnam veteran, and by now the two of them are exchanging wartime tales. and I'm not about to miss how they end, because it must be more interesting than knee surgery, or car doors left open, or breaking teeth on onion rings.

She walks faster, and goes through the doors, and the man turns to me and says "What's wrong with your leg?" I tell him it's a partial knee replacement, and he lights up immediately. Leans on his walker as he tells me I need one of those. But I leave that alone. "I'm having a replacement done next week," he says, as he pats one of his knees. "This all began when I got shot long ago, in Vietnam". He wants to know if I think I had a good doctor, but I assume we're just making talk now, so I let that go.

Inside I look over where this man is sitting, and in my mind, I see a young soldier being dragged out of battle, and I wonder how the elderly, outspoken woman lost her arm. But I will never know. I skip from there to now, and decide perhaps my coming surgery isn't as critical as I sometimes want to think. In life, sometimes we brush against another person, and will never know more about them than that. So it's important that we leave them at least a happy moment of ourselves.

Before next week, when I do a consult with the doctor who will do the new surgery, I intend to use these days as wisely as I can, trying on everything hanging in my closet, and donating what doesn't fit. I plan doing the same with rows and rows of books. To read all of them, I would have to live many years. If I can discipline myself, I may deal with some paperwork.

From now on I will not pick up more church activities, or other time stealers. (That thought reminds me of a conversation I had not so long ago with a daughter.) I will only clean and dust when I must, and the next time I am hungry I will get a double order of the fries. While I am getting through this life, it is time to brush into myself.

The Return Of The Iris, and other Miscellany

2009-05-18T11:35:00.011-06:00

As I looked out at the yard this morning, more and more iris had opened, and then, because I've so much time to spend, I walked closer to the tallest group of them, and measured where their height fell on me. I'm 5' 6", and the tallest iris is at least some inches higher than above my belly button. One knows, that like our own, their beauty cannot last. It's up to us, how much of it we choose to lose ourselves in. But I feel a strong need to look at more than the flowers.

I am getting better at ignoring clumps of weeds I cannot thin. Silly things, that think they can compete with iris majesty. I make my way back in the house, and look for something to busy me, or at least share my mind with.

Right near my Bible, and stacks of other books, sets my next reading assignment, "Computers Simplified", from MaranGraphics, "The 3-D Visual Approach to Learning About Computers". Never mind I'm years behind doing this. At least I'm finally starting. As I began reading it, and checking its many pictures, I realized I know more about computering, than I thought I did. I still don't know how to program a new service for the computer, or to install a different modum. So this is serious study time for me. But I will take credit that I knew a new program would require something. Progress! even if it's little.

Another book I am so enjoying is titled "UNDER GOD", Triumph and Tragedy: Stories of "AMERICA'S SPIRITUAL BATTLE", by dc Talks, Toby Mac and Michael Tait, with help from the Wallbuilders". I like that it's made up of stories only a few pages long, so it's easy to read an entire section, without feeling that I'm taking too long. I can hardly believe I just said that. Here I am, with all this time to fill. Strange, that we cling to habits from so long ago.

Years, when I was a very busy mom, but without much education, while learning new words, I hit on the idea of clipping a list of them to my kitchen curtain with a clothes pen, just above the sink. While peeling potatoes, or washing the dishes, I taught myself word meanings, and how to spell. A few days ago, while at the kitchen sink here, I remembered doing that, and though it may sound a little like too much of myself, I smiled, remembering it.

This "Under God" book contains enough information to satisfy requirements for a full term college course. It's about America's beginning. Early on, it tells us of a battle on the Monongahela, near Fort Duquesne, (now Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania), part of the French and Indian War, and it's about George Washington in particular. It points out he, only a twenty-three year old officer, became the Continental Army's Commander in Chief, and later, of course, our country's first president. (See page 12 paragraph 4).

It also points out that Washington was never injured in battle. On page 12 and 13, an Indian Chief, came a long ways, to where Washington was, and told him "The Great Spirit protects this man", "and guides his destinies....." "He will become the chief of nations, and a people yet unborn will hail him as the founder of a mighty empire."

To our country, formed "Under God", brave men "Mutually pledged to each other their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor", making it "more than a declaration, more than a document". ...... It was a covenant, the most solemn, the most sacred of human agreements. Paragraph 4, page 18 declares that "God himself was a witness of their actions that day."

Paragraph 5, page 18, showed "their independence from earthly power and authority," and "our Founding fathers declared their dependence upon Almighty God", "With firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence". This is what our country was built on. If we're not safeguarding its principles enough, we can easily lose not only our pledge to our country, and its flag, but other rights those early documents were drafted for, to ensure safeguards for them. Brave men (and some women) risked everything so we can have them. Our military still stands guard for them, and for us.

As I write those lines about our country forming, I remember the long dark portraits of Washington and Lincoln in my grade school, they seemed to stare down on my little girl frame. I am so thankful "Columbines" did not exist then. I understand our not allowing any religion's wouldbe Deity to rule our country, but we also have turned so far the other direction, where our society almost proclaims no allegiance anymore to much of anything. Our founding fathers were willing to die for this democracy, and that's why we have it today, and have an obligation to protect it for our coming generations.

I've been known to read more than one book at a time. This time it's three, and the third is the one I open more quickly. This New York Times best seller, first published in 1996, and republished twice after the first edition, should be required reading for anyone who works with mistreated, abused women. "ARE YOU SOMEBODY" The Accidental Memoir Of A Dublin Woman", grabs your heart, and even your temper, as you live the not just horrible, but degrading life this fine brilliant woman is entrapped in, both by her religion, and her culture, and the time she had the misfortune to be born in. But she is remarable, as honest with herself, as she is others, and in between the misery is a sense of humor that's superb

I've studied about womens' life conditions, styles even, and from my own experience, know that something that should be so personal, child bearing, is often influenced by currently accepted social norms. While this author, Nuala O'Faolain's birthing was largly determined by the Catholic Church's laws in Dublin, mine was dictated by an all male govering board of the Baptist hospital, who chose to refuse to allow my tubes to be tied, even though I already had six perfectly healthy children.

On the back cover of O'Faolain's pages you just keep turning, are the best comments about "Are You Somebody?" While her love of books and reading did much to save her, "O'Faolain has distilled her experiences into a wisdom that can only come from an obstinate refusal to shrink from life.

The story of how she defines herself outside the traditional roles assigned to women proves an exhilarting example of courage, honesty, and bold living. I truly wish I could have read this book in my first year of college, and certainly before I married.

Attitude Improvement Sorely Needed

2009-05-12T16:22:00.003-06:00

If I had to choose only one word to describe how this day was going, it would surely be CLUELESS, At least that's how it started. For a while, I thought I'd handled it better, a silly idea, bolstered by this year's first Iris blooming. Clearly visible from my favorite chair, as I started on my first cup of coffee.

Many other Irises are on the brink of showing, cradled by way too many flowerbed weeds, but I willed myself to ignore their ugliness, and sat awhile, drinking in the Iris along with morning coffee.

Throughout this lengthy time of still not being healed, most days I handle it very well. But today I was leaning much too close to negativity, and when the mail came, I got worse. Health insurance sent a legal looking notice that some of my coverage is denied. A few phone calls showed the problem can be fixed, but the dry and abrupt tone of one of them added nothing to the day. So instead of appreciating that the problem is OK, I kept holding on to the negativity I started the day with.

A while later someone knocked at my door. Perhaps, I thought, a neigbor's teenage son, looking for summer work. But as he started spilling out his approach, I knew he wasn't looking for flowerbed weeding, or other yard work, and certainly not sweat breaking painting house trim.

As soon as he tried convincing me he needed a huge number of credits to reach his goal, I should have stopped him there, saving each of of us some time, but the story he tried so hard to convince me with, was so far in left field, I decided to hear more of it, for future reference.

He said he's a home schooled student, and anyway, all of this is his mother's idea; that he needed to discuss career choices, and make eye contact with adults, as he talked. He asked what kind of work I do, and when I told him nursing, he jumped into a noble story about wanting to give medical care to the disadvanteged. But to do this, he must get a huge number of credits, from adults, like me.

He tried again to hand me information through the door about the credits, and this was after I refused to open it the first time. I just stood there, suprized that I hadn't caught on to his spiel sooner. Even on a good day, I wouldn't have bought whatever he's selling, but today wasn't a good one for any kind of door to door approach, and besides that, my leg was hurting. So I told him very carefully I would only say this once, that he needed to listen, and pick up his skate board, and head it for the road, and even then, he wanted to try his sales pitch again, but stuck his speech notes in his pocket, and did leave.

I couldn't believe how easily I let his big array of lies affect my day. Almost instantly, I had let him erase the beauty of the Iris from my head, and upset myself because today's youth aren't taught much responsibilty, or how to earn their pay, and their telling ballfaced lies is no longer considered breaking a serious moral law. I mean, what is this pitiful world coming to, anyway! I had worked myself into a mental frenzy, and I'll bet the young man did not waste one split second of a nan-o-moment thinking about me, except perhaps, to again inforce todays' youths, just how nutty little old ladies can be, as he sped down the road on his skate board.

About that same time, the phone rang, and someone who slurs her words and speaks rapidly, launched into a survey, and since I just cancelled some services, and changed some, to cut down on expenses, thought it odd that I'd be survey'd today.

Besides that, I was a little rung out from dealing with the door-to-door teenager, and wasn't up to another round of battling our wills. But this time, I simply let it go, and thanked her for calling, even though I didn't need to, and now I think I'll restart what's left of this day, and look at the Iris again.

Bits And Pieces, And A Holiday, Too.

2009-05-05T21:47:00.005-06:00

I hope to share several things with you here. Will see how I do with the leg here at the computer. I am determined to not bore you with ongoing details about it.

A few days ago, after the yard was mowed, I noticed scattered leaves and branches at my front door, and didn't understand why they were there. A closer look explained it. Up high, above the outside light, was an ugly clustering of more small limbs, and even bits of strings or something that might have been pulled from a mop.

Poking out everywhere, It looked a little like an old TV person's outrageous hair style. I think her name was Phylis Diller. On a whim she mussed up her hair and showed it to TV land, and became famous for it looking so bad.

Sometimes I'm slow at figuring things out, Lately I'd noticed more birds hanging around. Even saw one pulling a long earthworm out of the yard. If they'd built their nest farther from the door, we might could live that close together, but I couldn't let it stay at the door. Am not up to crawling over a six foot fence to get in and out the house. Still, I felt really awful, tearing the nest down. So far they've rebuilt it once more, so I think we are in for a battle of the wills. But it's not all bad. At least it's more interesting than this ongoing leg problem.

One might think I'd like and appreciate all this down time, but even that can wear thin. Sometimes I resort to treasure shopping at the nearest thrift store, just to get out of the house. Found an old movie titled: "Andre", I'm hoping my seven year old friend might like to watch with me. It's about a real seal that swam many miles to visit the human family that rescued him when he was an orphaned pup. The story is also about a harbor master's shy nine-year-old daughter. I thought my great little friend might relate to the girl.

Of course I seldom get out of the thrift store without finding more books. Two I found this time are: "A Forgiving God In An Unforgiving World", by Ron Lee Davis, and 'The Grace Awakening", by Charles R. Swindoll. Both of these small books, (about 200 to 300 pages each), appear to be very good for spiritual checkups, something I sure need sometimes.

Speaking of spiritual checkups, I am surprising me with all I'm learning about the Bible, while I have more time for reading it. This still unresolved problem about my leg is sometimes hard to deal with, but far more blessings than complaints come my way because of it. Feelings and emotions sometime wear thin. But God takes care of even things like that. I try to stay upbeat, but sometimes am down, and something will happen, like a stranger holding a door for me, or; like this morning, the phone rang. My special friend is treating me to a "Day of Prayer" program and lunch at our church, and she called to arrange it, and later tonight, one of my great sons called, to arrange a Mothers' Day outing, and included another son so he isn't left out. I don't think I'll ever tire of seeing my children forget about sibling rivalry, and just be nice to each other.

Before the day was over I about felt special, a little like royalty. When I'm eventually over this illness, I seriously intend to do things like that to cheer up others. Sometimes we may not realize how much someone needs it.

I think I am finally understanding how this religious stuff works. Not that I'm an outstanding example. I do get upset at all the bad stuff that's happening in our world, the violence in the news and on TV, and family values attacked almost daily. Having respect doesn't seem to be taught much anymore, certainly not as much as a few generations ago.

These things sadden me, for we are losing something we may never get back. But if we keep replacing the bad with God's Goodness, like friends and family did today for me, we may gain some ground. The next time you are in the marketplace spread a little kindness and see what happens.

Remembering, and other things.

2009-04-23T23:38:00.006-06:00

I have been away so long it seems. Tried pulling up a post I wrote about my son, Jerry's, death, but I couldn't figure out how to post it. I intended to write other things about him, especially on Narcissism, or Narcissistic Personalty Disorder. though I didn't understand it when he was a child, now it is much clearer, and I am sure Jerry was a clasic case of it.

Knowing that doesn't ease the heartache of his dying, and how he chose to do it, but it dose make many things about his life easer to understand. Perhaps I will write more about it later. It is still hard to use the computer for very long.

I want to share with you why I've not posted. Have dealt with this knee replacement problem for three long months, and it still is not allright. Have another of many doctor's appointments in the morning, and ask you to pray (especially about ten a.m. Friday), when the doctor will decide if I'll have more surgery, or how we can make this situation bearable, for it hasn't been, and still isn't.

I am such a healthy person, and especially when I could still work, and walked a lot, was in great condition. I like to think I'm not a whiner, but the ongoing pain is very bad. There must be some way to make it better.

I do realize that attitude affects everything, though that may sound trite. So I kind of compare this awful situation to what's going on, in my front yard flower beds. Someone here before me planted pretty flowers, and this Spring they seem to be multiplying. I cannot clean and weed the beds like is needed, so there's healthy looking weeds trying to take over, and little dandelions, with their unfair reputation, must think themselves pretty, as they cozy right up next to the stately towering rainbow colored tulips tulips, that are scattered everywhere.

Recent snows have irrigated the yard so well, even the old growth at the base of the fleurdelis (flower of the lily), seems to have weathered winter well. All of this reminds me that, like our lives, you can't have the beauty of all that's growing there, without the dirt and weeds, and last year's wilted leaves. So I've been trying real hard to take in all the beauty, without cringing about the dying, and its uglyness.

Some days I do better than others. But I won't let the ugly parts of it rob me of a spring time. I'm getting really good at ignoring other things that could irritate, if I let them. I am not a picky housework person, just need a little cleanliness. It really was bothering me that some needs doing, so I tried, and discovered that dry dust mops work well for removing dust rings and balls. Not how Martha would do it, but oh well.

While trying to get well, I have reviewed my life more than I need to, and am reading as often and as much as I care. It is a real breakthrough, finally understanding the old testament more. I pay more attention to sunrises and sunsets now, and the trees flowering. Whatever was in my son's life that he could no longer bear, will always be a thorn I don't know how to get rid of. I thought by now it would have eased more. I think when people talk about getting over someone dying, it may be they just need the pain of it to end. Like making a bad dream go away. I'm not sure they ever do. But household dust and weeds in the flowerbeds are not keeping me from enjoying all the beauty of life that I can. So once again, ten o'clock Friday, please support me with your prayers while the doctor is deciding how to heal this leg. I so appreciate knowing you, and hope to stay in touch better.

Faith And Healing On A Shoestring

2009-04-02T16:43:00.014-06:00

In this blogging world, where many of us try to understand God's plans for us, a few friends I've met here gently remind me when I've veered too far from them.

When I'm not sure what's best to do, I tend to look for places, quiet little havens that feel safe, while I should be dealing with however life is, instead of running from it. This journey began when I realized my knee needed surgery that was done two months ago, and we're not done yet.

On my last checkup, the doctor said to give it another month to heal, which means another month of unrelenting pain. I've worked hard at the therapy, a month or more of it, but it is time to take control of how it's done, and what it costs. Very soon I am switching to a more affordable plan, cutting therapy to twice a week, which will ease the high co-pay cost of it, and then begin water therapy at the local rec center, which is free for seniors.

I don't think healing is complete without doing some soul therapy. My first step in this was to join a Bible study, (to at least get me out of the house once a week), where we learn more about being "In Step with God", the title of our text by an outstanding minister, Dr. Charles F Stanley, the pastor of a Baptist church in Atlanta, Georgia.

We get more from this Bible studying than learning academics. Because our pastor leads it, we enjoy more time with him. And we get to know others in the group better. It helps me, to be more aware I'm not the only person with problems or worries, or dealing with daily pain.

Our pastor is a kind and helpful man. The first night we're there he arrives with armloads of Bibles, and sets them on our table. I immediately spot one that's just right for me, and do a trade of Bible books I'll bring from home, for it. It's a New King James version by Broadman and Holman, "The Experiencing God Study Bible", first copyright in 1982, by Thomas Nelson, Inc. It is obviously well used. Many penciled in notes, and wide margins, left and right, leave lots of room for this doodling Bible student. It's not that I don't have a Bible. But I prefer its age marks to a new one. Something about knowing another soul traveled with it before me makes me feel I'm in good company.

In our study class I am in a generational mode. Old enough to be someone's Grandma, but smart enough to learn from various ages, even the young ones, There's a comfort in knowing that fellow Christian travelers pray for us, and understand our problems and concerns, a little like Jesus probably would.

When you've spent much of your life almost glued to a time clock, and suddenly have more time than you ever conceived , although it's a welcome relief, there are times you almost don't know what to do with yourself.

One thing I did know for sure, I would not waste time on meaningless TV, whose sole purpose mostly encourages compromising values of decency, or measuring success by the proverbial almighty dollar. Why would I waste my time on such junk, when there's perfectly good books just waiting to be read, and the best of them, the Bible? Many's the time I've set out to read it, but gave up, because I couldn't seem to connect it in a way to understand the parts of it.

I went to my favorite book store, at a nearby thrift shop. Looked for something that would help. Didn't find it. Then remembered from the Bible study, that sometimes it is good to not try to make things happen, but to wait awhile. So I waited, and a few days later, checked again, and this is what I found:

"What The Bible Is All About", An easy-to-understand Survey of the Bible, by Henrietta C Mears, the Billy Graham Crusade Edition, Copyright 1953. Autographed by him.

This is the most helpful book about understanding the Bible, that I've found. Why someone donated it when they did, to the Goodwill Store I happened to shop at on that day, I leave to you to decide. I just know it's exactly what I needed when I needed it, and certainly in God's plans, since He wants us to know His Word better.

My knee still hurts most of the time. I've never taken so much medicine for pain. The job I thought I'd soon be doing may have to wait, or never be. This house I hoped to make a profit from, could become a huge loss, but my worn old Bible tells me God does not foresake those who love Him, and respect His Laws (made for our own benefit), and honestly try to do our best.

Outside my door one can sometimes see the robins searching for their daily "bread", and when I check to see how friend, far away Linds is doing with her leg, I discover she's trying to operate earth moving equipment as bright and yellow as her early flowers are. I got so excited about her driving that thing, I just about fell into her long rows of flowers, but forgot to try to find out more about her longtime leg problem. But maybe that's what we need to do, not dwell so much on what we can't do, but zero in on what is happening in others' worlds, and what we might do to make someone's better.

I flip to another part of the world where God nestled friend Mary, because school children there need her in Australia. If that's not enough to encourage my weary soul, another special blogging friend, Darlene, in Ohio, often sends cheery notes, as well as does another christian lady, Jess, in Arkansas does. Busy as she must be, working long hours to help her family get through this depression, she still takes time to encourage me. While these may not seem like huge things, when days are hard to get through, a surprise gentle word, a reminder that someone is thinking of you, grows like a frolicking balloon that makes you forget your worries or pain, like these friends obviously do.

Reminds you that our Lord's still in charge, cause they just showed part of Him to you, and that's good enough for me. Tomorrow's concerns can wait for their day. Today I'm just basking in the caring.

As I Was Saying.......

2009-03-20T23:01:00.008-06:00

A special blogging friend just reminded me I am overdue in posting, and she's right. It's been almost two weeks since I was here, but I can explain, honest.

That surgery I was determined to not keep bringing up to you, was done almost two months ago, and these last weeks, it's feeling like a challenge that's growing, so instead of going on about it, I just quietly retreated, at least from blogging.

I worked hard at developing a plan to avoid that very thing. Besides stocking TV dinners, and doing Physical Therapy exercises, drinking fluids and taking vitamins daily, I intended to live in comfy p.j's, and read so many books, Barne's and Nobel might need to make home delivery for me.

There was a short distraction, while getting rid of those invading skunks, and I am grateful peaceful sleep is allowed once again, with their nocturnal antics finaly done. But getting through this post surgical stuff is taking more than I thought it would, to get me back to whatever normal is again.

I tell myself I'm doing fine with ignoring housecleaning, but I don't think I am. While I've never been fanatical about polishing the floors, and could ignore vacuuming carpets forever, the knowing that you can't, calls for more patience and resolve.

But I'm not giving up. I do understand why the physical therapy is so needed. But there are times when the PT person tells me "Give me fifteen of what I just did, like it's so easy, I can't decide whether to get mad, or cry.

Getting to drive again felt like losing training wheels. When I feel the walls are closing in, I just dress casual, and head out, sometimes almost looking for a kind hearted face. Once in a while a total stranger, noticing my crutch, will hold a door, or ask if I need help.

A few days ago I needed to pay some car insurance. The lady at its office is so likeable and nice, so instead of mailing the payment, I decided to go by. She wasn't terribly busy, so we talked a while, and when I needed to leave, she helped me get through the door. With a friendly smile, and a little gleam in her eyes, she paused a moment, and said: "There's a very nice man, who gets his insurance here." "He's retired, and a little overweight". She mentions, as she points to her belly. I'm wondering why she's telling me about him. "He's a nice guy.' "His wife died some years ago." "He'd probably love having someone to go places with". "I think he enjoys live plays." I'm still on the opening statement of all this, but starting to understand. My car insurance lady wants the two of us to meet.

I don't say "You are kidding, right?" But that's what I'm thinking. While this post operative misery continues, I am also getting a tooth recrowned, so one is missing right now. and my glasses look just awful. I need to take time to get new ones, but don't want to bother right now. My house is a mess. and the yard is even worse, and i can't do much of it.

Getting dressed halfway nice, to go anywhere other than physical therapy and doctors' appointments, sounds more trouble than it's worth. It's been so long since I colored my hair, even I think I look older. Not only all that, I distinctly remember, after trying several eligible guys, giving up on finding a good man.

But for a swift and silly moment, I started wondering if this highly recommended one has a Faith of his own, and please don't tell me he's a smoker, for I couldn't deal with that. Then I
come back to my senses, and decide that Spring Fever is not what I should be dealing with
now. Even getting over surgery is easier than that.

This Thing Called Healing.

2009-03-10T14:33:00.006-06:00

By now you must be weary of stinky skunk stories, and surgical details, but I'm still trying to figure this out, so please bear with me as I look at some parts of it again.

Who would have thought a skunk would have anything to do with a sweet smelling flower. but it kind of does, and it requires some serious thought about this knee condition. When you've needed better understanding about a troublesome situation, have you tired of logic, since that isn't working; and played a mental game with yourself I call "what iffing"? What if something hadn't changed, what if life as you knew it just kept going, and you kept doing the same old things. Things like working at a job you'd done so long, it becomes automatic.

Perhaps that is why when God wants our attention, He uses unusual things, like a pretty flower, (Electron hybrid Tea roses) and those awful smelling mammals we call skunks. If I hadn't tried planting the rose bush, I probably wouldn't have injured the knee, but more importantly, I would have kept on putting miles on it, on the halls of my nursing home job.

Spring forward a little, and here I am, with free time you'd think would be heavenly. But as a creature of our habits, I'm not accustomed to to THIS much time off, and the skunks didn't make it any better.

You wouldn't believe how many nights, as the evenings darkened, I dreaded night fall. I tried leaving certain lights on, and made sure my bed covers fit over my head. Playing music only seemed to aggravate the critters. I about wore out the window curtains, pulling them back, to see if anything was caught in the traps.

I can't tell you how happy I was when my son improved the catching process, and two of those big ugly things were carried off to wherever they take captured skunks.

Still, I wrestled with what to do with this healing time. A tremendous help in all of this, was my friend who came here with her son and his family, who is our new church pastor. Another important lesson was learned from her caring. I had formed the habit of not being with people nearly as much as I should, and determined to change that.

My first effort about it was to start going to Wednesday evening training programs. and just like so much of what God does for us, a new series started the first night I was there. It's about becoming more intimate with our Lord. The text we're using is written by Dr. Charles F. Stanley, a pastor of a Baptist church in Atlanta, Georgia. The title of his book is "In Step With God". I believe I've seen this pastor giving sermons on TV, and right away noted how sensible he always spoke, and I cannot recall one time his asking for money, or selling trinkets. Not that we shouldn't support whatever we care to. I just think if you're good at what you're doing, it will show.

The first night I went to the "In Step With God" program, I felt a little out of place, because almost everyone there was younger than me. The pastor had us pair off so we could learn more about each other, and the only one without a partner was a young woman who just happened to be black. I remember thinking, this is just right, for my hometown in Southeast Texas, is nationally known for its bigotry, something I'm far from proud of. This young black lady whose been coming to this church for years, forever is safe paired off with me. See. God knows exactly where to put us. It's just that we need to be willing to go there.

Other things I'm enjoying while off all this time are books. Several. One I just finished called "FINDING HOME" by a man named James Daniel Daly, brought teardrops mixed with occasional smiles; Sometimes made me laugh. Early in the book James Daniel writes about being terribly let down, when his father promises to bring him a leather baseball glove, but never does.

In another part of the book he writes about riding a bus somewhere to be with his Dad, but is heartbroken when the Dad doesn't ask him to live with him. That part of the book reminded me of my own bus trip from Houston to my hometown, to be with my father, and how unwelcome I felt, when it was obvious he wasn't happy for me to be in his life. Today I can disect it happening, and even be a little objective about how it was. But back then, I buried my feelings down deep, and looked for someone else to love me.

The book is described as "an imperfect path to faith and family". The "Focus on the Family" organization learned about Mr. Daly, and hired him to work with them, and over time he became part of their management. His biggest struggle there was that because he didn't have a nurturing childhood, how could he help others who also didn't. But thank god he got this straight in his head, that his own unbelievable childhood and growing up, and God directing it, gave him everything he could possibly need, to help others with. His process of getting to know our Lord could fill another book all by itself. God just kept putting exactly the right people into his life, when he needed them.

Yesterday I discovered another book I'm starting. It's obvious they are almost always serious writings. This one, "THE JESUS I NEVER KNEW", 1995, featuring an excerpt from "THE BIBLE JESUS READ". is by Philip Yancey. The book cover says it was voted Best Book Of The Year, and that "Philip Yancey helps reveal what two thousand years of history covered up". Billy Graham endorses it with: "There is no writer in the evangelical world that I admire and appreciate more".

I think I am in for some wonderful historical reading, with the main character being our Lord. One thing's for sure. It must be more interesting and life guiding, than fighting with smelly animals, or worrying about knee pain. So far, it's been five restful nights of not having to deal with skunks, but if I do, my son will help me. I haven't felt so freed in years. It's not that I've figured out what to do when I grow up yet, or how to manage when I get old. I am trusting God to send me work that is better than what I've done for years. I need to stop working my knees to their bones, (except maybe in physical therapy). I hope something I've written here helps you live your life better. I am working on mine, beginning now.

My Son, The Hero, and "Skunk Stinging"

2009-03-05T22:25:00.009-07:00

A while back, my pastor, who's retired Airforce, to make a point in one of his sermons, pointed out that the first thing the military does to prepare for battle, is take out the enemy's supply lines. That may be what my son had in mind when he found a different way to deal with our skunk problem. A gaping hole at the bottom of the siding on the house marked the coming and going of those cowardly chacters, the ones with the long white lines down their backs.

After trying for some time to catch them, and netting only one, my son decided to improve the odds. He built a wooden tunnel that can be articulated, that connected to the house on one end, and led directly into the well baited "Mr. Bug Man's" animal trap.

After days of wondering if sleep would ever be allowed again, this morning I tumbled out of bed, and immediately checked the trap, and there's a black critter with those tell tale white markings on its back, in there, just waiting for The Bug Man to come and collect. To make sure no more of them are trying to homestead here, we'll be setting more traps, and seeing what we get, as they go through the part my son built, and right into the waiting trap.

Even when this son was a little kid, I recognized his astute ability to create and build things, but I never thought it would be something to bring about a Skunk Sting. Before my hero son dismantles all this, perhaps he should check on insuring his rights to it. I can see huge numbers of animal control companies calling, ordering his Red Carpet "Skunk Sting" easily articulated tunnels.

One Step Forward, And Two Steps Back

2009-03-01T19:07:00.005-07:00

Sunday morning, it started so nice. Right up there with making coffee, and hurrying to the bathroom, I carefully pulled the curtain back, and stared at the trap door of the cage, that clearly was sprung. Because it was covered with a big black bag, to hide it I suppose, I couldn't tell what we had caught. But I got happy anyway, because it surely was something, and hopefully another skunk.

I felt better anyway, because I had got a good night's sleep, or most of it, after the critters got quiet. It was nice to be able to drive myself to church. I looked forward to seeing people I hadn't in weeks. I gathered good stuff I was taking to the monthly pot luck and was on my way. My son was probably sleeping in, so I would tell him about something being trapped later.

Singing and music is a big part of our worship service. When it comes to keeping the beat and siging out loud, we are all about that, and today it was great. People were glad to see me, and helpful as they could be with my getting around.

Our sermon was about how important it is that we pray for all kinds of situations and needs. Pastor emphasized we should not negate our prayers, no matter how small nor insignificant we might think they are. He used examples of faithful men's simple prayers that resulted in changes that have benefitted mankind through the ages.

Many young families are at our church. Children abound around there. I am one of the few older people. We make a good mix. Even the music is used accordingly, with lots of the younger kind, and old songs mixed in. It's a pretty good down home church. This is especially seen at our pot luck meals. After it my pace was fairly set for the rest of the day. I came home and didn't do much of anything, except get my son to check what's in the trap, and that's when I was so glad I went to church today. Was with others. For a while didn't think about stinky critters, or their erie sounds or how disappointed I was that the neighbor's cat was the only thing caught in the trap.

I suppose at this point I should remember last night's prayer that God grant me peaceful sleep, even if critters are around, and that all our prayers are important to Him, and we will see what tomorrow brings.

A Brandnew Motto, A Brandnew Day.

2009-02-28T17:17:00.009-07:00

So much is happening here, I hardly know where to begin, to tell you about it. It should have some kind of title, a motto. What comes to mind is: "If I can't beat 'em, join 'em."

The knee surgery that was suppose to be so simple intensified when an ugly infection interferred with the healing. and that delayed the physical therapy, but we're doing well with PT. The therapist is such a neat person, and excellent in leading me through it. While going to the therapy place I've met some nice people. One I'm sure God put in my path to keep me focused in the right way, is Alice, the receptionist there.

A tiny cone like thing, such as you see warning you floors may be wet, sets at Alice's work area. Its bright letters caution: "Entering chaos section". If you have time to talk with someone you can learn a lot about them. I was telling Alice how my knee replacements set off metal detector alarms, and she replied, "I know what you mean. The metal parts the surgeon put in my heart does that, too". Like I said, I am sure God arranged for me to meet Alice.

I was on high level after doing my first PT session, and the grocery store isn't far away, so I tried using my wobbly legs there, and later regretted it. But it was nice getting out of the house, and not thinking about critters for a while. Before I got home I stopped at the bank, too, and that was more than enough for my first outing.

I am taking my homework exercises seriously, and can tell they are helping. But it does sometimes feel like I have a boring schedule. Is that why these uninvited animals chose this time to try to move into my house? There's been several sleepless nights, shortened by their noises. My bedroom looks more like a war zone, than an inviting place to get over surgery.

I have to work at not feeling down, and decided the best medicine would be an overdue hair cut. I don't know why it's hard to get a beautician to hear you tell them how you want it cut, but it's a problem. I decided if I'm not getting a good cut anyway, might as well take my chances with someone new.

After I did another round of physical therapy, I went to a new shop. I was a real mess, hurting some, not really feeling up to going, and this lady had time to do the cut. Before we started I asked the price, and if they took credit cards, but they didn't, and I was about to just go home and forget it. But she was nice. Almost led me by the hand to a work station, and when I didn't have check or cash, said I could pay her later. She did a really good job, and remembered tiny details, like getting rid of hair on your neck.

She has a cute little sign at her work area, that says: "I'm a beautician, not a magician". Immediately we connected well. The next day before I drove over to pay her, I got her some real roses, not a big arrangement, but enough to let her know I appreciated the haircut without an appointment. It felt good to suprise her, for a little while to not think about smelly critters.

We caught a large skunk, but I'm sure there's more because the odor is so bad. Another trap is set, and we keep hoping. My son will be doing work around the edges of the house. Nights here would be comical if the problem didn't go on so.

When I go to bed, I don't know if I'll get enough sleep, or be waked several times. I leave lights on, hoping they prefer darkness. Near my bed are various things I can use to make noise, if they get very loud. The one time I played Springsteen for them did not help. I think it only upset them, and upset skunks are not fun to have around. Some nights, feeling tired, I just get deeper under the covers, and though it feels a little silly, I ask God to help me get some sleep.

Last night, while one or more of them was sprinting around, I had to do something to keep me on an even keel, so I sat up in bed, and read the things I usually start my day with. I did not do physical therapy exercises while those awful creatures were ruining my sleep. Even nice ladies like me, do have limits, and I hope to have better news about this soon.

Moving On, Moving On.

2009-02-20T20:09:00.010-07:00

Twenty six days, and counting since I checked into the hospital, twenty six days, before what I thought would be a fairly simple kind of surgery I was already familiar with, from having had it once before. Everything went as it needed to. I was able to come home extra early, and was priding myself on how well everything went, until an infection changed everything.

Ten days of antibiotics took care of it, and now I'm trying to put rehab and how life was before surgery back on track. Like other parts of our lives, I think we can learn from it. Having so much "down" time affords me the pleasure of contemplating serious things of life, like "when I grow up, what would I like to be". I say this in a poking fun at myself kind of way, but those who really know me, understand I could not be more serious.

These last few days I've felt like most everything has fled from seriousness. I've battled the frustration of dealing with creatures, or critters, depending upon your perception of how important or non-important they may be.

I am weary of this. My son has done what he can to help with it, and "The Bug Man" company stands ready to haul off anything caught in the baited trap. Partly jesting, my son said the way to make whatever it is leave, would be to strategically set up delayed popping firecrackers and sirens sounding, as this uninvited thing climbs stairs from the basement. Being kinder hearted, I suggested we wall off part of the basement and get a lawyer to make an animal lease required for anything that wants to stay here. To help me feel safer, I think, my son ended his advice by saying he does not think skunks and squirrels chew through wooden floors. I am still trying to decide whether he meant it as solace, or down home (pardon the pun) humor.

This time I've been away from work, while it requires stretching dollars, has been more valuable than many moons of paychecks. One might think before they're my age, they might have figured this all out, but logic denies that. I think most of us find ourselves in a hamster cage kind of existence so busy pushing those unceasing pedals, we don't get around to considering how we'd like to live, or, if we even do a little imagining, it remains untested.

For years I've straddled those ever turning pedals, thinking I was getting somewhere. There is satisfaction knowing you're doing something that helps others, a work that's even considered somewhat godly, but God also insists that we revere ourselves, not because we're perfect, but because He made us, and I've not been doing that.

The book I happily started writing last year, I've so neglected I can't even find the copies I made. But I have done one thing that I think will help me get going with it again. I've decided to just write the next chapter, and the next one after that, and leave corrections til later. Not worry about perfection, just tell how it was, even if, maybe especially if, some of it was raw. My confidence is not very high yet, but maybe as I create what I'm yearning to tell women, it will grow.

Having everything exactly in place has never been required by our Lord, but only that we do our best. You will hear more about this as I'm able to share it.

But now, back to this unhappy problem in my house, that more and more (really) smells like it's a skunk, I am setting down my literary dreams for the night, and in a few minutes will start a CD, a Bruce Springsteen I wish would run all night, so it might go some place more quiet, or at least I won't hear it if it starts chewing something, or I may just crawl under the covers, and pray really hard that God keeps me safe through the night, and I deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.

Who's Moving Which Way Here.

2009-02-19T10:23:00.011-07:00

I had great ideas about an overdue post I wanted to share with you. I took time to read again the entire book of Job, looking for choice parts of it I hoped to use, to show you what I've been dealing with, while getting over this surgery.

At the risk of seeming like a whiner, I intended to tell you how indignant I felt, when one of my expensive man made teeth came loose and fell out. It is frustrating enough that I'm so overdue for a hair cut I failed to get before the surgery, and now it has to wait even longer. But this gaping hole where the tooth used to be, really takes away from what beauty I have left.

I am doing well, I think, with mostly ignoring housework, and things needing tidying up. I've even gotten good at ignoring dishes that need washing. There will be plenty of them to deal with after the knee is well.

Last night I started telling you all this, but suddenly felt a huge distraction only a short way from this computer. I wanted to believe I was only imaging what I was hearing. But whatever it was just kept making grating sounds that seemed to get louder. But what do you do with something like that at one a.m.? I mean, where would I get any help with it at that an outrageous hour? I decided to leave it alone, and after a while the scary sounds faded.

What sleep I got the rest of the night was in scattered pieces. At three a.m., I gave up on sleeping, tossed my cover aside, and started coffee. Somewhere between then and daylight, I dozed a little, but not much.

That's what's been going on here, until the start of last night. Whatever the character is that's messing with my sleep, if not my life, just shouldn't have started in again like it did last night. Clint Eastwood isn't the only soul who knows his limitations. I hadn't even pulled the cover up last night, until it all began again.

I lay there, feeling the rage in me rise, and didn't even care if my missing tooth made me look scarier. I made my plan. Got an animal control number from our local police, and called, but was told I would have to contact a pest control company. So I did. Left a frantic message about five or six a.m., so maybe my call might be one of the first they dealt with in the morning.

Knowing I couldn't sleep, I picked up a favorite book, Time Magazine's "Great People of the 20th Century", and while I waited for the phone to ring, read pages of Winston Churchill's life. I will need to read it again, but that's not the point. Reading it last night was to keep from going ape.

I did, a little anyway, when the scratching, scraping sounds began. I went right to the kitchen, and found things I could bang, got so carried away I broke my plastic pancake flipper. But I got the satisfaction , if only for a moment, of making that critter be quiet.

Whatever it is, we'll find out before the sun sets again. The company I called is named "The Bug Man". Their full page ad names a lot of unruly characters, which most likely includes the one that's after my sanity here. An inviting trap is baited and ready for it.

The man who set it up even put it in a plastic bag, so when it's caught, it's all ready to travel out of here. He thinks it's either a skunk, or some kind of big squirrel.

After the pest control man returned my call, I lay back on my wrinkled pillow, wishing critter removal didn't cost so much. Just last week I learned that part of America's Stimulous Package includes seniors (like me) getting a few hundred bucks. My first thought on it was that it would take care of most of a plane ticket to fly down to daughter, Bev's new home in Texas. But I'm sure she'll agree getting rid of whatever it is, is much more pressing now, and I will find another way to get to Texas.

As a small postscript, I will make it a point to let all of you know what kind of critter the "Bug Man" captures. After I made the call, I leaned back on my pillow and smiled, for sleep will come again. I will not be defeated by some silly, surly
Creature.

Love.... Like A Warm Fuzzy Blanket.

2009-02-15T01:52:00.016-07:00

Only a few posts back I said I'd stop blogging about this knee, and the surgery it caused. But I'm stuck here. Don't know how to get beyond it, without sharing it with you.

When I knew there'd be surgery, the first thing I did was count the days until I could drive again. Marked it on my monthly planner. This Monday would be three weeks, plenty long enough to be in good shape for using wheels again. But I won't be driving myself anywhere soon. My faithful son will be taking me back and forth to the doctor.

After surgery everything was going well. Anything around the house I couldn't handle, I ignored. Family and friends visited, called, surprised me with flowers and other thoughtful things, The visiting nurse and physical therapist were here so much, sometimes I just wanted them to go away.

Everything seemed good, everything except that old surgical enemy called Infection. Signs crept in. Redness and edema (swelling), and overly warm and shiny skin. The doctor and I agreed. A blazing case of cellulitis, that antibiotics are making better, but is not yet healed.

The doctor said warm, damp pads would give some relief, so I began wetting cloths and heating them in the microwave, and they did help, except now I made a lot of trips to the kitchen to do that, and was on my feet too much.

I kept trying to figure out how to ease this knee. Was so tired of hurting. A relative was going to shop for things for me, and suddenly I knew what would help. a heating pad, a plain old heating pad. She/they would do my shopping, but because of work schedules, wouldn't come back for a day or two. So, not wanting to be a bother, I resigned myself to more microwave heated pads, and the pain pills.

As I buried myself in really dumb TV shows, to ignore the knee, the phone rang again. The ones who were to shop for me, said they were at a nearby store. They decided since I needed the pad to help with the pain, shouldn't have to wait a day or two for it.

All of this right at Valentines. Pretty flowers, and cards, un-needed candies, unexpected visits, All these symbols of loving and caring. but I just have to tell you how loved I feel, when I wrap this warm electric pad around this aching knee.

Cel-e-brate! Let us Celebrate!

2009-02-10T21:14:00.014-07:00

In this part of Blogland, some real celebrating is going on. You might say it was headquartered in Pennsylvania, at Bev's house; Dipped down to Texas; then stopped a while around Denver, before heading to the western part of Colorado, where the celebration is still going on.

It may also be going on not only in the states, but in other countries. The last time I read the comments posted about this, almost 120 fellow bloggers had left congratulations and encouraging remarks, to my daughter, Barb and her husband, at "A Chelsea Morning".

Our family has never run short for reasons to party. Sometimes it doesn't even matter if it's not done on the exact day, and this one calls for a very big party, even if it's done in cyberspace.

Barb spelled all this out in her recent post called, I believe, "New Hope", where she described buying her first pack of cigarettes, and going to her room to begin a habit that would control her for many years. But that's all changed now. Like remembering our first kiss, or getting our first car, those of us who smoke (or did smoke) can tell you exactly when it began. The reason for it may not be real clear, even to ourselves. Some things we may not need to be very clear about. But I am still surprised sometimes, at the reasons we give.

Barb said perhaps she wanted to feel that she was real cool. She had recently gotten her first wheels, that cute little VW Bug, and drawn her first paycheck. What else did an almost grown up girl need, to help her believe she really had arrived.

Like Barb, my long years of smoking began almost on a whim, except that my reasoning for starting made even less sense than hers did. Acting like a young teenager, although I was older, I just wanted to irritate somebody about it. We all probably do silly things like that, not considering the dangers of it. But we may also come up with other misjudgments. In learning that Barb and Rob are actually quitting smoking, it was said that her sister, Bev did not believe Barb would ever quit, and Barb pointed out that she and Rob each believed the other would never quit. Perhaps we shouldn't decide such important things for someone else, especially those we love the most.

What got my attention about maybe quitting, was that the price of them kept going up. I suppose it doesn't matter what the reasoning is, as long as we do quit, but it is almost scary, thinking of it now, that I, a nurse, knowing all I've learned about nicotine killing, and seeing graphic examples of it in my work, was more concerned about spending about forty dollars a month for cigs, than I was about living. When I began quitting, later I was so glad I did not know that people usually gain weight with it. I would have been more concerned about my waistline, than about being healthy. It amazes me how we can blind ourselves like that.

I do remember getting very defensive about my good old American RIGHT TO SMOKE. I acted like verification of it came with my birth certificate. A few really silly things about smoking did happen. I was working in Boulder. Perhaps you know how conscious they are about health, except with what they choose to inhale. I bought lunch there, and understood smoking was not allowed inside, but when I stepped outside to light up, immediately I saw a well placed sign, saying smoking was not allowed there either. I remember being a little miffed about that, for I didn't want to smoke up my fairly new car. It did not occur to me then, that my attitude smelled worse than my cigarettes did, for it was their land.

Once I was heading home, I mean before that day in Boulder, in an older car, and lit up, as soon as I started it. After a mile or so I thought I smelled some smoke, so looked all around, afraid something was wrong with the car. But it was only that a cig had ignited an overflowing ashtray.

I manage to get home, but the smoke wouldn't stop, so I called our volunteer firemen. I didn't really expect him to show up with one of those big long hoses, but I thought he'd do something about that smoke. All he said was, "Do you think you may have a cup or something in the house you could go bring some water out here in".

The most crucial thinking about smoking that we can hold onto, is what I believe the giant cigarette makers want us to believe, and that is their ongoing media crusade to the world that it is very hard to quit, which at least implies that we may not make it. Think about this: Who do you think stands to gain more if they can convince us of this?

That attitude may apply to some. But I am living proof, a former smoker who loved it, who started thinking maybe I might breathe better, and was really scared when a bad case of pneumonia made me wonder if I'd get through it. But what got my attention most was the cost of cigarettes increasing.

When I reached for that last pack, and knew it would take almost twenty dollars for another carton, I did not want to spend more for them. I was not completely convinced that I could quit. I just knew it was past time I at least tried, and I've always loved seeing if I could be a winner.

I marked the date on each side of that last unopened pack, and tucked it in my nurses' bag. Wanted it handy, in case I changed my mind. My goal each day was to not open the pack, and to Bev's and others' relief, I never did. I've been nicotine free ever since, and that's an important point. Most people say they haven't smoked since a certain time, and it did help, seeing those days increase. But I think it's important to say what you have gained, instead of what you've given up. It is wonderful that Barb and Rob are quitting together, so they know how the other must feel, and can encourage each other, even through grumpy times, maybe especially through the difficult ones. I lived alone, and was doing this solo, and had to get support wherever I could. I must have been awful at work, telling anybody who would listen about quitting, even if they'd already heard it.

Barb got a lot of my silliness in this, for we lived in the same town. Some times I would even tell strangers while in lines at stores. Bev got the easier of it, since she lived far away. She didn't smoke, and her husband had just quit, so they could be supportive. Barb and Rob still smoked, so we mostly never talked about it, except my childlike wonder when I got through another smokeless day. I put Bev's notes about it on my fridge, and since I'm very visual, got a big see through jar, and every day I'd throw two one dollar bills in it, (about what a single pack cost back then). Seeing those dollars adding up became my "Atta Boys".

One former smoker kept a toothpick in his mouth. Someone else I knew, who was big about rocks, kept a little rock in his. I think both those things were not such smart things to do, but we do silly things sometimes, and what could be sillier than starting smoking.

My biggest problem was figuring out what to do with my hands. Instead of having one hand empty, where before one held the coffee cup, and the other that first smoke of the day I grabbed that coffee cup with both my hands, like I'd never let go. Wrapped both hands around it, and smiled, as the non smoking days added up, and I began believing maybe I might make it.

Popcorn and green apple suckers kept my mouth busy. To this day, I avoid both of those, but they served their purpose, and when I hear or see more of those Killer Cigarette Giants trying to persuade people it is too hard to quit, I silently smile.

But they are talking to huge numbers of others still strugling with quitting, and that's where you and I come in. Nothing, except perhaps our lack of interest, or caring can keep us from praying for them. Of all the comments I've heard from Barb and Rob's quitting, what stays with me most is Barb repeating that they can FEEL the love and caring, and the prayers so many are offering for them.

Sometimes for the fun of it, I check todays' prices of my old brand. They're a little more than $5 a pack now, and $45.00 to $50 a carton. One year while wrapping presents, I wrapped that old full pack I never opened, and sent it with Christmas gifts to Bev, and she did what any good Christian woman would. Put it in her prayer reminder basket. She wasn't taking any chances that I might start up smoking again.

Barb said something very similiar to my thinking the other day, about her smoking being done. When I picked up that last unopened pack, and wrote the date on it, that was the shining moment I quit, and Barb's must have been when she gathered everything about smoking in her house, and ditched it. I call those exclamation road marks.

I try to remember how much I didn't want anyone lecturing me about smoking. If someone brings it up, I try to not be smug, and say that quitting is so personal, and you will know when you are ready, and leave it at that, for it really is true that it's only a decision.

Today, when asked "smoking or non-smoking", although that doesn't happen much since braver laws are being made. I don't even need to think about it, but the first time I was asked, it felt kind of strange, even though I hadn't smoked for months. I realized it was because I hadn't taught myself that yet. I didn't see myself as a non smoker.

A while back, when I went to the hospital, an outstanding one that's rated as being one of the country's one hundred best of them, I noticed a huge new banner there proclaiming that the hospital is now totally non-smoking. This is the year of 2009. It blows my thinking that it's taken this long to declare that.

Barb and Rob are in for some pleasant surprises, enjoying things they haven't in years. My first of them was one night coming home from work, as I drove past miles of springtime fields, I smelled freshly turned rows of dirt. If it hadn't been so late, and dark at night, I would have pulled over and stayed a while. Memories like that now take the place of when I lit my first cigarette, and my last. That was then, and this is now. A time to celebrate, to celebrate Life.

A Healing Time

2009-02-05T22:21:00.008-07:00

To you who may be reading this, please stop a minute. Smile, and understand that reports on my condition are about to end, except I must share one sweet thought: In about ten days I can drive again!

I'm not going to bore you with medical details. Whatever needs to heal is going well. As a matter of fact, I am so impressed with my older physicion, if we were not so old, I could go for him. But I would be terribly surprised if some fine lady hasn't already done that.

Today as I was frustrated with trying to heat soothing warm packs in the microwave, and keep them warm a while, it occurred to me that millions of people, all over the world, might think life was just fine, if that were the only problem they had.

When I began writing this, I considered calling it: "Letting us eat cake", that famous comment an uncaring queen spouted long ago, when she was informed the people had no food. But in keeping with at least trying to hang on to being positive, I decided on "A Healing Time", for I believe our country needs more surgery than I did.

Our politions are suppose to know what their jobs are, what they need to do. But it wouldn't hurt to tell them how we stand on lots of things about this disaster our country, and other parts of the world are reeling from. I say "we", for in this we don't stand alone. Years ago older relatives had sayings to explain almost everything. One that I've carried around for years is: "Are you helping out or are you part of the problem?"

Even small things, like sharing rides to grocery stores, can cut gas bills. If you go to church, there are probably tasks there, those who do them would appreciate some help with. Think about your own skills. Do you know how to do house upkeep and repairs? Maybe you once worked in beauty shops, whatever your skills are, and what if you traded doing some of these, instead of spending money for them.

Helping older people you live near, might be more appreciated than you would think. I read in the news in our town, that a group formed, without need for extensive paperwork or required meetings. Their sole purpose is to shovel snow for neighbors who need some help with it, or use a snow blower.

Those are just a few ideas on how we can help our fellow man (or woman), and in the process, perhaps revive again caring as much for them, as we do ourselves.

In this process of getting my knee to heal, we have excellent medical staff, especially that doctor I mentioned, and a hospital that's considered one of the best one hundred of them in America. I appreciate everyone who took great care of me there. But that's not the only kind of "medicine" we need.

People and situations that grabbed my heart were family who showed in lots of ways, how important I am to them, and that I get well. Some were big surprises, like the daughter inlaw, who works full time, and cares for her own Mom, but knocked on my door with inexpensive, but real flowers, that are still very nice. She also brought along a great grandson, who promptly stole the show from all of them, without saying a word.

Maybe it's a little selfish, my looking that little guy over, for signs of blood lines. A far away grand daughter sent a pretty card with a note so fresh and original, she might consider writing them for places like Hallmark. Her return address included a tiny picture of another great grandson.

Another daughter does that, sends it on cards and things. Every time you visit her blog, you will see the picture of Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning", holding her grandson. It was made at another granddaughter's wedding. This generation thing is moving too quickly.

It may be a quiet email, but it's one I know the writer had to be just about completely worn out, but took the time anyway, to make my otherwise hurting day smile at me. It's kind of nice when you have several children, and you use words like hospital and surgery. They soon start surfacing! and with surprises!

One sent thoughtful things, and while in Washington D.C. found another about the election. It is now tucked away for a keepsake, Maybe one of my great grandchildren may get old enough to appreciate that I left things like that to be passed on in this great bunch of people we call Family.

Right up there with caring for them, if we don't yet have it, we need to develop love and respect for our country, Old Glory belongs to each of us. She has weathered many kinds of storms, but still stands tall among the world, and is not lessened when we help those in more need than we. God Bless America! Take a deep breath, and see what we can do, to get her through this one.

Surgery, More Than The Incision and The Sutures.

2009-01-30T20:53:00.017-07:00

I've been home three days since the surgery, and I want to thank you for leaving so many get well notes for me. My first day back I didn't feel up to posting, but checked for messages, and was quite surprised at such a long list of them. Thanks for your cares and for your prayers for me.

The surgery was suppose to be at 9:30 a.m., but having done this before, I knew the timing depended on lots of things, but I was there as scheduled, just in case, Some doctors and other members of the operating team explained that schedules, including my doctor's, were all messed up, for various reasons. But I'd dealt with this before, so just laid back, and tried to relax.

Nursing staff had me ready and waiting, in a holding place. The first person I saw when they wheeled me in there was a nurse's aide, a male aide I worked with long ago, His friendly, almost oversized smile was good to see, until he explained that he now worked in pre and post Op, and was suppose to make sure all details were done, before the operating room called for me. I still had my undies on, and knew that knee surgery does not require NOT wearing them. So we got that straightened out. I kept my undies on, and settled back, thankful the surgery would soon be done.

I am lying there dreading it a little, when I hear a friendly voice calling my name.
My pastor took time to be with me until they wheeled me off to surgery. Talk about a morale booster. Someone needed more medical information about me, and asked if it was alright for my pastor to hear it. I told them I don't keep many secrets from him.

Soon a friendly nurse with operating room cap on, and some other muscles wheel me through flapping doors, and I know this knee pain will soon be gone. Somebody inserts something in my IV site, and my next recollection is waking up in a room reserved for me. A very nice room.

Years ago I had surgery here, but it wasn't like this. The room is huge! It has lots of strange looking equipment, and a computer screen. A very big window faces West. I am not thinking about mountains this moment, but the two days I stayed there, one could imagine deep luxury, just looking through those windows, at Colorado's mountain peaks.

With the nursing staff, I am almost in orbit. They love working with a patient who knows why they do what they do. We exchange nursing and medical stories. Anything I can do for myself, I do, instead of calling them. They are very surprised how many patients nurses take care of in nursing homes, and other trademarks of the work we do.

The surgery went very well, and the care could not be better. A friend I already love so much, I now appreciate more. She is my pastor's mother, a lady who always has much to do, especially for the sick and the poor. Whatever is needed, she is on it. Takes people to doctor appointments, runs errands for medicine, groceries, anything. She tools around all over this place, in her little Neon. If I were wealthy, I would buy her a brand new car. That first day afrer surgery, she came early, and stayed all day. My pastor came back too. My friend fed me ice chips. When I was nausieated she held the bedside pan for me.

I consider myself so fortunate, but I do have something heavy on my heart. The day before my surgery my grandson, who wasn't headed in a good direction with his life, before making a big improvement in it, had finished his first week of college classes, and was partying, maybe celebrating this accomplishment, by hanging out with some buddies. All of this is moving too fast to understand yet.

Several guys started beating up his friend, and he went to his defence, and ended up with his jaw severely broken, and other injuries, and had to have emergency surgery. To his credit, this grandson only missed one scheduled class, and his instructor helped him work out how to keep up with it. This week he was promoted to a higher level in another subject. He shows up for his classes, with his bruises and broken jaw, and a huge shiner. I see that as a very good sign. The day I was admitted for this surgery, my son took me to that part of the hospital, then went up a few floors to take his son home from there.

But back to my healing time. I am up and down the hospital halls, gaining strength every moment I can. Medical insurance no longer covers as much of my needed care, as they did long ago. Every day I am here costs me two hundred dollars more. I make sure my doctor knows how well I'm doing, and he lets me come home two days after surgery. Pre-op instructions said not to bring valuables with me, so I assumed that included credit card, and brought only identification.

We live not so far away, so zip back home for check or cards, and then are at WalMart, because they give a good cost break on most prescriptions I need filing.

In trying to help me with getting to their pharmacy, my son gets one of those dangerous looking carts people tool around in the store, and helps me get in it. I am afraid I'll run over somebody. With typical male thinking, my son just shows me how to warn them by tooting a horn, and assumes that takes care of it. I'm about as afraid of tapping that horn, as I am of having to spend time in a nursing home for my leg to heal.

Two customers are looking at items in a lane I need to go down. I'm about to go to another aisle, when the first person I asked to let me go by trys to get the customer ahead of her, who is in the middle of that aisle to move over, and he takes offence at being disturbed, I guess, and loudly tells me what he thinks about it.

Even sitting down, I am not real up to this. and I sure don't want conflict. I could have let my son come in for the meds, but if the doctor ordered expensive ones I might get cheaper, or maybe stuff I don't even need, I wanted to be there to take care of that. I'm about to look for a different way to get to the pharmacy window. I still have trouble trying to drive that thing, and don't speak at all, so I don't upset the man any more. He kind of flaps around me with a big flourish, saying things like, "You had enough room to get by. I am not that big" "Is this enough room for you, Honey? He really emphasizes Honey, in an ugly kind of way. and I am glad that my son, my six foot four inches tall son, is a few aisles away, not seeing this, or it might have been worse. and more trips to ER, to fix the damage. I will not mention this to him. He has more than enough to deal with. taking care of my grandson, who cannot have regular foods, only liquuids. I am so relieved when that ugly man walks away from the area.

Turns out the meds are a very good price. It is nice to learn something good. Between the pain, and being upset about the man being so rude, I don't think to ask the pharmisist to give me bottle caps that are not child proof. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to open those kid proof ones.

My second day at home the visiting nurse person is here, with reams of technical papers to deal with. The next day a woman from Physical Therapy arrives, and procedes to tell me equipment I should run right out and get. but does not help me with that.

I try to tell her that the exercises she recommends are exactly the same as the hospital PT dpt. taught, to be sure I know how to do them. After all, I am eager to get well. I show her the sheet of exercises are the very same as the hospital sent me home with. I try to tell her I've also had a total knee replacement. and understand the need for PT. I try to tell her that I've done nursing for twenty seven years, and know how to take care of a patient like me. She does not seem to hear. Is not interested in anything I say.

She may as well be working an assembly line. Everything she says has to be in a certain order. She is so stuck in monologue mode, I cannot communicate with her. If the hospital or someone at the doctor's office can't help me find better physical therapy care, I will do the exercises by myself. The man who was so ugly at Wal Mart is only a sad ship that sometimes passes in our life. These past few days have thrown me into overload. But love and loving care keep me afloat. I am hanging on to the happiness and tender care people, like so many of you, bring; and look forward to the hope in our tomorrows.

An Update on Judith

2009-01-27T06:05:00.001-07:00

For any of you who follow Mom's blog, you can go here for an update on how she's doing. I'm sure she'd love to hear from everyone. I'll try to keep you posted on how she's doing til she makes it back home in a few days.

More Pre-Op Activities.

2009-01-25T01:36:00.011-07:00

My to-do list grew shorter when I cleaned the bathroom, and set out fresh towels. The Christmas tree in the living room still needed taking down, but I'd had enough of domestic cleaning today, and walked right by it, and out the door. To give myself a reason for ignoring the tree again, I rationalized that since colder weather's coming, I should finish some errands today.

My first stop was Wal Mart, to see if more TV converter boxes arrived, and they had, so that task is done. Some day soon, when it isn't so cold outside, and if a change is needed about the antenna, my son will install it for me.

Since I was still in the store, I shopped for new undies, and wouldn't you know, that department's clerk was clearing and rearranging displays right where I needed to check which kind to get, and this irked me a little because it's hard enough to choose which kind to get with most of them more suitable for guys than for girls, unless you include some advertized as String Bikinis, and that's irritating, too.

I made a sneering comment to the busy clerk that if they keep making them more skimpy, pretty soon we will all be walking around almost naked, when you consider how low females' necklines have dropped. But she didn't seem to be very interested in my comment, nor my next one, when I kind of snarled, "Don't they have anything an old woman can wear?"

Almost all of them were loud jazzy colors, and I didn't plan on worrying about them showing through other clothes. Even a grouchy woman has some dignity. Hanging onto modesty is not easy in this outrageous outpouring of "style". I attributed being less than Miss Congeniality to the pains in my knee and leg, and settled for some solid color Hanes Low Rise Briefs.

Before leaving this aggravating array of next to nothing kinds of underwear, I check nearby rows of pj's, and notice they're looking more masculine too. After digging for sizes, and not finding any I think would fit better than my favorite pair at home, I gave up on trying to decide, and got checked out, and left.

Next stop is the grocery store, and my timing is great, except other customers, some of them, take forever to pick out certain items, leaving their carts blocking reasonable people like me from getting through. Couldn't be me or my attitude, would you think? I throw a few Lean Cusine frozen dinners for only $1.88 each in the cart, and get fresh milk and a few other things.

At home again, I walk past that worn out looking tree I'm so tired of looking at, and know that before this day's over it will be ready to be out of there. I don't even try wrapping and boxing the ornaments tonight, just set them carefully, where they can wait til sometime Sunday.

Even in good things, sometimes lessons can be learned. Lessons like not holding on to how you did things long ago. Just because you feel sentimental about it. When my children were little, and not much money was spent on decorations, I hit on the idea of getting each of them a full box of icecicles to put on our Christmas tree, and they liked having their very own box of them.

When I saw some in the stores this time, because it brought back such good memories, I got a box, and showered the tree with them, and ever since, have been picking them up, and out of the carpet, and still more were hanging on the tree. By the time I got rid of all of them I could, I knew I'd never need to make a mess with icecicles again, to relive my children's early Christmas times.

As I fold up the rest of what's left of this day, I am glad that even though I was irritated in the stores, I didn't throw my grouchiness at others in a mean kind of way. This was only one day, and better ones are coming.

Ten, Nine, Eight, And Counting.

2009-01-22T21:17:00.005-07:00

The inauguration ceremonies lasted most of the day, and far into the night. Two days later, our new President seems to be settling in without many troublesome hitches, except for that misstep of the swearing in being broadcast to the world, and a hurried plea for modern equipment to be brought to his new office.

At least for now, he has things pretty much under control there, including getting the executive basket ball court backboard replaced. I can relax, knowing our 44th president is already fulfilling noted campaign promises to us.

If I could check off my to do list around here, as quickly and efficiently as he does, there wouldn't be nearly as many tasks to deal with, in this countdown mode. For almost a month I've counted days off, one by one, til this troublesome knee gets replaced. If good intentions counted even some, my house would be immaculate, with everything so clean, and in its perfect place.

But my Christmas tree still waits for its trek to the storage house out back, and I can't quite recall the last time I mopped the kitchen floor. I did vacuum the carpet before putting up the tree, but that was early December. The boxes of papers I began sorting? they're right where they were, not far from my new Yoga mat, yeah, that's right, in its still unopened box.

But this frantic countdown I'm feeling got me going, and today I surprised most everything in the fridge. Rearranged lots of it, and threw out older stuff.

Laundry is all caught up, and a quick swipe at dust here and there will suffice. My utmost goal in the morning will be to clean a bathroom very well, and put away all those pretty tree decorations I'm never in a hurry to set aside for another year. Sometimes, to lessen the shock of the house suddenly looking so stripped, and a little drab, I put away only parts of the decorations for a few days. I suppose that might seem nerdy, but I think it's out of balance, enjoying the beauty of Christmas for such a short time of the year.

There's a good supply of easy to fix meals in the freezer of the fridge, and healthy other foods. My bag I'll be taking with me will be easy to pack. I'm not big on makeup, and stuff like that. When I hit about sixty I decided, from now on, what you see is what you get, and we're not suppose to wear nail polish and perfume while in the hospital anyway. I considered using Multi-Faceted Shimmering Colour Loreal on my hair, but it doesn't quite seem worth the trouble, and in this economic crisis, I am not about to spend fifty dollars to pay someone to do it.

I've been working on being more positive. Paying closer attention to what I say and think. I usually begin my days with hopeful affirmations, and when I do sink back into negative habits, Philippians 4, over and over, if I need to, comes in handy. Listening to upbeat music helps, too, and having an appreciating heart.

Next thing I notice, I sometimes start humming. Not that I get it all right each and every time, but I can see an improvement in my attitude, and when it needs a little working, I try to get out of myself, by doing something for somebody else.

In my last post I mentioned a neighbor boy being so proud of getting a Bible. He hurried over to show it to me, and the next day I surprised his family with a children's Bible that's easier to read, a used one in good condition I got cheaply at a thrift store. I saw the kids again today outside, and the boy surprised me by calling out a big loud "Thank you for the Bible". Not that what I did was so big, I just thought it would help them learn more about Jesus, and I'm kind of convinced they don't get a lot of unexpected surprises. Almost always when we give of ourselves, instead of being so engrossed in Me, Me, Me, the good feeling that results may well be much bigger for us, than the receiver. I think I'll not bother myself about whether my house is in order before the surgery. Everything, from the presidency to my Christmas tree, is how it needs to be.

More Than A Change In Command

2009-01-20T15:26:00.016-07:00

Steady streams of sunlight curled through the blinds to where I lay, reminding me to get out of bed, and turn on the TV. This is America's Inauguration Day, and I do not want to miss any of it.You may not be as happy as I am about who our new president will be , and who is leaving Washington, D.C. , but this post is not intended to create a political tug of war between us. I would like to share with you some perspectives about this day, and some other recent days.

For a month I've waited for needed sugery, and have another week to go. This morning, while I was turning on the T V, my phone rang, and a voice said it was my insurance company. Not wanting to miss any of the Inauguration, at first I wanted to ask if I could call her back, but decided that might get complicated. Have you tried getting through to your insurance place? Not a good idea, so I let the caller speak. She said my surgery is approved, but I may have to pay twenty percent of the surgeon's charges, and knee replacement requires two of them. That amount, plus other expenses, and sizeable co-payments will take a hefty chomp from my savings, and that is scary but I must have the surgery. Before we end the call, the young sounding woman said if she didn't have to be at work, she would be home watching the inauguration, too.

I am grateful such outstanding medical people will take care of me, in a state of the art growing medical facility that is already a trauma center. I feel special appreciation for nursing staff, for I know the work loads they carry, and I understand shortages of nurses and doctors are growing. But before I become so engrossed with my particular case, I would like to take you back to some other days before the changing of our president.

At church last week, as people gathered a little early to allow for visiting, a daughter of a couple sat close by, holding pages of slightly wrinkled homework, and a pen or two. I love hearing their answers and explanations of things, and asked her what she is studying. "Latin", she said quite matter of factly, as she used the blunt end of a pen to push her glasses higher above her nose. A slight movement of her hair that spilled onto her shoulders just exuded convinced confidence. "So what do you do with this Latin?" I asked this third grader.,and she showed me her word practice. Jumped right in to details of how it works. Used words I hadn't heard of, words like "derivative", and quickly explained their meanings, as I wondered why schools I was in never taught me some Latin.

This little girl, who cares so much about learning she brings homework to church, is one of the many I believe President Obama wants to make certain has quality teachers and classrooms, with small enough numbers of students so that her fresh zeal to learn is not squelched. She, and generations following her deserve this, and our generation doing what we can to pay this forward for them, is the least we can do to make sure it is done.

A close neighbor's husband died a few days before Christmas. Every now and then since, I've made it a point to take something over, even if it was a small something. The lady came to the door with a small blanket around her shoulders, so I thought maybe she was just fighting off sadness, or maybe feeling ill.

She told me she's o.k., but also said they are losing their house, and will move soon. While she seemed brave about it, and emphasized how much less houses cost where she's going, I noticed a quiet helplessness in her voice. I believe she's the first on this block to lose her home. The chilling feeling across my own back when she told me, makes me wonder whose may be next.

A few nights ago I had just come home, and was walking from my car, when this neighbor's grandson called out and hurried over. He was holding something in his hands that he quickly showed me, a Bible he tried to describe while struggling with words. I didn't try pronouncing them for him. Pronunciation was not what he needed. He wanted to tell someone about gettinh his very own Bible, and what that means, and I think he described it greatly. He almost stuttered, then started again, saying "God Is, God is" "You know". er, God is above everything." I would not think of changing his words.

The next day I was still awed about the the neighbor's grandson, and remembered his saying people from a church somewhere were visiting regularly with his Grandma and Grandpa, and suddenly I knew why I had bought an old fashioned Childrens Bible a few years ago, and kept it. Sometimes we may not know for certain why we do something at the time, but I'm pretty sure God planned it long ago. I took the Children's Bible that's loaded with pictures, and easy to read, to my neighbor, for the children, and she seemed to appreciate getting it. I figure, if I can't do a great big something to lighten someone's day, I can at least offer a small one.

Often I'd see my neighbor and all their family members load into the car on Sundays, and assumed they went to church somewhere, but I never asked. The next time I have a new neighbor, I think I will.

But back to the matter of our getting a new president, and the history of it spilling from the T.V., and my not thinking about surgery, or our national economy as the grandeur of today increased.

I was thinking of the money aspect of now, while in Walmart last evening, to get a prescription the doctor called in related to the surgery, and of things I want a supply of for afterwards, like coffee. I am standing before the Folger display, carefully comparing several choices, to find the one that makes the most cups of it. A kind sounding voice asks if I need help, and I'm not sure if it's because of my limp, or about which kind of coffee to get. The helpful customer talks about when she and her mom lived together, and liked different coffees, and since I'm not going anywhere anyway, I listen to her, feeling a little silly that I'm making such a production out of trying to save on the cost of it.

I choose a can and thank the kind lady, and make my way back to the pharmacy to check on the prescription, and learn they don't have what the doctor ordered, and am relieved that I don't have to spend thirty dollars for it.

Today was not only a triumph for our new president. It is also my grandson's (whose future looked really bleak a few years ago) first day of classes at a local college, a time to head his life and his future in better directions, but this probably would not have come about, had there not been a serious rehabilitation program available to help him with much of it. As I hope for my grandson to do well with his studies, I consider how our new president might have felt, even worried about how he would do in college when he started. But the results of his believing he could stands before us today, today, and because of that, other young students may also believe they can achieve great things.

During the inauguration a news person quoted Franklin D. Roosevelt's quotation about the only thing we need to fear in the Great Depression, was fear itself. I am trying hard to stay away from the negativity of the one we are in, and have a plan of how to do this. I believe, like Shakespeare, that we can make ourselves a Heaven or a Hell by what we say and what we think, and that includes the music we choose to listen to. I've taped two awesome hymns, two tapes, one for the car and another for the house. The first one I mentioned recently, after a special blogger pointed it out, titled elegantly, I think; "Give Thanks". Something about being grateful dissipates our fears. I listen to "Give Thanks" again and again and again.

The other hymn I first heard on my daughter's blog, Christian music I don't think you can hear and not be moved by. In the post that included it, my daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface", or her new blog: "Life Of Grits" figuratively kicks off her shoes and is running as fast as she could, to meet our Lord as this hymn plays louder and louder.

This song rivals even our President's March. I wish I knew how to include the sound of it here. The size of the title doesn't indicate how great it is. As I end this post, here are some lines from it which Nicole C. Mullin so eloquently sang on the CD of "Redeemer":

Who told the sun to stand in the morning?
Who told the ocean you can only come this far?
Who showed the moon where to hide til evening?
Whose words alone can catch a falling star?
(and then the chorus)
Well, I know my Redeemer lives, my Redeemer lives.
All of creation testifies; this life within me cries,
I know my Redeemer lives.

Where To Go, And What to Do, The Dilemma Continues.

2009-01-13T21:05:00.009-07:00

Last week I bought a travel bag, just right for my trip to the hospital soon. Then I thought it would make a good carry on bag when I fly to my daughter's new home down in Texas. But those plans were before a telephone call telling me someone I knew, who suffered long from MS had died.

I pulled the dark dress from my closet, and gently folded it, though it's great for travel. Running my hands across it was not for smoothing wrinkles. The last time I wore it was at my son's funeral. And now I was headed to one where a man's life was shortened by an insidious disease, and/or the complications of it.

A son who was going came by for me, and soon we headed across a prairie stretching a long way from Denver. A few hours later we were there, and would spend a night or two with my childrens' father, the man who had been my husband, and a long time ago, my world. Feelings ranged up and down the scale.

Remembering my son's awful death, and being with someone who had been such a huge chunk of my life, encouraged memories I did not quite know what to do with. But this trip wasn't about either of us, or our memories. At one point it was a little like in his Indian ancestery, with each of us giving thoughtful gifts to the other. He is long retired, and very happy with how his life is, with the dying man's family claiming him as their own, and he has full run of a golf course with unlimited golfing. When Saint Peter calls for him, I can just imagine his insisting he has to finish however many more holes need playing.

The funeral showed what a fine man had died, with many tear soaked accolades given about him. In Denver it is not unusual for the mourners to not go to the grave site, so I didn't think about taking a jacket or a coat, and it got very windy and cold, and after we all huddled under a canopy that seemed to sway a little, the funeral home people shoved warm blankets into our arms. Big cities and towns move more quickly than quiet country places, but it was good to go back in time where they don't hurry dying or living.

It is always good to return to your own little part of this big world, though I'm not in a hurry for some of what lies ahead. Last week I began sorting and
rearranging personal papers. Started, then set it down, where it reminds me every day, I need to finish.

While Christmas shopping I found a good buy on a Yoga pad. I intended getting started with it again, but the box with the pad is near the TV, still unopened.

This week there will be a pre-op appointment. I know it is necessary, but I'm dreading not being mobile for a while. My son and grandson will do whatever I need. While I was gone they washed my car, even cleaned the inside, and when we get snow, one of them clears off the car, and all my walkways.

That book I wrote about in my last post, Melody Beattie's "The Language of Letting GO" is really coming in handy. Reminds me I don't need a certified guarantee that everything will be like I want it, and how and when, and where, and so I think I'll sort those old papers, and prepare a few things here, put gas in the car, buy some coffe and maybe write more posts. I got some old movies at the thrift store. It is fun sometimes to see them again, and at a dollar a piece, what a deal. I can take care of those details, but the big stuff, I'll leave to my Lord.

Please pray for the family of the man who died. His going leaves big holes in their lives, and it's gonna take some time to fill them.

Because he asked, we stayed an extra night, and enjoyed a terrific steak dinner with him, then hurried so he could watch a favorite religious program. Such a contrast to how our life was so long ago, but that was then, and here we are, still trying to figure out what to do, and where to go.

Life Is A Test, It Is Only A Test, If It Had Been The Real World, You Would Have Been Told Where To Go, And What to Do..

2009-01-06T21:16:00.013-07:00

Some years ago, when I was recovering from still another ill-advised relationship, I purchased a little book, titled "The Language of Letting Go", and even read a few of its pages. Then tucked it away with many other written treasures.

Since then I have moved six times, or more, and in the process parted with items I sometimes wished I'd kept. This favored little book, I believe, clearly points out that in life, there are no accidental happenings, and this is the reason I call this post: "Life Is A Test, It is only A Test. If It Had Been The Real World, We Would Have Been Told Where To go, And What To Do".

The title I'm writing about is: "The Language of Letting Go", from Hazelden Meditation Series, by Meolody Beattie. It is sectioned into every day of the year, and in this publication includes the leap year day.

The Hazelden Fountation's mission is to improve the quality of life for individuals and families on their personal journey, away from being affected by alcoholism and other destructive addictions.

Here are some of the helps I found in this book I begin, and sometimes end my days with.

It teaches that our boundaries emerge from deep within us, and are connected to letting go of guilt and shame, and to changing our beliefs about what we deserve. It points out things change, not because we're controlling others, but because we've changed.

Throughout a year of days in it, affirmations abound, for our benefit. I'm pretty sure most mental health therapists agree that we don't have to feel guilty about finding happiness, and a life that works. This is a giant step in any kind of recovery. One of many quotes here is that "We do not have to take on our families' issues as our own, to be loyal to them, and show that we love them."

Our freedom starts when we stop denying their issues, and politely, but assertively hand their stuff back to them. or, as my little Korean grand daughter loudly proclaims in self esteem school training: "That is not my responsibility!"

This book warns us to not become caretakers- to not take responsibility for others, while neglecting ourselves, and hampering them from learning to be responsible for themselves.

Many of us, especially women, learned that it is not socially acceptable to express our anger. But anger is an emotion we were born with, just as is our happiness, or fear. This book warns us that we will feel anger when it comes our way, or else we repress it.

When I had a life changing relationship wear me into folding up from Life for a while, when I struggled for months with the anger of it, before it all came storming down on me, me, I was amazed to realize I'd let it control me for years. I never even considered that I might be self righteous. After all, I'd been terribly wronged. Didn't I deserve to be indignant for a while. But for years! It took a huge check of reality to understand that this soft spoken woman of the South could hold onto that much rage. Only when I was willing to let go of it, did God's Loving Grace fill the empty places in me.

This book maintains that prayer is the only thing that changes our character, so of course, prayer is highly recommended. Acting as if, mentally pretending, is another tool we can use to grow. "Make believe thinking can set the stage for our new and needed behaviors". "This opens us up to the positive posibilities of the future", instead of letting today's feelings and circumstances limit us.

What comes to mind while writing this, I learned from a dear friend blogger named Mary, in a far away place of our world, Mary started the absolute delight of giving gratitude, spilling it over, like beauty, in a hymn simply titled "Give Thanks". This came about near when Christmas was arriving, so I found the song on an old CD, and made a tape of it to play in my car.

When some unkind or preoccupied person would cut me off in traffic while I was in a hurry, I'd slow myself down with a long deep breath, and enjoy the song's praises.

This little book that is becoming such a treasure, says "Gratitude helps us stop trying to control outcomes of our lives, and unlocks the positivity we all so need". With a grateful attitude and heart, we are admonished to not get comfortable with feeling victimized, and warned of the danger of its fallout.

Again, the author especially points out that feeling helpless, rageful, and powerless and frustrated, any or all of these extreme emotions can point us toward addictive or compulsive behaviors that are dangerous to acquire.

But this book is not all about seriousness. Encouragement is offered in the words titled: "New energy is coming": Short little prayers, dispersed throughout it do encourage, i.e., "I can accept with gratitude, all that has brought me to today".

What a freedom we can claim for ourselves, when we recognize shame, and refuse to let others use it to control us, to keep us living out a part of a disfunctional family. We also need to know when we may be forcing it on ourselves.

Except for my Bible, this storehouse of wisdom and advice directs my almost every morning. Sounding like a leading melody from Josh Groban's CD, "awake", it keeps telling me (and you, if you listen), "We are lovable, we are loved, and worthy of it".

Page after page of it I've read, and repeated. Strands throughout often sound brand new. Immagine starting a day with "We are the greatest thing that will ever happen to us". and then the book adds: "Believe it! It makes life easier."

The serious minded people of the world are remembered by this book's author. too. Over and over, she exhorts us to lighten up, and not take life so seriously.

Toward the end of the book, the question is asked ---why do we use only negatives to describe ourselves? What if, instead, we said "What's right with me? What are my strengths?" It reminds us that Recovery from a debilitating life is not about eliminating our personality. It is about dealing differently with our negatives, and building on our positivities.

Because these words are so helpful to me, I'd like repeating some here. Some of my favorites of it are: "Fun becomes fun. Love becomes love. Life becomes worth living, and we become grateful", Beyond Codependency.

For more information about the Hazelden Foundation, the phone number is:
1-800-257-7800, or you may access their World Wide Webb Site on the internet at

http:llwww.hazelden.org.

"Give Thanks with a grateful heart, Give thanks......."

Then and Now, and Tomorrow

2008-12-28T21:35:00.010-07:00

As I think about this year that soon will end, thoughts and events of it seem to overtake me. About this very day last year I rushed my son to the nearest hospital, and then watched carefully how he got through some serious surgery, and he did, and made it our first 2008 miracle.

Somewhere in all of it, my thoughts about writing a great book got side tracked, and still aren't where they need to be. When I thought life might slow enough for me to catch up with it, the presidential race took flight, and everything else slowed tremendously.

What seemed like a not so important thing then, happened while I was celebrating leaving work, by digging a deep hole in the yard, and planting a lovely rose in it. At first I didn't hurt to extreme, but within a day or two, knew I was in trouble, and had to see an orthopedic doctor who began a change in life for me, from unusual dexterity, to leaning on crutches, which continued a month or two, then left me with a limp that increased until I got this unruly knee checked again, and now I'm looking at surgery on it. My son I rushed to the hospital last year, will soon be helping take care of me while I go through it.

My town hosted the Democratic Convention, and since I couldn't work much with this knee getting worse, I helped out at the election headquarters, for weeks. I will never forget seeing the marked change in our phone surveys; those calls that irritate so many. I would gladly put up with some unwanted phone calls, to get someone in the White House who would care about my needs. I realized voters were turning toward the man who now will lead our country, and for me the election was over.

My knee still hurt, sometimes a lot, but it's amazing what adrenaline can do, even to an aged knee. If it needed repairs, I would deal with it after the presidential election. It might be in bad condition, and it's turned out that it is, but our country was in worse.

When our stock market crumbled this time around, I was almost making history, from being born in the long ago Great Depression, and perhaps spending my last years in the one we're in now, and the irony of this scares me. But it's going to take more than what I've seen of it, to completely get to me.

To launch this new year, I will seriously list more new resolutions, to work on improving me. My newest one is to learn a foreign language. The one that's more needed here, as our population shifts, is Spanish. I'm not good yet at speaking it, but almost every day I learn more words, and while I'm not mobile after this knee surgery, I can learn even more, and with some unexpected but appreciated serendipity, may meet somebody somewhere who can teach me how to speak it. The nice thing about living through a tough depression, is that you learn how to manage without things, and are so much stronger because of having done it.

Today our pastor shared an overall plan of growth for our church in this coming year. He used a quote of scripture that our race in life should be directed toward Jesus Christ, our Lord, and talked about how we were running superbly; (this from chapter 5 of Galatians) It asks "Who cut in on you?" stating further that the detour we've made didn't come from the One who called us into the race in the first place.; that our life long journey should always lead us to He who died for us.

Mere knee surgeries, or widespread depressions in our country, are nothing our Lord cannot handle, but only part of His bigger plan for us. My task is to make sure my new year's resolutions are in line with His. You may want to keep this in mind while you're making yours, for he really does hold this entire old world in His loving hands.

A Christmas Of Goodwill

2008-12-21T19:58:00.011-07:00

For a day that began a little late, it turned out alright. When I'd set the alarm, I somehow made it for p.m. instead of for morning. But I woke up only an hour late, and by hurrying got to church for most of the service. The advent candle was already lighted, and the whole congregation was singing Christmas carols.

I found an empty space, and settled in, as a line of young people took their places at the front of the church, to tell us with singing what Christmas is for. Intermixed with the ancient carols were readings from Matthew about the first Christmas. But even in such a reverent setting, our humanness surfaced when during a short pause in the music, a little voice asked, "Are we done yet?" To which our pastor softly said "No. Not quite".

The children's presentation ended with someone in a red suit and a full beard of snowy white soft looking curls, giving each of the children a Christmas surprise. The curliness of the gift giver's beard reminded me of ribbon one swirls on packages this time of year.

After visiting a little with church friends, I made what I hope will be my last trip to the store til the end of the year. Two things we're changing somewhat about Christmas, are to spend less for presents, and share the food costs. My kitchen time should be much less that I usually spend there. It can't take so long to fix shrimp, or the relish trays and just to be safe, I got more shrimp, and other stuff today, and really good cocktail sauce.

This is the part of shopping I've gotten very good at. My eyes are like radar finding bargains other shoppers walk all around. Three jars of the really good sauce were marked down a lot, so I got all of them, for we'll need it for our size clan.

In the decoration and gift idea section I only needed scotch tape from, for a moment I almost weakened, when I spotted some nicely dressed Santas. I left them where I'd found them.

My next stop was that thrift store I keep telling you about. This year we really are having a Goodwill holiday. Near Christmas, they mark holiday items down to half price. A nicely decorated Santa was just sitting there, waiting for me to rescue him from the discard bin. His curly beard also looked a little like that ribbon I mentioned that's so fun to wrap with.

To be logical, I put back a tweety bird decoration, and a little wooden rocking horse, and some other seasonal thing, that made it come out to the cost of the Santa, a whopping three dollars and fifty cents.

I did fill that childhood yearning to get something simply because I wanted it, and now have a one hour tape called the "Song of Ireland" It says I will see sights and sounds of Dublin, and markets and colorful pubs, and St. Patrick's cathedral, and Kilkenny Castle, and other places too many to mention, all for one dollar.

I also found another great book, "America's Growing Years (1789-1829). I don't know if it has to do with my getting older, or what, but I can't get enough of how our country was born, and developed. I want to know more of her growing up.

One more stop, and I'd soon be home. On my last shopping trip, I found a nativity scene that's a music box. What delights me about it is that Mary is holding Baby Jesus in her arms and lap, and Joseph is sitting there with them. A part of it was loose, so I got some Gorilla glue that should work on it, and my son will fix it.

I had told him about a friend giving me a Christmas tree, to make sure he had one, but his is already up where their cats can't get to it, so I'm sure he wouldn't take it down, and start over. Still, he seemed very interested in getting the other one. Even when he depended on food from a food bank to help them, he would share it with a family of his son's friend. The mother works at a McDonald's for pitiful pay, and has children to feed. I'm pretty sure he is taking the tree to them, which in my mind is what Christmas is really about.

My house is so scattered right now. A few more gifts to wrap, and some cleaning to do, and fixing the foods. Once in a while, when I'm stuck in some long shopping line, my knee hurts enough I just want to sit on the floor and feel bad for myself. But that kind of self-pity lasts only a moment, then I remember why we're doing all this about Christmas.

Before heading to the check out counter, I looked for a few other things, and found a perfectly good backpack that's been hanging there since the last donations came in, and I know someone who will need it.

Remember my telling you how I'm trying to persuade a certain grandson to get going with college? Between my pointing out the advantages of it, and other relatives encouraging him, a week or so ago he and his dad met with a college counselor, and he took an evaluation test. He scored well in all areas, except math, and will get one on one help with it. I can't even tell you how hopeful I am about this.

Instead of lolling in the comfort of what is familiar, even of poverty, this soon to be young man, may just do something well for himself, that can make all the difference. I don't think I'll ever grow out of wishing for at least a small surprise on Christmas morning, but seeing this grandson better himself is more than a gift. It's part of the promise from Jesus, that Hope reigns again, and another reason why we have a little Christmas to celebrate, again.

What! Only Ten More Days?

2008-12-15T22:38:00.009-07:00

I am sitting here tonight, dressed as warmly as I can, wondering how I drank my hot cocoa so fast, after holding my hands around the cup, because it felt so good. Yesterday, or the day before, Colorado got a snowing that will be around for days, because air from the North Pole came with it, and it's below freezing here. Pretty pictures of Santa and his deer we used to color in grade school, are nice to think about. Still I wonder how Santa kept from freezing to death up there.

It is so cold here, but I was trying again, for I don't know how many times, to wrap presents, when the phone rang. My very best friend wanted to know if I'd see a play with her at the local high school, on short notice. She didn't know what play it was, but that was O.K. We'd find out when we got there, and that's how I got to see "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, adapted by Romulus Linney, right here in the season.

It wasn't hard to find a place to park, because I went early, and was glad I did. Walking in the building reminded me that my own children finished highschool there, and that encouraged some memories.

The place was filling. Soon the lights dimmed, and this tall, bent over creature slowly walked from a side of the stage, and with his first words took command of the next few hours as if they belonged to him. The huge supporting cast, some dressed somberly, others more of the place in time the play was set, and still others were surprisingly quite colorful, especially when they did the dancing scenes. A part of the play that couln't be, without it, must be the fast work of the stage hands. How they changed all that furniture and even walls amazes me.

I had not read the story of Ebenezer Scrooge. Had only a general idea of his being tight with money, and was surprised there was so many parts to the story. It was so good,getting lost in it. At the ending, there was at least one standing ovation. and many flower bouquets sneaked in, and held high for grand children of proud grand parents. Not once in the excitement of the play, did I think about wrapping gifts.

But the next day I tried again, and wouldn't you just know that my phone which doesn't ring much, did. My Korean nursing buddy I used to work with, was on her way to pick up her little girl, and asked if I'd spend part of the day with them. I had declined going to the church ladies' Christmas party, but a chance to be with this little girl and her Mom, I would not miss.

As we're headed to some place she understands sells trees and things for Christmas, I ask my friend's daughter how she's doing with studies and school, and does she still like her teacher, and what about her learning Spanish. Every answer is a yes, Then she tells me how the Spanish say turtle. It's tortuga. She even pronounces it for me. She explains a math drill the teacher gives, how it's timed so they learn to think quickly.

I'm not sure having to hurry with numbers is so crucial, but I don't say it. I do point out to my little friend that people who get very good at working with numbers usually make more money than those who don't. But I can tell I'm overloading her young brain, so I stop, and just tell her how glad I am to spend some time with her. She smiles and looks at me, and murmurs a soft yes. Some things don't need a lot of words to be expressed.

We went to a Christmas kind of place, I only imagined I knew what was there. Thought they sold real Christmas trees, and other holiday stuff for decorating, and in a way they did. But all of it just about blew me away. Their trees were man made, seemed like a countless number of them, and I was shocked at the prices. Some cost more than a thousand dollars.

Nativity scenes, many kinds, and so beautiful, looked more like works of art, and were priced as if they were. I don't mean to come across as if I'm Ebenezer's kin, but being the country girl I am, born when the first depression started, and all my life ever aware of having to stretch dollars, it is difficult to understand how people spend so much at places like this.

Walking space was crowded the whole time we were there. Every kind of Christmas things were displayed and people were buying them. It was like walking back in time to a magical place of Christmases past, and somehow I would have felt better if there had been a Salvation Army Bell Ringer near the door for perhaps, at least some coins to make some poor peoples' Christmas better.

The timing of those two outings seemed Heaven sent, with our frigid snow storm waiting another day. I'm back to wrapping gifts again, but I relocated the set up for it, from the room I was in, and it's now sprawled across the livingroom, close to a cozy heating vent. Nights like this, the first thing on my list of thanks is not having to leave the house. Should not be a problem now, getting those presents wrapped.

Of course there's other things to do. My part of the family feast is to make party trays, and prepare the shrimp. But before this extrordinary year ends, I must prepare a serious resolution list. It will include things like watching geese fly over more, and sometimes being able to see full moons through the sun room skylights. But I also will ad this year, more phone calls to family and friends, and working on that book I started. Sometimes Christmas happens while you're getting ready for it.

Catching Up With Christmas

2008-12-11T21:47:00.008-07:00

I had a good game plan for my Christmas "to do" list. Did most of the shopping early on, and a few nights ago, wrapped the out of town presents.

When I finished the last one, didn't have to post them quickly, There's still plenty of time for sending, but I liked the idea of their being done, so I stayed up til after midnight, getting them ready for their mailing journeys.

Standing at the cluttered table where they set, I was wishing I had something with wheels on it to transport them, when I spotted a big storage bin thing,
then turned out the light over the scattered mess I'd made of wrapping. The bin would work fine. But it had been an overly busy day, so I took myself to bed.

After a while with wakeup coffee the next morning, I got the full bin out to the car, and started Christmas music playing before I put me in. All the way to the postal place I am a singing Christmas happy camper. Having time to spare, not dealing with work, and getting there, it's amazing what that does for attitude and everything about this time of year.

I get to where I'm going, and open the back end of the car, then before I can get started pulling my holiday cargo, two people, one of them a postal employee hurry up to where I am, and insist on carrying it all for me, while another customer there holds open the doors. So far, my mission is right on estimated schedule, and I've never been in love with adhering to them.

Inside where I'm in line, a man and a little girl standing ahead of me wait their turn. She's wearing one of those bright red and white Christmas caps that hang down some at the back of her head. She is being pretty good, for a kid who has to waste her time like this, when she could be doing lots of things, like dreaming of what she may get Christmas morning. She begins fidgeting, you know, that wrestless little way only children move around, and if they're really brave, twirling one side of themself, and then the other. So I ask her where she got that pretty red cap, and she pats her head a little, and tells me she got it at a Christmas party yesterday, and a very good cup cake, too.

Our line seems slow, and I see why. A lady ahead of us isn't reinventing the cave men's wheel, but I get the impression if she wanted to, she could. She certainly has enough tools to start with, a very big box to mail, a huge role of tape, and marking pens and scissors. but I guess it's alright. Then I think, yes! this is great. because I really thought I should have taped one of mine better.

I watch and wait for just the right timing, when I can see she's done with hers. Then I half talk, but more point to her tape, and make a circle motion around my big box, and she lets me use some of the tape. As she's leaving, I realize I could have said Gracias to her, so I'm hoping she understood my Thank You. My purpose in getting someone to help me, is because I understand it helps build self esteme, and I was already getting into that when the people helped carry the packages.

As I leave the postal station, I'm so glad the mailing's done. Now I can concentrate on other parts of Christmas. I run more errands, and then come home, and start to do more wrapping, but decide it's allright to take a break from all of it.

After a while my son who tried hard for over two years to be approved for disability, calls and comes by. I ask him a question about making sure my Christmas tree is fire proof, and he assures me it is, and then he says he needs to get a tree, even a small one, for his place. I try to not let my wanting to cry show at that. It would be so selfish, so I don't. but I will never forget the relieved look I saw on his face, as it turned into a smile.

This year Christmas is more than special. We have reasons for raising our cups in toasts several times. About this time last year, lots of things were not as well as they could have been. His chance of being approved was not encouraging. Life day into day was hard. For some years I'd not seen a Christmas tree, or other decorations where he lives.

This is the son who when he was about ten or eleven built a nativity scene outside our house that spread a ways across the front yard. When I'm very old, family will need to just indulge me, retelling it again and again. He built a wood frame, dragged fresh cut tree limbs from a nearby woods, "borrowed" a little lamp from the house, stringing a long cord, so it would light. and used his sister, Bev's (at "Girl Raised In The South) special doll, for baby Jesus

Later today I shopped some more, at my favorite bargain place, this area's thrift store. It was packed with customers, for hours, I know it was for I was there. My total bill was seventeen dollars. This included a cuddly looking toy thing for the newest family member, cost only three bucks. I can't decide if it's suppose to be a little bear or a doggy. it just sets there, and will be great for little ones to touch, it's arms and legs, or paws and legs are wrapped around a soft to touch throw, and it's wearing a Santa cap like the little girl at the post office. And then I got totally selfish, found a Victorian Santa that's like a music box. He's in soft, light colors. Holds a bouquet in one arm, while there's a basket looking something on the other, with what looks like a Christmas Goose. His flowing robes are accented with delicate looking flowers. I don't know if he's porcelain, or what, but he's just beautiful, and he cost six dollars, and it's probably not too difficult to figure out who he is for.

Later on I will post about other things, but tonight I just want to enjoy every moment of this season. Soon I've got to drive in certain areas, to take in great decorations, and I will sing, if I have to, alone. Today I caught myself ringing out the one, "Give thanks" and I do, I so do this Christmas season.

Winter Miscellany

2008-12-09T15:38:00.010-07:00

I went to bed last night wondering how much snow would fall, and when dawn arrived, had just poured a first cup of coffee. Then the phone rang out a call from daughter Bev, at "Life of Grits". Hearing her "Hi Mom" closed the miles from Pennsylvania, to this snowcapped Colorado town.

We talked of many things, including gift giving at Christmas time, and agreed we don't need brown paper packages from far off places, to know that we are loved. I'll take hearing my children's voices over anything Santa could bring. When I heard Bev's this morning, I hurriedly poured a second coffe cup, for one wouldn't last through our conversation.

For some unhurried time, we relived things about our Christmases. This one I hope to help make more about family simply caring, and being together having a wonderful time. I am always amazed how quickly it seems we use up most of an hour talking. Then Bev needed to try to give her cat a haircut, (She's brave like that) and I have a few things to do, getting ready for our family clan.

I had just set the phone down, and peered outside to see how much snow fell, when I spotted a son's old van, and heard the raking sound of his clearing sidewalks for me. The house is back from the street, so it takes some shoveling to clear them, another example of what love is, instead of material things.

I consider myself wealthy in a way that has nothing to do with money. When my son finished clearing the snow, he headed to other parts of the yard, and was glad to report that no tracks of foxes, or other animals that size were anywhere around. Another gift that can't be measured in dollar bills and coins. We've resisted some kind of critter's efforts to homestead here, to the point that big heavy four by four rafter boards, and chunky garden bricks make edges around the house appear we're expecting another Civil War Fort Sumter.

When my son finished clearing the walks, and did his anti-fox check, we talked for a while, and then each of us went on with our separate lives. He's a little down hearted because some mix up at the Social Security office is delaying his much needed first disability check. I had heard that a relative might be surprising him with an unexpected gift, and was tempted to tell him, but decided that the gift will mean more because it is unexpected. (I am very good at keeping secrets).

Haven't talked with other relatives just lately, but since this post is so miscellaneous, would like you to know that my friend from Korea, who ended up in America, after being abandoned in her homeland, and became a nurse, then almost drowned in alcohol, is doing outstandingly well. For a while after completing a great rehab program, she worked for terribly low wages in a nursing uniform shop, until someone took a chance, and hired her as the nurse she is. She's a good one. I know, because I used to work with her. Just recently she got a promotion. Ever since she came home from the rehab, she's done nothing but make me prouder and prouder of her. If that's not a gigantic gift, I can't imagine what is.

This time last year my son, the one who cleared my walk ways a little earlier here, got very ill at Christmas time, so sick that when the hospital examined him, not one, but three surgeons descended, one at a time in ER, trying to not show how serious it was, saying things that non medical people wouldn't realize, is how they work at not upsetting worried families. Seven days later they removed various tubes and equipment that looked like it had invaded him, and I prayed words and tears of gratitude, that God let me keep this son. I am so grateful, I can't find words to describe what it was like.

I do not know how his son will fare, but since he's been home, he's stayed out of trouble. I do know his father is doing everything he can to steer him in the right directions. If it means humbling himself enough to get food from various charities, I would be the first to volunteer to stand in line for them.

I was born in one horrible depression. I remember much of it, and how little we had, and I can see the one we have will hang around over America, at least awhile, but I will not roll in the negative daily news of it.

Sometimes it's a little scary that my house keeps losing value, and on job interviews I've done lately, though they can't and don't say it, I get the impression they prefer younger and stronger nurses, and maybe that's more of a blessing, than a problem.

For years I've wanted to write a book I've carried around in my head, but I come home from work either worn out, or stressed to the limit, and that's why I know last summer's knee injury is more of a serendipity than a sad accident.

As long as it worked like it had, I didn't look at living any differently. When this holiday time ends, I will be checking other kinds of work. This time off I've had shows me I haven't been living, but only existing, and life is too sacred and short, to settle for only that.

People who play life close to the chest would have a scary card game of this. But if you knew me, you'd understand that taking a chance is less risky to me, and much more interesting, than not finding out if I can. I figure we do have choices, even though we don't seem to.

When the sun comes up in the morning, I can embrace the day, or dread it. A new friend I've found, Mary, at Random Thoughts, is teaching me about giving thanks each morning, instead of presenting our Lord with my wish list. It's kind of like this: We could get hit by a run away eighteen wheeler, or we might win a lottery game. I understand the odds for both are about the same. But being like God wants us is much more of a sure thing, so why not dwell on having a thankful attitude, and what we'd rather have.

In the meantime we have a nearby Christmas. It is time to set other things down, and appreciate the One who holds the world in His hands. I think I'll wrap those presents now, and make the house real pretty, for whoever shows up to celebrate His day.

Christmas Plans

2008-12-07T22:56:00.008-07:00

A few days ago I was wondering why I am so much more wanting to do special things this year for Christmas, and the answer is easy: I am not working right now. I don't have to dread whether or not I can be here when children, and grand children, and even a great grandchild come over. That alone is plenty of reason to enjoy getting ready for it.

Shopping is more fun, too. I don't have to hurry, which may bother those in the stores who do, but I've missed so many Christmases because of working, this one I plan draining every special moment I can from it.

For example, when I opened the door this morning, to get the paper, I heard a sound I've not taken time to hear for a long while. The sound makers hadn't appeared yet, yet, but I knew they would, and exactly according to their unruffled schedule, a huge formation of geese far above my head, reminded me of the renown Blue Angels. They held to their flight plan so close to my house, it was like having a front row seat at an air show, and I was not in a hurry to let go of it.

Later, as I carried pot luck foods to the car for church, I decided to drive there a different way, one that treats you to snow capped views that remind you there is, or needs to be more to life than working.

I thought I might wrap more gifts tomorrow, but a forecast of possibly six inches of snow in the evening changes that. Instead I'll finish packing those going out of town, and send them earlier in the day. Then it can snow all it wants to. Maybe the geese will treat me to another Blue Angel like flyover, before it's time for falling snow, and marshmallows floating around in hot cocoa.

Last week I decorated the tree all by myself. It's nice when you have some help, but the tree was easy to situate, and pretty lights were already on it, so, like a great grand son got to enjoy all by himself at his Nana's at daughter Barb's "A Chelsea morning" tree, I placed every ornament on my tree myself, then reved up three cd's, "A Quiet Family Christmas", with Celtic Harp, and Pan flute, and Josh Groban's "Noel". Oh my Lord, it's an incredibile voice and range he has. I completed the music with "Mannheim Steamroller Christmas Celebration". Whatever kind of Christmas mood you're in, or want to be, one of those will surely supply it.

I was feeling pretty good about my not so organized Christmas game plan. Was looking at some nicely made stand up Santa's, thinking I might surprise daughter Barb with a new one, when I spotted the one thing, the most important Christmas thing of all of them, A Nativity scene.

The regular price wasn't bad, and the store was discounting it even more, but there was only one set, and I noticed an angel was missing a wing, and a closer check showed a wise man had somehow lost part of a hand, but the most noticeable thing was when Joseph and Mary were being led by God's angels to Bethlehem, poor Joseph somehow had lost his head.

A store clerk helped me find it, and the checker said Gorilia glue worked well, but to press it a little to make good contact. I thought it would be easy to glue the head back, and It was such a colorful porcelain, and an impressive wooden manger. What really sealed the deal is, the store manager marked it even lower, and I couldn't wait to get it home, so I could figure out how to give Joseph his head back.

I opened the box it was in, and reached to take Joseph out, to better work with him, and that's when I discovered all the nativity characters were glued somehow to the manger, there was no way I could get Joseph out without breaking him even more, and That's when I knew this Nativity is exactly the kind I need.

First, I tried placing it in the living room, wondering when or if family would notice the breaks, but then I knew just where to set it: Up and over to the right of the computer. easy eye connection to it. Every time I look at it, I remind myself yes, there's been broken pieces of this year, but many more days of almost delight, but it was the ones that needed repair that brought my Lord closer, and I wouldn't trade even a perfect year for that. But it's allright if the geese return whenever they want to, and Snow caps form on the mountain peaks any time they choose, as family gathers again, to share this imperfect Christmas.

How do I love my Lord, Let me count the ways.........

2008-12-03T23:08:00.011-07:00

Perhaps it's the holiday season, and the beautiful things we use to express it, that's gotten hold of me. Tonight I'm overflowing from blessings at my feet.

Last week the about biggest family shopping store in our country, and maybe in the world, tried upping their profit even more, by scheduling shopping hours to begin at five a.m.

Two thousand customers showed up for this insane event, eager to get discounted items; big screen TV's, digital cameras, and other things, and, as most of you probably learned, a man hired to clean the store died because the customers' herd mentality and its greed, valued bargain prices more than life itself.

The news said, not only did the crowd knock the man down, and walk right over him, but were just as violent with those who tried to rescue him. When the store closed for a few hours, after the man died, the crowd sounded a lot like the one that clamored for Jesus to be killed, except the Wal Mart throng, only cared about getting marked down prices, as they did their Christmas shopping. Something is very wrong with anyone who celebrates our Saviour's birth like that.

Laws about killing people will be tested in this death. I'll admit I was shocked, and then so angry, but mostly just so sad that a man died like that. But I could not but feel some pity for human beings who have made material things their imitation gods. What can they celebrate, come Christmas morning? How can this day of holiness mean anything to them.

In the news is surely the most extreme example that kind of thinking has come down to. Some store, I believe a jewelry store in Japan, claims to have the world's most expensive Christmas tree displayed. they were quoted as saying "Economic sentiment is sluggish, but in their store they want people to feel a "gorgeous atmosphere". This article, by Lily Fu, through My Fox National, said the tree is covered in 24K gold, and is decorated with more than 240 jewels; diamonds and pearls, and is worth 1.6 million dollars.

Some may think, or ask, why I'm making such a point about the Wal Mart death, and why should I care if a store in Japan decorates a tree like that. I care, because
when people love anything so much that a person's life no long matters, and 1.6 million dollars is spent to decorate a tree, something's terribly out of balance here.

This Christmas season, I'll admit that buying less expensive gifts has much to do with bank balances, and our nationwide economic disaster. But I think it might be a good thing, even if money wasn't tight, to change how we've been exchanging gifts. This year I scaled shopping way far back. Will have favorite foods for the family, ones we don't have every day. Regular shopping here does not include steak and lobster, but there just may be some shrimp, lots of shrimp.

For gifts I searched for items I know certain loved ones are interested in. Found one early in the year, and am sure a special daughter inlaw will just about love getting. She collects anything she can of Norman Rockwell. I found a book first published in 1946, and again twenty five years later, about 1971. It has pages and pages of his work, and other information about how he painted. You may not care for his kind of drawings, but she sure does, and it won't hurt her feelings that this great book cost me only two dollars at a thrift store. I could tell you other gifts I found there, but the one's they are for read my blog, and you know how that is, so they'll have to wait til Christmas morning.

I may use this way of choosing gifts again. It won't change the attitudes of the Walmart crazed crowd, but that insanity needs to stop somewhere, Maybe if enough of us kept this in mind when shopping, refused to even go there on the day after Thanksgiving, we could make a little difference in the world. We don't have to chime right in with every sales approach stores use to get us there.

I experienced something else today, and am glad that I did. I asked a friend at church to pray for my son who was waiting to find out if he would be approved for being disabled, and the first thing she said was that she would make sure he gets weekly boxes of food the church gives needy people.

On the day to get it, I was running errands anyway, so I went to the church to get it for him. I noticed people were already arriving, so I parked close by, and got in line with them. Some were haviing a hard time staying warm, others milled around a little. No one called each other by name, even though it was obvious they recognized each other. People getting the boxes ready were still busy adding more donations that had come in. be passed out. My Pastor saw me, and motioned for me to come inside, where he was helping with it.

Each person waiting seemed in their own mental world. I didn't see much eye contact between them. A kind of quiet hovered, perhaps to ward off embarrassment from needing help. My pastor's helpers took a big box of food for my son to the car. They were happy to learn that his disability came through for him.

I stood in the coldness a moment, staring up at the steeple above my church, and then back at the line lingering at a door, I don't think I can forget how it felt to be one of them, there in the coldness waiting for the food.

I don't know where all the foods come from. Stores give some. Other places donate items like beans and noodles, even a package of cranberries big enough for families. My son really appreciated getting the help.

I've been trying to convince my grandson it's better for him to be in college now, than to spend his time on low paying jobs that won't much help his future. In talking with him I figured out he's not sure he can do it well. He has this mixed up notion that a GED is not as good as being in school.

I tried explaining there's more than one way of learning, but that doesn't mean how you do it doesn't count. What he was really saying is he does not think he can. Times like this, grand mothers need to think of something, so I told him if he held on to his opinion, he might convince himself even more, but he still wouldn't be educated, and he would be arguing with the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and maybe the Marines. (I'm not sure about the Navy Seals) because I think some military branches now teach recruits how to earn GED's.

Imagine how happy I was when I took the food box to my son and grandson today, and they told me they plan to check with a nearby college for information and details on how to start the needed paper work. If I could send you a cute little picture of myself, my ankles would be suspended as I'm clicking my heels. and repeating: "The yellow brick road leads to higher learning". "What if he can!, What if he can!"

I thank all of you who prayed for my son needing help with being disabled. I wish you could know how much he has changed his life, while having a very hard time just trying to get by. This is a huge blessing for him. My next prayer request is that my grandson heads for college, so his future has a better chance of doing well. How do I love my Lord, may I never forget.

Angels In The Strangest Places

2008-11-27T17:50:00.019-07:00

Dear and caring Linds at "Rocking Chair Reflections" sent me a note that she's been checking to see if I've done new posts. After a recent run of literary dryness, or perhaps worse, I wrote one last night, so I hurried to check it.

I have a habit that isn't a good one. When I do write I get in too much hurry, and then need to proof it more, and make corrections, and that's what I spent some time last night doing. Thought I saved it, but I must have deleted it instead.

You might have enjoyed at least parts of it, for I wrote about how grand it is to be an American, and why Thanksgiving is so important to us. Never mind that football and the huge parade, with Santa showing up at the end of it, takes up most of this great holiday, barely leaving time for our overstuffed bods to sleep it off some.

I mentioned things that parallel the 1929 depression with the one we're in now, and emphasized ways to help us through it. I ended this lost post by suggesting that a thankful attitude is the most important thing, and it is important. But as I reread what I'd written, I wouldn't be surprised, and would certainly understand, if most of you stopped reading it several paragraphs ago.

I will try to make up for all this verbal droning by sharing what took place today. Our country's Wall Street money market collapsed, sending huge corporations, and banks into meltdowns, and Jobs disappeared even more quickly because companies weren't doing well, and people out of work increased more quickly than laid off workers could comprehend the sudden pink slip that came with their last paycheck.

I am doing O.K, even though I'm between jobs right now. Had expected to make a big profit from selling this house in a few years, and The chances for that now do not look promising, with home values decreasing, and other investments also now worth less. and it will probably take longer for those values to get better.

A son of mine is barely surviving because he has serious back injuries, and other medical problems that prevent him from working almost all on his feet, He is waiting for results of a hearing that will decide whether he's approved for disability. He is doing what work he can. Is not lazy, does not expect anyone, especially his mother, to pay his way. But I do help all I can, and have my church praying for him, and other caring persons to intercede. It is hard to feel positive about this, for the review of it can go either way.

When I pray I ask God to help him have hope and patience, and that whoever makes the decision realizes how much he needs it. This morning before he and I and his son met other family members to share Thanksgiving, I prayed as usual, and found myself asking God to send someone to encourage not only my son, but also me.

A few hours later we all met at a buffet type place, and as soon as we got a table, I found a plate, and knife and fork, and headed straight to where they serve good meat; ham, roast beef, turkey, even steak. I wasn't sure where the line for it ended, and being in a holiday mood, was perhaps a little silly. Said something really stupid, or dumb to a lady standing nearby, that the line was so long I should have brought a book. I should mention here that when we arrived, I noticed more latinos than usual there, and then I noticed a young man who looked like he might be Latino, standing just ahead of me in the serving line. He appeared friendly and gracious, and when he heard my dumb comment, smiled and said I could go ahead of him in line. I didn't think I should do that, and declined, but he kept looking at me. There was just something about him I hardly know how to tell, so I groped for nicer comments, asked him how he liked eating there, and then I just popped out with "Where are you from?" He explained he was with a Christian Latino youth event in Denver, and mentioned the name of his church group, and asked mine, and I told him.

The line was long, so we talked more. I could tell his faith is important to him. He said he loved the church work he does, that he's a Youth Minister. I complemented him on that. Said it's nice to meet a young person who isn't doing awful things we read about in the paper.

By then he was close to being served, and wouldn't be in line anymore. I remembered what I asked God for this morning, so I touched the young man's arm, and said: "Would you pray for my son? Thinking when he was with his church group again, they would lift him up to our Lord. I didn't mention his needs, only that he needed prayer. He said he would, and I'm thinking, "Good", one more person, maybe more, will be praying for him.

By now the young man had meats on his plate, and thinking that was the end of our conversation. I thanked him for praying, and started back to my table, but he walked a little slower in front of me, and motioned to a quieter place to stand while people walked around us, maybe not even noticing. Somewhere between the meats in the grill, and the huge coffee makers waiting for us to drain them, he touched my shoulder and asked my son's name, and entreated God for him. Across the way I could see my son at our table, and I thought: "Right this moment someone is praying for you".

For a while I can believe he will soon no longer need to go to food banks, or collect thrown away rusty old stuff made of metal, that he now gets less money for, because its value is also affected by this Depression, that touches all levels of our society. But God still reigns. I know He does, because He sent a stranger He placed just ahead of me in the food line, who looked like a young Latino Christian man, but he may have been an angel, collecting messenges for God.

Holding Up The Arm Of The Lady With The Lamp

2008-11-07T20:22:00.019-07:00

For more than a few weeks I've worked hard, helping out at election headquarters. Between that and minimal housecleaning, and doing some nursing shifts, I'm not sure where I left off here.

It may have been when I stayed in this small room several days, waiting for the furnace to be repaired. It wasn't bad, for I discovered it's much warmer, getting through winter either sitting here at the computer, or snuggling into a bed I made here from my old futon. I about lost count of all the covers on it, but then, whose counting!

This time of year is when I get more serious about self improvement, and learning new things, or sharpening what I may know about some. Reading three books may not sound like a lot, but compared to none, it's a good number. I started with Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior", then added "More Jesus, Less Religion" by Stephen Arterburn and Jack Felton and am almost through one called "The Reflective Life". by Ken Gire. This last one gets into some, though not heavy Psychology, which makes it more appealing to me. Mostly, I really like how the three authors write.

In "The Reflective Life, the author engages the reader by leading him or me, carefully through how to apply his teaching. Keeping it as simple as I can, he encourages some pauses in our days, to read the moment, (See what's on the surface of things), then reflect on the moment, (see what's beneath the surface), and thirdly, (to respond to the moment). Moment, of course is understood to be whatever we notice or take in during our day. and responding is giving what we've seen a place to live in our heart.

I've been trying to pay attention more closely, for this sounds like good advice. It might get us out of our own little worlds for a while. But you know how busy we all seem to be, rushing around as fast as ever, and after all, have a lot going on.

I decided I needed to fight off cold weather doldrums. Felt some cabin fever closing in, and did what any smart woman would. Grabbed my shoes and my purse and drove to the nearest store. Needed hair coloring and a few other things, and wasted more time than either of my daughters' would, choosing some. It's a silly ritual I don't think I'll ever shake, that awful Great Depression soft shooing about the prices of everything.

Chose the middle price this time, and headed to a check out lane. On the way to the hair coloring I had noticed a special edition of Time magazine about the election, but didn't like the price. Good grief, it was almost as expensive as the hair coloring.

I am crazy about books, and looked at some new ones, then passed on them, but I really wanted that Time magazine. I did some fast aritimetic, hurried back and switched the hair coloring to the cheaper one, which would make the magazine about half price, and with that silent agony completed, hurried back to the check out line, stopping only to get my magazine.

It's kind of nutty to waste that much time picking out anything, then not want to stand in line a few minutes. Lines are where people who live alone get a chance to meet others, and today two customers were ahead of me. The first was a couple, who didn't have many items, and then there was a lady all by herself.

I'm bringing up the end of the line. The clerk rings up the couple's order. It's a black man and a white women and they look about in their early sixties. The line gets quiet while they figure out what they can leave off,
a package of wrapped cheese slices. The clerk sets them aside, and completes their order, but I call out to her, "It's O.K., I'll buy it". The couple
picks up their bags and are starting to leave, but I call out again, "It's allright, I'll pay for it". I didn't want to embarrass them, or call attention to myself. But I just thought it sad that they didn't have that small amount of money, or couldn't spend it for some cheese they wanted.

The clerk rang up the customer in between us, and I'm standing there, thinking, I'm paying more for a magazine I don't have to have, and they can't even pay for the cheap kind of cheese. You'd have thought I had done a really big thing. They thanked me over and over. My stuff was still on the counter, so I just stood there, holding my Time magazine, and when they thanked me again, I held up its picture of our new president, and smiled at them, as they both said "God bless you", as they were leaving.

I'm not expecting overnight fixes for so many huge problems with our country, and our people. I don't know if I'll ever stop doing my little depression era mental shuffle thing. But I think I understand more now what the book about reflective living is trying to teach me.

I walked to my car, and noticed that the store clerk had bagged my magazine separately, so it wouldn't get messed up. I turned up the volume of Springsteen's "Born In the U S A." Jimmy Buffet's Margaritiville, and Cheeseburger in Paradise didn't seem big enough exclamation points for me, for today. I boogied with the "Boss" singing all the way home.

In checking for phone messages, a new one was from another place I'd applied for a nursing job, and when I started to put my grocery receipt away, I noticed the clerk had given me a three dollars off coupon for more hair coloring. Then I remembered that the book about reflective living mentioned something about how Our Lord uses ordinary everyday things, to get us to listen to Him.

A Corner of the World

2008-10-18T22:56:00.008-06:00

To keep in touch, hello again everybody. the critter that was hanging around before is back. Tell tell signs it leaves are clear. Some neighbors think it's a fox. One is sure it's skunk. If I could choose, I'd go with the fox. I hurried to a store, and got a new supply of ammonia. That's what the wildlife department wants used to deter the poor little thing. As much as I don't like knowing one's so close around, still, it is sad that it has to try so hard to make a den in this people oriented place it is stuck in.

I have never been as much a part of an election, but I am with this one. I have some time between jobs, so can help more. Filled out my mail in ballot, and took it to the post office where a clerk was more than helpful about the correct amount of postage needed. He mentioned they are getting big numbers of the ballots, at least fifty or more daily. and that's only one post office branch.

I helped with making calls at a different place today. Worked with a group of young Americans I am so proud of. They're not old and slower like I'm getting to be. I could feel their determination, their youthful energy. I loved watching their mapping out what to do when. It was encouraging, how organized they approached everything. I suppose in the military we would see this too, only amplitied many times over. We should recognize the dedication these young men and women so readily give to choose a leader for us all. It makes up many times over for the voter apathy or just plain indifference by some. Thank God above a few determined souls cared enough, and were willing to risk everything they had to put our America on the map of the world.

Other good news: I got a nursing job that's only three miles away, Will be working with Alzheimer people, and those with other kinds of dementia. Will start with it this coming week. Now, if I could just relocate that wild little animal that keeps trying to dig under my house, I'd think the economy and everything else that's falling apart in our country was so much better. Thinking of the animal trying so hard to carve out a place to be, reminds me that I've decided this cozy little room, my computer office, is where I'll be sleeping til warmer weather. Wherever you are, I hope you are snug and warm, and look forward to a better tomorrow.

Shelter From The Storm May Be Closer Than You Think

2008-10-15T10:26:00.015-06:00

I don't want to ever forget how it felt. The dark unfriendly coldness of my house surrounded my shoulders like a heavy mantle pressing down on me. The furnace had stopped working, and could not be repaired for four days, four more days of colder weather.

I went into survival mode immediately, and felt much better. Whoever built this house wisely installed, in addition to the furnace, some electrical baseboard heating in the little room I'd made into an office.

When I moved in, family thought it strange that I insisted that my couch be put in there. But insist I did, explaining that here in Colorado someone I workled with might need a temporary bed in one of our unpredictable snow storms.

By folding quilts and blankets, I made twice as much cover. Bed time almost became a ritual, as I scurried down into it. Using the computer, and many of my books filled the days I had to wait for the furnace to be checked. Except when I needed to hurry in and out of the cold kitchen or the bathroom, I was quite cozy.

Instead of keeping water with ice in it to drink, a habit I got into, I refilled the bottle with very warm water. My diet soon became hot cocoa, sometimes apple cider, and soups and chili. This was no time for eating icecream.

But even in this rearranged environment, some days cabin fever threatened, to the point that I just got up and went away for a while, which is what I'm gonna do today. My shopping list, if I can find them, includes a pair of Long Johns, and some fuzzy socklike things with the non skid bottoms for my feet.

As I waited for the furnace man, it was difficult to not dread how big the bill might be. But I fought off the worrying by making another cup of Cocoa, and curling up under that nice warm cover for what might be the very last time there.

I enjoyed shaking off the chill of going to the kitchen. Leaned back, and then I smiled at what I was thinking. I'm not putting things back like they were. The covers will stay where they are. Who says you have to have an emergency to remember the pleasure of simple things.

I don't know if whoever installed the electrical heating ever considered what he might be paying forward. But if I get the chance to shield some poor soul from a winter storm, I will let them use this great place to be, but only for as long as the storm lasts, then again it will be all mine.

Promises For Tomorrow.

2008-10-04T13:42:00.020-06:00

"I will never eat graham flour biscuits again." was the earliest promise I remember making to myself. Though It was probably whole wheat, so better for us, it made such ugly biscuits, like the Great Depression turned our town; all heavy and dark. Not light and fluffy like Grandma's biscuits were. Her's looked and tasted so good they made it easier to get the oatmeal down. We also were given dried prunes and other staples when my Mom and I would stand in line with the throng of other hungry families back then.

My father spent his time searching for work. But there wasn't any anymore. If you've read this to here, you may wonder why it's so somber, and what is the point. Last week, before America's Wall Street disaster eclipsed the news, I was thinking of posting about our national election. I do like the idea of our new president coming from a life of hardship, and being poor, but taking himself above and beyond that, to the point that he can run for president. But I'll not get into all that's transpired while two men vie for this most important job in our country. The media has already beaten this election almost to death. Weeks ago I stopped even listening to the ugliness of it.

What I would like to share, is not just how bleak the Dpression time was, but the effects of it that linger almost eighty years later. My own children, when they hear me plead "Depression era thinking" to explain away my behavior or an old attitude, may feel I could change it, if I'd just try. But the roots of this approach to life are heavily chained to our heritage and our culture. The difference in then and now is that I can't remember the last time I heard the expression, "A penny saved is a penny earned." I don't hear much about planning to save for the proverbial rainy day. Most of the time, when people talk about money, it has more to do with buying things.

I chide myself for nickeling and diming even inexpensive things in a store. If I were wealthy, I would probably still cringe at the cost of a good steak, and I really love a good one. This approach to the marketplace carries over into all areas of our lives. I will want to send a nice present to someone, but I get in a store, and compare if I could buy something cheaper.

This isn't to reflect how much or how little I care about someone. It is that old almost ancient habit that's been driving me all my life. Standing in line with my Mom to get the ugly brown flour we so needed, and the dried prunes was a big part of the start of this concept. But what I've realized is that it spreads everywhere in our lives.

Years ago when I was doing a self starter college program, an outstanding psychogist who taught me wrote comments on assignments I turned in. She said things like, "Judith, this is higher level work than being only for a Bachelor's degree. and you did it better than many students would have," (Even as I write this I fear someone may think I am puffing up my ability) But not long ago, while looking for other papers, I chanced upon that college assignment again, and this time could easily tell the instructor was completly right in what she said. Because I've so yearned to educate myself, much of the emphasis in my case is on learning. For others it may be in different areas of their lives.

Something else I now question is having low self esteem, that it may not always be that, but is those ancient depression concepts still terribly affecting one's life.

As I make new promises to myself, I feel a freedom I've not known before. Perhaps a little like Scarlet in "Gone With the Wind" when, at the defeat of the South in our Civil War, with her fist held high toward the sky, declares: "Tomorrow is another day."

One Brief Shining Moment

2008-09-19T13:52:00.012-06:00

Sorry I've been away so much lately. Maybe this post will explain some of it. Do you think having time on your hands isn't always a good thing, or then perhaps it is. Yesterday I was mulling over, for I don't know how many times, when I can retire. I mean really retire.

I've tried to a few times, which my coworkers must have been convinced of. So far I've had three going away parties, one of which was a huge surprise, but something is wrong with this celebrating, because I'm still working.

The other day, I was feeling the edge of Autumn nudging me toward what will soon follow: coming home on icy, snowbanked roads at midnight or later. Crawling into the car on the passenger side because the door lock froze. Working myself into a nervous fit, worrying if the battery will die, and just plain dreading driving those miles again, not to mention the cost of it.

That's what whirled around and around inside me. So for I don't know how many times, I got out the budget book, and figured dollars and cents again, and wrote it on a sticky note, and put it in front of me. To make sure my numbers were exactly right, I drove to the bank and checked them out. Before going inside, I stayed in the car a moment, and talked it over with God. I said "Dear Lord, if I manage money better, cutting back some here and there, I think this might work, and with your help, it will be alright". Then I hurried inside, and the dollar signs were fine. I can't tell you the freedom I felt as I walked back to the car.

If anyone had seen me close up, muttering to myself, I might be put on the dementia unit, instead of working it. This would be for real, this time for sure, I would retire. The drive home felt like I was in the air. No more halfway doing this, and no more making those long scary drives. It was one of those moments you know you'll never forget, and would love telling somebody, but you're so happy, the words wouldn't make sense.

That's how I was feeling when I walked into the house, threw my purse on a chair, and checked for phone messages. "Judith, this is Director of Nursing --------- at ---------- I've checked your work application, and we have some openings. Please call me so we can set a time for you to come in".

That's how my fourth attempt to retire went up in thin air, like the Magic Dragon, and disappeared. But this one will be hard to ignore. If I get this job it will be only three miles from home.

Life and work will come and sometimes pass us by, but that one brief shining moment, it is mine all mine.

Nine Eleven, 2001 to 2008.

2008-09-11T01:35:00.008-06:00

I had to play the music of it again. Some of the songs of it, for a moment suggested a faint happy step. Bruce Springsteen can do that to you, and he did, in "the Rising"; His "Lonesome Day" grabs your gut, and doesn't let go until he sings "You're missing", My City of Ruins", and other songs about that day, I hope always haunt me.

Where were you, what were you doing on Nine Eleven? I was sleeping in because I'd worked late, and only faintly heard the phone, but let the recorder take it, When I did get up, the little red light on it led me to a message from my son; something about a plane crashing into something but I would get more information after a bathroom stop, and a first cup of coffee.

After those two simple things we do on ordinary days. although I didn't realize it, I stepped into a shock induced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that wouldn't turn loose of me for days. I went to work as usual, and somehow got through it, kind of like flying on automatic. But then I'd go home, and see more on TV and be mesmerized by the unbelief of it.

I remember being at a store, and seeing a newspaper headline about another plane crashing somewhere in Pennsylvania, and thinking I should hurry home, and make sure my daughter who lives there is O.K. But my body couldn't keep up with my mind, Horrible things, which the TV kept showing do not happen in America. Not only was I affected by PTSD, I put myself into denial, like perhaps millions of other Americans did that day.

My next thought was that I must have a flag, and a map of the world. because I didn't know exactly where these terrorists who killed thousands of Americans that day were from, but I was pretty sure our government did, and I had this great need to know what would be next. In the meantime I had to wait to find a flag. The stores were sold out.

They practiced flying planes in Florida. Nobody noticed that they only wanted to know how to fly into something, not how to get out. Others sailed right through what we think are safe borders to our country. Whoever gets elected to lead our country needs to take a closer look at that.

These days, even with a presidential election looming, when I drive to the local marketplace, I still don't see many flags. I was encouraged by something my son and his son said this evening. Both of them took time to register to vote. Always, since I was old enough, I do. The terrorists would strip us of that. But I owe so much to those who gained me that right, so I must pay it forward. If I don't get called out to work a nursing shift, I will be at the phonebank making calls tomorrow, and if my wounded knee can, this weekend I will help with door to door canvassing. Whatever I can do, I will dedicate to the three thousand or more who died on that day Springsteen sings about:

"Can't see nothin' in front of me, Can't see nothin' coming up behind. I make my way through this darkness, I can't feel nothing but this chain that binds me.

Lost track of how far I've gone, how high I've climbed,

On my back's a sixty pound stone, on my shoulder a half mile of line,

Come on up for "The Rising".

The Making Of America.

2008-08-31T19:19:00.034-06:00

Lately I've been watching politicians carefully and closely. Looking for their platforms, and their favored causes, I got so deep in all of this I dragged out history books. Old ones, 'cause that's where you'll find the real stuff, events you were part of. Whoever wrote them can't make us more campaign promises, or how the economy will be, or wars will turn out. It is just what it is.

Seeing the one hundred year event in Denver this week, noticing the candidates' fresh new hope, gave me energy to work longer at campaign headquarters, making call after call. I am on such a high about this election, almost makes me wish I could be for both parties. The voices I heard from the other end of the phone calls make me remember how much we need great leaders for our country. Most of those voices sounded eager for better tomorrows for all of us,

As our country's government formed, an unlikely social triangle developed that in many ways continues today. Its three parts were the slavery of Blacks; the treatment of Native Americans, and the refusal to allow basic human rights to women.

When I set out to write this, I thought to show facts only about this trio, but realized that many aspects of the prevaling culture they found themselves in greatly affected their time on this earth.

The following list at the end of my thoughts here grows and grows. It is taken from Culture And Important Dates In American History, The New York Public Library Desk Reference, 3rd. edition, A Simon and Shuster MacMillan Company: 1633 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10019. Copyright 1988, 1989, 1993.

1607- The first European settlement in America is established at Jamestown, Virginia.

1619- The first black slaves land at Jamestown, Virginia.

1619- The first representative assembly in America, is established in Virginia.

1647- Margaret Brent is the first woman to claim the right to vote.

1688- The first formal protest against slavery is made, by Pennsylvania Quakers.

1712- A slave revolt in New York leads to the excution of 21 blacks; 6 commit suicide.

1741- The second slave uprising takes place in New York; 13 are hanged, 13 burned; and 71 deported.

1749- Black slavery is legalized in Georgia.

1758- The first Indian reservation is established.

1779- George Washington orders a military campaign against the Iroquois, The Battle of
Tippecanoe, thwarting plans for an Indian Confederacy.

1808- The importation of slaves is outlawed. 250,000 are illegally imported between
and 1860.

1811- While Shawnee Chief Tecumseh is away making alliances with other tribal
eaders, Indiana Governor, Wm. Henry Harrison and one thousand men destroy his
settlement in the Battle of Tippecanoe, thwarting plans for an Indian confederacy.

1830- President Jackson signs the "Indian Removal Act."

1838- Cherokees begin "the Trail of Tears", their 1200 mile forced march to Oklahoma.

I848- The first Women's Rights Convention is held in Seneca Falls, N Y.

1857- The Dred Scott decision by the Supreme Court upholds Slavery. This decision also
stated that slaves are not citizens of any state, or of the United States.

1860- A nationwide shoemakers' strike wins workers higher wages, and the National Labor
Union is founded.

1861- The Civil War begins.

1862- Slavery is abolished in Washington, D. C.

863- President Lincoln issues the Emancipation Proclomation, freeing the slaves.

1864- Black prisoners of war are massacred by Confederate soldiers at Fort Pillow, Tennessee.

864- One hundred thirty three Cheyenne and Arapahoe are killed by Colorado Cavalry v
volunteers at Sand Creek, the Sand Creek Massacer.

1865- The Confederacy surrenders, and the Civil War ends.

1865- The Ku Klax Klan is formed in Pulaski, Tennessee.

I868- The fourteenth amendment is ratified. Grants due process to all but Native Americans.

1869- Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony establish the National Women's Suffrage
Association to press for women's voting rights.

1872- Susan B Anthony is arrested for voting.

1875- The Civil Rights Act gives equal rights to Blacks in public accomodations, and jury duty.

1896- The Supreme Court upholds the "Separate but Equal" doctrine.

1903- Mary Harris leads a week long march of child mill workers from Pennsylvania, to President Theodore Roosevelt's New York City home.

1905- The Niagra Movement later to become the NAACP, is founded.

1908- Women demonstrate in New York City, demanding an end to sweat shops and child
labor.

1911- The triangle Shirt Waste fire in New York City kills 146 Sweat Shop workers, mostly
women, and leads to demands for better working conditions.

1914- The Colorado National Guard burns a striking miners'camp and kills thirteen children
and seven adults in the Ludlow Massacre.

1915- The Women's International Leage for Peace and Freedom is founded, and 25,000
women march in New York City, demanding the right to vote.

1916- The national Women's Party is founded. The first birth control clinic opens in Brooklyn.

916- Margaret Sanger is arrested for operating a birth control clinic.

1917- Women picket the White House for the right to vote.

1920- Hallelujah! It's about time........Fifty one years after Stanton and Anthony began

campaigning for it, the ratification of the 19th amendment gives women the right
to vote, and the Leage of Women Voters is founded.

1921- The Ku Klux Klan begins a revival against Blacks in the North, South and Midwest.

1921- Margaret Sanger establishes the American Birth Control Leage, the predecessor to
Planned Parenthood.

1923- Under presidential pressure, U. S. Steel institutes the eight hour work day.

1924- Native Americans are declared citizens by Congress.

1929- The Stock Market crashes, and the Great Depression begins.

1933- President Roosevelt closes all U.S. banks during 100 days. A special session of
.Congress passes the National Recovery Administration and the Tennessee Valley
Authority, TVA, and the WPA.

1935- The National Labor Relations Act, recognizing workers' right to organize and bargain collectively, passes.

1935- President Roosevelt signs the Social Security Act

1944- Congress passes the G I Bill of rights, providing veterans' benefits.

1965- The Supreme Court holds that "the rite of privacy" covers the use of contraceptives.

1967- Two hundred thousand people march against the Vietnam war, in New York City.

1971- Five hundred thousand demonstrate in Washington D. C. against what some call
America's Longest War, Vietnam.

1973- Oglala Sioux occupy Wounded Knee, South dakota, and declare an independent Oglala
Sioux nation.

1978- The "Longest Walk" by 300 Native Americans begins, to protect treaty rights.

It takes a while to get through three wars, and the need to change important things in our country. I could not list them all here. What I got from revisiting this part of our history
is that our freedoms did not come easily. Many died. Many were treated horribly, and those who campaigned on our behalf for women's rights were ridiculed and disdained, as if they did not know their assigned place in society.

Those who live on Indian reservations could use some charity from we who live more freely. If you really care about the social plight our race placed on blacks, resolve to have no part in keeping it alive with off color jokes, or stories thinly disguised as humor. While much has been achieved regarding women having basic rights, there is more to be done. The best way I know to strengthen a right is to use it, as in this coming election. Every time I pull a voting machine lever, I will remember that brave souls before me made sure I could.

Everyday Life And Flag Waving

2008-08-20T00:50:00.011-06:00

At the risk of sounding a little like Charles Dickens, it was the best of shifts, it was the worst of shifts, depending upon your perspective. A required employee meeting chewed up almost two hours of our time, but starting late was only one part of the problem.

As I neared the nursing station, some things looked rearranged, I thought housekeeping was doing heavy duty cleaning. But that usually didn't entail moving more than sixty patients' medical charts somewhere else.They were nowhere around. Then I noticed most of the stations' chairs were gone, and buckets of icky looking stuff setting around, and rolls of carpet stuck out in places you wouldn't want a child to play on, and certainly not eighty to ninety plus year old patients to walk around.

Records and forms and nursing care helps looked like they weren't stacked anywhere, but had landed wherever somebody tossed them. Phones were rearranged in places hard to get to quickly. In the halls workmen were installing new carpet. As they slathered sticky stuff on the floor with tools that looked like giant pancake flippers, it reminded me of a children's story character and his blue ox, Babe, greasing a giant griddle to make their pancakes on.

But I quickly returned to the reality of getting patients to and from the dining room for supper, and trays to those who stayed in their rooms, and doing baths, and how I could give medicines before the patients fell asleep.

I trudged down the hall, careful to not step in the way of the workers, and knocked on the room of a lady I thought may be German. Other times I've been in her room, I've noticed she has a small red, white and blue miniature stuffed elephant that is waving an American flag. She seems happy someone takes time to be with her, so I ask how she feels about the election, and a torrent of emotion surprises me.

"I come from Germany,", she says, "A long time ago". Her teeth seem to be closer together. It is like they bite down to hold a thought as she speaks. "We lost everything. They took everything." She stops for a moment, and I worry she is over tired, but she's only remembering. "We had a fine home, and a summer home, with a lake, and cars. And we had money.Somehow we get to America, a place called Tennessee", She gets very quiet. Her teeth and her shoulders relax, then she looks at her little stuffed elephant who is still flag waving, and smiles at me. "In America we vote" she says, and her words erase my concerns about getting through the shift, or how our country will be. "In America we vote."

Life Moving On.

2008-08-18T11:18:00.009-06:00

The last time I was here much of it was about going on a job interview. I still don't know if the assisted living place may offer it to me, but either way is alright. I've decided to not work there.

It is a beautiful place for the elderly to live in and enjoy, but not the kind of work I'm looking for. Most of the time I'd be doing huge amounts of paper work, and have very little interaction with the residents. There are also concerns about breaching guidelines for knowing residents' whereabouts, and handling medications, especially narcotics. I don't see the job interview as a waste of time. I think it's good to learn various kinds of caregiver places, and it's another study in being interviewed. I learned things in this one that could help in others. So I'll keep working where I am for now, and not worry about where I may be later, for there are other things to be doing.

Some of you ask how the book I'm writing is coming along, and I'm happy to tell you this morning I wrote chapter 14. Woman doesn't live only to work at home or in the village meeting place. It helps to have something else you so love doing, so we don't give the drudgery of making a living more importance than we should.

Other news to share, if you haven't already, click on "A Chelsea Morning" to see daughter, Barb smiling out at you on her birthday. Chances are you may also see her two so loved grand children, and of course, the name sake of her blog, the poor little doggy who got febrezed, but survived it. Another daughter you all know, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface" is back home after a marathon to choose their next home. When she has time to exhale, we will probably see pictures of it, with plans for turning it into a home.

Nothing outstanding going on here. It's nice not having broken car door handles. But two or three days of heavy rain made new leaks in the sun room. I consider myself greatly blessed that a son lives nearby, and has already got the supplies to fix them.

No complaints, life is good. It is time to put on my scrubs, and go see how the patients at the nursing home are doing. Hope your day is going as well as mine.

Miscellaneous Prayers and Thanks.

2008-08-15T22:48:00.004-06:00

I owe much of what's happening to "Rocking Chair Reflections" Linds. When I went on and on recently about how to change my work situation, Linds said this: "God has plans. But like Moses, we need to step into the water before He parts it".

I struggled with the discomfort of making big changes; leaving some things, while reaching for others, and decided Linds is right.

I don't know how good a swimmer Moses may have been. I barely qualified as a dog paddler. I embarrassed my whole family once by chickening out on the town's high school high dive, and crawled back down the pool ladder. But I'm here to tell you I am ready to try again. A few days ago I spent hours filling out job aplications, and took two of them to local nursing places. Today one of them called, wanting me to come talk with them. I think there's a chance I may get the job. So thank you for your caring and your prayers.

Considering my hesitating to "take the plunge", I wonder why some of us sometime put up with the familiar, when we know how bad it is, instead of dealing with having to make changes. I think important things are sometimes mislabeled. What can possibly be comfortable about that mysterious comfort zone, that leaves you hanging; kind of like when I was on the high dive.

Life, Its Bits And Pieces

2008-08-13T00:08:00.011-06:00

Daughter Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning" said something I can learn from. She's been sewing endless hours, turning her little Santa stars inside out. It's intricate work you need tweezers for, for crying out loud, until she said she couldn't look another Santa star in the face, or words to that effect. Being her mom, I understand her Southern expressions, and I also recognize overload. as she sews like she's a one woman factory.

Barb dealt with it by setting her Santa stars aside, and enjoying a few nanoseconds of the Olympics, and then declaring war aganst killer crickets. I dealt with my own kind of stress by getting together with a friend and her six year old daughter. We were to have supper and then go to church. Because they are Korean, choice of where to eat is almost always oriental, which is fine with me, as long as there's some shrimp. I'm quite a bit like Forrest Gump's army buddy, I don't need a menu, just name the different ways to cook those oceanic crawfish.

As soon as we got to this marvelous place, the little girl, who can fix her own plate now, headed straight for the seafood. She piled several clams cooked in their shells, and steamed mussels, and a shis- ke-bab of to die for chicken, and topped it all off with, that's right, shrimp. She eats like her mother, adores foods loaded with protein. Doesn't waste empty stomach space on fattening carbs.

I've come to believe she also thinks like her mother. A few years ago her mom and I worked in the same nursing home. I'd heard there was some heavy drinking going on, but didn't know how serious it was, until it got so bad she ended up in a rehab program. That was about four years ago, and she has, as they say down South, done herself proud.

It was a no nonsense live in rehab. Their rules were designed to help alcoholics reclaim their lives, and while a big number of them fell by the wayside, she did it well. As a nurse, she was governed by the state nursing board. Numerous required therapy meetings, and expensive lab tests went on for a few years.

No one would hire her in nursing. There's much abuse in the medical field of narcotics and alcohol. What I remember most about her ultimate fall in it, is that never, not ever once did she put the blame, the responsibility for what she had done on anyone else. Words like haughty and being too proud are not in her vocabulary. She is thankful and humbled by all of it. Last year a nursing home hired her. No more paychecks of only seven or eight dollars an hour.

We sat in the heavily seafood laced buffet, my own plate piled as high as the six year olds, and there's still different kinds of shrimp we haven't checked. I may never get to the dessert bar. I asked my old nursing partner what's going on in her life now. and wasn't at all surprised when she said she's paying off some bills, and soon will begin her R.N. training, and after that plans to become a physician's assistant. It wouldn't be socially right to not include my friend's bursting with energy daughter in our conversation. I love asking little people questions because they are so honest, and still hold on to hope and wonder. I said, as if it were frivolous, tell me again what you plan to be when you grow up. Last year this child was so taken with how my stethoscope worked, and perhaps saw one hanging on a nurse's shoulders, she decided to become a nurse. But knowing it's much more than that, and today there may be more options, I gently suggested, "you don't have to stop at being a nurse. If you want to, you can be a doctor." That's how our talk went then. Today, when I asked the growing up question again, my young friend gleamed at me, and said, as calmly as her mom had about her future, "I want to be a scientist." I couldn't let something that important just lay, so I asked her what scientists do. She said they wear pretty white lab coats with big pockets, and do things that help people cure diseases. Contrary to what you'll hear in the morning news, I think our country is in pretty good hands with this generation.

Breaking Free

2008-08-11T12:47:00.013-06:00

I haven't written much here lately, but what I have has been negative, or leaning that way, and I feel I should apologize for laying that on you. But there is hope, there's a lot of it.

Help for dealing with life's problems comes from various places. I suppose if I don't listen to God's and His angels' hints about it, He or they try something else to get my attention. Yesterday a gem of that came from across the Seas. Though she has more than enough to deal with, herself, Linds at "Rocking Chair Reflections" wrote a beautiful and helpful devotional about stones. It was much more than thoughts on what our earth is made of, and she ended it by asking what we do with the stones in our lives.

I had to think some on that, for many have come my way. I am not turning negative again here, I promise. I answered Lind's question this way. I thank God for lots of things, but more than any of the good things, I thank Him for the stones rained down on me. I didn't like it when some of them fell, but oh the serendipities they bring.

I remember a psychology teacher, to get across a point, told of being in a special needs class, where another student bullied her. My teacher would not talk, would not say anything. She just sat there staring ahead, and they assumed she was deaf and dumb.

When her teacher wasn't looking, the other student would pull her hair, or kick her under the seats, but she didn't fight back, until one day he leaned over and spit right on her face, and the insult of it woke her sleeping fears she had until then, protected with muteness. That little girl eventually earned a Masters' degree, and stands out as the best of college instructors.

We need to understand that David had much more going for him than fighting the giant who expected to turn him into putty. Chances are David wasn't thinking of anything then, but where to aim the stones he held in his hands. We know the rest of it. We do have some choices when we hold the stones life sends. We can keep our fears and doubts about ourselves tucked away, but not using our strengths, our talents, our possibilities, is a giant price to pay for dodging the stones.

That is how I feel about my knee injury. And my awful working conditions. I think you might even be a little proud of me. When work called today, wanting me to work a station none of you would leave your Mom or Dad on, I told them no. There are jobs somewhere, maybe even different kinds of jobs. I truly believe God didn't take care of me all these years, to leave me to work in a place like that. But there is something else that is important, too.

God had future plans for young David, and He has plans for you and me. Perhaps I will not write a best seller, or do any other creative thing. The point of this is, if I'm constantly dealing with knee pain, or working conditions that suck life out of me, all of my energy goes for those things. Not much is left for talents or abilities the stones keep me from seeing. Creativity
and contemplative thinking cannot begin. So bring the stones to me. I will deal with the job hunting, and tonight I'll write another chapter of my book. I cannot stand wading in this wasteland that keeps me from me.

Human Resources, Where Are You!

2008-08-07T09:50:00.009-06:00

Familiar roads draw me toward the mountain peaks. At work not a single car slot is open in the parking lot, but I 'm early, so pull over and wait for a car to leave. Without checking calendars I know there's an employee meeting, and head in that direction.

Nursing staff and other employees see me, and wave my way. A few thought I quit working there, since I'd been gone more than two months, dealing with the knee problem. When I got ready for work today, I wondered how I'd feel being back. Everything looks pretty much as it did before. Residents tooling along in their wheelchairs say hello, or wave at me. A huge renovation
is going on in one of the nursing units. Painting, papering, installing new fixtures for more residents.

I go to where I'm scheduled and it looks the same. Nurses hurry to finish required paperwork, while sharing a station about the size of an overgrown taxi stand. Everything in me wants to turn around and leave.

Residents are lined up in wheelchairs, as aides hurry to meet their needs. One man needs a shave so badly, and I notice dried food stuck to his stained clothes, and don't know whether to cry, or get mad about it. It should not be this way.

The day shift nurse and I do report and count the narcs, and check more of them in a fridge in a utility room. This nurse looks at me and says she's been there only a short time."Is it always this heavy a work load", she says more than asks, and continues, "I keep hoping I can find a better place to work". "Are they all the same?" We look at each other. If I did speak I'd be talking to myself. The questions go unanswered.

She tells me she's headed to her doctor, to get a cortisone shot for bone spurs. I try to lighten things by saying something about being the walking wounded, but this nurse is serious about working conditions, and her bone spur pain.

The evening is hard to keep up with. All the resident beds are filled. The medicine cart is stuffed full of pills for them. Paper work that can wait does, as the hours outrun me. I don't know many of the patients, so med pass takes longer. At a quarter to one o'clock in the morning, I complete my work, and can leave. My knee that was doing so good reminds me it's been working too hard tonight. I suppose it could be worse, maybe a bone spur, but the pain coming back scares me. I was just getting able to do some of my yard work.

At home I'm so wound I don't even try to go to sleep. It's about three a.m. when I can. The next work day is about the same, except I got out a little earlier. but again, you can't do the work and drive home, and hop right in bed, so I'm up til wee hours, and sleep so late the next morning I completely forgot Comcast was coming to switch my phone and computer service. I feel bad about that, and have to reschedule, but am not up to it today.

This situation is no different than it's always been, and not likely to change. I've given a lot of thought to it, and realize As I'm posting this, it is not just the awful working conditions. It is everything that's decent about myself being violated, when I have to walk by a resident, and can't take time to clean their bearded face, or change soiled clothes. I do not understand why State and federal rules, laws even, allow workloads that result in this, I cannot be a part of it anymore.

I already have a stack of employment applications, and will fill them in, and check on openings at Assisted Living places. I am considering having a sign made for my car, something about Nurse Granny taking care of homebound oldies, only saying it more nicely. They and their families could use some nursing TLC.

Wistful Thinking

2008-08-03T11:01:00.009-06:00

I haven't written much here lately. Today feels like the last of a needed break, which it kind of is. I'll be back at work tomorrow. Yesterday I found myself trying to use every moment like it would be a long time til I could again.

I took care of errands, and guarded my free time like I'd never have more. Last night I wrote a long chapter seven of the book, and as soon as I started early morning lawn watering, I sat right here, and wrote all of chapter 8. If you're thinking of doing therapy, I can save you lots of money. Rope off a lot of personal time, and beginning as far back as you can remember, take another look at yourself. It doesn't have to be, shouldn't have to be, negative and sad. Just look at the trails you blazed, and maybe that will help you understand yourself and others. The biggest surprise in all of it was feelings I've carried around for years. It is more than sweet bliss to hold them again for a moment , and let go of them.

I took time to visit a nearby church yesterday, during their open house event. I liked what I saw there - friendliness all over. People maybe as old as me cooking hotdogs, or serving lemonaide, or making cotton candy, and popcorn, and kids and young people all over the place, with most of their faces painted. The pastor and his wife were working as hard as anybody else, probably more. It does take time and effort to keep those children away from all that goes on in our present world. Speaking of religion, my summer reading devotional is centered around Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior". If you can read this book, and not be affected by it, I don't know what other reading material to suggest.

This time I've spent getting my knee well again is a huge gift. When I got out of bed this morning, I remembered weeks of not being able to bear weight on it, but I am walking now, and hope to never take that for granted again.

The house could use some heavy duty cleaning, and most of the yard, but I've mopped and cleaned and spiffied up what matters. I will go to work, and drive the miles, but from now on work only gets a part of me. I am saving the rest to put in chapter nine of a book that although I lived it, can hardly believe it.

Excuse me while I choose a lighthearted movie to see. There's still several hours left in this last day off. I leave you with some wonderful words I once stumbled onto:

If I Had My Life To Live Over by Nadine Stair

I'd dare to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax. I would limber
up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer
things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more
mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less
beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer
imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour
after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had it to do
over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else.
just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead
of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat and a parachute.
If I had it to do again, I would travel lighter than I have.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the
spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I
would ride merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.

A Makeover, A New Do.

2008-07-31T13:56:00.010-06:00

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 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

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.

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.

Here We Go Again, some old, some new.

2008-07-29T23:23:00.012-06:00

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!

Still Working On That Schedule, and other assorted things.

2008-07-28T00:20:00.010-06:00

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.

Planning The Day, and a shopping trip.

2008-07-26T19:10:00.014-06:00

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.

Man Plans, God looks Down, And Rearranges.

2008-07-23T23:18:00.013-06:00

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.

Things Aren't Always As They Seem.

2008-07-21T11:39:00.012-06:00

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.

More Than A Memory.

2008-07-14T18:56:00.007-06:00

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.

"But go and learn what this means......."

2008-07-12T10:18:00.014-06:00

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.

A Long Time Coming

2008-07-09T00:30:00.017-06:00

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.

It's about freedom, about rebuilding lives.

2008-07-06T20:55:00.012-06:00

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.

The Sounds of Angels' Wings

2008-07-02T12:11:00.027-06:00

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.

And A Thought Came Tumbling Down

2008-06-29T17:27:00.014-06:00

Come sit with me awhile for I must tell you something. For weeks I've carried it around. There are so many parts to it, I don't know which one to start with. Perhaps they're like life has been sometimes, not very clear.

I'm not sure why this is the day for it. I just know it is. Having time to spend because of this leg problem has triggered an avalanche that will find a place to land.

That book, the one I've so wanted to write, Last night I wrote the first chapter, and thought of a possible title, although now may be a little early for that. This morning the book was the first thing I thought about, so I sat down and wrote chapter two, hardly knowing what to do with even more ideas for it surfacing.

I understand being published is a very long shot, but this is not just about seeing my name on some book. It's about women these last sixty years in America who I hope I'll be speaking for. I would tell you more here, but prefer surprising you with some of it. The getting started with it is a natural high I can hardly describe.

When I began blogging about two years ago, I think I wrote something about going down trails. Not being very analytical, sometimes I don't notice all the details, so I'm not sure about that. I am sure I've been on many journeys, and when I understood the difference between them and where I thought I was going, life began making more sense. So come with me as I explore this one, and we'll see how the traveling is.

Hot Off The Press

2008-06-26T10:45:00.016-06:00

With all that's happening here and far, you'd think there'd be news more interesting than wars or calamities, or man's inhumanity to man. Some I've read could have come out of the Bible's book of Genesis, on the desecration of Sodom and Gomorrah, and I didn't linger long on election doings. My mind needs a break from them for a while.

I was sitting here this morning downing coffee and coming up zero for something to expound on, when out of habit and at least some boredom, I clicked through news stories. A young woman Colorado hiker stranded in Germany's Alps, gave new meaning to the work ethic adage: "Do what you can with what you have where you are now".

With no other way to signal for help, she peeled off her sports bra, a white one, and flew it on a mountain side supply line, hoping someone would notice. Surely they wouldn't think it her political statement, all alone up there in the Alps. Men working not far away saw the unfurling bra, and rescued her. I don't know what other lingerie this lady prefers, but I'll bet she was glad, on that fateful day, she wore white generic, and not Victoria's Secret.

That news story was kind of fun to read, especially since the lady was rescued, but I think you'll agree this next one will be told again and again; the only problem being some may not believe it.

In this part of Colorado we hear comments, perhaps in jest, that Boulderites differ from the rest of us here. I can just see the man in this story seriously trying to convince somebody of what happened to him. You may not believe it either. Shaun Boyd of CBS4 News announced that "A Boulder cyclist was injured after a run-in, literally, with a bear." The news story says a man was riding on Old Stage Road Tuesday, when suddenly a bear appeared in front of him.

The man hit the bear and ended up skidding across the road, after he and his bike flew over the bear. His injuries reportedly are cracked ribs, cuts on his head, and some road rash. This is the part of the story I liked best: The man said the bear looked at him with a stare of terror on his face, and he looked back at the bear with his own sudden fear, as they both went "aaaahhhh".

I've tried and tried, but cannot picture what terror looks like on a bear; a six foot tall, approximately five hundred pound bear. The man and the bike hit the pavement hard. Then the bear ran away after the accident, when a deer appeared. I am glad that the bear seemed o.k., since it was able to run. It wasn't its fault the man got on its trail.

The man estimates he was going 45 miles per hour. He said his bike was alright, so he got back on it, and pedaled himself to a hospital. No mention was made of witnesses to the story, except it says that the man's nephew ran to help him, so I assume the nephew was there.

As I share these stories that ended alright, I can't help thinking maybe our country isn't as doomed as depression disaster reports imply. As long as we have men and women like those in the Alps, and the bear situation, I think we will be just fine.

The woman is to be commended for using whatever she had, albeit was only a generic bra, and the man should get a medal of some kind for looking that bear in the eye. Like thousands of soldiers who guard our welfare, the men who saw the unfurling bra didn't hesitate to get involved. They just forged up those Alps and rescued that damsel.

If we would only teach our children to be as innovative and responsible to their fellow man, we might keep this country going a long, long time. I would still like to know what terror looks like on a bear, but then, maybe not.

A Different Drummer's Calling.

2008-06-24T11:05:00.020-06:00

How to deal with a knee that's not working? There should be a class for this. It affects all those things you need to do but can't. Going to bed at night is no longer a self absorbed anticipation of turning back neatly made covers. Do you have any idea how many times one must walk around a bed to make it? After trying that a couple of times with a crutch in one hand, and dragging my injured leg almost behind me, I realized I would fit back in the bed just fine, where I'd slept the night before. What's a few misplaced wrinkles. They served as well for indentations, as white lines around crime scene bodies.

Speaking of bodies, In those dreamy days before knee problems,I showered mine any time I cared to hop right in the tub. But it only took one episode of almost injuring, let's just say it wouldn't have been my knee, to make me more carefully descend and ascend the bathtub. Some days it does not seem worth the required effort for a shampoo and shower.

Unless you've dealt with these annoying restrictions, you might not understand how much I wish I could pull some weeds, or wash the car. Once in a while I'll start to walk in the house, and get halfway across a room, not realizing I forgot the crutches.

I think about patients I've had who lost arms or legs, and how hard that was and still is for them. My first amputee guy, a truck driver. dropped his cigarette, and when he tried to pick it up, the truck wrecked, and cost him both his legs.

Service men and women who don't have the pleasure of not using their arms or legs for only a while, brings me new found appreciation that they gave their arms or legs, and often, their lives to keep me safe.

While dealing with whatever's wrong with my leg, I've dug deep in my soul about other important things, and realize I've let huge boulders, and growing crevices of feeling incapable, insecure block my best intentions. long ago I set out to become a nurse, not because of dreamy eyed imaginations of nursing poor hurting patients. I suspect wanting pride in myself was a factor for starting the training, that,and needing money. I was working as a nursing assistant for very low pay. When I finished the training, it increased to six dollars an hour.

You'd think I would have done the math about it, but it was more of an ahha moment that came in all this time on my hands. Introspection just took over. Probably because of the nursing shortage, pay is much more now. but whatever the rate, even though my name tag says nurse, I been protituting. Please don't think a red light's blinking above my door. We find many ways to devalue ourselves. and they aren't all done in seedy back rooms signalized by a cloud of cheap perfume.

I have sold more than twentyfive years of my life for a paycheck, and the illusion that a job is guaranteed. I've ignored working conditions you would not believe. The hours nurses consistently work put patient care in jeopardy, and nurses' licenses at risk. What I finally had to ask myself was not the carping about working conditions, not any of that, but how much more of me will I sell.

I thank my Lord for this time of imposed inactivity, to review and evaluate the parts of my life. How many nights will I drive again those long lonely roads, especially in winter when it's storming. How many holidays will I disappoint my children because I'm not celebrating with them. I remember asking a nurse I worked with if she had a coming holiday off, and she said, in slightly lowered voice, that she'd worked so many she no longer expected to be off. I remember feeling sad for her, but also knew it could have been my words.

Have I completely forgotten the thrill of listening to a Forth of July marching band. Standing proudly with my hand over my heart as they go by? What am I doing with the freedom our flag and national anthem profess. It's not easy dealing with this knee pain I've had for weeks, but we'll get that fixed. I thank my Lord for slowing me down with it long enough to understand what I need to change. I think I hear a band starting up again.

Identity Crisis

2008-06-19T11:58:00.042-06:00

This was to be the day I might not get answers to life's perplexing questions, but before it was over, may know what is wrong with my leg. If I'd known how much I would learn before the sun set today, I would have started much earlier. The doctor's appointment and an MRI were scheduled close together, but I thought I could make a stop along the way, and be on time for both.

In case I can still work after this leg is healed, my nursing licenses needed renewing so I swung by the post office to have the renewal postmarked, and was on my way. Because I so seldom get sick, I wasn't familiar with the doctors' new offices. All I knew was which building it was suppose to be in.

Long ago one could drive to that area, any time of the day, and not have trouble finding parking. Today you can hardly find the front entrance, or the nearby hospital. They are mushroomed in with other medical buildings with many floors. Huge cranes slowly dig at the sides of them, as they strain to build even more. I was worried about finding the building, and afraid I'd be late. Visions of falling off a turnip truck formed in my brain. I wasn't sure where to turn, or to park. I did know to try to get in close, since it's so hard to walk right now.

The nice sounding voice when I'd called for directions emphasized their having Valet service. Said they would deal with my car. I turned to the building with the correct numbers on it, and took a long, strong breath. But my hopes faded. The young man in the valet uniform said in almost a foreign language, for me to park the car. I tried hurrying, but another car whizzed by before I could get in. I handed this stranger my car keys, and wondered if I'd see them again, and found the right entrance to the building by myself.

In the movie, "E T," while checking out strange places on a strange planet, that curious creature caused all kinds of problems, and today I thought I knew how he felt. It would take more than a handful of M and M's or Reeses' Pieces, to get me where I needed to be. Not at all sure I was headed right, I scanned the long narrow hall, and gritted my teeth, perhaps a little like Tiger Woods did when he had to win that game last week.

When your knee hinges cannot work right, it amplifies the difficulty of most everything you do. I was still upset how rude and unhelpful the Valet guy was. and people in the hall looked worse off than me. I trudged on forward without a travel tracking device, or a map I couldn't refold, much less read, and there it was, in big bold lettering, inviting me to come in for Geriatric Medical Care. It stopped short of having blinking lights around the sign, like in carnivals. but I was still tempted to throw a blanket or something over it. I was not ready for the world to see me entering the realm of geriatric care.

I told myself I was somewhat irritable only because of the pain, and that might have been part of it, but only a part. The honesty in my bones, including the sore leg ones, knew I did not like being grouped with a room full of elderly, most of them heavily breathing, even though carrying their oxygen tanks. I take care of patients healthier than that. Can you see how quickly I dismissed my irritable behavior, but plowed right into it in others'.

I checked in with the desk lady, then found a seat, and pulled out a book I'd brought to read. Number one mistake was choosing to sit in an open area that was soon a little crowded, and I'd have to move my knee to let others get by. Number two error was the heavy reading material. What made me think I could concentrate in that setting, on something as deep as a philsophical "If You Want To Write", (a book about art independence and spirit) by Brenda Ueland. I put the book away, and moved to a different seat.

More patients arrived. Some need more help settling in than others. Two baby boomer age men wheel in a tiny creature who must be their mom. She without a doubt earns the prize for most lively geriatric patient of the day. The sons wear shorts and summer tops, and flipflops, and one's color turns almost red, when his mom points to his hairy legs and loudly says, "Those legs should be on a girl". I venture a closer peak at them, and as usually is on target, Mom is right. Instead of looking muscular, his legs could compete with world war II, pinup queen, Betty Grable's.

If you don't stare too long, people watching can become fun. I notice that the old folks coming here seem dressed much nicer than my nursing home patients, and their skin and hair looks better cared for. I suppose it's because these are still able to do more of their own care. Some are wearing Skechers or New Balance shoes that look like they came right out of a new box.

Some sit quietly, others talk too much, and one or two are doing the thing that drives me crazy, shaking a foot or a leg, or clicking a writing pen off and on, til you almost consider murder.

I was still alright with time for both appointments, but when an hour had passed, and several of these noisy creatures guided off to examining rooms, and I was one of those still waiting, I almost laughed out loud at myself. How could I forget about waiting room schedules? I made a silent reminder to next time remember that.

A young woman in scrubs who looked somewhat weary called my name, and waited a moment, then seemed in a hurry, and I realized she didn't know I couldn't keep up her pace. I tried to explain, but her work routine seemed more important than listening to what I said. She led me to an examining room, and motioned to a chair, as if she couldn't hurry away until I was seated. With a sudden mental start, I realized I've done that many times myself with patients, when they moved slowly.

A tall and gracious doctor entered the room, and immediately apologized for being late. Some emergency at the hospital took him away, he explained, and I am thinking how glad I am that he knows his priorities, and thankful that I wasn't the emergency. I can tell I will really like this man. Not only was he thorough in history gathering, and examining me, but he covered things like mammograms, eye exams, and other important tests, But most of all, he took the time to listen.

I make a mental note to especially remember that, next time I'm with a patient.
Except for this knee I didn't have other problems. The doctor took me to their lab to get baseline test levels, and I settled a small co-pay fee, and headed down that long hall again to get to the MRI place.

The lady who did the it explained the orthopedic doctor ordered several parts of it. All I had to do was not have any metal on me, and lie very still. The morning had taken a lot out of me. I mean, it can be hard work watching people. So I relaxed as much as the leg allowed, and took a catnap while the test was being done.

Then the nice MRI lady helped me back outside where I could get my car. I am still not comfortable with having to use a wheelchair, but for now, accept that I need it.

I am sitting outside silently telling Jesus how much I appreciate Him, and this marvelous medical center, and all the people who helped me here. Knowing I'll soon find out what's wrong with this leg gives me an even bigger high. I am happy!

A woman who looks less than half my age, who walks and talks and moves around, sits down beside me. She seems a little restless. and immediately starts talking, saying: "Life's a B-----, and then you die from some disease" she says more loudly. and leans back, but no bolt of doom flies down out of the sky. Some other time I might have thought I could convince her otherwise, but today whatever kind of pearls I have, I'm not throwing at her feet) I smile her way a little, and wish her well, and pick up my purse and limp toward the car.

Reflections

2008-06-16T22:53:00.015-06:00

This night is growing away. All day I've wanted to write this to you, but let other things fill the spaces. About three weeks ago, realizing I must change important things about my work, I got the nursing home to make a big change in my schedule. From then on, I would work only when I want to. Less money would come in, but I'd have more time for living. I was so relieved, and happy, and proud for doing that, I celebrated the day, by giving myself a perpetual bouquet, a rosebush already showing blossoms, not red ones, or pink, but somewhere in between, stunningly beautiful.

My son offered to plant it for me, but I was emotionally high from changing my life, and wanted to mark the day by planting the rosebush myself. and so I did. The dirt was dry and hard, but I handled the shovel allright, and gave that little plant so hungry for life a parting smile, as I walked back in the house.

In the kitchen I celebrated more, by twirling round and round to happy music. It felt almost sinful for deciding to really live. But something about my hip or knee felt strange, as if it wasn't quite right, but I ignored it. I had let go of what getting bigger paychecks was doing to me, and it would take more than a twinge in the hip, or a knee to steal the freedom of that.

But then it happened again and again. At inconvenient times. I'd be at a store, and realize it was hard to walk back to the car. The day I went to get new tags for it, and renew driver's license, I got scared, trying to walk back to it. And it happened other times, while walking in the yard, or to get the paper. Because this was gradual, it was a while before I realized how bad it is, but when the pain set in I knew I was in trouble.

I have dealt with an emergency room doctor, and three different orthopedic ones, and was given a cortisone shot that isn't helping enough. So far, treatment has only been for guessed at diagnosis. The only thing that hasn't changed about it is the constant pain, so today I convinced a doctor to allow an MRI, to check it further.

Besides realizing I need to speak up more convincingly, this is what I've learned from all of this. If you let it, pain can consume you, drain your energy, mask an otherwise great personality, and some people are uncomfortable around pain. They don't know what to do about it, unless you tell them, and it's really selfish of me to not let them.

Another thing I'm glad I learned, is how difficult it must be for patients who are hurting, how helpless they must feel, having to wait for nurses to get pain meds to them, and the humiliation they must feel, needing help getting to bathrooms, or being changed. Maybe a kind word, or at least a ready smile might help them feel better.

I remember a patient from long ago. I believe she had Lou Gehrig's disease, and was already quite helpless. She couldn't even lift up her arms. As a student, my job was to spend a little time with her, and figure out how we could communicate, to fill her needs. She started, and kept making sounds I didn'tunderstand, so I tried various things, adjusting her seat, turning the wheel chair some, things like that. But nothing worked. She just kept shaking her head. and getting louder. I didn't think I would ever figure out what she needed, until the teacher explained, all the poor lady wanted, was someone to hold a kleenex, to wipe her dripping nose.

I never realized how many freedoms of movement we take for granted, and how frustrating it is when you can't use them. My situation about this leg will soon be fixed, and back to normal. But I now have a new appreciation for the handicapped.

It is alright to decide how much of me I'm willing to sacrifice to my work place. How much more am I willing to give? Should I not attempt to write the books I know are in me? Couldn't someone reading them benefit from the medicine in the words? And don't I owe it to myself to at least know I tried to write them. When I chose the rosebush to mark the day I decided to change all this, the troubles that followed were not invited, but I've learned so much from them. I think I will always be glad I planted the rose.

Angels Unaware

2008-06-13T18:02:00.008-06:00

Last week because of unexplained pain in my leg, I went to the emergency room of our local hospital, and several hours later came home with what I felt was a band-aide approach to checking it out. This week I found an orthopedic doctor who would fit me into his busy schedule, and this is where this post really begins.

Family were all at work, so I had to drive myself there. Armed with a copy of tests done in the ER, I headed to a place to park as close as I could find to this doctor's office. Feeling like some caring angel was looking out for me, as I turned into the underground lot, I was more than surprised to see an empty spot only one car length away from the entrance.

I pulled right in and sat there a moment, getting together courage to walk about a half block to the doctor's office. Pain can affect you much more than you might think, and it pounded in my leg, as I got out of the car. Thinking I would just nimble along, and be o.k., turned into fear as I saw how steep the sidewalk was. But I had started early, so I could take my time.

I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, at least that's what I thought. But each step closer to the intersection I must cross, I am sure raised my respirations. Almost there, I think it raced some more, when a car making a right hand turn whizzed right around that corner.

It is difficult enough to come to terms with how old the calendar shows I am. And not only that, I hardly ever get sick, and my job is to take care of others. So I think I played a little mind game to ignore my fear about getting down that steep sidewalk, told myself how pitiful it is that elderly people have to deal with this, and wondered if they got as scared as I was. I can't tell you how relieved I was when I got across that street.

A short walk after that I made it to the lobby of the doctor's building, the first thing I saw was some poor old person in a wheelchair accompained by her very own assistant. Some kind of IV was attached to her wheelchair, and the sight of it caused another shudder to rush across my chest. I almost had a conversation about it with myself. Not only that, when I finished my appointment with the doctor, I would have to deal with getting across that lively corner again.

I make my way to where the office is, and feel brought up short. So many patients are waiting that few empty seats are left. Years ago I was in another waiting room, because of facial surgery, and everybody there looked like they had shiners of varying shades of black, or a little green, and some were even purple. In the room where I was today, most of the patients including myself limped.

The doctor put me at ease by not seeming rushed. Gave me to time to speak, and he answered questions well enough, I thought. The outcome of it all was a cortisone shot in my knee, and we'll see if that fixes the problem, but what he didn't explain, and I did not know, is that those kinds of injections may take a week before they get rid of the pain. For two and a half days I've conjured up all kinds of reasons for hurting. I have faith that eventually this leg problem will be fixed, and resolve to not let pain dominate me.

I thank the doctor for seeing me on short notice, and find the elevator that starts my trip back home. What bothers me most right then, is getting across that busy intersection. When taking care of my own patients, and situations are tense, I've learned while getting them to take deep breaths, to take one for myself, and that's how I started the walk back to the car.

I mentioned having faith that whatever is wrong with this leg will be taken care of. What I understand about faith is, it is knowing in advance without any proof of it, that something will come to pass. When I think about my life, and many situations, some of them even dangerous, my Savior's never failed to take care of me, and get me through it. I have probably brushed shoulders with at least a few angels, completely unaware they were there.

I reach the ground floor, and leave the elevator, then walk toward that corner, but stop, as fear falls off my shoulders. I suppose angels are sometimes disquised, but this is the first time I've met not one, but two, wearing hard hats. Two young men are surveying on the corner.

I explain that I've just come from the doctor. and need help getting across the street. That was the hardest part of it, admitting I needed help. But the young man was already reaching for my arm, and let me get my bearings, for what felt like a slow waltz we took to the other side of the street.

Tender Loving Care

2008-06-08T00:35:00.005-06:00

I know the way to our town's hospital emergency room well. Much of our family's history has played out there. But this trip was for me, Everything that led up to my night in ER makes more sense now, but that night I just wanted the pain that had kept up all day long to leave.

My son drove a little slowly, to miss known bumps in the road, and pulled into the only parking spot he could find. A nice policeman ushered me through security, and reminded me to turn off my phone. I mentioned that I hardly knew how to turn it on, besides trying to figure out how to turn the thing off. He got me to show him my phone, and patiently went through how to do such a simple thing. If I hadn't been hurting so much, I would have been embarrassed. But if you don't know, then you don't know. And now I understand how to make and receive cell phone calls. In time I may learn more about this computer,too.

I can't remember another family emergency that ended up in ER, where we didn't have to wait a while. the nice policeman headed me to a med tech, who started my paper work. He asked questions like, where I worked, and when I told him, he pointed out that not a long ways up in the mountains, beyond the nursing home where my job is, is where he teaches kayaking. Even with my pain, I could get excited that a medical caretaker enjoyed something more than dealing with patient care all the time.

But tonight, I was the patient. The next hospital staff took more medical history, and checked my vital signs, and soon they headed me to a skinny little examining room where much emergency equipment hung from its walls. I've been to more than a few of these with family, but never realized how hard and narrow the beds are. That might come in handy for emergency CPR, but not to just lie on. And those paper thin hospital gowns didn't cover nearly enough of my skin. And it was very cold in there. Quickly I was becoming what we call at work, a very needy patient.

Staff from various departments came by to feed information from me into the handy computer. You're retired, right" the lady said more than asked. "No, I still work" "Oh, part time?" "No, full time". I began to feel I would never fit the mold she had about me in her mind, and was tempted to just give her the answers she wanted. But my leg hurt a lot, so I tried to cooperate so they could get on with checking it.

A doctor asked me several questions, and seemed somewhat impatient about my answers. He wouldn't let me explain hardly anything. but ordered x-rays, and an ultrasound, "Good," I thought, since it's after ten p.m, and I've already been here an hour and a half. "let's get on with this". The x-ray person trudged in, pushing, sometimes pulling her heavy equipment. As she aligned my leg for her shots, her overhead light gave out, so she just gave it her best guess, and went for it.

I am trying to understand why I keep hurting. Because I'd had a knee replacement on the other leg, when this one became a problem, I thought I needed another. Night kept marking time, but we weren't getting answers yet.. Another nurse came by. She asked if I needed anything, and I told her I'd like a drink of water. I had noticed a few other ER patients, and one little scrawny guy with a long white beard in a room across from me, they were doing a lot of tests on, but ER didn't seem to be exactly hopping. I asked a nurse why my tests were taking so long, and she said they were short staffed, and had to call someone off duty in to do some of them. Ordinarily, I wouldn't growl so, but it didn't take much to trigger it now. I wondered if their being short staffed was because of the economy crisis, or from the nursing shortage.

I was really cold, so when she arrived to do the ultrasound, I asked for some blankets, and she got them, Even took time to warm them. That was the first time I liked how I felt in ER. We still had to wait for the doctor to check the ultrasound results, but eventually he did, and they were o.k. He said my leg bones looked fine, and didn't think I would need another knee replacement for several years. Best compliments I've heard in a long, long time. About then the nurse brought the drink of water. I noticed she had taken time to put some ice in it. It was after eleven thirty. Maybe my son and I could soon go home.

The tests came out just fine. X-rays too. But I still didn't know why my leg kept hurting. The doctor ordered pain pills, and pointed out the usual disclaimers. Not driving or taking with alcohol, but said it was fine to take Ibuprofen or Advil with them, to keep down inflammation, Then he wished me well, and left.

By now it was after midnight. If I didn't get to the nearest potty soon, ER staff would think I had more problems than unidentified knee pain. Completely barefooted, I hurried down the hall, past other examining stalls, and noticed one of them was being guarded by not one, but two policemen. The sight of them, and the sounds that arose from whatever they stood guard over, spurred me along. I at least had pain meds now, and like Scarlet in "Gone With The Wind", would think more about what was wrong with my knee tomorrow.

The next morning I tried getting out of bed without favoring my knee, and noticed the pain had eased some. While I still worked on the nursing unit where the cats were, and began taking allergy pills, to get through twelve hour shifts around them, I had stopped taking daily doses of Motrin, choosing to hurt some, instead of having allergy fits.

In talking with daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface", she pointed out that she takes antinflammatory meds every day, and that I should, to ward off the same problems. It made perfect sense, for it was after I'd left them off a while that the knee hurt much worse,, and when I dug in the deep,hard dirt to plant the rosebush, is when the pain sped up enough to interrupt my solo dance in the kitchen that night.

Then I thought further than that. Wasn't it because I planned to stop working, or at least scale it down some, that I got myself the lovely rose to plant. And don't I feel almost acres better, now that I've taken a two week break.

Not long from now I will celebrate a milestone of living many years, a big number of which have been more than kind. While I was in ER a caring person warmed blankets for me, and another took time to bring me a drink. Their doing those thoughtful things made my hours there much better.

The culture I grew up in festered the idea that it wasn't alright to take care of yourself, that you should regard others more than you. It was considered almost holy to not put your own needs first. The idea of martyrdom may possibly be an offshoot from that kind of thinking.

The nurse who had taken time to bring me cold water had lingered a moment, then reached for a handful of Ace bandages, and applied one to my knee, then stuck the others in my open purse. I got the feeling it was her way of giving me a needed encouraging touch. I had thanked her, and was thinking:"Tomorrow I'll deal with this more."

I do have plans for the days that follow. I will not work myself as I've done for years. I may even look for something less hard to do than nursing. My health insurance offers almost free programs called the Silver Sneakers at a local health and rec center. All I need is some pretty sweats, and a swim suit big enough to properly cover my old wrinkles, and I guess some kind of shoes for when in the shower there. I may even get one of those cute little sunvisor caps. Whoop-de-do! Hear me roar! Some may need to look twice at me, to recognize all these changes. I can't do much about those cold hard examining beds in the ER, but I can treat me much softer than I have.

Life, Ready,Set,Go.

2008-05-31T23:23:00.005-06:00

At the risk of seeming like a copycat, since Dawn at " Call Me Grandma Dawn" is retiring in less than a month, I've decided to give the idea of it at least a trial run.

I don't want to go on and on here about working conditions, or bore you with a continuing litany of associated aches and pains, but my recent try on the locked Alzheimer unit clarified a lot of things going on in my life.

Sitting here, searching for words to tell you what I struggle with, and have for too long a time, I see more of the bigger picture of it, and am more clear about what I've done to myself by working so hard for so long, and even more clear is that it's way past time I changed this.

I think back to last winter, when the driver's side door lock on my car somehow broke, and in correlating the mechanic's schedule, and mine, I had to crawl in and out of the car on the other side, and after a few weeks of that, wasn't surprised that new aches and pains especially in one leg had made their way into my life. For a while it seemed to be less of a problem, but never completely stopped. Because I'm so healthy, I don't pay much attention to things like this, unless they become extreme, and lately the hurting is much worse.

I've been doing some yard work, Weeding flower beds, and figuring out stuff that needs trimming, and thinning, and where to plant what. I was so eager and happy about planting a beautiful rose bush, but the digging the hole to plant it in, and all the other steps of it, and then puting tools and things away, bothered my leg a lot.

When I managed to get it all done, and got to the kitchen, to figure out supper, I had just turned some music on that had such a good beat, I couldn't resist a few whirls around the room all by myself, until I realized my leg wasn't cooperating with my mood. I was so upset that my leg was that much of a problem, I sadly turned the music off.

My daughters, Barb, and Bev will be happy that a few weeks ago I made a check-up appointment, to meet with whoever will be my new doctor. That's the earliest I can get checked out. So, even though I look longingly at rose bushes and other beautiful plants, I won't be dealing with any of them, except my killer tomato ones that have soaked up lots of rays in the sun room. I'm sure a son will help me set them out.

The waiting for appointments, and a few weeks of physical therapy after, if this unruly leg needs a new brake pad, will give me about a two month much needed break. I've read in Proverbs or somewhere, that he who tries to be his own physician has a fool for a doctor.

Millions of people in the world have problems much worse than I've ever known. But when I can't dig a hole in the ground to plant a rosebush or dance to the beat in the kitchen if I please, or get through the airport for boarding, and claiming luggage, and maybe changing planes at O'Hare, to visit Bev, then we must solve this problem that I started to say, is interfering with living. On the other hand, perhaps all of this is part of God's plan. How else would He slow me down long enough to show me where to plant more roses in my life, or to dance.

Thomas Stearns Eliot tried to tell me this..

2008-05-29T17:22:00.007-06:00

Mr. Eliot's especially known for his lines about returning to a place he started, and for the first time, seeing it. That's how I felt a few days ago, when I awoke still wrung out from too many hours of working. I thought plenty of sleep and a bracing shower would send me back where I'd started, too. But new habits that soon became as second nature as my old ones, seemed to interfere with almost everything.

While at work, I'd think how relaxing enjoying a morning paper, with extra coffee would be. But with time the papers stacked up, until they went out with other garbage. Friends would ask me to social things, but telling myself I was too tired to be good company anyway, I'd find reasons not to go, and hurry home to my comfy sweats, and after a while the invitations pretty much stopped.

So when I awoke the other morning, and lay there drinking in being able to, I realized perhaps Mr. Eliot meant more with his wise old words, than only about where one starts from. I slid myself out from under the covers, and started coffee, so it could catch up with me.

I opened the door of my pretty house, and drank in the yard where some beauty-loving person had planted huge beds of iris, all the same color. Stately they stood as if in harmony, banking each side of me, as morning sun softly reached for my tired old shoulders.

After a few uninterrupted cups of coffee, I drank before it cooled, I headed to a store where I'd seen more flowers, and chose a different kind of bouquet, to mark the moment, a lovely rose bush that's already in bloom. It's described as Electric deep pink hybrid tea, with sweet rosy perfume fragrance. I don't yet know the proper way to plant it, but soon I will learn.

In time I may even make lists of all I want to do, but not for awhile. I have a lot of remembering to do. Things I've set aside, or let slip away. I may even surprise old friends who haven't given up on me, and call them for lunch sometime soon. I don't know if even all these words are enough to tell all of you how wonderful it is be reminded, not only of where I started from, but coming back to the me I used to be.

Seeing The Same Things Through Someone Else's Eyes.

2008-05-26T22:39:00.009-06:00

If you'll pardon me for bringing this up one more time, I believe I've finally figured it out. A few days ago, while feeling discouraged, and even a little sorry for myself, I emailed daughter, Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning", and went on longer than I should have, about my work situation that really is very bad.

But even if it is, at some time it must be dealt with. Make some sense of it. And not keep churning it around in my head, and expect those who love me to keep hearing the uncomfortable details.

Barb did point out, (and she's so right) that I've been struggling with this very same thing for years, and like she's tried several times, she pointed out things about my working conditions that are very bad. So I decided to try to see the whole mess of it from her viewpoint.

It is awful that cats are allowed on the nursing unit. Big furry ones who have been there so long, the area where paperwork is done is their private territory. I am not the only staff who are bothered by them. Another nurse is so allergic, she bought some kind of expensive air purifier she brings to work and plugs in. I think it would be fine if some animals were brought in so the patients could enjoy them.

It is kind of difficult to concentrate on medical charting, and phone calls from doctors and other related details about patients' care, when you're sneezing your head off. Management is well aware of this problem with the cats, and it doesn't seem to be a big problem to them. But I've been thinking much about this. And I'm not real crazy about how the unit's scheduled.

It includes my working three twelve hour shifts in a row. What could I sensibly have been thinking when I agreed to that? Why is it even necessary for nurses to work like that?

In another daughter's post she titled "Deciding To Grow up" Bev, from "Scratchin' The Surface" pointed out a quote about personal growth she found in "Emotionally Healthy Spirituality" by Peter Scazzero. He wrote: "Most of us will not go forward until the pain of staying where we are is unbearable".

I found this out when I was foolish enough to work those three twelve hour shifts. I got through the first one alright, and was getting by on the second day of it, until a new admission became part of it, and the twelve hours turned into almost fourteen. As I write this I am not looking for sympathy, nothing like that. At home that night I crawled into bed wishing for more hours to rest, and when morning came much too soon, it took some real determination to get myself to work.

When that pitiful shift finally ended, all I needed was another nurse to count the narcotics with me, and I could leave. The one who usually counts with me was working extra, and not familiar with that unit, so I told her it was O.K., that I'd find someone else to do the count.

All I needed was about five minutes time. But the first nurse I asked quickly turned me down. I proceeded to another, and she also declined, not because of being in some rush about her work, She just didn't want to. I kept going down the long meandering halls, and by the time I was nearing the night supervisor, I had asked, and been turned down four times. I thought surely the supervisor would count with me. She didn't and quickly got on the phone, and in very brusk tones insisted that the first nurse do it.I could not believe the night was becoming like this, but I did what she said, and we got the counting over, I clocked out, and headed for my car.

Two days later at home I still felt drained, not just from being tired, but a hurting heartsick feeling, that people in this caring profession we're in, so clearly did not care. But some times good things come from bad. It was then that I recalled the quote about the pain of staying where you are, and realized I need to change a lot of things about my work.

Tomorrow I will go to the shift scheduler's office, and change over to being on-call, which means I won't work a regular schedule, but can choose my shifts. I won't have to deal with the cats on the Alzheimer unit any more.

It's almost a floodtide I'm feeling. Not that we function only by emotions. But with the misery of how it's been at work gone, I am freed to think farther now. I'm thinking of starting a business I know I'd do well. I would never succeed at making all the things daughter, Barb does. If anybody could ruin a poor sock monkey, I would surely wreck it to pieces. And I couldn't do all the home improvements daughter Bev makes her home so beautiful.

I think it's just as important to know what you're not good at, as what you are. My skill is dealing with people. I've been doing this with patients and their families for years. I think I will begin caring for elderly or homebound people, not so much medical care, but just being with them. I will go to where they are, so they don't have to bother with getting to and from cars. I've just begun thinking on this, and will let you know how it goes. I really think the ones who care for these people at home could use a break now and then.

I am so thankful now that those cats were driving me crazy, and that even nurses sometimes aren't very nice to their co-workers. And I hope that something I've written in this somehow helps you. I will let you know how my business idea grows.

This Miscellaneous Life

2008-05-19T21:49:00.005-06:00

On work days the alarm clocks insult my limp body, screeching in tandem, one after the other, til I turn them both off. As soundly as I sleep I can't trust just one to get me out of bed. When I heard a same sound over and over this morning, and realized what caused it, I dug for more cover, and pushed myself deeper into the bed. An early riser next door was steadily hammering new siding onto his house.

About when I wanted to tell him what I thought of being awakened on my day off, I looked at the clocks, and realized how late it was. I dived back under the cover long enough to begin the day with my Lord, and stretch tired legs and arms, before getting out of that cozy bed. About when my feet touched floor, the phone rang, crowding my morning more. Do I start the coffee, hurry to the bathroom, or pick up the phone first? Why does life feel so much like it's an unfinished dance?

On this wonderful day the Lord gives, I could so enjoy it more if I didn't go so fast, a habit I think I acquired while raising my children. Every day there was much to do, but they've been grown for years. So why do I still do things so fast? I think it can only be habit, and getting caught up in the emotions of whatever's coming our way.

For days I've struggled with this wild (pardon the pun) situation about the fox. Spent time on the phone getting information, and trying to decide what's best to do about it. Most of the animal removal places won't deal with it. Another wanted what I thought was expensive, for them to only set up a scent that would make the fox go away. It does make sense, if you want something to leave to not feed or water it. So I was careful with that, but to eat my supper in the car, so the fox doesn't smell food, well,I mean, even I can see that's a bit reactory.

I was sitting here using the computer, and began hearing loud moving about, and then heard loud chewing. I couldn't decide if it might be chewing a hole in the foundation of the house, or did it find some fourlegged fast food somewhere, and decided to eat it here. I thought it was loud, and got scared, and turned off the computer, and grabbed my purse and shoes, and something to sleep in, and hurried to my son's house, where I had to be around his cats. But it was be afraid of the fox, or whatever it is, or take a chance on sneezing into the night. I quickly swallowed an allergy pill, and drove right over there.

Since then I've talked with some neighbors who have told me fox and skunks have hung out here. One said a previous owner put out lots of melon rinds and fruits, that the skunks soon came around for. But I've not seen those blck and white critters since once last year. I think the fox may have something to do with that.

I realize even dealing with wild ones like that can wear thin when we talk of it. Eventually it isn't the best conversational fare. Being allergic was making the work scene so bad. It's a challenge, making some sense of doctor's telephone orders they reel off too quickly, about when you feel like you could scratch your own eyes out.

Another nurse who works on the Alzheimer unit is also allergic to cats. She got an electrical plug-in machine, and brings it to work to use. This weekend she let me try it, and it does makea a big difference.

Today my son soaked rags with ammonia, like the wildlife person said to, and put it in the place the animal goes in and out of. Tonight I've not heard noises, no chewing, none of that. Will check it again in the morning. Perhaps there's still a chance I can learn to deal with whatever God sends without feeling I need to do a Saint Vitus's dance.

The Foxy Saga Continues.

2008-05-16T13:19:00.010-06:00

With all the modern advances this town has to provide for people's needs, I thought by now the problem of the critter that's digging holes outside my house would be solved.

While we don't know that it's a fox, two people say they've seen it, and are convinced it is. One thing is certain, it is very smart. Each time we found where something's been digging, the holes look the same, and so far it's dug at different sides of the house.

When we found the third mound of freshly dug earth, I knew I needed help, and called a local government office. Someone there referred me to a friend of his named Dave, at "Varmint Control" who said he would "take care of this problem". He talked very fast, and the tone of his voice kind of rubbed. I felt like I was talking to a an overeager Hit man.

I tried asking him where He'd take the fox to release it back into the wild, but he gruffly insisted "We don't need to do that." "When a varmint is on your property, all you have to do is get rid of it", He almost yelled, and then seemed more interested in telling me how much it would cost.

So I put down the phone, and looked for another number to call. Several calls later I realized something else must be done because none of the animal control companies in this whole big town deal with removing foxes.

I may not be as smart as it is, but before trusting someone as impatient as that Dave, who wouldn't listen, and didn't even tell me his last name, I'll take my chances with a wild animal. over him.

The federal wildlife office referred me to the State one, and verified laws that protect the little critter. I'm beginning to feel sorry for him.(Perhaps we need laws to protect us from the Daves of the world). The nice person on the phone suggested I soak rags with ammonia, and stuff them in the hole it dug, and every day or two, resoak the rags. I'm also to not leave food or water out. So I'm being very careful about that.

For a few days I haven't heard the critter here at all. It isn't trying to chew through my front door. So for now it is peaceful coexistence here. Except for using the ammonia to make it go away, like the wildlife person said, I'm not messing with Mother Nature. But if you come across someone like that creature who calls himself Dave, I'd be careful with him.

The Cats' Meow

2008-05-14T23:28:00.007-06:00

All day these thoughts have pounded my brain, distracting whatever I'm trying to do, caused me to take ten minutes or more to choose a loaf of bread in the store. For years I've thought of the freedom retirement could bring.

I'd think how nice calling my time my own would be, then I'd work another nursing shift,and hardly note how easily I traded another day of life for a paycheck. Not that we don't need some support. Years ago I'd read things like "Man doesn't live by bread alone", or "A loaf of bread, and wine, and thee" and thought I knew what it meant, but I only glossed over some interesting words that may as well still be new to me.

Recently I wrote about changes made at work to fill empty beds on the nursing units, and how I chose to work on the Alzheimer one because I didn't want to work in the more intensive care areas.

The first few days I was on the Alzheimer unit I was so busy learning the patients' names and their usual routines, and giving them medications, that I paid little attention to other things there.

My eyes started running, and itching and sometimes would burn a little. Thinking it was a springtime allergy, I would use eyedrops. When I was home a day or two, the redness and itching and burning would ease up some, until I went back to work, and walked past the big locked doors that kept the unit closed up. I couldn't figure out what was causing the misery, until I almost stepped in the food and water that's set out in the nurses' stationfor the three cats that have been on the unit so long, they're considered part of it.

A little aside from this story is that it probably has daughter, Barb a " Chelsea Morning" almost rolling on her floor. Years ago when I went to her house to go to her daughter, Krissy's, college graduation, soon after getting there, I started coughing andsneezing like crazy, and Barb said "Mom, I think you're allergic to my cats". I didn't believe her, and made my opinion quite clear, to which I remember Barb gave up trying to convince me, but the determined look remained in her eyes. So I owe her about this one.

Not only do the Alzheimer unit cats eat and drink their fill in the tiny corner that's our nursing station, (I'm getting a little territoral here) Up higher than a grownup's shoulders, for confidential privacy of the patients' records, is a thick wooden kind of railing that's the cats' favorite place to rest, and if they care to, take naps. How they hang there, with all four paws dangling down, and so relaxed, while I'm dying from their dander, or whatever's killing me, is just not fair.

Aside from an attempt to lighten this with some humor, it really is a serious situation.The last shift I worked on the unit, my eyes were so irritated that on the way home, the edges of the road or painted boundary lines seemed to wax and wane with a ribbon flowing motion, and that was very scary.

A few days ago I wrote about a book, titled "Success Is A Journey" by Brian Tracy, that offers much help about reaching goals, and dealing with our lives. On page 62, the author writes that whenever God wants to send us a gift, He wraps it up in a problem. ...... and that we should look into our greatest difficulty for the gift it contains.

After that very scary drive home, I thought a lot about this entire situation; how I've wanted to live free of a work schedule; have the energy that time can give, for thinking of wonderful books to write. Delighting myself in growing killer tomatoes, and lovely plants all over the house. Not having to just hope I can be home on holidays. Spending time with my family, celebrating occasions with them. I might have to give them less expensive gifts, but they'd be getting more of me.

When the alarm clocks' screeching (I set two of them) un-nerved my spinal column, it was so easy to hop out of bed. Before I poured my first cup of coffee, I picked up the phone, and called my boss, and let her know I can't keep working on this unit with the cats.

They couldn't find a replacement for my next scheduled shift, so I agreed to work it. Knowing it would be the last one there, I could do that, runny eyes, sneezing, and all. Lunch time sometimes gets lost in whatever's going on there, and it did. An extra tray had been setting out too long to eat, some attempt at serving patients an oriental meal, so I passed on it, but took the dried looking fortune cookie, and crushed it in my hand, and I couldn't be more serious when I tell you what it said. It read: "You will soon make an important decision". As I remember this now, I'm reminded of my own words earlier here, about how God uses unusual things to help us look at ourselves.

It was suppose to to be a twelve hour shift but lab reports that should have been dealt with, but weren't, and other patient related problems, and more paper work, kept me there until the twelve stretched into fifteen hours since I began the shift.

I had to find a supervisor to help me with some of the care. When I returned to the nurse's station, one of the cats was stretched out on a stack of patients' charts and papers, and another needed me to get out of its way so he could enjoy a very late snack. I tried to not breathe in much while they were so close around, but it is their home, and a lady always knows how to make a proper exit, or when she's reached her limit, or both, so I can give them that. But I still don't understand how they can sleep on nothing but a rail, and not fall off.

Books and Lilies, and Listening to Children

2008-05-11T01:31:00.022-06:00

It's another work day, but I don't want to go. I shoulder my nurse bag, and pick up a clipboard used for shift reports, and start to head out the door, But suddenly remember I forgot a lunch, and rush back in; throw a few snacks in a bag, and try again to leave.

Lately this is the difficult part. I have to walk past the front yard flower beds, and everything in them including even the weeds, invite me to stay.

Every day the Iris there seem taller, and today they're showing some color. Sometimes, just for the pleasure, I count their regal stems, and wonder how many more there may be.

Smaller flowers beneath them have already blossomed, but a few tulips seem no more eager than me to leave. I get in the car and start the engine, and as it warms, look at the beds again. Somebody planned them well, spaced between them for effect, and for color, and left areas altogether empty to walk on, or pull water hoses out.

Before I back the car onto the street, I scan the yard again. Besides the flower beds are trees of only a few years' growth. One was covered with tiny white blossoms that all blew away. Another's pink ones are mostly still around, while a third tree put out only leaves. I would love to dig in some rich potting soil, and stay as long as I wanted in a library, learning gardening, and finding books that teach me what kinds of trees I have.

Driving to work is an ever changing scene. Today it is easy to see winter's being replaced with various shades of green. As I pull into the nursing home parking lot, I notice more cars than usual already there, and wonder if an inservice I forgot about is going on without me. But when I reach the entrance door, an official looking notice there beads right down on me. State is here for their annual inspection. We may even do well on it. It's the getting through it that's so dreaded.

I breathe a long slow sigh of quiet dread, and not a small amount of relief. It's a little like our starting labor. Now we can look forward to the ending. I would much prefer choosing what to plant where in the yard, or picking out my next good book to read.

Two I connected with recently seem just made for me. I think I was suppose to find them. While struggling with whether to retire sometime soon, or to work a few more years, "Success Is A Journey" by Brian Tracy, and "My Twice - Lived life, A Memoir", by Donald M. Murray, answered many questions.

The first book is about having a goal, and how to persevere so you can reach it. The second book deals with the passions and challenges that aging brings. I would so love to write as well as Mr. Murray, but more than that, to be even nearly as honest as he about who and what he is, and how he got that way.

Someone said it's not the starting of your life that is to guide you through it, nor the accomplishments, or accolades you garnered along the way. It's not even the challenges, or why they happened to you. It's the journey, only the journey.

Not a lot exciting is in mine today. We did do well on the State inspection, and my son is over his last surgery enough that he's doing more repairs and upkeep for me. Today he checked the house cooling system, and discovered it is fairly new, and seems in good condition. He also worked on whatever's causing leaks in the sun room, and we'll either fix it, or put a new roof over that room. but now we have something else to contemplate.

Remember the neighbor's little boy telling me when I moved in he'd seen a fox around here, and how I pretty much ignored it. Turns out the kid was probably right, for there's some kind of critter down beneath the house. We see signs of where he's digging outside, and I'm getting information from federal and state. If it is a fox, (Federal tells me they're a protected species) I'll need to have it relocated to a certain area properly.

I had planned ending this a little poetically, with something like "I haven't read enough books in my life, or considered enough of the lilies". But somehow that doesn't fit anymore. Today I'm just glad we're only dealing with a fox, hopefully a small one.

More On Moms And Daughters

2008-05-01T23:22:00.018-06:00

At the start of my blog there's a quote from my daughter, Barb, whom you know from "A Chelsea Morning". What I wanted the quote to say is that the music of life goes on, so listen to this, and you'll hear it.

Earlier today Barb wrote on moms and daughters, and about being Nanas. She began and ended her post with a picture of her hand, and great grand daughter Avery's tiny new one. A picture that says more than words ever could. What a great Mother's Day gift it would make.

Barb talked about family generational relationships, how they are, and how they'll never end. Directions her brothers' lives took were influenced by male role models, and Tonka toy trucks. But Barb's calling began quietly, and without much notice. I needed her to fold her little brothers' mounds of cloth diapers, every laundry day. Things that impose themselves on us, whether we notice it at the time, or even like them, sometimes leave the biggest imprint on us. Barb learned other household skills; making school lunches for her brothers and her sister, and probably helped me with the ironing. Being the oldest of six kids is not easy.

In Middle school, Barb was so in the habit of doing household stuff, it was almost second nature that she learn how to sew and her younger sister did, too. It took a huge leap of faith in them, and I was not totally without dread, to let the two of them practice on my prized Singer. But I did. Pretty soon both of them were sewing better than I still can.

Barb also learned cooking in school. If she or her sister had had to learn from me, their poor husbands might have given up hope for good meals. All I knew about sewing or cooking, I taught myself, picking up pointers where I could. I'd have something good in a cafeteria, or notice other dishes while going through the line, and try to make them at home, but had more failed attempts than successes. But this story is not about me. It's about a fine heart and soul you could not NOT fall in love with.

In an email to me about my surprising her with the sewing machine, she said she couldn't imagine why I decided to do that. This is so like Barb, to not expect anything. But she deserves this, and more. You might think of it as a pay back for folding all those diapers.

At the risk of sounding motherly, I do believe Barb's burp cloth beginning "Chelsea Morning little shoppe" will be a wonderful success. And if I had any doubt about her needing a new machine, those Sock monkey legs and arms and bodies, piled up so high in her Wordless Wednesday pictures convinced me. Please tell her I mailed the machine in its original box Thursday. I can't wait to see what her next Little Shoppe creation will be.

A Different World.

2008-04-29T23:20:00.006-06:00

I've wanted to be more in touch with all of you. But thought it kind of silly to keep posting about car door locks not working, or how much more I need to do, to settle into the house. Surely something more interesting is happening in the world. In thinking about what I might share with you, I looked back at posts I've done since my son's two surgeries, and even bored myself with reading most of them.

Something needed to change, and it came in the form of a major restructuring of nursing assignments at work. While there's still a shortage of us, these changes help some. But I knew it would be much more difficult to work on acute care units.

I was so discouraged, that I'd about decided to just quit, and retire. But a certain young nurse who works the Alzheimer unit, lately had kept showing up wherever I was, telling me how she's moving back to Florida, and someone is needed to take her place, and not a lot of nurses are wanting to do that.

At first I mostly ignored her about it, but as I thought more, realized perhaps this might be a good idea. I cannot keep up the pace younger nurses have to, so this is good. On Alzheimer units, you have to slow down to how they move, and their speed of comprehension.

So please don't send condolences to daughters, Barb, at A Chelsea Morning, and Bev, at "Scratchin' the Surface", because their mom will now be a regular on this locked unit.

I love the changes from the past that I'm seeing there. Bedrooms are decorated individually, with lots of personal touches to remind them who they are. Pictures are posted to help with recognition. And a really nice oudoor area, all secure, of course, allows fresh air walks, or just places in the sun, to rest.

The activities department works with them much; encourages their long term memory, and other relating. They really get into music and art. It's so nice seeing someone break into song without being selfconscious about it. Someone started a movie, and as soon as its stars appeared, a few residents called out who they were.

The unit has a homey atmosphere. I counted three cats who've homesteaded there, and I noticed that a few of the residents, who must not be early risers, were allowed to sleep as late as they wanted to, and were given meals and medications after they got up.

Maybe some day more will be known, and can be done about Alzheimers. What I've seen is that their blood pressure and other vital signs are much better than other nursing home patients tend to be, and they generally live a long time, which I think says much about having less worry and stress.

The most difficult adjustment for me, I think, will be getting used to the twelve hour shifts, but because of them, will get more days off. After many years of having to rush so at work, I am still reminding myself that it's o.k that I'll be getting paid for just spending some time with these people, who so need a human touch.

Seasons

2008-04-16T12:32:00.008-06:00

Now that this computer is working again, I've been checking daughter, Bev's posts at "Scratchin' The Surface" almost daily, to see how her writings are coming along. This morning the brick decoration on her dining room wall pulled me toward it, as I read words she'd put there, about remembering our moments, and letting the years go by.

I was already heady, after reading about granddaughter Sarah finding her name in a brick at she and her family's new home. While I'm not real learned with all of the Bible, those words on Bev's wall kept me there awhile, reminding me of something in the Old Testament, something I think, about being faithful to God.

Kings and queens may leave their insignias on paper decrees, and those may be in history awhile. When God emphasizes His will and control of our lives, He may use simple things, like a dirt covered brick that's been setting somewhere a long, long time with a name on it, waiting for Sarah to find.

But back to the present, or is it the future; a day of not knowing quite what to do with myself, I get in the car, and soon am driving to a neighborhood I'd almost covered with memories of many years. If it wouldn't sound so crazy, or I wouldn't get arrested, I could almost rename part of the town "One woman's walk through life". When I am brave enough sometimes, I glance at my older form, and remember a decade or more of having lived there. Time spent in nurses training, and at the local college, and years I still don't want to believe I tossed away so easily.

As I let those memories go back where they belong, all I'm seeing there are pretty flowers pushing through the grounds, the clockworking of another Spring. Less kind seasons, summer's harsh heat bearing down, after winters, even blizzards of quiet supremacy their brutal beauty would deny.

A part of me wants to hold onto the pictures of it all in my mind, but I've already lingered there too long. Not quite certain, but determined to try, I wonder if it's possible to make a nostalgia for tomorrow. I smile a moment at the memories I don't want to let go, and head my car back home.

Growing Pangs

2008-04-13T09:45:00.007-06:00

I am sitting here with my first morning coffee. All four of the little green lights on my new modem are in line, as if in the military, quietly awaiting commands.

Almost a month ago I was in this same place when the lights on this Dell and the modem suddenly shut down, and I felt a little like unplugging life supports must feel.

I didn't realize how much I depend on this wonderful invention. When I would hear something about the coming presidential election, I'd think I'd get more details from it, then remember that I couldn't, and a restlessness and not so quiet impatience would set in. When I read about how complaining the children in the wilderness became, I would think how unappreciative they were, and be glad I'm not like that. When asked what my best qualities are, almost always I enjoyed telling people what a patient person I am.

Obviously our Lord had some work to do on me, and not so obviously, He set out about it much differently that I would have. I think it began one frigid night when the driver's side car door lock froze, and when I shoved a heated key into it, the already improperly working little gremlin became just what God could use to show me my patience isn't as great as I want to believe it is.

The lock problem began about four weeks ago, and it's still not repaired. The mechanic couldn't even get that door open. He ordered the new parts, but so much is going on at work it is hard to correlate his work schedule and mine, and another week will go by before we can.

I am trying to see something good in this. and I think I found it in the back of my upper legs, and numbers on my bathroom scales. A week or so ago I noticed my legs kind of hurt back there ,and wondered if arthritis had set in, but one day I realized how much calisthenics I'm doing getting in and out of the car from the other side of it. Remembering to use the safety grab bar as I swing myself over the middle console thing has greatly improved my form.

But the most fun about this aggravating inconvenience is seeing the puzzled looks on other drivers' faces. The last time I was at the mechanic's shop, and trying to get out of the car, some little lady walking her restless little dog who was wrapping his leash around her skinny little legs, was so puzzled by it all, she couldn't quite figure it out. But I had already made a few stops on my way to the garage, and was fresh out of repeating: "My car door is broken." As I walked into the garage, she continued standing out there, staring at my car.

I hadn't weighed lately, and was more than a little smug this a.m. Without even trying, I've lost four pounds. I turned down a nursing job I just didn't feel O.K. about, and my son had more surgery, but is doing really well. Eventually the house repairs will get done. I really thought I was handling all these things rather well, but now understand that God really is in charge of even the small details of our lives, and that includes broken car door locks.

In checking family blogs, and those of other bloggers, I see that everybody has important things to deal with, but the most important of them all is little Cameron getting well. Compared to that, nothing, absolutely nothing else matters. Please keep praying for him.

Sitcoms don't have anything on this.

2008-03-18T22:47:00.009-06:00

Before I finish this, I may think of a better title, but it is about situations, and there's some humor, though not with as much belly shaking, and tears on your chin, as with daughter, Bev's "Little Red Hen" at "Scratchin' The Surface."

Having two days off began almost gently, as I poured more coffee, and made an errand list. I would mail a package of pretty little items for her granddaughter, in care of Barb at "A Chelsea Morning".The post office already had a line of eight or ten restless people, none of whom smiled much as they waited, and more arrived and lined up after me. Finally, it was my turn, but I couldn't hear the clerk try to talk with me, because suddenly a woman rushed right in, and before the next waiting person could hurry to the counter, she pounced in front of him.

Another thing I planned doing after leaving the post office, was making sure I bought corned beef, and all you cook with it. Just because my family's grown doesn't mean I can't have all of it I want to. That's the reason God called me a "Mc". I'm suppose to, and it almost got me in trouble while I was in the Post Office, but I wisely didn't say anything to the woman who crashed the long waiting line.

She was so worked up she was yelling, complaining about a letter not getting somewhere on time, and it was obvious she wanted a chunk out of the poor postal clerk's behind. I could feel the line's anger and impatience with her, and wondered if this was what caused crowds to do crazy things that could hurt or kill people. After the clerk told the woman I don't know how many times that he couldn't do anything about her letter, she stormed out, and that's when the crowd had plenty to say about her. Suffice it all to end this postal situation by simply saying I can't repeat any of their comments here.

After my package was on its way to Barb's, the next stop was the grocery store. People there seemed hurried, and sometimes not very polite, but perhaps I was still dealing with the post office fallout.

At the corned beef bin, another shopper and I dug through many packages of it. The biggest day of the year for this feast demands that we find a good cut of the meat. Part of the display bin was kind of empty, so I tossed my rejects there, and pretty soon the other customer joined right in. I checked to see if anyone was watching, then really slammed a couple of them. From the way she also threw them, I kind of wondered if something started her day off badly too.

I did more shopping for things around the house, but by the time I got home, didn't want to cook, or do laundry, or much of anything else. Had hoped to trim and rake some flower beds, but another snowfall cancelled that.

Tomorrow I might do more, but the rest of this called to me to take it easy. In the back of my mind, I knew I was thinking of big changes that are planned where I work. Even after I crawled into bed, until sleep took over, I kept thinking about it, but at least no one was angry and yelling, like at the post office, nor throwing corned beef around.

Sometimes even family may think I make decisions without more completely checking related details. But the more I get to know me, the more I realize I deal with things by letting them ferment, not in the way I make daily decisions, but more like my Granny used to heat her old metal irons. She would set the two of them on the back of the stove, and while she used one, the other was heating. That's kind of how my thought process works. This morning as I got out of bed I knew what I needed to do.

So far, it involves two other nursing homes where I've worked before. So I do have some things to compare to. If I stay where I'm working now, I will have to learn three more larger groups of patients and their needs. Nursing staff won't be assigned to particular units, but will work wherever management puts them. Even if this big change had not come about, I was considering working closer to home, and the higher gas gets, the more I think about it. That long drive home after shifts that keep you there even longer sometimes is a challenge, especially when the snow blows sideways.

Considering that staying where I am is almost like beginning a new job, I think I have figured it out, and this came about loud and clear, as I sat in the lobby of one of the other places, filling out a new application. Across from me I noticed an almost quiet little lady who is a resident there. A younger person was busy playing card games with her. I noticed the cards had large numbers on them. It was easy to see she was quite serious about getting the game rght.

Then I realized a year or two before I was taking care of her. She liked a certain kind of candy, little pieces wrapped in papers which her family made sure she always had. After supper she would hurry to her room where she listened to "talking books". While others showed little intrest in much of anything, she kept using her mind, and seeing her so intent about a card game was probably, except for throwing the corned beef, the most interesting thing I experienced all day.

You'd think I would have figured this out many years ago: I can take care of people like her anywhere I go. I think family will also tell you,(maybe even give examples) that I usually do things on a big scale, and they'd be right. After I finished filling out that application, I knew my next step would be another nursing home, one that's even closer. Whoever calls first from them gets me. The applications go into many details, as they should. I completed that one, and decided that's enough for this day.

I still needed carrots, celery and new potatoes to go with the corned beef, so back to the grocery store. Once there, might as well check its day old breads and breakfast rolls off in a corner of the bakery area. Two other customers were already there, so I somehow ended up with them between me and an escape route, which I quickly realized I would need. Both of them talked without either really listening, and it was all about physical ailments. Each one's diaster story outdid the other's. I had to get out of there, but when I tried getting my buggy where I could, the lady poked her arm almost right under my face to show me some miraculous surgery she'd survived. Let me tell you, taking care of the little people at the nursing home is comforting compared to listening to sickly entranced strangers. I was so surprised at how they went on and on, I just threw some of those not iced donuts, and some croissants in my cart, and as soon as I got the chance, without being too rude, hurried out. As I left, the lady was still listing her medical experiences.

Pulling into my driveway I noticed the young boy neighbor who so impressed me last summer. Another one about his age was with him. They'd been throwing something on the hard pavement, to crack it, or maybe just to hear the noise. Sometimes kids just need more to keep them busy. I was so hungry, and wanted to start the corned beef cooking, but the boys were full of things they just had to express, and they sure sounded more interesting than the two hypochondriacs trying to drown out each other.

One of the boys showed me how he could break up old combination locks. By striking them real hard, the tiny pieces would tumble out. A kid's got to have something to feel accomplishment about.

But then the other one showed me how he could make my car light shine, or not, by touching my door lock that should be working, but still isn't. I didn't really yell at the little guy, but I did speak loud enough to convince him to not mess with my already broken lock.

When I got inside the house I was so determined to call some time my own. The herd mentality at the post office, and those two socially needy people at the store had just about used up my benevolent attitude.

Tomorrow I'll be back at work, and maybe soon, orienting other nursing units somewhere. I am pretty certain work for me to do is around. I do need to help it settle down some, and when it does, perhaps I should work on my social life.

The Seasons Turn, And We With Them.

2008-03-16T01:29:00.009-06:00

It was said about a Catholic priest, who I believe died while giving Last Rites to 911 victims, that he had a saying he loved to tell people: "If you really want to make God laugh", he said, "tell Him what you'll be doing tomorrow". Some of us seem to do better if there's more sameness and predictability around. All of it isn't bad, but in the past week this is what I've learned or noticed.

I was making usual rounds at work, giving medicines and doing other things for patients, when one little lady who has lived there quite a while kept moving her wheel chair out of her room, until she and it were almost in the hall. She brushed the back of her hand across her face, and started to speak, and I could tell she had been crying. Management had sent out letters to residents' families, informing them that their moms and dads would be relocated to rooms on other nursing units, because major renovations and turning semiprivate rooms into private ones will soon be done there.

The lady who was crying so was having a hard time understanding why they are doing this, and I was having difficulty choosing my words carefully, while trying to think of something I could say or do to help the little woman not feel so upset and sad. Changes are hard for people like her, whose lives have become a day after day sameness.

On my way home from work that night, I thought about her need for things staying the same so she doesn't have to deal with new and uncertain situations, not having to worry if she won't have a window to look out of, and I thought about being so upset myself when so little about using my new Dell computer programming was comfortable to me. I considered all the changes I've chosen to take on in the last two years, and decided I would rearrange some, and not even blink about what my choices cost me.

Now one family member has a new monitor, and another has other parts of the Dell, and I am more than happy with what a computer person put together for me, and I don't even have to worry over it not having a warranty. If it stops working, my son and that nice computer man will fix it for me.

So much is in the how we see things. One son who has to be a little worn from long years of an apprenticeship and schooling, was laid off from work, but he's not fretting. Sees it as a chance to catch up on things, and do some extra jobs, and maybe some golfing.

Another son may travel out of state for his work, but he's not worried about being at only one job site, and besides, he says it's a great chance to see more of our country.

And most of you heard the good news that daughter, Barb, at "A Chelsea Morning" is finally approaching using her ability to make so many things. She is creating a web site business. Her kitchen table where she's made so many family memories, will soon see a labor of love I am sure Barb will do very well with.

My other daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' The Surface", well she's almost in home repair Heaven, swinging that perpetual paint brush of hers.

My son, who never took a formal class for it, but is very good at building computers, has spent so much time, making them for me, trying to get me interested in using them, and in this latest episode about the new Dell, even though he's very busy, he took time and provided back up safety for my pictures, and other stuff I wouldn't want ruined, and put in better virus protection. He asked if I was selling the Dell, and if so, what would be my price. I reminded him of all he's done for me, not just in making the computers, but again and again, helping, especially when I was moving. I told him yes, I do have a price, and my price is zero, not anything at all, Some things just are not measured in dollars.

Today we spent a lot of time together while he set this computer up, and then he and a special lady he knows and I, just about overdosed on giant hamburgers at Gunther Toody's. It was quite a hoot looking at all the 50's relics that decorate the place, even a real automobile is on display.

Tonight, after checking out so many things on this computer, and loving that it's all familiar to me, I decided to make myself clean up the kitchen, even though I'd rather play with this outer space stuff I'm learning how to use.

I am at the kitchen sink, and no water is turned on, but I begin to hear something with a steady beat, and it isn't raining. I take a few steps toward where it's sounding louder, and realize what I don't want to believe. There's another slow but steady leak in my sun room, right along a ceiling seam. I put a big container under it, and walk away, but the sound still irritates, so I grab a towel and lay it in what I've put under it to silence it. As I walk away from it, I am even able to laugh a bit. Come Spring I will have a new roof put on.

Last week my biggest problem was the car door lock not working, and I'm getting good at how to get in the car and secure the doors, and it's going to take a whole lot more than that, or a pesty leaking roof to upset me. I am having so much happiness pushing familiar computer buttons again that I can't be upset about almost anything.

More Sail Adjusting

2008-03-11T10:46:00.007-06:00

A few days ago I wrote that since we can't direct the wind, we might need to "adjust the sails", and I think it's time to do it again. I had been quite upset that my car door wouldn't unlock when I needed to get home from work after midnight in an awful snow storm. Walking up to my front door after that felt so safe and good, until I discovered that the door to the house wouldn't open either. Once inside I let those problems melt away like the ice outside. Tomorrow I would get the car door lock repaired. After all, it was just a problem that could be fixed. No need to dwell on it more.

Yesterday I got the car to the mechanic, and a few hours later drove it home. But the first time I needed to lock or unlock it, couldn't get it to work. Drove back to the repair shop, and learned, after already spending $85.61, more parts alone would cost about $200.00, and the mechanic's labor is even more.

This is where the sail trimming comes in. The locks on the other three doors on the car work fine, and I can lock the problem child one each time with my hand. To get back in the car all I have to do is open the door behind it, and lean forward enough to open the broken one enough so I can walk around the car, and get in. There's just no point in upsetting myself about this any more.

But what's a sail trimming, if you don 't do it well. I have decided to apply it to several things. I got a phone call from a son who took my other computer to a repair place. Even if it couldn't be repaired, I wanted to know what made it not work, and learned that numerous viruses got in it. As a nurse, that ugly word causes much concern, but when it was my computer some awful people infected with money hungry "germs", I just plain got worse than a little angry. All my old post writing machine needs is a new hard drive, and I've been going crazy trying to learn the new computer's Vista program.

If I am anything, being good at adapting to problems tops the list. I still have the boxes the new computer came in, and some day I may even deal with it again. But I'm a little stretched out from that costly car door lock that still doesn't work, and won't, unless I spend a few hundred dollars more. Clint Eastwood isn't the only person on earth who needs to know his limitations.

A few days ago, to encourage, and cheer me up, daughter, Bev, at "Scratchin' the Surface" sent a little note that sets where I'll see it often. In it she lists many things we sometimes must deal with, and troublesome and costly broken car door locks, and computer programs I was driving myself crazy about, are not important enough to waste any more brain power on. They don't even make the top ten list. Unpacked boxes, and windows still needing curtains won't ruin the sails on my little boat either.

I read somewhere that cancer patients are encouraged to write out grateful lists, to dwell on the positive, that a negative attitude interferes with their healing. The next post you'll read from Flight Song will not be about things all of us may sometimes have to deal with. When the apostles worried that their boat might sink, Jesus reminded them who controls the storms. Mine isn't even a gale.

Adjusting The Sails

2008-03-04T23:41:00.008-07:00

"We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails". That's just one of many sayings I live by, but lately feel that I'm not doing it very well. Yesterday I was eager to know that granddaughter, Krissy, and her new born baby girl were both alright after surgery to deliver her.

Finally Barb's email with fresh made pictures arrived. One especially stood out, Krissy holding her child while intently looking at her. Words could not express her birth any better. Moms never forget those first time moments.

Like many others wanting to know about the baby, I had waited and waited. Coffee helped, but I was still wrung out from a trying work shift, which by itself would have been enough to make me eager for some days off, but when I finally walked out to my car to go home, I couldn't get the door of it to open. The lock was frozen. This had happened once a long time ago, so I was prepared, and pulled a cigarette lighter out of my nurses bag, and heated the key before using it, and calmly drove myself home. But when I got here, I couldn't get the car door to lock. And imagine my surprise when I tried unlocking the door to the house. but couldn't get it open. A little stretch beneath it still needs repairing, and I suppose ice had formed there. It took a few swift kicks, hoping I didn't break anything down there, but I finally got it loose, and just in case something screwy like that happens again, there's now a set of tools someone gave me for Christmas in arm's reach in the car.

I was upset that I almost stayed locked out of both the car and the house. By then I wasn't adjusting my sails very well, and even let it carry over some into the next day. Worrying about how I would keep the car locked now until I can get it repaired overshadowed a wonderful day.

I wasn't proud of myself for kicking the door so hard, or some choice words I muttered, but before I went to sleep last night I made my mind up in advance; Today I would behave much better.

I'm sure you understand that some days we may not be filled with enough pep and vinegar, and today was one of them, not a good day for doing serious anything. After I did a few must do tasks in the house, I opened my unlocked car door, and drove straight to a great mechanic I know. He'll fix the car on Friday, so until then I'll just have to depend on my Lord to keep me safe.

I had got in the car and started driving. Two blocks from the house I had to slow more. A dozen or more Canadian geese were hogging the road, and refused to get out of it. Since I had to stop for them anyway, I just basked in their beauty that is always so regal. It was a good reminder to sometime just slow down.

Next stop was a favorite thrift store. I am such an optimist, I keep hoping to find drapes that will fit my huge patio doors. Again though, I didn't, but since I wasn't in a hurry, I took moments to notice what other customers were doing, what kinds of treasures they were choosing.

A young looking Mom with two little girls, maybe 4 or 6 years old had several stuffed toys in their cart. I couldn't help wondering which one of them would claim the big teddy bear.

A young man held onto a pair of lamps that would decorate a bedroom very well. Several people were looking through rows of books, and I joined them. It is always easy to find some I want to take home.

The problem is limiting them to only a few, but when I spotted one, the search was over. Written in the seventies by Richard D Bach, and photographs by Russell Munson, until you read it while traveling miles above the clouds in a plane, you might not get the full impact of "Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a story". It is dedicated "to the real Jonathan Seagull, who lives within us all". Losing myself in a book like that adjusted my sails better than I could. The car will be fixed soon, and difficult work shifts don't happen often. On the way home all I could think of was turning the computer on, and looking closely again at Nana Barb's Avery Lynn.

Life Lessons

2008-03-01T11:11:00.012-07:00

I intended to post next about less serious things, and I do have some in mind. But the uniform I wore to work last night hangs limply on the bathtub rail, and my bed's not yet made, and a few dishes in the kitchen sink wait there, but I don't care. This is my day off, and I'm here before this Dell, working on a third cup of coffee.

The start of another month closer to Spring is encouraging, but I'm not thinking of planting flower beds. I am reconsidering recent things, especially the day and a half I spent with that loony CPR instructor. I want to understand why he singled me out of every other person in the class.

I remember trying hard to please grade school teachers, which wasn't a really bad thing. Doing that heralded me toward a lifetime love affair with learning. But somewhere along that journey of becoming, without realizing it, I became a people pleaser, all the while just grateful that someone approved of me. When you couple that with the development of a true Southern lady, it almost guarantees that I'd still be dealing with trying to undo this today.

I am now on a mission to eradicate this self defeating trait. I am not kidding myself that this will be easy. Habits we've done most of our lives are such a part of us. I see this in so many elderly female patients.

It's almost automatic the way they say "Oh, excuse me", or "I'm so sorry", when they haven't done anything that requires apologies. While the CPR trainer was overly crude and mean spirited, just plain ugly, I do take responsibility for making it so easy for him to rip at me. When wolves attack a pack of other animals, they don't pick on its leader. They go for the easiest prey trailing at the back, the wounded, the sick.

It will take a lot of practice to change reactions I've done most of my life, but I couldn't be more serious about it. This morning when I had just poured my first cup of coffee two women dressed ever so nicely walked to my front door. I just stood there in my scroungy pj's, knowing I hadn't yet combed my hair, and let them place a paper flier about their religion in my hand. After they walked away I threw it in the garbage. There really was no point in being ugly about it. But for a fleeting moment I had felt inferior to total strangers.

Lately I've also realized that I let other people overly influence me, so I am also seriousl working on that. All these years I've been the person in line in the market place more likely to let you cut in, and I'm really good at holding doors for people, sometimes even men.

I remember years ago being at some parent/teacher event where we needed to sign up for something. I already had my half dozen children then, and was pretty good at hanging on to them in crowds, but I kept stepping back and letting other moms go first. and ended up being the last person there. It is kind of nice to surprise someone when they're waiting to check out only a few items. But I'm talking about almost always demurring to others. The situation with the women who came to my door this morning just points up how almost automatic this can become.

But I am changing this. Yesterday on my way to work, before I pulled into the parking lot, I gave myself a pep talk some might think silly. But it worked. I walked into the nursing home with my shoulders up and straight, and a genuine smile for the patients, knowing how fortunate they are that I was taking care of them last night. I even made time to feed a weary man some ice cream.

Feeling better about myself projected a much better attitude to them, and to my hard working nurses aides. Even the paper work I so often dread took less time.

This stoic computer I've sometimes been ignoring, or almost treating like an enemy doesn't know it yet, but we will become good friends. "Mr. or Miss. Dell" As soon as I go shopping for some new things to cheer myself up with, I'm going to charm you off this desk, with all these new and beautiful things I'm learning about you, day by day.

This is a test, it is only a test., if it had been real life.......

2008-02-27T11:45:00.005-07:00

If I'd paid closer attention as I walked into the room, I'd have realized the butterflies in my stomach were about more than test anxiety. The man who would teach all who came for this CPR training seemed to squirm to extreme as he sat at the front of the class room, again and again straightening stacks of papers and books, some pens.

At least twelve empty seats surrounded the desk area in front of them. Without really thinking I had laid my jacket on chair next to where I would sit. The first thing this instructor said, no, more commanded, was that I move the jacket to the back of my own seat.

I couldn't see that this was a huge problem, but did as he said, and waited for the rest of the class to get there.

When they came, and the fidgety instructor asked us to state why we were taking the training, America was well represented. An Hispanic man spoke first, then a tiny young oriental woman. A young boy, not old enough to be called a man, slunk in his seat, and when he spoke one could hardly hear him. Next to me sat another older woman who was a nanny, and needed CPR for caring for children. I was the only nurse in the class. But by far the happiest of all of us there was a couple who appeared about in their early thirties. They were adopting a baby, and CPR was required for them.

When everyone taking the class was there, our instructor stood up, and beamed in on the young, quiet one. "First I want to say thank you to those of you who cared enough to be on time. He stared down at the youg person again: "Don't be late again, he rumbled at him, you need not waste our time" The young person humped deeper in his seat, then turned and stared at a nearby wall.

I was not liking this instructer, not one bit, but held onto what little cool I still had. Six hours of training that night and four hours the next day, and pass the test, and I wouldn't have to ever see him again.

The training flipped back and forth from watching real people on film show us proper hand and body placement for giving breaths and compressions. I had done this training many times, so was already familiar with most of it, except a few changes. But he just kept hammering the class, and for some reason I didn't understand, seemed to single me out much more than the rest.

I have no doubt that if I needed to give CPR to one of my patients, or a stranger somewhere in the world I wouldn't hesitate one bit, and would know what I needed to do.

By now we all had plastic manikins to practice on, and were on our knees on bare wood floor, checking for signs of life and giving breaths and groups of compressions, with most of us well in rhythm together. An hour and 20 minutes later, he was still bellowing "faster, faster!" "This could be a real person!, he yelled. He could have been cracking a whip over our heads.

Before I got up off the floor, I already knew the next day I'd be sore. My knee I've had the knee replacement on already was somewhat swollen, and beginning to hurt. I gritted my teeth, willing myself to get through the training. That night of it was almost over, and after a few hours the next evening, I'd be out of there.

Somewhere in the first day of it we were allowed one ten minute break, and got right back to practicing, and watching more film. The young man was five minutes late, and received a seething eye rolling speech from this instructor.

When we began on the second night, I wasn't at all surprised when the young man wasn't there, and not surprised at his comment about him. Pointing to the chair where the young man would have sat, he circled the room with a roll of his head and spoke loud enough for all to hear: "That's how those community service characters are, they never finish the course"

Again we had to do all the steps of CPR, this time to children, and then to babies. My only relief was that I could place them on the table, and not have to get down on my knees on the floor again.

Finally, the instructer stacked up all the items on the table he'd kept stacking and unstacking a lot, and handed us our paper tests. His speeches he enjoyed enlighting us with, had eaten up all the class time except less than forty minutes for our tests.

I paid very close attention to everything he said, especially about the test questions and pages we'd be writing our answers on were not in sequence. He had mentioned we had to score 80% so I read each question carefully and chose the best answer I could, and kept moving on, to finish.

I was the next to the last person in the room to finish, and waited. With a swoop of his hand he drew a huge circle over one part of the test. "You didn't get enough right answers here," he said, as he marked big exes on the parts I missed. I hurried back to my seat, and raced through them again, and once more stood quietly, while he ripped through my answers again.

"Here, these are the ones you missed", he said loudly, but by now I wasn't worried. Somewhere in life I'd heard "If you can't beat em, join 'em." While he almost seemed to enjoy pointing out how I'd failed, making bigger circles on my answers, again and again, in his determination to point out where I'd failed he had marked in the correct answers. By now I knew he didn't intend to let me pass, so I did what any smart student would, if they'd been dealing with him. I simply memorized the letters of the proper answers, and filled them in, and when he allowed me to pick up my already signed CPR card, I ignored my still swollen knee, and gritted my teeth for the second time in his class, and placed that little card in my purse, and said a polite "thank you" to him, and left.

Outside, the couple who are adopting stood by their car, holding hands. By now all the others had left. Having the last word, saying ugly things to the instructor would have made me feel smug, but was so pointless.

I wonder about the young man doing the CPR as part of some required community service, and hope someone in his life is more helpful to him than this pitiful person who is so full of himself, and his imagined importance, that he has nothing to give.

This CPR course won't be a significant part of my life, but what I learned there will.

Oh the seasons, how they turn.

2008-02-24T00:18:00.007-07:00

I'm not real sure how I got back here. Today a very caring son spent hours putting a new computer together for me, so when he finished I had to email far away daughters, let them know I'm not still lost out in cyberspace.

Feeling pretty smart that I figured out how to do even this much at this brand new keyboard, and checking a few other things to see if I could do more, I became downright nostalgic to return to Flight Song, so I can connect with all of you again.

It doesn't seem a long, long time since I turned the computer off for what I thought wouldn't be long. Christmas would arrive again, and herald another year. After all the calendar pages I've turned over and over, you'd think I'd be wise enough to not imagine predicting anything. But I did, and more important than that, God had other plans.

Sometimes we may get so busy we don't realize that tremendous events, even a miracle or two land on our shoulders because that's where the Lord wants them to be. He has work for us to do. If I hadn't chosen this house out of many, my son very well would not have survived his ruptured appendix. Leading me to this particular place, very close to where he lives, was where I needed to be. Much that is critical sometimes seems to hang by a very thin string. Today this son not only is doing well after his heavy duty surgery. As he does more and more work on this seemingly incidental place, while his postoperative days fade behind him, a new appreciation for his own life, and pride and confidence rises.

Anyone whose a mom doesn't need this explained. When he had surgery the year before, the night before it he quit smoking, gave his last pack away, and hasn't started again. Something about scary surgery seems to bring out resolutions in him. This time around he stopped drinking. If I had any doubts, they are seriously history. God gave my son back to me.

Later I want to share other things about this long drawn time. But tonight my heart is peaceful as Easter and springtime near. I can't wait to see what previous owners planted in the yard, and there's a rustic old deck out by the house, almost as eager as I am for its first big barbecue. I won't even pretend knowing what the seasons may bring, but I am pretty sure whose in charge of them.