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 |  Just play: don't look at your hands! |
What a dumb title for a person who never got a single star  on her piano lessons!Daily practice is the thing though: the practice of noticing as well as of writing.  However, I'd much rather play duets than solos, so hop right in! You can do the melody or the base part, I don't care.  Just play along--we'll make up the tune as we go. I'll try to write regularly and deliberately. Sometimes I will do it poorly, tritely, stiltedly, obscurely. I will try to persevere regardless. It seems to be where my heart wants to go, and that means to me that God wants me there too. See you tomorrow. ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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| I'll squeeze in the time to tell you about all some of the things that are percolating in my mind tonight. My grandson Jack has been here for the weekend, his first trip here without his twin, Sophie. She was having a sleepover, and he wanted to escape it! Fortunately for me, he asked if he could come here for this long weekend! His dad brought him down on Saturday and spent the night with us too. We had a nice time together, really enjoying each other's company in a way we don't usually get to because the rest of the family is usually here too. Bill was happy to show George his wonderful new hi-def TV with surround sound, and they watched the movie Cars, which George hadn't seen, while Jack and I played Monopoly. Our game continued through Sunday night, with lots of math skills and "how to spend your money wisely" lessons taught. (I hope Jack had a good time anyway. :>) I know I did. We sure laughed a lot.) Jack went to church with us on Sunday, also a first. I didn't hear how his Sunday School class went, except that he was the only boy, and his friend Adrian (from Vacation Bible School, Jack's only church experience) didn't come until church had started. Jack sat with another family instead, and the dad of that family is a Scout leader. I could see, from where I sat up front, that Stan was showing Jack where to turn in the prayer book and the hymnal, etc.) When the children came up front for the children's homily, Jack sat very quiet and attentive, even tho, by then, his friend Adrian and Adrian's sister had arrived and were giggling near him. I was proud that he was quiet and appeared to be listening. The priest, Fr. Birch, was talking about, of all things, leprosy, because it appeared in two of the Sunday lessons, Old and New Testament. Kids, who are always interested in icky things, seemed to be paying attention. Birch, who had witnessed and hugged people with leprosy in Haiti, was obviously moved by the subject. That was not entirely lost on the children. I'll be interested to hear what Jack remembers from that, if anything. Today we took Jack home, or at least most of the way. I was on call for the weekend, and we got a late start. Bill wanted to get a haircut-- badly needed-- and an oil change; so Jack and I took Lola to the dog park, also badly needed. Then we picked up some lunch and met Bill in town, transferred to his car, the hybrid, and drove to within twenty miles of Spokane. Lenore met us there, and we had a snack together at a little restaurant before taking off. That wasn't quite the way Bill had planned the day, but he never mentioned that. He is such a sweetie! He had hoped to go to the airport and help get the plane ready for its annual inspection. Instead, he drove us nearly to Spokane and back because he didn't want me to make the return trip alone. (I halfway dozed all the way home, so that was really a good call on his part.) It's past time for me to go to bed now, but Bill wanted me to watch a video with him called "Born Again American." It really did have an impact on me. I don't know what it will do to help the cause, but it's heading the right direction. We, in this country, need to be reminded we're in this together, and to be willing to help each other. It's definitely 'country', but it's much more than that too. I hope you'll take the time to check it out. http://www.bornagainamerican.org/index.html |
| I've just found my new favorite pastime: floating around a "lazy river." We went to Kellogg, ID, on Friday and stayed at the Silver Mountain resort. It had another name too, the Morning Star, I'm not sure why. We got there just in time to ride the family size tube down the Moose Sluice in the giant indoor waterpark, then take a few turns on the lazy river. It closed at 8, and we were late getting there for no particular reason. Guess we just weren't in a hurry after we found out the kids from Spokane weren't planning to be there until Saturday. Saturday morning Bill got into his ski gear. Did a test fit in the bedroom because he hadn't been in those duds for fifteen years at least. The boots, the old fashioned kind that look like they're out of Star Wars, were pretty hard to clamp closed, but we made it. The skis, borrowed from a friend who owns a ski shop and who used to be on ski patrol with Bill back in the olden days, were much shorter and wider than he'd ever used before and had spoonbill ends. The man standing behind us in the lift line commented that his skis were still awfully long, and that the boots looked like they were missing all their buckles and might not keep his ankles rigid enough with those skis. Great help that was! I'm sure Bill was nervous enough about performing well, especially since I'd only heard the stories of his skiing adventures and never seen him actually do it. He wisely started with the beginners slopes, then accidentally got onto a black diamond one but still did okay. He said it was riding a bicycle, you never forget. It looks like such fun, but so very complicated. I'd never even master the chair lift, I'm afraid, or the platter pull I remember my kids using when they were learning on the bunny hill. I took the tram up with him to see the sights and take some pictures, then went back down to meet the kids in the waterpark. Bill joined us about three hours later, not only still walking but climbed three flights of stairs to take Jack on another tube ride. It was a lot of fun. The water temperature was 82 and the air 84, a perfect atmosphere. We all watched the folks try the wave rider, which the twins tackled on boogie boards and did well. Only the braver souls tried surfing it, and they were a riot. Some were very good at it. Bill told everybody that there's one of those on the back of cruise ships, but that if you wash out, you go overboard. I don't think anybody fell for the last part. I'm a little surprised he didn't try it himself, but maybe he figured skiing was enough of an accomplishment for one weekend and he shouldn't press his luck. Probably wise. |
| Our hospice census is low right now. Usually I have at least eighteen patients, but now I'm down to eleven, and not all of them want my services. Of the recent admits, quite a few have died within a few days. Some of my long term patients have "graduated," that is to say, they're no longer eligible for hospice because they're getting better, not worse. Reasonably, Medicare doesn't want to pay a hospice benefit to people who looked like they were going to die but have now recovered nicely. Being an introvert by nature, I find it difficult to always be starting out with new patients, always trying to develop rapport. A couple of weeks ago I met a patient I genuinely wanted to have hang around for a long time. Unfortunately, we never had a second visit, but I will always remember her. When I first entered her living room, before I could even sit down, she said, "I'm not a religious person." (That's not an unusual thing to say, but usually it happens on the phone and is a prelude to "Please don't come. I don't need anything right now." Social workers and chaplains hear that often enough to not take it personally. Nurses never hear it.) Helen was sitting in her recliner beside one of those Amish heaters that look like a fireplace. "I am an evolutionist," she continued. I nodded and said I also believe in evolution. "My husband is one too," she said, "but not in the same way. He believes that God used evolution to create the universe, and so there is no conflict for him." I could agree with that too, but I kept quiet, waiting to hear what was different about what she believed. "I'm not sure there is a God," she said, "at least not one who created the world. God is Love. I don't know about all the rest. Love is the only way we'll ever solve our problems in this world." "I don't know about Jesus either," she went on. "I think the Jews made up a lot of those stories, like the Resurrection. That's not important to me. The important part is that Jesus is the only way we got to see God." I was amazed. No one had ever articulated their faith to me so succinctly. She had really thought it out, and I congratulated her. I asked her if she believed in an afterlife, and she said, "No, not really. I'd like to. It's a nice idea, but no. I think this is it, and we have to do the best we can here." I asked her if she considered herself to be a spiritual person. She said, "It's all the same thing, isn't it? Spirituality and religion?" I told her no, that religion is more the tenets one believes, the way the story about the world and our place in it is told, and the rules of the faith. Spirituality, on the other hand, is what gives our lives meaning, what enlivens us and makes life worth while. Our spirituality may well be made up of certain rituals and practices that are part of our religion, but that isn't all it is. For some people, the beauty and challenge of the natural world, nature, is a large part of their spirituality. Or music, or art, any creative activity. (We are co-creators with God, you know.) She nodded as I talked on, and then said, "My spirituality is one of service. I was a nurse all my life, and helping people was what I did and who I was." I am so sorry not to have heard more, to have had many more visits to learn how she came to this way of thinking, how she distilled her early Presbyterian beginnings to this personal and precious faith. |
| If I don't get a real blog written today, at least I'll leave you with this great little video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESe-AysF9mw |
| I grew up in the Midwest, Indiana and Ohio, with summers in Michigan. Having a dog gives me great joy and comfort, also some aggravation, today in the form of MUD. I like sugar-free skinny Almond Joy lattes, but I’m too penny-pinching to buy more than one a month. I’m an abysmally slow reader. I moved to segregated Georgia when I was fifteen—culture shock! I decided to go to journalism school and be an advertising major when I read a clever Hunts catsup ad. I prefer Heinz. I don’t have a generous nature, and that’s hard, but not impossible, to change. Like in the John Denver song, “Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.” I have a whole drawer full of old New Yorker magazines I haven’t finished reading. A blood clotting disorder forces me to wear a 40mb compression garment toes-to-armpits all the time. I like to read, and to write, fiction with strongly developed characters and natural sounding dialog. I love to listen to audiobooks as I drive, and then I prefer a good plot to good writing. (Although today I'm regretting one by Carol Higgins Clark. Bad writing and a melodramatic reading voice that makes it even worse!) I like to listen to music or sing along with it, but I don’t like to have it just playing in the background. I seldom see the world in black and white, and am annoyed when those who do so think I am misguided. I can usually see both sides of any argument. Except for grammar. I’m very critical about misplaced apostrophes. I really like to sleep. I am not attracted to people who "blow their own horn" all the time. Water is wonderful. I love to sit and look at a lake or a river or an ocean. I like to swim in it. I like to drink it straight from the tap. I am kinesthetically challenged. I love to play games: word games, board games, card games, party games. Writing about myself is embarrassingly easy and fun. I like my life. Now, if you haven't done a list like this, give it a try. It's fun! And if you did one a while ago, make another. There are plenty more interesting things to tell. |
| It' Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and we have a holiday from work. That's a benefit of working for the government (Bill, even though it's just the county) and for a low paying non-profit: at least you get all the extra days off. I do love sleeping in late. Bill already had the big screen on. He went through his DVDs yesterday and saw that he had two Apollo 13's, one in high def. So, from the bedroom, I could hear the sound booming. (Bill is a little deaf, plus he likes things much louder than I do anyway.) As I was getting dressed, it laughingly occurred to me: by the time he retires, I'll either have to go deaf too, or we'll have to move to a house with a family room, or we'll have to get the basement remodeled. I guess the last one is the best. Maybe I should start working on that project today to get out of the sound blast. :) (If you come across any words you can't read, my laptop is having a problem, first with the letter 'd', now with 's' as well.) Then I thought about Lola, who was plaguing me to throw her squeaky toy, and who has been a pest for days. I've got to get her to the dog park today, regardless of the weather. She needs the running and the social contact as well. Maybe that's part of Bill's problem too. We went to a neighbor's house for dinner last night for them to show us their pictures from a trip to Italy they took. Another couple was there who had taken the same trip at a later date. Bill had never met them, and I knew only the man, an Adventist pastor I met when he came to the hospital to visit patients and played the violin for them. Despite the vegan dinner, which was a big change for us, we had a good time. Ralph did an excellent job on the slides, and skipped over the peculiar name of the tour with a probably embarrassed disclaimer. I'm not sure what the implications of it were, but the church sponsored tour covered Rome and famous Reformation sites. The hostess, unwittingly, made some mention of the conquest of evil, by which she meant the Catholic Church, I'm sure. I don't think Bill noticed. He did talk a lot though, about our trip to England, his family tree, and assorted other topics that didn't quite fit the rest of the conversation. In fact, if we'd been drinking, I would have blamed the alcohol for his garrulousness. But what I'm thinking now is, like Lola, he needs more social activity. So, after this bunch of thoughts, I came in with my coffee and started to watch Apollo 13, giving up on writing because of the constant attention of the dog flopping her squeaky on the keyboard to get me to play. (That's probably why the keys aren't working quite right, although she usually approaches me from the right side rather than the 's' and 'd' side.) And suddenly I was crying. The Apollo had its explosion that changed everything, diverting its course to the moon, and threatening the crew's survival. I've seen it at least twice before, and I know what happened, so why was I crying? I've found myself getting teary about odd things a lot recently. Can't think of any examples at present, and they all were brief. This time, though, I was just sitting here, crying. I imagine it's about Lenore, and the way her life has been changed. I haven't cried much about her recently, have been trying to stay single-mindedly positive; and when friends ask how I'm doing, I've said that I just don't think about it much. But it's there, lurking, and it came out this morning. And I'm reminding myself that the crew of Apollo 13 survived, even though they didn't make it to the moon. I don't think she wants to go there anyway. |
| It's been a busy week, actually. Five new patients, frosty and foggy (but not snowy!) weather, and the second week of our winter grief group. That is an experience in itself. The first meeting of a new group always seems like a disaster-- at least I can comfort myself with that observation. All of the people who come are people who really need help, but some are more needy and more complex than others. No one ever seems to match up well. One man cries all the time and won't speak. Another wanders in to see what we're doing and talks in a whisper about the child he lost fifty years ago. He tries to sympathize with the crying man, who is not open to sympathy or anything else. One woman lost a significant other because of a botched surgery, and then lost her husband, who had Alzheimers, a few months later. She smiles and laughs through the first two meetings, having disclosed a secret: there's a new man in her life. Another widow tells us how well she was comforted by someone who told her that her husband wouldn't have wanted her to be sad. (She seemed oblivious to the fact that we'd just been talking about the inappropriate comments people make with the best of intentions. Evidently that one came out okay for her.) It was a small group, and now, with the third of ten sessions coming up, we have three new people who want to join. Normally we'd refuse, but we know these people and know them to be good, stable people who will add a lot to the group. Well, two of them anyway. The third might be a disaster. My daughter made her quarterly trip to Portland to see the neuro-oncologist today. I was hoping she'd drive down and leave the twins overnight with me, but she decided to fly instead. There's a straight one-hour flight, and she only missed one day of work that way. She's used up all her sick time for the school year, so that's important. And it probably feels good to her to be handling it on her own, gives her a sense of control. I'd probably do it that way myself. I bet she's exhausted tonight though. At least she left a one-liner on Facebook: Lenore has a stable head. I don't think that's anything she didn't already know, but it's good to hear anyway. |
| I joined Facebook the other day. Can't even remember what inspired entrapped me. It is fun to read what my kids are doing, groups they like or have joined, things they probably wouldn't mention because they aren't important or might not interest me. kind of like eavesdropping on their lives. At first I only found my kids and their friends.Then I found adults I know who are slightly younger, halfway between my age and that of my kids. Now I've finally found 'mature' people. My stepdaughter calls Facebook a 'black hole.' I haven't found it that entertaining yet, but did have a great IM chat with my daughter tonight. My guess is that the more 'adults' who join, the less the kids will... Changed my mind about that. I remember reading about kids whose parents asked to be on the kids' friends list and were refused. I guess one won't effect the other unless the kids allow it, and vice versa. |
| Guess that's been a pretty long break I've been taking. Can't say it's because I've been so very busy either, just not in the mood-- tired, distracted, buffaloed by the surge of bad weather to drive in, trying to feel engaged in the Christmas season but without much enthusiasm. So what's happened during the month? My birthday came and went. We ate at the Mark, had a wonderful meal and good wine. I had an appointment the next day with the social security office to sign up for Medicare Part A, and to try to figure out the intricacies of getting older. Whoopee. Have been to the dentist, and the eye doctor, and the internist for my annual physical that I skipped last year. I am, as they say, in good shape for the shape I'm in. With that all behind me, I got ready for our family outing for the weekend before Christmas. I had rented a house outside Leavenworth, WA, for us to meet to enjoy each other's company, soak in the hot tub, sled and go on a snowmobile guided tour. It was such a perfect place, and then the weather set in. Spokane had already had so much snow-- 24" in 12 hours-- that the town had pretty much shut down. Good-- my daughter and her family could leave early on Friday rather than wait till school was out. Yea, but, they had to wait for a Fedex delivery of her chemo meds, and the truck couldn't get up her hill. So that slowed them down at least six hours' worth, and they finally had to contact Fedex and meet them somewhere to get the package. They arrived late, on a snowy, slippery road, but safe. We had arrived just before dark and found that: a) we couldn't get into the lock box, and b) we had no cell phone service on our main cell phones and not much battery power on my work phone which I'd happened to bring along. We did make contact with the owner of the house, who lives in Seattle, and she was able to call us back with the right information. She had given us the wrong address, off by one number. The house we were trying to get in did have a for sale sign, but we didn't think too much about that. The next door house was well lit for Christmas, and that was my next plan, to go knock on their door and ask to use their phone. But no one was at home. It was the house we'd rented, and, once we knew that, we got in easily. There was a bottle of wine and a welcome card inside. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated, and the whole place was a show place. (No wonder, when we saw that the identical house next door was priced at $650,000!) Our kids from Newberg were not going to be able to come, we knew that already. They work for the power company, and 75,000 people were out of power due to the storms around Portland. The weather that had been predicted to begin on Sunday moved in ahead of time, and was due in on Saturday with a foot of snow and gusts to 80 mph. So, not wanting to spend the month trapped in between mountain passes, we enjoyed our night there, hot-tubbed in the falling snow, and headed home on Saturday after lunch in Leavenworth. We really did have a nice time; it just wasn't as long or complete as we'd hoped and expected. Bill and I got one of the last available trees, which was still tightly wrapped, for half price. It surprised us by coming out nicely and not dropping all its needles immediately. It's really one of the prettiest trees we've ever had. We hadn't put up a real tree for a couple of years, and I've enjoyed it. This would be the weekend we'd have taken it down, but my son and his family called Friday to say they were on their way here. So I'll be traditional and wait till the 12th day of Christmas, right? We had a great time having them here. Lola is very lonely now though, with no little girls to "love her up." Gotta go help Bill pay bills, so I'll end this before reality sets in. Hope you all had a blessed Christmas. |
| Thirty-nine years ago tonight, in Sasebo, Japan, on the other side of the international date where it was still December 3, I was lying in bed in an OB ward. There were a couple of other women there, but no one really talked to each other. I don't remember about that. Maybe they didn't speak English. I had come to Sasebo, to the closest military hospital, for my nine month check-up. My baby was due on Christmas, but since my first child had been born seven weeks early, the doctor decided to keep me there. I had been having some contractions, and we lived three hours away at a small Japanese Air Force base, Itazuke. I think we came prepared for me to stay, as was the custom for wives who might deliver soon; some stayed for several weeks. I don't remember for sure. I know the next day I had my velvet robe, the one my mother had bought me when my first child was born, but my husband may have brought it back down with him when he came back the next day. He had an exam to study for that night and had returned home. It's strange to me that I don't remember more of that day and night, as important as they were to me. But isn't that the way it is? We are fortunate to not remember the feeling of the labor pains, but it's always felt unfair to not be able to hang onto more of the other memories. It wasn't easy to sleep, in the strange place with voices of women crying out in pain in the background. I do remember that. And the heartburn that no amount of Mylanta would dispel. The doctor was planning to go on leave, and so he decided to break my water and have the birth at a more convenient time. I doubt if they would do that today in civilian hospitals, but it was all right at the time. I remember being alone in the labor room, and feeling afraid. I'd heard about Lamaze, but not enough to even remember the name, just that it was something about a kind of breathing that relieved the pain. I asked the nurse if there wasn't some special breathing that would help, but she said it was way too late for me to learn that and left me alone. More screaming in the background. My first child had been born at a time and place, Georgia in 1967, when doctors must not have believed in giving a lot of options. Or maybe it was because my water broke at seven months and there weren't many choices. They used scopolomine, and I don't remember anything, just the bruises on my arms the next morning from the restraining straps. By this second pregnancy I'd read about caudal blocks and other kinds of treatments to relieve the pain, but once again I don't remember any discussion with the doctor about what he was planning to do. The nurse probably came back and checked on me from time to time. I remember being very hot and wanting to get out of the scratchy blue gown that was choking me. The nurse scolded me gently, pulled it back into place and tied it at my neck again. I asked her when I should start to push. She said I'd know, and left again. Shortly after, I shouted out to her wherever she was that I had to push, and after a few minutes she came back. As I remember it, they rushed my gurney down the hall to the delivery room. The doctor said he didn't have enough time to give me any anesthetic except a local while he did an episiotomy. I heard the nurse tell me the baby was crowning. There was no mirror for me to watch anything, and I was very disappointed by that. Sometime afterwards I must have asked about the baby, and the nurse said, "We haven't come to the part you're interested in yet." I didn't know what she meant at first, and then I was angry. Yes, I'd wanted a girl, but the gender certainly wasn't the only thing I was interested in. I don't think they put the baby on my tummy while they cut the cord, like they did in the movies. I think I'd be able to remember that, as wonderful as it would be. I think they just took her away and told me I'd see her later. I was back in the ward when my husband, Hank, arrived. He'd stopped somewhere to buy roses. He sat with me, and brought extra blankets when I couldn't get warm. Finally we got to go see her, and she was beautiful. Her eyes were very round and big, and she had a short fluff of light blond hair. Her name was Lenore. It was my grandmother's name, and also a line from one of my favorite poems, "the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore." Hank had to go back to base that night, and I don't remember much about the next couple of days. I hadn't been able to nurse my son because he was too small and sucked too weakly. I worked to make it happen with this baby. Feeding time was the only time I got to spend with her, and the rest of the time was lonely. I don't remember any nurses being friendly or trying to help, which at least happened back in Georgia. Only a corpsman kept showing up when the babies were brought out for nursing, and it felt very voyeuristic. Maybe he wasn't, but I was unsure of myself, awkward and embarrassed, and I wanted privacy. We called my parents and Hank's mother that day, and all were excited to have a granddaughter. Later we saw the newspaper clipping from the Greensville, GA paper that said Lt. Weyman English of Union Point, GA, and his wife had a baby girl, born on December 5, 1969. The international date change had fooled them too. Several days later, Hank and Hap came to take us home in our big, black Nissan Cedric, an impressive car that looked like a Checker cab. Hap rode in the front with his dad, hanging over the seat much of the way to look at the baby. Lenore and I sat in the back like royalty, and she slept peacefully in my lap. We stopped along the way for some supper, and I expected that people in the restaurant or the waitresses would ooh and ahh over the baby as they had her blond haired toddler brother. I found out later that the custom was not to have a baby that young out at all, and they were being polite to stay away and keep from looking. When we got home and her dad took her from my arms as I got out of the car, he kissed her on the head. "This is the first time I've kissed her," he said. He was very tender. The next day or so was my birthday, and I couldn't have felt happier. While others were busy decorating their homes for Christmas, I made a wreath of pink ribbon for our front door, with the message: "Our Joy is Now Complete." |
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