TMI

Journal

2012-01-21T17:42:00.000-05:00

Dear Lord. I remember you this morning. I look to you this morning. I center myself on you this day. My grateful heart goes to you this morning.
You bring me out of the petty worries scattered around the floor of my living space.
You feed me with your blessings.

What to wear? How to move? What to bring?
Let go and let God take care of these things. Just begin.

Dear Lord, I'm grateful. I'm up early on a holiday I hope to get a lot done with the help of Danielle. She is a blessing! Thank you for the gift of abstinence from overeating and the gift of others who are an encouragement and an example.

The day begins with gratitude and promise. Last night's fear of death is put aside.

Dear Lord, I groan with the pain of being human and being alive for so long. I am old yet I fear death. My doubts obstruct my hopes. I trust too much in my consciousness. How can I be afraid to lose myself in you?

I'm grateful that I work with adolescents.

For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.

Dear Lord, I want to let you work in me. The will and the power for my transformation comes from you. Change me dear Lord.

. . . I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

Dear Friend, you came and found me. I wasn't looking for you. You used every trick in the book to capture me. Why me, Lord? I am so poorly equipped to hold a place in your kingdom. You hold my hand and I hold yours.

journaling - Let me hide myself in Thee

2012-01-06T06:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Lord, I ask your protection as I monitor my fragile health. Dear Lord, you know how much gluttony and sloth have gotten me this way. Please hold me in your hand as I struggle toward health. Dear Lord may I increase in health to serve you better. If my back pain is my cross, help me to bear it. Help me to release weight and compulsion that make me unhealthy and of less use to you.
Your beauty and grace are my comfort and joy. Let me hide myself in you.

Dear Lord, I have been much too harsh and critical. I have been a scold. This had not helped anyone. My comments have not improved things. Dear Lord, may I show the grace that you have shown me. May I feel the love that helps us all grow and flourish. May I express this love to others.

Sunday morning ... a morning from my childhood. Watching people walk to church in couples and families, the chimes are playing Jesus Loves Me. I went to the early service ... the one with the "old" people ... and the scripture was from the Sermon on the Mount, starting with my confirmation verse (Matthew 6:19 ). The hymns were familiar and we sang every verse. By no means do I think of this old "mainstream" culture as the only way to celebrate Christ; I just enjoyed it on this particular morning.

Pastor Sharon apparently doesn't do sermons, but her prayers are wonderful. She seems to voice my concerns so well and she speaks with the assurance of God's mercy and love.

Journaling New Year

2012-01-02T12:52:00.001-05:00

I measure my life in 20 year increments.
The third ...20 years ... was spent trying to forget the madness of the second. But nothing is more vivid than that madness.

Dear Lord, I am afraid of death as I am afraid of you.

Old friends have died, and more are yet to die. It's not that I miss being with them. When they were alive we were rarely in touch. I wonder at them falling into death. They sing "holy, holy, holy" whether they want to or not.

When are the indignities of life more painful than the indignity of death? Not yet. Not yet.

-----------------------
This is the year of "when I'm sixty-four". I remember, when I was nineteen, trying to imagine it. Well now here it is. Of course it's different than I imagined.
------------------------

I get in trouble when I scold. Scolding usually turns around to bite me.
---------------------------------

When I was about 8 years old I used to make small worlds of fairies in the woods. I'd make tiny people out of paper, sometimes out of clothespins, and I'd set them up in little houses made of twigs, leaves, funguses, moss. I left them in different places in the woods so the lumberjacks would find them.

journaling

2011-12-29T11:45:00.002-05:00

1.
I've been drifting away from the mirror
forgetting denying escaping the image of who I have been
who I am ...
instead i have been nobody and doing nothing

Dear God, you know me. I call out to you. Take me to the mirror. Shelter me, soothe me, but open my eyes, Dear Revealer.

2.
Here I am elderly
and eager to get older
and qualify for Medicare.
I'll quit my job and write
and read and watch movies.
I'll rescue a dog
and walk her for exercise,
up and down those stairs.
My grandmother was fat at my age
like me - though she wore a girdle, used no cane.
I think she was sharper mentally
She didn't have a job, but she did volunteer work

Dear God, my Grandmother taught me about you. May you bless her soul.
all the souls who showed me You. Thank you.

3.
Men. All so imperfect. Cruelly thoughtless. Liars. Pompous and vain. Foolish. But I am proud to have
loved the worthwhile and useful parts of them.

Dear God, help me to be patient with men.

An extra Thanksgiving gratitude ... for MY grandmother.

2011-11-24T08:11:00.001-05:00

I'm a grandmother now, but on Thanksgiving I'm back to age 6 as we drive south to Tarrytown singing "Over the River and Through the Woods to Grandmother's House we Go!" My grandmother was a hugger and my parents were not, so for the hours we took I anticipated the hug she'd give us at the door. She would scoop my sister and me up and give us wiggly hugs. She smelled of talcum and bleach which she used for cleaning. She had sort of a lilting voice and had the kind of accent you hear in old movies. Sort of like Sidney Carlton in Tale of Two Cities 'Tis a far far better thing that I do ..." or her contemporary, William Powell.

She usually had items around with just us girls in mind, a doll, a tea set ... I don't remember ever being bored around grandma. She was great at crossword puzzles and Jeopardy. She taught us Canasta and even now if I'm passing something out and come out exact, I mentally give myself 300 points.

She wasn't noted for cooking so I can't recall any special foods at her house. I know that on Thanksgiving there would be turnips because she liked them. Nobody else liked them, but I missed their smell on Thanksgivings after she died.

Cleaning, Purging, Making a Mess

2011-06-25T12:17:00.004-05:00

Matthew 6:19 Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: 20 But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: 21 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

I finally found my clown bald head and nose. All crumbled up. I guess rubber does that. Like the old rubber bands that are also useless.

I'm purging. I don't need to save the checks from 1979 (although it may be amusing to see what it was like to live on $3000 a year and health insurance cost $300 a month.) I'm setting aside trash to throw away, paper to reuse, paper for recycling (to be stored in the car until the school year when paper waste is weighed for the school contest), file folders and binders... I've got a pile of things to pass on to other teachers- they are unlikely to use them, but I can't bear to toss them directly into the trash.

In my teaching heyday I had a room of file boxes. Each box had a number, in each box were numbered files. Then I had a spreadsheet with each file number/box number and the description of the contents. Then I could simply sort the tags to locate every file I had on, say, Japan, and I didn't have to sort the files, the computer did the work. I got up to box 51. I boiled it down to about 15 a few years ago. And then I lost the spread sheet. I'm going to get it down to 3 or 4 boxes and I'll make a new spread sheet. I'd like to say I'll get that done before the month is over.

I try to describe this system to other teachers when they complain about disorganization. But their eyes tend to glaze over with boredom. I should learn that some people would rather complain that learn solutions. Also that I tend to be boring.

I'm taking a trip down old tech memory lane. There are illustrations I made using stick on materials on light blue grid paper. I'll scan a few and post them here. I remember the fun I had at the art supply store. This was a few years before I had my first computer. And there are drawings on acetate for the overhead projector. I also found some folders on uses for computers for teachers. This from the days when it was work to convince teachers that they might find computers useful. Those teachers are now retired and a new generation has found other things to balk about. I found a 3.5 in disk with files from my Science Center job.

Reading a book of poetry

2011-06-23T22:05:00.003-05:00

I have just finished reading a book of poetry by someone I was acquainted with. Finished is the wrong word because I'm not done with reading this book. The poet is married to someone I used to know pretty well and the poet knew a number of other people I knew pretty well. Although I can't say I can remember ever having a conversation with him. For the past few years I've been reading his essays on Facebook and on the website of the Public Radio station he works for.

I'm wondering if the North Country of New York State is a peculiar part of the world or if I just burrowed into that part of the world in a peculiar way. Potsdam NY is a college town, but so is the Eastern Shore town where I live now. It seems that the people I knew in Potsdam were brainy and eccentric in a way I don't run into here. But then I wonder if I'm just not looking right. I am pretty convinced that language is different in upstate New York ... I noticed this when I found a childhood upstate NY friend living nearby and the melodies and rhythms of her voice were familiar in a way that was special to me - in great contrast to the alien sounds of the local Maryland voices.

Reading this book of poetry sounds so much like the North Country to me. I can't tell if I'm reading good poetry because the voice is so evocative of a time and place in my experience. I wonder if someone who has not known the same people, who has not experienced the "mud season", or who has not experienced the small chilly waterfalls, streams and rivers can respond in the way I am responding.

I only lived up there for about nine years. I've lived longer than that where I live now. But I don't feel as much at home. Two more variables to consider: my age then and now, and the historical times then and now. I'm not as malleable now, and I'm less able to scramble into different geological and social terrains and landscapes. I was part of the beginning of a food coop there and the birth of a day care center. I don't have a husband and a child with me any more. In my twenties, they created openings I no longer have. Here I'm active in the original CSA, but my involvement is more isolated and I don't feel much connection to the local membership. Up north, I was also entering the world of academics and the world of 12-step recovery (and the world where they intersected). Now, although I'm still sober, I'm not so connected to "the rooms" locally. (See DFWallace for some great descriptions of the old time AA)

Back in the day, hippies were still around. I was among that group and our group hadn't thoroughly alienated others yet. Then computers were just starting to happen. I was eager to be involved with them, but had no inkling how my world would be so different.

Years ago, even before I'd moved to the North Country, I wrote and did not mail a letter to a famous writer. I proposed that I could read his stuff better than anyone else. I still have that feeling, as a gifted reader, from time to time. The volume of poetry I have just read, recalls that feeling for me.

As is so often the case with my bloggishness ... this needs more revision and careful thought.

Teaching dream

2011-06-17T07:34:00.003-05:00

It's unusual for me to have a teaching dream at the beginning of summer vacation. This morning I dreamed that I was looking for a job in the city and I was given a class to cover. The previous teacher was also there. I had some ping pong balls and as I was drilling the class. I would throw a ball and the child who held the ball would answer. The previous teacher started leading the drill. One child insisted on sitting on his desk. I moved over to him with no results. I spoke to him. No result. He would not give me his name. I had some small cardstock diecut forms to make 3d shapes and I gave them out as reinforcements (rather than candy). I gave one to a student who was sitting properly nearby.

Then I woke up and thought "What a good idea!"

I woke up with some positive energy today. It had rained all night and now the sun is shining and there is a breeze moving the tree leaves outside my window. As I move around, packing the garbage to go outside and clearing the kitchen sink, my bursitis slows me down and makes me sit. I take my morning meds. I formalize my daily plans.

later.....

After a few hours of sorting stuff on my desk, I'm exhausted. I found a stack of greeting cards I saved since my car accident a few years ago. They are full of humor and concern and prayers from people I still have not thanked. Nor have I emulated their kindness by sending greetings to others. I am crushed by shame and self- condemnation. And it's getting hotter outside.

Happy Easter - mundane thoughts

2011-04-24T16:26:00.005-05:00

Overall, it's been a lovely Easter. I didn't feel up to going to the sunrise service and I'm pretty sure the "hard core" was there at 6AM. I heard people say it was the warmest sunrise service they had experience which was no surprise when you think it was so late in the year. CR managed to find daffodils for sale, but not in great quantity. I made some origami "easter egg" earrings before I went to the 10:30 service. At this late service, there were a portion of people who were actually squirming. They were clearly there as a favor to another family member. The girl in front of me was so uptight, I felt like giving her a neck massage ... but figured that would have been the last straw to send her screaming out to the street. Her whole crew raced out to the front sidewalk after the service while they waited for Aunt Dorothy. Since they were of mixed races, they looked quite attractive out on the sidewalk and created a nice impression of our congregation.

I'm sure people were uncomfortable about the lack of guidance on etiquette. We were dressed in the whole gamut - boys in suits and ties, a woman with a "covering" on her head, a man in a dashiki, political t-shirts, jeans, and I wore a very old dress with new sweater - and the singing behavior varied just as much. Many old folks remained seated along with a few non-participants, the guitar player's daughter danced with the music up front, Mr. Pastor raised his hands, and not many sang because the contemporary music was unfamiliar. I wished I had come to the more traditional 9 AM because I had those old hymns down cold. I shed a few tears missing my Dad who sang the old hymns so well. All made me reflect on what a strange occasion late Easter service was. It was the pastor's chance to deliver a message to those who only came once or twice year. I was not surprised that Martin delivered a positive message.

Later in the day I listen to Rick Warren's sermon which was similar. A little more direct and filled with metaphors using the testimony of a Chilean miner.

I decided not to break my meat fast today by cooking at home because I didn't want to inflict the smells on my vegetarian neighbor. I think she's gone back to DC now, so I'll be making corned beef tonight, and maybe lamb tomorrow. Even I hate the smell of lamb.

How to have a Treme marathon

2011-04-23T16:46:00.008-05:00

Treme is the name of a neighborhood in New Orleans. It's also the name of a television series that is produced by Baltimore's David "Homicide, Wire, Corner" Simon. Simon has shown that he is an expert in making the location a starring character in a drama. Treme's previews promised good acting and noteworthy music performances. Along with the big name actors such as John Goodwin and Melissa Leo there are many exciting local musicians and a good seasoning of good cooks.

I have just finished a marathon of watching the first season. Here are my directions for how to do it.

First you have to have no TV, because if you had a TV you would be unable to resist paying for HBO and watching it when it first broadcast. Second you should have no local friends with class, because if you knew someone else who watched the show, you'd be borrowing the recording they made. Then you have to have patience to wait for it to arrive on iTunes.

I recommend not watching the episodes front to back. Yes, you should be watching your computer screen steadily as you would with any marathon. But, the experience is best stretched out by reading Alan Seppinwall's reviews on HitFlix and Dave Walker's (of The Times-Picayune) very informative blog after watching each episode. I even like to read the reader comments. All this gives me a feeling of being in the know. This practice goes back years ago to the mid 90's when I would join UseNet's Alt.TV.Homicide forum on the night right after Homicide had been on. I'm still in contact with many of the people I met there (Alan Seppinwall was one) although we don't meet regularly we did before Tivo. As it was with the early years of Homicide, the audience input is usually informed and entertaining. Treme requires a degree of intelligence and taste. Good jazz is not for the hoi palloi.

Because I include reading reviews and blogs about the show, it requires a pretty heavy investment of time. I'm on Easter break, but I have other things to do. That's where getting sick comes in handy. For the past two days I've had a sour stomach, an earache, and maybe a fever. I'm too sick to do little else but watch the show.

Another season is beginning and I'll probably have to wait a year to see more. Since I have it in my iTunes files, I'll probably watch season one again. It's very good.

Withdrawal - deferred

2011-04-22T10:27:00.005-05:00

My internet connection is not working this morning and I have a while to think about what a blessing that could be. It is so easy to get distracted with the daily news and amusements found on Twitter, eavesdrop on the lives of friends on Facebook, look at weather patterns, growing eaglets, zoom around GoogleEarth views. Tuning into the internet gives me distraction from contacting my aunt, gives me reason to delay sorting papers (months worth of bills -fortunately I pay bills with the internet). Stumbling gives me reason to avoid writing my blog – which I am doing now on Word.

I get online with some worthy purpose in mind. Just now I was going to look up some audio books because Neil Gaiman said in his blog that listening to Dickens on audio books helped him to exercise. I figure I could turn down the volume of my chair dancing DVD and play an audio book on the computer, and as he discovered to be true, be less bored … and enriched in the process. But I have some audio files already downloaded, certainly enough to listen to for the small time segments of exercise. And cruising the web for good literature would be a minefield of distractions.

I have an apartment jam packed with worthy projects. My fingers may be flexible enough to play the fiddle again. And I’ve got Garageband and the Amazing Slow Downer programs to put JD Crowe on slow speed enough to play along. And that’s way down on my list.

Near the top is to make origami earrings to wear around as advertisements for the Japan project. The Japan project is to make and sell origami in little boxes (school colors) and donate the proceeds to Red Cross in Japan. They could certainly use some help.

I got this idea when I was bored silly proctoring a statewide assessment test and I began to pray to pass the time. My prayer was answered with an idea. I’d put tiny origami into small origami boxes and sell them as Christmas ornaments etc. and I’d ask my Japan-loving Otaku adolescent grandson to help. If I get a fully formed idea after prayer, I take it pretty seriously.

When I presented the idea to my grandson, he was not eager to do folding - he lacked the confidence – but he was willing to cut paper and I’m hoping to persuade him to do the bookkeeping (which would help with math). There’s a bright but bored student at school who loves to do folding, so I just provide him with fancy paper. That’s another reason to make jewelry during this Easter break: I can make him some to give to his mother/sister.

So I’m recognizing the signs of withdrawal from such a strong habit as the internet. Years ago when I quit smoking I’d periodically pat down my blazers in search of a forgotten pack. Now my mind drifts in the browser direction even as I am enumerating the benefits of not getting online. I usually forget that I don’t pay for my internet connection … I’m picking up something from WiFi. I don’t even know which of my neighbors has the unsecured linksys. I wonder if they have recently learned enough to make their connection secure. Or maybe the commuting neighbor is disconnecting hers. This has happened before, but I have no understanding of why it stopped and why it started back up. So I am left wondering about the future of my connection. Such a philosophical feeling!

But now I see I'm back on line, so I'll post this and get sucked in again for now.

Even when I'm an anthiest

2011-03-12T10:41:00.004-05:00

... I'm glad I have a church.

I am not always a theist. Sometimes I think and act like I will simply rot when I die and random acts of kindness make no difference to anybody. Sometimes when I pray my mind drifts to shopping lists and sometimes church music just brings out the critic in me.

But when it comes to wanting to have a positive effect on the world, I'm always glad I'm in a church. As an individual I can recycle plastic and metals. I can give money to roadside beggars. I can offer rides to people who need them. I can donate to red cross. I can visit the sick. All of these actions reflect my good intentions. But I'm more active as part of a group. As a church member I feed and shelter local homeless people, contribute livestock to families in third world countries, help pay secondary school tuition for a student in Guatemala, recycle aluminum, and send hygiene kits to disaster regions such as Haiti and Pakistan. That is the activity of my church locally. We also are part of larger networks.

I urge you, the reader, to find a church that is actively being the hands and feet of Jesus. If you are in a church, but are not involved in action as a community, I urge you to find another church. Church is not just a place where you practice being nice.

Manna

2011-02-27T18:37:00.008-05:00

It was great to be at my home church this morning. The contrast with my old church was pretty dramatic today.

Last week I visited my old church. I was really happy to see many of the people I love dearly and don't see much any more. I got to see Joyce S. who is in frail health. She's an "elder" in my eyes. She should be a deaconess, but the congregation doesn't think women should have that role. Since I've known her, she's been an exemplar of service. I remember watching her from a distance as she picked up nails off the lawn left there from a building that had been demolished after a fire. No one was around. No one asked her to do it. No one thanked her.

She began an English class for immigrants and worked for a long time as the sole teacher. When the class grew, even though her health limited her participation, she manned the sign-in table for the attendees for twice a week, week after week. She seems to always be around when something needs doing. I also noticed that the developmentally disabled people and mentally ill people would approach her to talk. Many people say they have a heart for the handicapped, but the handicapped people can determine who will and who won't give them any attention. I watch who they choose to talk to. Joyce gives them true respect. When she was able to drive she gave rides to people were in need. She visited the sick - I know she visited me when I was sick in a nursing home. She visited people at the Westover migrant camp, and when a man had a knife wound in his neck she held him in her lap applying pressure until the ambulance came.

Many of the people who served at the English class have gone on to other congregations. Amy C. has joined a church that has a stronger mission for service. I remember when she volunteered for ESL. I was stunned with gratitude that such a strong servant would find the time and energy, but then remembered that "if you want a good volunteer, ask a busy person." She was once nominated to be a deacon but the furor was great and she was in tears over being a "source" of disharmony.

I say I jumped church because of the dishes my new church used at the "Love Feast". I had wanted to go to a footwashing for a year before I finally attended one. My first post to this blog (http://tinyurl.com/4vsyofd) is my thinking about it. I had the impression that Christians participated in footwashing because Jesus did it and told us to do the same. And when I finally went I noticed they used real dishes - Corel. The church ministry center is so small that there is no dishwasher. The dishes are carted in tubs to different homes to be washed. I was so impressed that they didn't use paper or styrofoam. This church's behavior with its dishes showed me that this was where I belonged.

That was about three years ago (I'll have to look this stuff up and revise this blog as necessary). When I left my old church we studied the Bible carefully (a strength) and were reminded that homosexuality and abortion were sins (a waste of time and hot air enjoyed by many Christians). I personally didn't know anyone who appeared to be defending homosexual relationships or who were interested in terminating pregnancies. There were plenty of sins in evidence but they were never addressed. The preacher was speaking to a nodding choir. We were not challenged. It seemed the same when I went to check out the new pastor last week. (Not that I would have wanted to challenge the power structure that was in place if I were a new preacher!)

The people at my old church were for the most part very nice people. They excelled at being nice. And I'm afraid that's part of why I've left them. I need to be around people who are eager to be more than nice. The Christ I came to call Lord has asked me to take up a cross.

This morning at my new church the topic of the sermon was "give us this day, our daily bread". Martin had a Bible in his hand throughout. He wasn't making stuff up. He could have spent the time congratulating the congregation on the past two weeks of ministry to the homeless. We could be patting ourselves for doing our good deed for the year. (My old church does not participate in the inter-church rotating program at all). Instead he called us to realize that while it's hard for Americans to understand the importance of asking where the next meal would come from, we should be saying the prayer to keep us open for the understanding of the many who do not have the means to determine how their daily bread will be provided . He talked bout Heifer International and Free Trade buying as things we can do to help others. He even suggested that we could eat less!!! Nobody but my doctor and my relatives has ever had the nerve to suggest that I eat less. It's a lot closer to home than gay sex or abortion.

One verse he cited I want to remember when people discuss taxing the wealthy.
It comes at the end of the parable of the wise manager.
^{Luke 12:48} .... From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

Our church is feeling the economic crunch of the recession, but Martin suggested that we spend the lent season with a goal of filling an "ark" for Heifer International. Here he talked about one of my favorite topics: Manna

More on this to come. I plan to revise this post quite a bit.
It was a very challenging and invigorating service and I'm glad I was there to be a part.

Hello much neglected Blog

2011-02-24T13:57:00.003-05:00

I'm out sick for the second day with a sick stomach. I'm watching a gory TV series on Netscape. No, it's not Dexter... that show lost my interest after the third season. I'm up to the fifth season of Wire in the Blood ... it's gorier but the hero has lots of compassion and a really good sense of humor.

I just read on Facebook that a man I used to work with has "joined the ranks of the recession affected unemployed". What's sad and stunning is that he has worked at the same place I worked with him almost 20 years ago. I'm waiting to be let go myself. If it weren't for health insurance, I'd be delighted to retire. I got an offer to get a bonus if I announced my retirement intentions in a few weeks. But they won't pick up my health insurance coverage unless I have 10 years in the system and I only have five years in this county.

I fell out of bed last night. Haven't done that in years and years. And I got back into bed without barely becoming conscious. I think if I'd fully woken up, I'd have had a harder time.

Social Media

2010-08-24T11:02:00.006-05:00

I'll write this and then Twitter a link to it. Short items get twitter, a little longer items get Facebook, and long stuff goes on the blog. To a Yahoo Group (I think those things used to be called, or are called, "loops"), I post my daily meal plans and a list of gratitudes to God.

I got the urge to describe where I'm at today in more detail than usual. So that's a job for my blog, TMI. I'm drinking iced chamomile/ginger tea. Just had lunch of lettuce, mayo, cottage cheese, cucumber with salt and lime-pepper.

I'm feeling very grateful for cows today. From them I get cottage cheese and swiss cheese and cold milk and Stonyfield Farms yogurt, iced and regular. Cows appear regularly in travel stories and novels.

I'm rereading Henderson the Rain King. I read it when I was about 20. I'd forgotten what a wonderful writer Saul Bellow was and I'm rather pleased with my younger self for having discovered him.

Another rediscovery is spirulina. I mix it into a small applesauce container and feel like I'm getting my nutrients when I haven't had enough vegetables. My cousin turned me on to it years ago. Thanks cuz.

I'm looking forward to my year at work. I'll be doing stuff I haven't done before ... and if indicators are correct I will not be doing some things I have done (no lunch duty, locker duty, recess duty assigned as yet). New things are math tutoring after school which will increase my income a little, and being a "one on one" with a seventh grader during the work days.

The picture is a nice one of my son who is a graffiti artist at our local "Third Friday" events.

when we have been done wrong

2010-07-31T08:44:00.004-05:00

Probably it's true for everyone that someone has done us wrong at some time in our life. And we have been accused of wrong-doing in the face of evidence that we have done good.

I used to post graphs of my student's reading progress in the hall to show that they had made remarkable growth. All the while I was being criticized for teaching reading improperly. It was a terrible year for me and it almost pushed me out of the education world completely. (Teaching is a terrible profession in many ways, but that will be the topic of another blog post). I look back at my professional career and find the most stressful and uncomfortable times have occurred when I was closest to God.

I expect that any one who is responding to God's command will run across a conflict with "the world". It is baffling. It is extremely uncomfortable. It is something we must go through, because it is not a conflict we can resolve.

^18-19"If you find the godless world is hating you, remember it got its start hating me. If you lived on the world's terms, the world would love you as one of its own. But since I picked you to live on God's terms and no longer on the world's terms, the world is going to hate you. (John 15:18, The Message)

I know for sure that I have been in that wonderful state that I knew the world hated me because I was living on God's terms. But I confess that wonderful as that state of being is, I still do so much to avoid it. Because when someone does me wrong, it's not reasonable. It's not fair. It's not comfortable. It's not a problem we can solve. Reasonableness, fairness, comfort, problem solving - these are worldly things that are attractive to me. Living in God's terms involves service, humility, ... love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness.

My prayer to God is that I can come to accept the world's hatred with joy.

Morning Bible Study

2010-07-30T09:26:00.003-05:00

"There are two wars going on in the Middle East. The one threatens the earthly life of thousands. The other seeks the eternal life of millions. Does not God want to deal with us this morning about how utterly preoccupied we are with the one war, and how relatively ignorant and indifferent we are about the other?" - John Piper, on Acts 4:1-12

Infinite Jest - finished the first time

2010-07-15T16:51:00.002-05:00

It took close to two years. I finished David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest a few days ago. I plan to read it again. I was most impressed with how well DFW paints the culture of the 12 step programs - better than I've seen written anywhere else.

morning routine

2010-03-29T04:11:00.000-05:00

Sarah used the key and knocked loudy on the door.

“Good morning, ladies. It’s me. Sarah. I’m your helper. Got any cleaning for me to do?

Gretchen’s voice probably from Ellen’s room. “Hello?”

Sarah was inside, hanging up her scarf and coat, changing into her housekeeping slippers from her clunky ‘shit kickers’. She put her snack in the refridgerator and made a mental note of the missing groceries and resolved to defrost the refrigerator in the near future.

She went upstairs to greet the ladies.

“It’s me. Sarah. It looks like I may be defrosting your refrigerator soon.”

“Oh Sarah. Good morning dear.” Gretchen greeted. She wondered if Sarah was a relative she was supposed to remember. “Yes, the refrigerator would be a good idea.”

“How’s Ellen?”

They both looked at the woman in her bed.

“She’d probably like a cup of coffee. But something’s wrong with the stove.”

Since Gretchen’s memory was worsening, Sarah was taking the knobs off the stoves in hopes that it would prevent Gretchen from turning something on and leaving it.

“That’s OK, Mrs. Wanderfelt. That’s why I’m here, to prepare things on the stove. I’ll be making you ladies breakfast. Would eggs and toast be alright? But first let me get Ellen ready to start the day.”

She went to Ellen’s bed and lowered the side bar. As she helped her swing her feet to the floor, she greeted her “Let’s help you go to the ladies room.” She patted the bed to check for wetness and was pleased to find it dry. Taking a hand and holding Ellen’s forearm with hers, they made their way to the adjoining bathroom. From the bathroom Sarah called out to Gretchen. “Would you like help washing up this morning, Mrs. Wandervelt? I left you clean clothes on your chair last night.”

By now Gretchen was sure that Sarah was a hired helper and that she and Ellen were being cared for. “God bless you, dear. I think I’ll be OK. I’ll wash up while you’re making our breakfast. And eggs and toast sound delicious. Ellen would probably like scrambled and I will too.”

She thought about when Ellen would be getting ready to go to work and never seemed to have time to eat a good breakfast.

caregiver

2010-03-27T09:07:00.002-05:00

Taken from a dream and a quiet time

She was holding a piece of bread to eat, but started to shred it instead. Piece by piece it fell out of view on to the floor. She found another piece on her plate and lifted it to her mouth and felt it rest in her mouth. Her jaws moved for a while and then stopped and the bread rested on her lips. Then she pulled at it with her hand and shredded that piece as well. Gretchen came into the room and moaned “Oh Ellen, you need to eat your breakfast. Oh what a mess.” She picked up pieces, with pinching arthritic fingers. and put them in her pocket. She wiped Ellen’s face with the cloth napkin and offered a sip of the strong coffee which Ellen enjoyed with smiling eyes. After a few sips Ellen’s interest diminished and Gretchen switched to the orange juice which Sarah has “spiked” with nutritional supplements. Ellen started to reach for bread again and Gretchen moved her hand to a fork. With the fork in hand, Ellen was guided to the scrambled egg. The egg fared no better than the bread. It stayed at the front of Ellen’s mouth and then her tongue moved out and to the front of her gown. After wiping that and leaving it on the side of her plate, Gretchen asked “Would you like to try it with jam?” and put a little jam on another forkful of eggs. This time Ellen sucked it to the inside of her mouth and chewed a few enthusiastic motions. “Swallow” and she did, which made Gretchen beam with satisfaction.
“Dear God. Bless this food.”
A few minutes later, Sarah brought a small cup of applesauce. This contained Ellen’s morning medicines. Sarah spooned the sweet applesauce and Ellen was happy to receive it. Sarah left to record that Ellen had taken her meds.
Gretchen turned on the radio and asked Ellen if she could hear it alright. It was the university pubic radio that Ellen always liked. The news was hard to follow, but the voices were authoritative and familiar and both women enjoyed the routine. Gretchen sat in a wooden chair by the bedside, a chair adorned with crocheted cushions, and she made soft conversational comment in response to the news items.

2010-03-22T04:13:00.002-05:00

Sarah opened her eyes just before the alarm clock went off. Such a thing happened to her often. She attributed it to having a finely tuned internal clock. It was a relief not to have the jar of the loud ring to start the day. On this day she was aware of a headache and her right nostril was definitely stuffed. She recognized this as the start of a week of dragging energy. As she stepped into her slippers, she made a mental note to detour past the cabinet of medicines on the way to the bathroom. Or perhaps after. She’d flush her nose with warm saline … something she could only consider when she felt bad enough … and she’d see if she had any Nyquil left over from her last cold.

She wasn’t worried about passing it on to Gretchen and Ellen. They were the ones who’d given it to her. First Ellen had it. Mysteriousy since she didn’t come into contact with anyone except a few cats. The Gretchen, which was no surprise since she lunched every day with Ellen, spooning her meals and probably tasting some at the same time.

As soon as Sarah had peed she hear her daughters stirring in the other room off the hall. Nikki probably had enough wake time to wet the bed, so Sarah didn’t rush in. She went to the clean laundry bags which were still by the front door and she dug out clean clothes for Nikki and herself. And another set of clothes to pack in Nikki’s day care bag. Then, having forgotten the cold medicine, Sarah bounced cheerfully into Nikki’s room. “Rise and shine.” And Nikki was standing in the crib with a glorious smile on her face. Even wet with urine, Nikki was like a fresh rose. Sarah flopped her down with one hand and with the other, cleared away the wet sheets and pulled off the wet diaper. Nikki accepted the attention with aplomb and then in a few minutes crawled across the floor as Sarah stashed the dirty laundry. Then Sarah scooped her daughter up and took her into the bathroom where they both took a morning shower together.

2. Breakfast for Nikki was a messy affair. Wearing only a clean diaper, she sat in her Nana’s high chair and gnawed on a biscuit. Sarah mixed up her cereal and with a spoon aimed at her mouth while alternating her own spoon into a cup of yogurt on granola for herself.

Nikki continued to be smiley. When the shower temperature was perfect, Sarah held her on her hip and stepped into the shower letting the water cover their sputtering heads and soak their backs. Sara used shampoo to lather their hair and bodies. Nikki played witht the suds on her mother’s head while Sarah cooed a morning wakeup song. In short time, they stepped out and were buffeted with towels. Nikki was standing but not walking. Sarah sat on the toilet seat and modeled to Nikki how to put on underpants and an undershirt as Nikki played with her own shirt by tossing it up in her grip.

A quick comb, a dash of deoderant for Sarah and they were in Nikki’s room, washing the crib mattress cover and then putting a diaper on Nikki. Sarah pried the shirt out of Nikki’s fingers and with a getting dressed song, pulled the shirt over her head. Then the bib overhalls and the many snaps at the inseam, socks on spagghetti feet, the new shoes to celebrate her first steps, and she was ready.

main character beginnings

2010-03-21T16:31:00.004-05:00

A character has poor memory

Things can’t get worse, but they can.

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful.

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow.

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help.

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations.

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her.

A character is not recognized for the good she does.

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does.

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long.

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy.

Being a widow.

Having one’s admiration count for something.

Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished.

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues.

Friends committing suicide.

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying.

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else.

Being a boring person.

Gretchen

A character has poor memory = Gretchen,

The girl was to come after breakfast. Breakfast was in the kitchen. Gretchen put on the robe that was next to her bed and stepped into her slippers. The orange cat curled itself briefly around her legs and raised her tail. Gretchen scratched its hind side and sent a grateful thought to God. As she went to the bathroom she tried to construct a satisfactory ending to her interrupted dream, but it slipped away leaving only an unresolved sensation. She flicked the light switch but nothing happened. Gretchen told herself to ask the girl to change the burnt out bulb and she left the door open to used the light from the hall. She thanked God for another day of continence and she took the last paper off the roll. She changed it and put the empty roll cardboard into her robe pocket.

Ellen

Things can’t get worse, but they can. - Gretchen

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful. = Gretchen

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow. – Sarah, Gretchen

Being a widow. = Gretchen

Having one’s admiration count for something. = Gretchen

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying. [ Gretchen

Ellen

A character has poor memory = Gretchen, Ellen

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues. [ Ellen

Larry

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help. = Larry

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations. = larry

Sarah

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time. = sarah Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished. = Sarah

Friends committing suicide. = Sarah

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him. = Sarah

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does. = Sarah

Nichel

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her. = Nichel

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy. = Nichel

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else. [ Nichel

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long. = Ed

Being a boring person. [ Ed

…………………….

Settings

2010-03-10T21:05:00.001-05:00

Cement sidewalks cracked heaved by tree roots , grass , dog poo, wonder what they ate to make the poo like that, sometimes leached, sometimes too full of nutrition, ants, anthills of tan sand bursting out of contrasting soil, curbs. cars = heavy, bulky, colorful, chairs built for lounging, settling in to watch the movie of the passing scenery, too big for children who had to kneel to look outside. Children watching the door handle or their feet sticking out to the edge of the seat. Adults flicking cigarette ash out the triangular vent window. Sidewalks strangely empty. Save for the postman, save for children walking to or from school. Teenagers paired with friends, youngsters in bouncing packs. Crazy people that everyone knew their name but nobody talked with. A house with packed dirt in the place of lawn. Peppered with bits of toys. Separated from its neighbors with disorganization. Again everyone knew their name. Spilled sweet things attracting ants.

Stones missing in cement. Waiting for the stop light, watching others ignore it, if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you join them? Feeling awkward standing alone on the curb, holding the imaginary hand and waiting for the go ahead, wondering where I’d be now if I crossed, watching the alternative reality fade as it passed on ahead. The early bird catches the worm. Watching the alternative reality catching its worms. Following my lead. Letting hurry make my decisions. Letting hurry take responsibility. Hurry causing a blur where nothing is visible but the ground, nothing is seen but my feet. At the forefront. If I looked to the side I’d be off in a new direction. Holding myself intact with hurry. Pressing against the membrane of the future. Leaning into the …

Holding back has its own independence. Going slowly takes its own speed. Holds its own freedom, flexible in its increasing latitude. Fewer names to learn.

character problems

2010-03-07T08:57:00.000-05:00

A character has poor memory

Things can’t get worse, but they can.

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful.

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow.

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help.

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations.

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her.

A character is not recognized for the good she does.

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does.

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long.

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy.

Being a widow.

Having one’s admiration count for something.

Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished.

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues.

Friends committing suicide.

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying.

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else.

Being a boring person and knowing it.

Bloodborne pathogens

2010-03-04T17:38:00.000-05:00

The child with AIDS didn’t know he had AIDS. I found out when he had been hospitalized and a home/hospital teacher came to pick up work for him. That teacher told me that it had taken such a long time to get a teacher because Peanut had AIDS. I didn’t know that it was legal to tell people. I still don’t. His parents had died and his very affectionate grandmother was raising him. He was smaller than the other third graders and his friends called him Peanut. Because he was frequently absent from school, his grades were not very good. But he was a cheerful and willing student. The day I learned he had AIDS I went home and cried a great deal.

The next year I taught fourth grade and I had Peanut in my class again. I was careful to teach students universal precautions in the first week of school. Universal precautions is the term used to cover how one should deal with blood borne pathogens. Universal precautions tell us that we should treat everyone as if they had a disease like hepatitis b, or AIDS because one could never be sure they didn’t. In urban Baltimore that was even more important, and in my classroom, at least one bloodborne pathogen was a certain possibility.

One October it seemed that my worst fears were realized. Another student came running into the classroom with Peanut. Peanut was holding his arm out, dripping red.

“Peanut’s been stabbed!” the student shouted.

“Don’t touch it,” was my first response and I moved to push the other student out of reach.

Then he and Peanut started to laugh.

“It’s Halloween blood!’ they exclaimed.

It took me a few seconds for the information to soak into my panicking head. The blood was fake, it certainly had fooled the teacher, and the teacher’s reaction was certainly gratifying to the practical jokers.

Complicated dreams

2010-03-02T20:22:00.001-05:00

My parents established a rule when we kids were young that one could not tell their dreams before they had eaten breakfast. By the time we’d eaten breakfast we’d forgotten our dreams or had found more entertainment in the wide-awake world. We grew up thinking that it was rude to tell one’s dreams, that it was an imposition to bore others with what was real only in our imagination. So now when someone wants to tell me about a dream, especially if they have just had it, I recoil as if someone is being rude to me.

This morning I woke up with the phrase “complex dream” in my head. As I tottered to the loo, I decided “complicated dream” was a better phrase. I noted the words as something I’d want to be using in my novel, words that would be fresh and far from cliche, words that would be useful. As the day went on, the phrase lost most of its charm. It wasn’t a cliché but it didn’t pack a punch either (to use a cliché).

So now I’m not only rethinking the phrase but rethinking my policy of not listening to others’ dreams. If dreams are truly experiences, as much as experiences are in the “real’ world , and I’m happy to listen to someone’s experience even those that have nothing to do with me, then I can listen to the dreams of someone else. Since I live alone, I can assume that the dreams I hear about will usually be after breakfast. Although I think the last time someone tried to tell me a dream it was my sister who was sharing a hotel room with me. My sister was always more oblivious to family norms than I was.

I grew up so sensitive to family rules that I probably imagined some of them. I was a lover of rules. I probably still am, which explains why I enjoy third graders so much. They are “ruly” kindred spirits. Knowing and following the rules has a certain security. People who know me would probably be startled to hear me say I’m attached to rules. I talk too much and too loudly, I sing too much and too often, I resort to sarcasm more than what is socially acceptable.

Here’s another rule, which was given to me by my grandmother: when you write, avoid using the word “I”. People who use “I” a lot are selfish and self centered. Stands to reason. The reader does not want to hear all about me, the reader wants me to indicate that I’m interested in them. So I’ve come to believe that I’m hopelessly selfish and self centered. Even a sentence indicating my avid interest in you begins with “I”. I’d love to hear what you think about such and such. I wonder how you are doing.

An unspoken rule of my upbringing was that the bathroom was a fantastic world, fresh from Science Fiction adjacent to your world. Once you step into the bathroom chamber and close the door, you leave the home world behind. You don’t communicate through that door. Conversations do not continue through a bathroom door. I did not realize this was a rule until I visited other people who did not have this rule. My friend Judy continued conversations in her bathroom and I was expected to join her. It was a culture shock.

Annoyed

2009-12-26T10:43:00.003-05:00

This may be the wrong time, but a blog that nobody reads is probably a good as place to vent as any. There has been a tragedy in our town. People were greatly concerned and then greatly saddened as events unfolded. Thanks to popular blogs and thanks to facebook, people are ready and able to voice their thoughts. I wish many of them didn't. The popular anger is coming out as hate. Hate for the perpetrator, hate for his family, hate for the victim's family, hate for the judicial office holders, hate for the state senate, hate for the governor. The popular wish to console is coming out as pop theology. No, the victim is not, nor has ever been, an angel.

People have suggested lynching, castration, harassment, banishment, "accidents" and restoring the death penalty. So far, nobody's complaining about or suggesting we change the me-first values that allowed the family jumbles that made it possible for the tragedy to happen.

Is global change real?

2009-10-15T03:58:00.002-05:00

Of course it is. Is human action a factor? How could it not be?
Today is "blog action day". My blog hasn't been too active since summer vaction has been over, but here is a little action. For better, more thoughtful actions, go here.

Dear Archie

2009-09-28T03:07:00.002-05:00

It's 3:30 AM and I'm wide awake. I'd set my alarm to four so I could get up and do a little house cleaning. I'm wondering how being sick in bed can mess up a whole place, but here I am. I really need to do a lot of housecleaning, but Flylady (a great website) suggests doing it a bit at a time. Starting with Clean Your Sink. It's amazing how having the habit of having a clean sink will spread out to the whole house. I started the sink project yesterday. I'm going to have to buy rubber gloves, brillo, and a new sink trap. Flylady has a whole page on how to clean a sink, and then how to maintain it.

Today's cleaning involves cleaning my bed. My bed is actually a living room futon which is slowly falling apart because I assembled it myself and the bolts are unscrewing. I put a box spring under the mattress which gives it stability and height and now it's actually a queen size bed. I have a few Guatemalan quilts on it. One as a large cover, another as a throw rug. Since it's a large bed, it tends to accumulate stuff. Dirty sox and a blouse, clean pieces of an old sheet I tore up to use as rags to wipe out my clean sink, my computer, charging cords for palm pilot and cell phone, magazines, a large pad that vibrates in 5 places and heats up (It was a gift from an ex-daughter in law to help out my bad back. I call it "my boyfriend"), two buckwheat hull pillows, a bunch of the explanatory notes that come with refilled prescriptions.

Well enough domestic chatter. I thought I'd like to write to you, but I'm not too good at small talk and really don't know what to say to maintain an online conversation. As I look it over, it sounds rather bloggish and I'll probably put a copy of it in my blog (which has been neglected lately). But consider it an effort for friendly chatter.

And I'll try to

attach a funny for you.

Why I can't be president

2009-08-18T05:06:00.001-05:00

Something has come to light.

Charlie

2009-07-27T09:46:00.000-05:00

This section will be written someplace where kids can't read it.

Living with Mom

2009-07-17T11:28:00.006-05:00

OK this is really really raw first draft writing. If I were you I'd skip it for a few months until I get it in some conherent form.
... moved to kidless venue

back to Springfield - for a while

2009-07-15T14:21:00.003-05:00

moved...

east village life

2009-07-14T12:21:00.005-05:00

The free store and other free things

2009-07-13T12:28:00.006-05:00

basement on 6th street

2009-07-12T16:44:00.008-05:00

more radio life

2009-07-09T08:10:00.003-05:00

moved for more privacy....

radio life

2009-07-08T09:07:00.005-05:00

Second draft of stories

2009-07-07T12:10:00.003-05:00

Well, I've gone through the "Stories" stories a second time. Now I'll down load them into a Word file into one long piece and then maybe rearrange sections. I also have to add my own pictures instead of what I find on Google. Then I'll be going through the "hippy dayz" first drafts. Another project I'll be starting is to interview my friend Jim R. on tape and transcribe that. He has had an interesting life. I want to ask him about being a conscientious objector during the Korean War. (nothing like jumping into the middle) His wife suggests I ask him about growing up in the country.

seventy first

2009-07-07T08:55:00.005-05:00

Now things get hazy and it's hard to put things in order. Still, this is not history, it is "what it was like" not "what it was". My rambling is not fact-finding. When I have dementia and repeat things, will you say "you said that already"? This is not an essay test. .... moved ....

South Salem I

2009-07-06T10:22:00.004-05:00

The Track part 3

2009-07-03T09:07:00.005-05:00

sex drugs and rock and roll I

2009-07-02T08:59:00.010-05:00

I took a day off

2009-07-01T19:29:00.001-05:00

I've been holed up writing and little else. Probably mourning Stuart's illness and death. But today was a day to get out, and I did. Back to writing tomorrow morning.

The Track part 2

2009-06-30T08:13:00.004-05:00

On the first dinner hour at the college dining hall, I knew nobody, so I struck up a conversation a student in the line and asked if I could sit with him. When I sat down I saw I was the only female, but felt undaunted. The guys were using slang I'd never heard before, like "get on the stick" and "psyche". Z. was saying something about his sister and I tried to joke along and suddenly his face became very grave and he said "my sister died last year". I was mortified and embarrassed. Everybody looked at me with scorn. Then Z. started laughing and everyone else laughed at me as well. Psyche. I never ate with those people again. I chose to sit alone and let people come to me.

And I liked the people who sat with me. There was Bill E. an exotically handsome sophomore who seemed to be a snob, but it turns out was very nearsighted but too vain to wear glasses. He simply couldn't see anybody. Over time, he showed himself to be a creative instigator. He thought of rebellious things for his friends to do, but he actually did little himself and thus avoided trouble. He and I started the first food fight in the school. He threw an olive at me, I threw jello back at him and seconds later we were sitting under the table as the whole dining hall erupted. It only lasted a few seconds and then everyone was stunned at what happened.

There was Jennifer, a sophomore who had a freshman roommate. That roommate, Kass, had managed to avoid the freshman pack. She made it clear that she did not value virginity or abstinence of any kind for that matter. She had a little ditty of foul words that she could chant and I was enchanted. I remember when I first was visiting their dorm room, she was brushing her hair in the mirror and wearing only panties. She put her large breasts on the bureau to simply rest while she was doing her hair. I was in awe of how casual she was.

Jennifer was raised a Quaker, a member of the Society of Friends, like Doc Brainerd the biology teacher. She was descended from the first Quakers, (It seems she said George Fox, but I don't know if he had children). She also said that she was related to someone important in the Guggenheim art museum (Peggy Guggenheim?) Unusually tall and thin, she was interested in dance notation. Sometimes she and I would get together at the only piano on campus and she would dance while I was working on learning to play an arrangement of Gershwin's Rhapsodie in Blue. She had a boyfriend on campus who claimed to be the first drummer for the Lovin' Spoonful. As I write this, there seems to be a lot of name dropping connected with Jennifer.

After the Freshman orientation banquet I became good friends with Jim. Jim set out to relieve me of any straight laced ways I may have had. He pointed out that nobody would notice if we didn't wear a beany and if we walked on Senior Walk. For me that turned out to be true. He was noticed however. Like all our friends he smoked cigarettes. There was another college "tradition" that students were not to be seen smoking by visitors, so there was no smoking outdoors. (Yes, that's OUTdoors) So Jim and his friends smoked outdoors on the hill on the lakeside of the dining hall. One night Jim was awakened in the middle of the night, stripped naked and Ben-Gay was applied to his testicles and he was deposited in a women's dorm. He was tied up and a pack full of cigarettes was shoved in his mouth. The next day he wore his baby blue suit to all his classes and meals. He was extremely depressed and that was his way of getting out of it.

I had another friend who didn't associate with the crowd where I found refuge. Our parents had been friends when we were young. We also liked singing. Standing next to her in chorus was an education. She took singing lessons, and I modeled my voice after hers. I got rid of my breathy kids voice and developed a head tone. I had a very large range and could sing as low as any tenor. Singing in the college barbershop group probably contributed to saving my life years later because of a trip our chorus took to York Pennyslyvania. I stayed with a rural family who had values I plugged into later.

I went to see the Antonioni movie "Blow Out" several times. It had a clear message that if you examine something closely, it loses its distinct form. It had consciously hip actors, style, sex, nudity, and mime.

My clean-conscious roommate got fed up with me. I'd gotten to the point of taping leaves to the wall for decoration and not doing my laundry. The leaves curled up and wrinkled and the laundry piled up in my closet. She proposed that we do some roommate swapping and I moved in with Claudia, a sophomore who was something of a social outcast. She was a social outcast because she had a "reputation". Unlike Kass who didn't care about her reputation, Claudia insisted on her virginity. Claudia was sweet and friendly and a great roommate. Except for when male friends wanted me to talk to her about her skin (which was evidently too rough for their taste) or they would get drunk and horny and call for her through the window.

The Track part 1

2009-06-29T08:13:00.006-05:00

I had a choice of music school to become a music teacher, or Springfield College to become a YMCA director like my Dad. My Dad was much less neurotic than all the music teachers I knew, so I picked Springfield. Also Jerry S. was going there. Springfield told me I had to lose about 30 pounds and suggested I read Camus's The Stranger. The diet pills I started taking were my entry into the drug world. Camus was the entry into existentialism, which I never understood but I enjoyed it and it made me feel intellectually important. When I arrived at Springfield I was pretty disappointed that few had read The Stranger. I was also somewhat stunned about the hazing of freshman. My parents had taught me that such things were denigrating and I couldn't see what it had to do with academic growth. My Dad had gotten his masters at Springfield a few years earlier and I had studied his term papers. I'd only seen the academic side.
I wore a beanie without complaint and stayed off of "senior walk". I got a job in the cafeteria to help pay for my books. I enjoyed my first class when "Doc" Brainerd stood on the chair and yelled "Biology is the science of life!" and then got off and calmly asked "Did you put that in your notes?" It turns out that Doc Brainerd was the only faculty member who ever referred to Camus during that year.
During the first orientation week, the "girls" under our resident assistant lined up by height to meet her RA boyfriend's students, who were also lined up by height, and we walked to the gym where there was a banquet to welcome us to the college. My partner didn't seem too pleased to meet me and I thought he looked rather spoiled in his baby blue suit ... although I was wearing a baby blue suit too. We seemed resigned to put up with each other until someone in front of us started talking about skiing and then Jim and I discovered a mutual passion. We talked about skiing until we sat down. Across from us was a Japanese-American named Billy K. Billy was an immediate education. His let us know that his parents were civil rights activitists who knew Stokely Charmichael, that his parents had been interred in U.S. camps during WWII (I had never heard about internment camps in school history classes), and that he had smoked pot. Jim and I immediately asked if he could get us some pot and he said it might be arranged.
While I was getting tight with Jim and Billy, I was becoming increasinglly alienated from those in the college mainstream. My roommate took several showers a day, and if we had a fire drill, she'd take a shower after that. I showered less and less. We had an "initiation" where we were blindfolded and ridiculed and made to eat dogfood and such. This was and is known as "tradition". Springfield frowned on fraternities or sororities, but it was known that the Varsity students formed a fraternity and had a house off campus. I visited it when I was invited, out of the blue, on a date with someone I had never met. When I got there, I was pretty much ignored by my date and I chatted with the girls. One of them told me that she also had to lose weight to attend the school. Years later I saw the movie "Dogfight" and tearfully realized that I had been invited as part of a fraternity contest to see who brought the worst "dog" to the party.

That's it for the first draft

2009-06-28T15:09:00.004-05:00

I have some things to add, but they are part of the appendix of things written by other people. I'll include my Cousin Edith's letter describing when the Kennedy's used their rest room after the end of a white water race on the Hudson. And then there are things my Dad put to paper about relatives and about his WWII experience. So I've come to the less pleasant part of writing: looking at the thing as a whole, and working on the second draft. The way I'll work on the second draft will be to revise these blog entries ... so I don't think that will show up on facebook posts.

Meanwhile, I think my writing activities will be divided between this and a first draft of something else. I'm thinking a description of the hippy years. In a way, it's sort of embarrassing, but it also may be of interest. Some people will find it boring compared to what they imagined, but others may react differently.

And what a job it will be to write about! I have to keep my modern judgments out as much as I can. Also want to keep out the bragging "dope story" aspect. I don't know if I can do either.

Today I'm thinking about the old friend who died last winter, and I only just learned about it yesterday. This was an old friend I was happy to let go of, but I also had the thought that I'd see him again some day. I don't have an image of heaven as an old time reunion place, so I don't have that expectation. So I'm mourning him and thinking about what I can write about him. I cared about him a lot and had a lot of important experiences through him, but also didn't like him much. He was an amazing conversationalist and could play chords on the guitar and hold his harmony well. He was uncomfortable around me, probably because he knew what I knew about him and knew I didn't much like things about him. He told me a lot of his shortcomings and withheld some that were so huge, I only speculated about them. (I do the same myself - I'll tell you 80% of who I am so you won't find out about the 20%.) We were very intimate, but touched rarely - rather like Robert E. Howard and schoolteacher Novalyne Price Ellis in the movie the Whole Wide World. No wonder I wasn't in contact with him when he died.

running into strangers

2009-06-27T10:43:00.003-05:00

Grammar off day. This stuff is going to take a lot of revision!

sad story from dad
the little indian boy in Little Falls

Dad loved transportation. His idea of an entertaining time was to take the family to the airport to watch planes or to take a train ride. (He died while on a cruise to see the Panama Canal.) When we lived along the Mohawk River, he liked to take us down to the Erie barge canal. On one of our walks, Dad told us stories of a little Iroquois Indian boy who played on the cliffs before the town of Little Falls was built. I don't remember the stories, except perhaps that the boy collected the "Herkimer diamond" quartz crystals. But the little boy became very real to us. One day I asked Dad what happened to the boy and his Indian family, and Dad told me that our ancestors had driven the Indians away. I still remember being very upset about this.

Down at the station early in the morning

See the little Puffer Bellies all in a row

See the engine driver pull the little handle

Chug, chug, toot, toot

Off they go

I've got a mule, her name is Sal,
15 miles on the Erie Canal
She's a good old worker and a good old pal,
15 miles on the Erie Canal

We've hauled some barges in our day
filled with lumber, coal and hay
And we know every inch of the way from
Albany to Buffalo.

Chorus:
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge for we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor, you'll always know your pal
If you've ever navigated on the Erie Canal.

Dad and Marian invested in a movie camera and used it to record family members for posterity. (I had some of those films converted to video. Now I need to convert the videos to DVDs.) When they visited more distant relatives, he interviewed them on film. One film of a highly accomplished and aged second cousin had understandable sound of her playing the piano, but the picture was baffling. Dad enjoyed showing this film of something fuzzy but apparently alive. At one point, Dad would shout out, "Here comes the blink!" and, sure enough, the object moved. It was an eyeball. Marian had filmed the whole scene holding the camera backwards.

One time Dad had driven south to visit me in Maryland. We were to meet Marian at the airport because she was arriving from a conference in New Orleans. When we were at BWI near Baltimore, Dad went to the counter to ask where to find the flight. When he took out his notes, he saw that he was at the wrong airport. We were supposed to be at the National Airport near Washington DC. As we were thinking about the logistics of finding our car, driving to Washington, and being very late to pick up Marian, we were amazed to see her walking down the BWI hall towards us!! It turns out that there was some problem with landing her plane and they were rerouted to BWI. Just a few moments later and we would have been heading to DC only to have to drive back. Who was more surprised? Probably Marian was equally surprised to see us waiting for her.

It seems that people in my family frequently run into people we know. I think this could be true for everyone if they kept their ears and eyes open.

Dad was visiting Annapolis Maryland from upstate New York. He was at the downtown docks looking at skipjacks and other sailing vessels. Passengers were disembarking from a small tourist ship and Dad found himself face to face with a man who was on the board of directors from his last job in Poughkeepsie, NY. This man had a lot to do with Dad's decision to retire, so it was not someone Dad was fond of. "Bob! What are you doing down here?" the man asked. Dad pointed across the river "See that large yacht over there ... ?"

Dad was in the ski lodge at Gore Mountain. Someone sitting nearby was looking at an ad in a local newspaper and telling his companion,"See that guy in this real estate ad? I think that's the Bob Morse who was in my third grade downstate in Ardsley." And Marian, who overheard, said, "That's my husband."

A friend of mine, Jamie, and I drove from Annapolis to Arlington Virginia to join in a Messiah sing. I kept looking around the singers to see if there was anybody I might know. Jamie said, "I half expect you to stand up here and shout,'Anybody from Potsdam, NY?' " After the singing, there was coffee and cookies in the church basement and we were approached by a young man who evidently was attracted to Jamie. During the conversation, we learned he had gone to music school at Potsdam State at the same time I was there.

One summer, I was in a special short residential program for math and science teachers around Maryland. There was a special banquet to start things off. I got into some good conversation with people at the table and was very pleased to learn that one woman had gone to the same upstate NY high school that I had. She was four years old than I, so I had never met her. But I was astounded to learn that she was in the Hi-Y club where my dad was Y director. That club had no more than 10 kids in it at one time. Still more remarkable was that my dad, when asked, could describe her. After over thirty years.

Seth in New York
My grandson tells the story of making a trip to New York City. He said to his Mom, "I feel like I'm going to see someone famous, right here in this street." Shortly, a man near Seth asked him about the Japanese Manga (graphic novel) that he was carrying. (***.... get details from Seth)

sad stories from Mom

2009-06-26T08:24:00.005-05:00

Mom told us that she was 13 when her mother went to the hospital and never came home. She had teeth pulled and, as a result, developed leukemia. (I suspect that it was really sepsis, but this is the story my mother's family tells) Mom told us that she regretted saying mean things to her mother before she died and that the hospital would not allow her to visit because she was under age for visitors.

Mom was never a good swimmer. She says that her mother taught her to swim by calling her to wade into water that was over her head. This was one of the few persistent memories she had of her mother. She describes her parents as so in love with each other that they gave their children little attention.

After her mother died her father was overwhelmed with taking care of three girls. He did hire a Mexican girl to help. Mom told us about living in a tent and having squirrel meat for Christmas. Of course that story was also her way of letting us know how ungrateful we kids were for the good fortune we had, just as I disapprove of how spoiled today's kids are.

Another story Mom shared was of being reprimanded in school for chewing Dentyne gum. Dentyne had been advertised as being good for your teeth. Mom did not think of it as chewing gum, but as doing something healthy, so she was highly offended at being told to stop.

She also fascinated us with stories of wearing a horned toad as jewelry. She avoided trouble in school until one day a teacher saw it move.

That reminds me of a story about some relative who had a pet frog that lived decades until it got stepped on on the stairway. I can't remember the source of that one.

Patty passes on this story.
The turkey incident was in New Mexico when they were living in a tent and Mom was sleeping in a food locker. Grandpa was so good with a twenty-two, he could hit a squirrel between the eyes to save the meat. I don’t know what they were going to have for Thanksgiving, but it wasn’t going to be turkey. They woke up in the morning and there was a flock of turkeys in the yard that they had never seen before. Of course Grandpa shot one for dinner and they never saw the flock again. And that was the story. Turkeys around here are pretty common, I guess they just hadn’t seen any.

lp's and Christmas

2009-06-25T07:00:00.005-05:00

Part of the family environment was sound. Here are some of the sounds we listened to:

Sing along with Mitch - Mitch Miller was on tv in the fifties and sixties, leading a chorus of cheerful singers ("Bob" McGRath of Sesame Street was one of them) in old turn of the century standards such as "My Wild Irish Rose" and "Sidewalks of New York".

Tom Lehrer was a piano playing satirist (and a college level math teacher). His repertoire was just shy of naughty and skimmed the surface of above ground. He was never heard on TV or radio until the 70's when he wrote a few songs for the Electric Company, a public television show that encouraged beginning reading.

Stan Freberg The United States of America - The voice of adman Freberg was well known on the radio. His recordings of Broadway musical style numbers about United States history, still make me laugh. My parents and friends loved to sing "Take an Indian to Lunch" around Thanksgiving time.

West Side Story - Leonard Bernstein music and Stephen Sondheim lyrics were a huge part of my growing up. We listened to the Broadway musical record album, saw the movie, heard "Tonight" on pop radio stations, and I played the ballet from the piano score for my music school audition. Right now there's a revival playing on Broadway.

Frank Warner - Dad knew folk song collector Frank Warner because he was a fellow YMCA professional. That gave Dad some credentials with the local folk song crowd at Saratoga's Cafe Lena, a place which was pretty well respected in the folk song world. The Jolly Tinker became a part of my own guitar and singing repertoire. Our whole family liked to sing "Fod!" and "Away Idaho". I have a few LP's of his, still, and one is signed.

Christmas traditions

Generally, my family had a New England protestant heritage in which Christmas was celebrated with a tree and snow. After 1957, the tree, ideally a balsam fir, came from our own property. Christmas was a Currier and Ives painting.

We put up a nativity scene. I have looked without success for a replica of the creche that was destroyed in a fire in 1973. It was cardboard and the figures resembled the grave-faced figures I have seen in Tiffany stained glass windows.*

Dad would read "A night before Christmas" and we would attend Christmas Eve service.
Later, in the sixties we would listen to a recording of Dylan Thomas reading "Child's Christmas in Wales" and we would chime in during our favorite parts.

And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke - I think we missed Mr. Prothero -...
...And Easy Hobbi-Games for Little Engineers, complete with instructions. Oh, easy for Leonardo!

Mom liked to put up a sugar plum tree which was a plastic tree which held gum drops.

Dad put up stockings which were found Christmas morning to contain tangerines, hard candy which only older people like, nuts in the shell and often a can of black olives (so Dad wouldn't have to share his).

Grandma always recycled wrapping paper, so we opened our presents carefully. Each recipient was the center of attention as a gift was unwrapped. That person would make a guess at what they would do with the present. If Dad said "I'm going to wear it." and it turned out to be swiss cheese, we would all enjoy that.

The ornaments were diverse and were added to over time. The idea of a monocolor or theme tree was completely alien to our family. We had many kinds of ornaments, lights, maybe a chain of popcorn, "ice" always placed one at a time by my sister who was the only person with patience to do it, and a star ornament at the top. We would sit and stare at the tree and make discoveries with our eyes.

The greatest loss was the disappearance of the family ornaments when Dad's vacation home, the Crest, was burnt to the ground. Two special ornaments that were destroyed in the fire have stories. One was a hollow alligator that was about four inches long that came from my father's childhood. Actually the story is that there was no story. It didn't look like a Christmas sort of ornament and there was no explanation. Story number two was a plastic angel that originated as a Cracker Jacks prize. My sister was given it by a kid in the park, in exchange for the chewing gum out of her mouth. That story was repeated every year when we hung it and long after.

No one every told us that there was such a creature as Santa Claus. We visited North Pole, NY and listened to the story from the book, but didn't believe for more than five minutes at a time.
Many presents had the name "Saint Nick" written on the "From: " line of the tag, but it was obviously in Dad's handwriting. We were allowed to believe if we wanted, and on a snowy morning when we could hear the jingle of the chains on the passing plow, we might get excited for a few moments.

*The window that we would gaze on from the choir loft of Saratoga's Congregational Church was Tiffany. Why did only the choir get to gaze on it?

Miscellaney

2009-06-24T09:16:00.007-05:00

Part of a family's culture is the food that they grew up with. With the fragmentation of families, the food traditions are weakening as well. I can only describe my mother's cooking and a little of my grandmother's . We were too distant to know what the other relatives were eating.

Mom's cooking

Mom’s best dishes were split pea soup, minestrone, chili con carne, and tomato aspic.

Mom was the main cook in the house, although pancakes and french toast were delegated by default to Dad who did a superb job with both.
Every now and then we'd have "pioneer stew" for supper. Mom would pronounce it "pioneer" with such passion that it evoked a mental image of my mother growing up in the Southwest with her cowboy parents. I really hated it. But when I grew up I made it myself, frequently, but was careful never to call it "pioneer stew". It was simply leftovers. I wonder when I crossed the line from loathing it to loving it.

People on Maryland's Eastern Shore joke that"mac and cheese" is considered a vegetable. In upstate New York, where I grew up, it was a main course, the core of a meatless meal. Mom's was made with cheddar cheese that we shredded ourselves and it was baked in a glass bowl or pan. Over time and my sister's and my sloppy dishwashing habits, the bowl would be marked at the top with the outlines of baked on macaroni. That marking indicated the location of the best part of the dish, the part where the cheese would concentrate and was very chewy.

Mom's meatloaf was made with bread, ground beef, sausage, onions, and an egg to hold it together. Once when Mom was in the hospital my Dad made a meatloaf. It was a chunk of ground beef with tomato sauce on top. Lacking the vital sausage ingredient, it didn't deserve to be called meatloaf. Turkey stuffing HAD to have sausage, the rest was whatever might be found around the house.

Mom came from the jello mold generation. We always enjoyed the ring shaped aspic. Mom was very creative and did many things with that jello mold. Sometimes the tomato aspic would have spanish olives or hard boiled eggs. And then there was a period of our eating history with apple jello with shredded lettuce and celery in it.

My sister has my mother's recipe for minestrone. I have never found a minestroni as good as my mother's.

baked beans

Like the macaroni and cheese, the baked beans were best around the edges where the well soaked beans would evolve like old people back to infancy and become crunchy. Mom was never stingy with the molasses.

Mom's domestic skills were gained, not by role models, but by virtue of her great intelligence. My mother, whose job it was to maintain the house cleaning, had no set routine, much to my father's great consternation. But when she set herself to the task, the house cleaning was thorough. Her cooking required quite a bit of time and planning, much more than American mothers do in the present day. One of the greatest skills my mother tried to pass on to her daughters was to have all of the parts of a meal show up at the table at the same time. Cooking with success was a topological feat in discrete mathematics. By making a critical path in scheduling, the food arrived hot, fresh, baked, cooled or gelled all at the same time.

Grandma Morse was not known for her cooking, neither good nor bad. She made a good pot roast with cloves, and a “shepherd’s pie” which was baking powder dumplings floating on a beef stew. Grandma was also fond of sweetened stewed tomatoes with bread. She presented it to us grandchildren like it was a treat. I never told her that I didn’t like it.

books on the table top
the family of man

pay the two dollars

cartoon book about having a baby

Elmer West

2009-06-23T09:48:00.008-05:00

In the years before my brother was born. our family went tenting. We had two canvas tents, the green umbrella type that originated from my Dad's childhood and a larger saffron colored wall tent. We would meet new people at the camp sites and form instant friendships. Dad once took a neighbor's steaks out of their cooler and left a note saying "We were here. signed, the raccoons"

One summer's day we went to visit Dad's cousin Edith. She lived in the shadow of Moxham Mountain which was north of North Creek. She and her husband Dave lived in a low-ceilinged cottage and kept a greenhouse. My sister and I liked to sing "Davey Crockett" to cousin Dave, and, although he was generally pretty morose, he played along with us. Down the road from Cousin Edith there was a place for sale that had a log cabin, a small frame house, a sturdy log barn and 80 acres of land, both pasture and forest. Our tenting days were over, our family took up fixing up "The Ranch" (as in, "Meanwhile, back at the ranch ....")

There were piles of garnet studded stones left in fields and lichen covered stone fences in the many pastures. Such stones were a great place for kids to play. We made forts. We constructed stone houses with roofs made of sticks and straw. The glaciers that had been through this area left large boulders everywhere. On top of one glacial erratic across the road from the cabin, we put on variety show acts with singing and dancing . Once my sister got so enthusiastic with her performance that she danced right off the boulder. My sister remembers that my mother, who had been the audience across the road and up the hill, was there instantly to check for concussions and broken bones, but there was no injury. Meanwhile, I was back at the cabin, cracking up with laughter.

Out in the middle of the pasture in front of the cabin, was a lone boulder the size of a house.

We befriended Elmer West, who was around eighty years old. He earned income from the county by mowing the grass next to the road with his scythe. The dirt road was called "West Lane"(*now called Cobble Creek Road) and up the road about two miles at the end of West Lane were the houses and outbuildings that Elmer had built for his family and many children. He told us that the large boulder used to be a small stone that had been in his pocket and he threw it in the field where "it growed".

For us, Elmer was like the Indians that befriended the Pilgrims. He helped us raise our log cabin on jacks and replace the rotting bottom logs with new wood. He also helped us build a large screened in porch (from where we watched Patty's variety show). The porch had a cement floor and had slices of elm wood embedded in the cement. Elmer called the wood "ellem" and in turn we called him "Ellemer". He helped raise the porch beam by holding it up on top of his head, so we always enjoyed saying that Elmer used his head to make our porch.

In addition to his mowing the tall roadside grass, Elmer made a living an Adirondack guide. He took tourists hunting and fishing in the wilderness around his house. Year round, he served his company venison and gravy on biscuits and hundreds of four-inch bullhead fried in corn meal and bacon. He didn't worry much about seasons or hunting limits, and nobody else worried about his catching bullhead in fish in traps, either. Apart from the game he caught for food, his groceries were cigarettes, beer, Bisquick, corn meal and bacon.

He played the fiddle, the country way on his chest rather than under his chin, and I can only remember him playing "Red River Valley". His house was papered with Vargas girls. His bedroom, built into the porch, had no door. You got to it by climbing through a front window. Perhaps the furniture was there as he built the room around it.

William Augustus Brady III

2009-06-22T07:41:00.006-05:00

Will Brady, my ex-husband, grew up as a "Bill". I'm the person who gave him the name "Will" because I liked it better. There were no plans to name anyone William Augustus Brady the fourth, but the William name was passed to his grandson Seth William Brady.
When Will's son Gareth was born, he had red hair. I had dyed my own hair red and we were mighty surprised that Gareth had red hair. Eventually we learned that the first William Augustus Brady had red hair. After a few weeks, all of Gareth's hair changed to an almost transparent blonde and has stayed pretty much blonde all his life. The W.A. Bradys all had ears that stuck out- they were Mighty Mouse ears. Neither Gareth nor Seth W. do.

William A. Jr. and Peg Brady showered Gareth with Christmas presents. We had told them that we had no intention of telling Gareth there was such a real person as Santa Claus. They seemed devastated by this idea and filled up their car trunk every year to make up for Gareth's deprived religious training. Either that or they were just being grandparents. Gareth received every present that was on the market. Sometimes more than once. One year Gareth received a set of "cowboys and indians", tiny plastic figures with which a young child could simulate the aggressive take over of the western North American continent. As soon as the grandparents left town, Will took out a pair of scissors and proceeded to put an end to this genocidal war. He cut off rifles, six shooters, bows and arrows. Four year old Gareth cried, "What are they going to do?" Will answered firmly "FARM!"

Years later, when Gareth was thirteen, he told a family therapist that he was still upset about that emasculating of his toys. But six years after that, he bragged about it.

When Gareth was little, my parents lived on the other side of the Adirondack mountains from us. To visit them, we took a beautiful three hour drive of two lane roads. Will has always been a dreamy sort. Once we were re-entering the road after a rest stop and he got distracted by the geology of an interesting cliff across the way and sort of forgot that he was at the wheel of the car. As our car drifted across the road, an on-coming car ran into the cliff to avoid us. No one was hurt, but they were pretty angry about it.

Making the same trip another time, we had a flat tire. As we were trying to change it, the lug nut simply broke off. We stopped at a service station, but they didn't have the bolts we needed. So we inflated the tire and continued on the remaining five bolts. There was a service station about every eleven miles where we would re-inflate the tire. So we proceeded, stopping at Long Lake, Blue Mountain Lake, Indian Lake, and North River, to North Creek where my Dad met us with his tire changing equipment. He didn't think very highly of our tire changing aptitude. But after working on it himself, he found that ALL of our bolts were broken. As the last lug nut fell down to the ground my Dad proclaimed to Will, "My faith in you has been restored." The lug nuts of the tire had been placed with a machine that had turned them too tight and had cracked every one. We were fortunate they had not fallen off while we were driving.

facts of life

2009-06-20T07:18:00.007-05:00

It seems that in my family, kids are most cute when they are around three. And cute kids make the best stories.

I am told I have made some serious factual errors in the following story, but I think it's more fun than the "factual" version.*
My grandson who is extraordinarily cute and unusually well behaved has a story told about him during a rare time he misbehaved. He had a lock put on the outside of his door when he was a toddler. He never required spanking or even a verbal dressing down, but when he was in trouble he was told to take a "time out". One day his father brought him into his room for a time out and a little talking to. Suddenly, three year old Seth jumped up, ran out into the hall and locked his father in his room. "Now YOU take a time out!" he told his father. His father had to climb out Seth's bedroom window.

Long before Seth was conceived, I was taking my precocious three-year old brother to his first church service. John was cute, not so well behaved, but very verbal. I was eleven and had prepared him as well as I could for the church experience. As we were sitting there waiting for the service to begin. My brother whispered "Where's God?" I said "You can't see God. God is invisible." Then the organ stopped and the pastor stood up from behind the lecturn. My brother shouted out "I see God!!"

As I've mentioned my brother was precocious. He talked and read at an early age, and had a large vocabulary. When I was seventeen and he was nine, we were watching a movie on television. Tuesday Weld was looking pretty sorrowful in "A Summer Place."
"What's wrong with her?" my brother asked.
"She's pregnant" I answered.
"But she's not married." he argued.
"You don't have to be married."
In my family, the mom told the facts of life to the girls and the dad told the facts of life to the boy. I realized that this was my chance to find out the dad's version.
"Didn't Dad tell you where babies come from?"
(in a tentative voice)"Yes"
We watched TV a few moments more, and then I asked "What did Dad tell you?"
John recited,"A man places sperm in the woman and it fertilizes the egg and then the baby grows in the mother's womb."
A few more minutes passed, and then I asked "How does the man place the sperm in the woman?"
"He didn't say."
Minutes.
"How?" John asked me.
I used the Socratic teaching method at even this young age.
"Well, John. What does a man have that a woman doesn't have?"
He thinks. Then slowly his eyes grow big in astonishment.
"I didn't know they were detachable!!"

My own son learned the facts of life when he was much younger. He was about six and it was the seventies when Free to Be You and Me and Our Bodies Ourselves were popular books. The minute the poor kid asked a question, I was armed with books and photographs. After reading with Gareth the cute picture book Where Did I Come From?**, I proceeded to The First Nine Months of Life, a book that I'd often consulted when I was pregnant. I explained that the photographs of sperm and embryonic babies were enlarged under microscope. I was proud of my son as he listened with interest. Then he beamed and exclaimed."I'm so glad I'm a spermer!!! When I get married I'm going to get a microscope and show my wife my sperm!" Later that week a neighbor told me that she overheard a conversation between Gareth and Andy, her son who was two.
Gareth: And look at these pictures! These are sperm.
Andy: Yeah
Gareth: and you and I are boys and we have SPERM!
Andy: Yeah
Gareth: Aren't you glad that we are spermers?!
Andy: Yeah

* My son points out,"I had put the lock on the outside of the door only for the purpose of time-outs and bed time. Seth was four years old and refused to stay in his room at those times. Never would I lock the door at night in fear of emergency situations such as a house fire or even less drastic instances such as if he felt sick and needed to let us know."

"The books I had read around that time suggested never to leave a child in time out for more then 10 or 15 minutes so I never locked his door for longer than that and always remained close to the door when it was locked so that I could listen out for sounds that would give me concern for his safety. After 10 or 15 minutes he would most often stop crying and that is when I would enter his room and ask him if he understood why he was on time out. On that particular night he just got up and shut the door behind him. At first I told him he had better open the door. I looked around the room and found that I had done too good a job at child proofing it. There was nothing small enough to pick the lock. All I could think about was how his mother would come home and find him roaming around the house with me locked in the room. Jumping out the window would have not worked out since that would only mean I would be locked outside the entire house instead of only in a room. I didn't want to destroy the door either. Finally I realized that the best way to get him to open the door would be to let him know that he would not be in trouble if he opened the door within the next few minutes."

**Here's how a review described Where Did I Come From? at Amazon.com:

....Mayle and Robins are disarmingly natural about the naming of parts ("Now, if you put your mother and your father in the bath together you'd notice something interesting. . ."), probably as detailed as kids' interest allows about fetal development (incidentally, it's a girl), and bolder than any children's book yet about the "tickling feeling" of "making love": "The man pushes his penis up and down inside the woman's vagina, so that both the tickly parts are being rubbed against each other. It's like scratching an itch, but it's a lot nicer". . . and it ends in "a tremendous big lovely shiver" that is a little like a good sneeze. You can't deny Mayle's talent for translating adult experience into child-level concepts, and we found Robins' irreverent cartoonlike illustrations (the pudgy nude figures are anything but erotic) a welcome break from the breathless wonderment that has recently prevailed. .... (Kirkus Reviews)

Dad's expressions and more food stories

2009-06-19T07:01:00.008-05:00

Part of being a part of my family was hearing certain expressions that my Dad used.
When he wanted to reprimand a child he would say "Pasta fazool!!" which is, simply, pasta with beans, but the child didn't know that. We acted as if it were a magical incantation to make us behave. We'd be bickering with each other, Dad would say "Pasta fazool!!" and we'd stop. We would be dallying and Dad would say "Pasta fazool!!" and we'd hustle. My sister says it was Dad's version of "You better straighten out and fly right!" It worked so well on my own son, that he refuses to say it with his own son because he thinks it is abusive.

We ate dinner as a family at a round dining room table. Usually some child would be balking about eating something. Dad would threaten,"no pie for you!". As we got older, we learned to ask "IS there any pie?" and Dad would say "No, but there's no pie for you!"

Whenever we got into the car ready for an excursion, Dad would say, as he turned the key in the ignition, "We're off! Like a dirty shirt!" For some reason, that still cracks me up.

Dad's favorite nicknames for my sister and I were "Sad Sack" and
"Sunshine". He called us both by both names and usually Sunshine for the one who was being grumpy at the time.

When my brother was born we lived in the upstairs of a two family house. Many many times we were told not to bother the family downstairs:"Don't disturb the Rostheizers." Even after we moved away, the phrase echoed in our ears whenever we started to get noisy.

We were proud that we had a family whistle which was handed down from my father's family. If our parents wanted us to come running they would whistle: sol mi, sol mi, do re mi, sol mi
Up until I heard another family use it, I thought my family had invented it.

When I was about ten, the volkswagon microbus came on the market. Our family was one of the first in town to get one. It was basically a box. In the days of tail fins and chrome, our basic box car was an embarrassment to a pre-adolescent. Once we were driving on an Adirondack two lane highway when we were passed by a few motorcycles. A few more stayed behind our van. As we passed through Warrensburg with two motorcyles before and two behind, Dad gave big waves to everyone that could see us.

Years later I suggested to Dad that he stick his left arm out of the car while the passenger on the right did the same with her right. Then as they went around curves, they moved their arms to simulate glider wings. His car and my car did this on the ramps to the Baltimore beltway. Good times.

Dad instilled a few food traditions.

Corn on the cob was a treat and was available only for a short season. It was considered the main course and eaten at an outdoor picnic table. The hamburgers were only a side dish. It was best served freshly shucked from the garden and boiled in a big pot. The little corn shaped holders that stuck in either end were essential. We would roll the ear in the margarine on our plate and sprinkle on salt. And then, before we bit in, there was an almost ceremonial shake of the cob. Dad ate his corn with this little shake, so we all did.

Once Dad was at a YMCA conference and he and his friends went to a restaurant. The restaurant had many conference participants as customers. There was a sign on the wall that said "Baked macaroni with rich cheddar cheese". So when it came to order Dad said "I'll have the baked macaroni with the rich cheddar cheese!" Then the next person ordering said "I'll have the BAKED macarOni with the RICH CHEDdar CHEESE!" and the next person said, while slapping the table in rhythm, "I'll have the BAKED macarOni with the RICH CHEDdar CHEESE!" Pretty soon everyone in the restaurant was chanting,""I'll have the BAKED macarOni with the RICH CHEDdar CHEESE!" Back at home, Mom made excellent macaroni and cheese and it was a frequent main course for supper. Whenever we ate it, we would do the macaroni and cheese chant.

Other food traditions were having spaghetti at Christmas because it was easy and well-liked.

At Thanksgiving we upstate New Yorkers practiced the Baltimore Maryland tradition of having sauerkraut because our family friend from Maryland, Eileen, liked it. While my grandmother was alive we always ate turnips, as well. After she died, because nobody else liked them, we missed the smell of turnips on Thanksgiving.

Mom’s cooking

Mom’s best dishes were split pea soup, minestrone, chili con carne, and tomato aspic. Grandma made a good roast with cloves, and a “shepherd’s pie” which was baking powder dumplings floating on a beef stew. Grandma was also fond of stewed tomatoes with bread. She presented it to us grandchildren like it was a treat. I never told her that I didn’t like it.

food stories

2009-06-18T08:02:00.004-05:00

Nana and the ice cream

One very warm day, when she was in her eighties and living with us she walked down to the village of Ardsley while we were all gone and purchased a quart of ice cream. She really liked ice cream. She took a taxi back up the hill and when she went to open the door of the the house she found that she had left the key inside. The ice cream was starting to melt. She had no spoon. A walk around the house showed that a small cellar window was open. Without a bit of hesitation, she climbed up, in the window, down on to the washtubs and into the cellar. She really liked ice cream.

Dad and the liver

Dad lived as a choirboy in the Cathedral of St. John the Divine choir school when he was around ten years old. The boys led a pretty formal life. He told us children about how, like me, he didn't like liver as a boy. He would "finish" his liver by putting it in his pocket and throwing it away later. Once, however, he forgot to throw it away and was discovered when the jacket in his closet began to smell.

John and the broccoli

My brother John had thought he'd found a way to dispose of unwanted dinner until a very thorough house cleaner found petrefied broccoli stuffed in the pedestal of the dining room table.

Rick and the animal crackers

During a family gathering at Grandma's, Cousin Rick did not ingratiate himself with the family when he threw his box of animal crackers into Great Aunt Sophie's soup. He's been in disgrace ever since.

Eileen and the cheese

A close family friend came to visit one evening and started to walk around the house with a funny look on her face. "What are you doing, Eileen?" "I think I smell a dead mouse and I'm trying to locate it." "That's not a mouse, Eileen. It's the cheese you gave us for Christmas!"

Dad and the milk

The kids in my family really liked milk, but we could never get as much as we liked. Dad would say "Milk is a food, not a beverage." Sometimes on the lucky days we would have pie, Dad would give us all pie with a glass of milk. We would usually finish the milk before we finished the pie, and Dad would not let us have any more, saying "Milk is a food, not a beverage." With nothing to wash it down, the last forkfull of pie was unpleasant. Meanwhile Dad's milk glass remained full until his own pie was finished. Then he would pick up his glass and drain it, saying "AAAAAAAHHH". Thus we had a lesson in delayed gratification.

At Christmas (more on Christmas later) we would have a big bowl of shrimp to be dipped in shrimp coctail sauce. To be sure that the kids wouldn't be fighting over who got the most shrimp, Dad would count it out. "Everyone may take three shrimp!" and we would. Then "Everyone may take three more shrimp!" and we would. And on and on until the shrimp was gone. Of course we would gobble it as we got it. But when the shrimp was gone, Dad's plate was full of his own share of the shrimp. Thus we had another lesson in delayed gratification. Every year.

I understand that children who are able to delay gratification grow up to be greater successes in life than those who don't. This has been tested by leaving children alone with marshmallows. I don't know how kids develop this skill. Neither my brother, sister nor I have it.

stories on race relations

2009-06-17T08:57:00.008-05:00

My sister's memories are quite different than mine, and in some cases more detailed. I guess getting a black eye from a green apple when I wouldn't defend her would create a lasting impression. Perhaps she is getting some satisfaction in reminding me what a villain I am in HER family stories.

Like those in other White Anglo-Saxon Protestant American families, members of my family have travelled a long road when it comes to racial understanding. Each generation has rid itself of a little more prejudice than the last. Some of our family stories reflect the prejudices that continue.

Grandma tells the story of taking young Bob to the movies to see The Ten Commandments. (Dad was two when the 1923 Cecil B. DeMill movie was made.) When the movie was over, they were walking on a busy street. Bob saw a Jewish man with a long and impressive beard. "Look Mother! There's Moses!"

When I was roughly two or three, Dad invited a colleague for dinner. Men usually wore fedoras as daily wear - the way men now wear sports caps. There was a lot of laughter from the guest when I asked, "Mister, why are you the same color as your hat?"

This story my Dad told to show off his mastery of the Irish brogue. He left a memoir of his grandmother in writing, so I will reprint his version here:
William Moulton (Sr. ) liked to be up to date and soon after Model T Fords became available, he purchased one and took the whole family for a ride -- over the Brooklyn bridge and into Manhattan. They were doing fine until they got to Broadway and 42nd st. where a policeman directing the traffic stopped the cars, including the Moulton's headed East on 42nd. The car stalled so Grandfather jumped out and cranked it to get it going and when he got in to go, the policeman had stopped the East bound traffic again. It stalled again and the procedure was repeated. By this time , the traffic was backed up all the way to 8th street. The policeman was angry, Grandmother was mortified and the rest of the family huddled down as far as they could in the meager seats. Finally, the policeman in complete desperation held up all the traffic and walked over to grandfather saying with a real Irish Brogue --- "Ef yer ever get that tin lizzy goin again, take it back to the ferm and keep it there". My grandmother was a proud woman. ( I really would have liked to have seen that.)

Mother learning Spanish

Mom's mother died when she was thirteen. The family lived in the SouthWest in Arizona or New Mexico and Elsie-Beth went to school with several Mexican friends. They gave her lessons on several phrases she might find useful. However, she didn't know they were off-color remarks.
My sister tells me that was around the time the three girls were sent to live with cousins in the northern states.

My family took pride in being in the vanguard of racial tolerance. My grandmother was in a sorority that included Jewish women. My mother's father famously challenged a fellow Baptist over his acceptance of colored people. And my father and his boss were proud to have allowed colored kids into the Tarrytown YMCA. Even though there is plenty of racism in my family and in me, my family has never considered racism as politically correct.

I'll get this out of the way first

2009-06-16T10:01:00.011-05:00

If I'm going to talk about my family in a book that is read anyone who comes upon it, it will agitate some of my relatives. They will disagree with things. They will not like my own point of view made public. I'll clear things up right away and stress that this is a book of stories, not facts. Chronology, science and majority opinion may run counter to the things I tell, but I am only passing on stories. As in any history, the true facts may never be known. I have invited others to make comments and add recollections. I may or may not use them. True or not, it depends on whether or not they create better stories.

The stories I wish to tell are those that were told more than once. Such stories take on a rehearsed tone and seem to be simply waiting for a cue. Often the story is more fun to tell than to hear.

My mother told me several times about the time she came upon a surprising scene in the bedroom that my infant sister and I were sharing in New Hartford. I was playing on the floor and my sister was in the crib. My sister had reached out and had pulled out all of my hair. There was hair all over the floor. I had very blonde and very fine hair. It grew in rather slowly and, when I was close to one, my father labeled a sled box I rode in "Cathy Express" so that people would know I was a girl. So my folks were probably concerned that all that hard earned hair was gone. (picture of Cathy express)
This story may have stretched over the years, or I have misremembered it, because 1) I have no pictures of me being bald after two and 2) I was a real crybaby and mother would have heard me yelling. This is an example of a favorite family stories - how true or accurate it is will always be debatable. I also have come to distrust the stories of our family, mine own included. But I will do my best to be faithful in recording the lies I am fond of remembering so that they may be passed down through the family line.
(picture of me combing patty's hair) This is the first family picture of my sister. She wasn't born at this size. Like many second children, her babyhood was taken for granted. That table with a chair in the middle was fabulous and it was used 8 years later by my brother. For a short time, it prevented my sister and I from killing each other. But I digress.

Another favorite story of my mother's was when she asked a neighborhood child "Where did you put your turtle?" and the child said "I gave it to Patty". That got my mother busy looking for Patty. She knew that Patty put everything in her mouth. When she found Patty, sure enough, the little tiny turtle legs were sticking out of her mouth.

While Patty was still under four, Mom took her to the Child Guidance Clinic, where they explored why she did things like kick Sunday school teachers, bite other children, and eat turtles.
After a few initial sessions of Mom telling them that her sister Cathy would never do such things, they decided that Cathy was the child they were supposed to be seeing. So they took me to the Child Guidance Clinic. I can remember play therapy where I built bridges with blocks and played with toy people. I've been told that they were anatomically correct people, but I have no memory of that. My father often said, with sadness, that in the good old days before I was five, I was "so well behaved". I guess they cured me. I guess that is more a story about me than about Patty.

Patty tells a story about her difficulties learning to read. She had a great deal of difficulty in primary school.* She says that in grade 3 she could understand whole paragraphs, but her decoding skills were non-existent. Evidently she was a context clues kind of kid, on whom phonics were useless. She says that something "popped" in her head and suddenly she could read. She still loves to read, but her spelling is a source of great amusement for others.

When I was eight and my brother was born, Patty and I once again shared a bedroom. Patty was considered a messier housekeeper than me. My toys lasted years, hers lasted moments. One night I dreamed that we had worked hard with our parents to clean our bedroom. By the end of the dream, the room was neat as a pin. Then I woke up. There was the room in its usual messy state. I tend to get my dreams mixed up with reality, so I could only assume that Patty had gotten up and messed the room up again and gone back to sleep. So I went over to her bed and started beating her up before she had woken up. Patty had a hard childhood and I don't think getting beat up before breakfast was any help.

Patty would have had a different, easier life if it weren't for her sister getting others to gang up on her every chance she got. Once I overheard her telling a bully in the park "I'm going to get my sister and she'll beat you up." and I stepped out from behind a corner and said "I will not". My sister says she got her only black eye from that kid. The nastiest thing I did was when we moved to a new place, I would tell the new kids all the bad nicknames ("witchie", "cooties") she had from where we lived before.

One thing my parents will deny was that they used the expression "son of a bitch" and other words often enough for it to become part of our regular vocabulary. One year, our rural school got a first year teacher who taught grades 6, 7, and 8 and who served as principal as well. At first he was really easy going. He had read Summerhill. He listened to Joan Baez. He drove a VW beetle. He was great friends with our parents. He took my mother and I to see Andre Segovia. But as the year went on he got much more rigid with his students.** One day he announced that students using foul language would have their mouths washed out with soap .. liquid green soap. The first student caught cussing was my sister, who said "damn" having no idea that it was bad language. Mr. Montgomery was quite distressed at having to punish the child of his friends and, to provide an out, asked her to spell "dam" in hopes that she'd provide the homonym. That might have worked but "somebody" called out "Oh Mr. Montgomery. You know Patty can't spell anything." Later, my parents said "we never use that sort of language". Well, they didn't after that.

* Unlike her sister who brought home so many A's that she was thrilled when she got a C in handwriting - hoping in vain that her parents might fuss as they did over Patty. Instead I was greatly disappointed when Dad said "I, too, had bad handwriting when I was your age."

** Once he caught me slapping a student and I had to write "I will not create a disturbance without asking the teacher's permission." 5000 times. That's when I learned that if a teacher is going to make students write sentences they should at least contain something worth remembering. Like: "A fraction is in its simplest form when the greatest common factor of the numerator and the denominator is one."

A start

2009-06-15T16:00:00.004-05:00

family stories

So many of grandma's stories are forgotten. I can hear her telling them in her upper class New England moviestar accent and playing sorrowful notes with her voice. She used lost words like "cunning" and "stout" and "gay"

I'm a story teller myself. I know this because my friends have been trained to hold up two fingers to tell me I've told the story before. Or maybe to indicate "peace".

patty pulling out hair
eating turtle
kicking the Sunday School teacher
biting people
therapist
learning to read
waking up and hitting her
getting mouth washed with green soap

race understanding
there's Moses
Mister, why are you the same color as your hat?
the irish cop
mother learning dirty words from Mexican kids

food
Nana and the ice cream
Dad and the liver
John and the broccoli
Rick and the animal crackers
Eileen and the cheese (dead mouse)
"milk is a food, not a beverage"
milk with pie

Dad's expressions
pasta fazool
"no pie for you!"
We're off! Like a dirty shirt
Sad Sack, Sunshine

food traditions
shaking the corn cob
I'll have the BAKED macarOni with the RICH CHEDdar CHEESE!
spaghetti at christmas, sourkraut and turnips at thanksgiving

dirty jokes
rust- mom
I'd swear I had two when I came in

Stories I have told
John and God
John and the facts of life
Gareth and the facts of life
Finding Anne franke on the internet
Singing with dad's dementia

Dope stories
It's all in time to the music

Will Brady stories
What will they do now? Farm
looking at geology
"my faith in you is restored"

Don't disturb the Rostheizers
The family whistle

Elmer and the stone
Elmer and the porch
Elmer and bullheads,bacon and bisquick, vargas girls

Mom's cooking
pioneer stew
macaroni and cheese
baked beans
meat loaf and turkey stuffing
tomato aspic
Grandma
shepherd's pie
stewed tomatoes with bread

books on the table top
the family of man
pay the two dollars
cartoon book about having a baby

Records
Sing along with Mitch Miller
Tom Lehrer
Stan Freberg The United States of America
West Side Story
Frank Warner

Christmas
creche at christmas - looked like stained glass window images
night before Christmas
sugar plum tree
tangerines, hard candy, olive can in the stockings
Child's Christmas in Wales
dad counting the shrimp

sad stories from mom
how her mother died
how mom learned to swim
living in a tent and having squirrel for christmas
being reprimanded in school for chewing dentine, wearing a horned toad as jewelry

sad story from dad
the little indian boy in Little Falls

Marian and the eyeball
marian at the airport
Dad in Annapolis
Cathy in Virginia
Seth in New York

appendix .
stories dictated or written by Dad
When the Kennedy's came to Raparius told by cousin Edith

Songs
When Apples Grow on a Lilac Tree
Desperado
Good morning Merry Sunshine
Broadway's a Tame Street
A Man Without a Woman
Love's Old Sweet Song

Regaining focus

2009-06-14T13:34:00.002-05:00

It's been too long since I've blogged. Getting into Facebook and then YoVille is bad for the focus. Well school's out and I'm painfully unemployed for a few months. This time is an opportunity to clean up, sort out, settle down and focus in.

thoughts on our school system's non-policy

2009-05-12T19:24:00.005-05:00

I was able to recycle plastic for our school on only one day. Then our maintenance guy must have mentioned something because he was told that his people could no longer put out bags or, so I’m told, even lift bags. Now, I’ll bring in bags and at least collect plastic and aluminum from what kids I can.
It’s less the plastic waste (which IS considerable) that bothers me as much as the hypocrisy we practice when we teach kids that recycling and conservation is important. Our actions show that we really don’t care very much. So I want to do what I can to show by my own actions that I and a few others DO care enough to go through some trouble to recycle.
I get irate over apathy and lack of concern for our planet’s environment. It makes me feel like grabbing a sign and starting a blog/newspaper/TV campaign and complaining. But I think that while it may bring out some concerned citizens, it wouldn’t create any newly concerned citizens. I really am not a charismatic sort of person. The best I could do to transform hearts is to act as a teacher of children, which is something I’m good at.

Springtime harvest

2009-05-05T17:10:00.006-05:00

It's cold and drippy and perfect weather for growing spring vegetables. Yes it's vegetable pick up day at our local organic CSA market and I have come home with fragrant potted parsley and (oh joy) potted basil which I hope will thrive outside my window like it did last year. Then there's young carrots, spinach, bok choy, butter lettuce and a big bunch of crunchy asparagras. And my neighbors came down to carry it upstairs. I had plenty to split with her. Now to eat! I don't know where to start. I guess I'll have lettuce because it's the most fragile. Bok choy tomorrow.

bouncing on the bottom

2009-05-04T08:52:00.002-05:00

I'm feeling guilty because I spent $21 on my grandson this weekend. It was money I didn't have and it was stuff he didn't need.

Meanwhile a crisis is looming ahead. I have already disconnected cable and haven't bought clothes (except for prescription shoes) in well over a year. I'm getting internet from my neighbors' routers. I've got just enough to make the rent this pay period. Gas money, medicine money, CSA money, electric, phone(which I've got down to minimum $17 a month)... there's probably other money I don't have as well. I'm not depressed so much as sickened. I almost wish I could be depressed instead of appalled, dismayed, and bewildered. Or would depression be an add-on rather than an instead-of?

I'm on my way this morning to do blood work, which I'd better do while I have a credit card that still works.

Good spirits

2009-05-02T07:08:00.006-05:00

Recovery seems so much slower these days. But I was reminded about how hard it used to be to step up onto the curb at work (students would help) and so I know I am doing better. Money's still awful, I can't keep up with simple housekeeping, and things keep going downhill for the nation, but I'm in good spirits, probably because I took action toward service to my neighbors.

I wrote an email to other coworkers who I know are concerned about recycling (all three of them). I asked that we might support each other in efforts and I offered to pick up plastic recycling at the end of the day. I have been so sad to see kids who are willing to toss bottles into recycling who have no place to do it. (Not all the kids, but a good portion - more than three.) This looks like a service that I can do.

I'm taking my grandson to Barnes and Noble this afternoon. It's his favorite hangout and I'll be teaching the game of Go, with his help, as part of a fundraiser for our school.

Flu and lunch duty

2009-04-27T08:47:00.002-05:00

I'm on my break at work and reading up on the latest with swine flu. We've been warned that a pandemic can happen ... just as we've been warned that the real estate bubble could burst. (a pandemic will make our economic woes increase as welll)

I'm dreading lunch duty when I get to watch fourth and fifth graders do unsanitary things with food. I've already been watching how they waste food and resources. I'll do what I can.

stepping out

2009-04-24T08:37:00.003-05:00

I didn't go to work this morning because I woke up with a raging headache and an upset stomach. But that's not what I meant to write about. I'm writing about progress - although staying home sick doesn't seem like much progress. I guess it's a two steps forward, one step back sort of thing.

Because of my recent experience, I've gotten interested in visiting people who are stuck at home, or in the nursing home, or in their minds .... Being a semi-stuck sort of person myself, I haven't run out and gotten things happening very quickly. But yesterday I did an important thing: I stopped by the nursing home. My ankles both hurt dreadfully after a day of work, but I was motivated. Unfortunately the two people I'd hoped to visit were no longer there. But I saw two people I recognized and visited with them. One woman had gone home while I'd been there and was back after a fall that broke her pelvis. She was mighty blue and I commiserated. Another woman had been there for some time making slow progress from a severe stroke. I promised her some fast food on my next visit. I didn't do much and I didn't stay long, but I think my feet actually felt better as I left.

Lesson learned - a person can do some service if they just appear in a needy place and open their eyes and ears. No need to figure it out.

Progress and progress

2009-04-16T19:24:00.003-05:00

I let go of some pride and let Alicia and her sister in law give my house a thorough cleaning. I don't know how she did it. She even did the ceiling fan and I don't know how she reached it. She's about 4'10'' and her sister is much shorter than that. They even cleaned the venetian blinds. They were exhausted when they left at 7 and I try not to think about it because I came home and went straight to bed at 3:30 and feel like a slacker.
One of our teachers rushed to the hospital this morning (test results yet to be disclosed) and I covered a few eighth grade classes. Actually the teacher's husband, who is also a teacher, popped in frequently. We both were at a loss on the algebra (the course work on the graphing calculator magically erased from my head) so we just chatted with them. I had them taking turns telling stories about bone breaks. Riveting!
I've been following Renovaré pamphlet on discovering my current rhythms of life and filling them with a deeper awareness of God. (I just misplaced it, but I'm doing the exercise anyway). I'm reading my grandmother's old prayer book daily too as a way to start and end the day. I'm trying to keep it simple and as close to my old routine as I can so that I can keep to it.

Bottom

2009-04-11T06:00:00.005-05:00

This is a screen shot from the movie "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead", a movie about two brothers who make very bad decisions and find their lives unraveling. I'm very much in touch with that feeling this morning. I don't know if it's therapeutic, but I want to lay out these bad feelings in one place. Maybe to face them. Maybe to mark a bottom place in hopes that things don't get much worse.

I have three weeks of laundry accumulated. I don't have cash enough for the laundromat. I need help getting the bags into the car and I'm daunted by the simple task of pulling the wet laundry out of the machines and into the dryer. I'm not out of clothes if I'm careful. I will be able to have some cash on Wednesday, but don't know if I'll have energy for the four hours at the laundromat until next weekend.

A friend called last night and asked if she could ask another friend if she could clean house for me. I'm guessing that she means to pay the other friend who makes her living this way. I told her I'd get back to her. How can I describe how such an offer accentuates how bad I feel? I don't even understand it myself. I really would like my space to be cleaner and Alicia has done a great job in the past. None could do it better. I am sad that I can't pay Alicia with my own money. I am sad that I am physically unable to get on my hands and knees as I used to. I'm sad that I can't climb a ladder. I am sad that I'm in bed much of the time because of pain. I'm sad that despite how much I work through therapy, there is a race between physical progress and physical deterioration. I don't think I mind accepting help when I think it's temporary. I feel that a helpful person would like to see some progress for their efforts. Help for me seems like a place holder.

On a daily basis, I have food, shelter, transportation, work, medication, entertainment and work. So much more plenty than so many others in this world. But I struggle with the feeling that I'm entitled: that I'm entitled to security that I don't have ( ... my church paid my rent this month and I don't know how I'll make the next car payment and the car takes me to work), that I'm entitled to more (my friends and family often complain that I should have a better apartment). I know in my mind that I'm not entitled any more than anyone else, but my heart has a different story.

My best friends, the people I most confided in and sought advice from, have died in the last ten years. This reminds me that I am mortal. I feel unready to die and realize that I'm not progressing in that readiness. I figure I'll be even worse off before I die. That's not optimism. I wake up too often with very dark thoughts.

This improves during the day. I have plenty of diversions ... and probably too many opportunities for entertainment. I have good spiritual resources which are handy when I choose to use them. I have wonderful people in my immediate world ... the graces of people make the sins of people easier to bear. The grace of God make my own sins easier to bear. Spiritual resources don't guarantee happiness, but they do sustain me.

Back in the pool

2009-04-04T20:43:00.002-05:00

It was nice to be back in the warm water pool at Aquacare today, but after 3 hours of therapy I was shot for the day. Becky the therapist gave me a huge massage on my hand (and then ice) and still feel sore 10 hours later. She told me about patients addicted to pain meds and made me glad that's not a problem for me so far.

I've been grumpy with relatives.

I went to the new coffee shop run by some folks from my church. Good mellow coffee, fair trade, and a muffin cost me less than $3.

Progress and regress

2009-04-02T12:00:00.004-05:00

I've been blue because my financial picture is looking bleak and as I mentioned, I'm tired of pain. But I went to physical therapy yesterday and to my surgeon's today and physically things should be looking up this month. I'll be in the pool for gait work and "on land" for my wrist strengthening. Right now my grip is at 6 in my left hand as opposed to 40 in my right. The therapist tells me that should improve.
Also I'll be picking up new shoes and orthotics tomorrow (and they're already paid for).
My church is paying my rent this month. It's hard to be on the receiving end of charity, but it's wonderful that it's there.

Pain And Suffering

2009-03-25T17:44:00.003-05:00

It's been 3 3/4 months since the car accident and although I have been progressing, I'm still experiencing sharp pain, swelling, and fatigue. I love being back at work and working with kids, but that's all I have energy for. I drag myself up in the morning and I collapse when I get home. I haven't had physical therapy for two weeks ... not enough steam to get in and out of the car after work. I have an appointment to start next Wednesday. Actually I stopped by today by mistake, but I was relieved when they turned me away.
I had a splinter in my heel (the "good" foot) for more than two weeks. My doctor had a hard time finding it to pull it out. But she found it and also gave me encouragement and told me I was wise not to go back to teaching night school right now. Though money is so bad, I wake up in dread each morning.
I was much more chipper several weeks ago. But maybe that was oxycontin. Now the road to recovery is getting old.

the x rays are in

2009-03-20T20:13:00.002-05:00

Here's a few of the x rays someone at the hospital was kind enough to mail.

Charity

2009-03-12T20:23:00.005-05:00

I've been thinking about sacrificing in giving and the idea reminds me of this powerful and surprising scene at the end of the movie Schindler's List. There is an urgency about the generosity of some people I have known. Perhaps it's because the truly generous know what their love and resources can do, so they withhold very little.

On the road again

2009-03-11T15:33:00.005-05:00

It was my first day back at work (although I had been to the school for a few short visits). The kids who are special to me greeted me, each in their own special way. Staff was a blurr. Each going about their constant business and giving a happy greeting and then moving on. My mending joints did remarkably well, but my back was in agony by the end of the day of sitting. (Note to self: call the chiropractor soon!)(note: Do it NOW!)(OK I did it and have an appointment for Saturday at 10)
Now I'm lying on my futon enjoying my second kosher dill pickle. Hits the spot.
My main thought is on planning to get up early enough to get out of the house on time to get to school in time to get my wheel chair moving down the hall to clock in.
I'm pretty pleased that I got the schedule made for picture day in record time. Assuming I did it on the right letter day, much of the work was done by me last fall when I made a spread sheet system to record conflicts in teacher's planning time, and avoiding times that come after PE. Unfortunately nobody else could have used my spreadsheet, so they waited for me to return to get the job done. Well it's nice to feel appreciated. And I mean that.
I'm reading a little of 40 days of Living the Jesus Creed every night and feel as if it's keeping my compass in line.

"You can't go home again"

2009-03-05T09:37:00.005-05:00

I had bad dreams last night, dreams that I actually can remember. I dreamed of the place my father retired to and then sold a few years before he died. He had taken such good care of the place and the people he sold it to treated it much more casually. In my dream I had walked to the store in North Creek and the owners didn't remember my dad. His old place was run down as it was when he bought it.
After I woke up, I thought of the places where I've lived and of how I thought they would stay unchanged. After all the effort we put into a home, it's dust and ashes after a few decades. What lasts? I have my grandmother's silver spoon collection. Absolutely nobody in my family has a desire for these spoons. I have a website that I have been tending and growing for a little over a decade. Someday that internet "property" will be completely ignored.

More and more I think poetry is the legacy that lasts.

Amazing and Unhappy

2009-02-27T11:31:00.005-05:00

If you use Facebook you've probably seen this. (Warning: This was a moment of insight for comedian Louis CK. The other stuff I've seen of his on Youtube is really tasteless.)

Pain and judgment

2009-02-27T10:18:00.005-05:00

Tomorrow I hope to drive my car. Sunday I hope to drive to church and then to a school staff "Christmas party" (It's never too late!) But all these hopes are in the air because yesterday I went to Social Services to apply for food stamps and the simple experience of waiting around for a few hours wore me out. I got home at noon and was shot for the day. My wrist was on a pain level of 7/10.

Today I'm feeling much better because I learned a lesson (yet again) that pain pills are meant to be taken early and more often than I would like. My current pain meds are Ultram and Naproxin ... not narcotic or mood altering. The main reason I avoid them is because I'd rather not spend money on them. But too much pain makes me unproductive which is ultimately more expensive.

I also have trouble judging how much activity is good. Even in physical therapy I tend to get over-enthused and pay for it. On the other hand, since I've come home I don't have the good exercise regimen I had at the nursing home. So I'm afraid I might be UNDER doing some activity. Of course from day to day my stamina and strength changes, so I can't beat myself up for lack of judgment.

First outing

2009-02-22T08:59:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I went shopping and got out for the first time since Dec.6 (except for Dr. visits via ambulance). My son took me car shopping and I'm very glad he came with me because then the car salesman pitched to him instead of me. I'm very happy with what he picked and sure hope the insurance settlement goes a way toward paying it.
We had Burger King for lunch and went to a very nice sushi place for supper (to make my grandson happy) and then grocery shopping. When I got the velcro boot off at home, my ankle was HUGE, but it got back to normal this morning.

My neighbor brought over the blackberry cobbler I asked her to cook in her oven. MMMMM And this morning Writer's Digest had a wonderful poem by Gary Snyder about how blackberries grow in old logging skidder roads - this evoked very vivid childhood memories for me.

How old am I?

2009-02-17T16:00:00.003-05:00

I was telling a friend about David Foster Wallace and she said "Was he middle-aged?" (when he died). I said "Oh, no. He was MY age!" Which made my friend laugh and say "YOU are middle aged." I was shocked at the thought.
Then later I was telling the story to my son and he said "Mom, you're not middle aged, I'M middle aged."

Not so overwhelmed at home

2009-02-16T10:00:00.005-05:00

How nice to have a next door neighbor who was willing to bring me a glass of water after I'd taken off my velcro boot to go to bed! It makes me feel a lot less helpless when I am able to accept help from other people. And I've got lots of people who are helpful. With and without help I got a few chores done and don't feel so overwhelmed today.

PS To quote Lena
Thank goodness for unsecured wireless networks!

Overwhelmed at home

2009-02-15T06:08:00.004-05:00

There is a very big jump from skilled nursing care and being alone at home. I was definitely ready to leave the nursing home and was the most independent patient there, but I'm feeling very inadequate at home alone. It's hard to find a place to begin sorting things out and hard to decide how to schedule my day. Every little thing is a big deal.

Outta Here

2009-02-12T14:28:00.003-05:00

I'll be leaving the nursing home this Saturday afternoon!
I've been practicing walking with a walker and climbing stairs with a cane. Kind friends from church came and cleaned my apartment and have stocked my kitchen!
I don't know when I'll be online. I have to reconnect my cable connection. I'll be out of work for at least two more weeks. So much to do!!

It won't be long now

2009-02-10T11:04:00.004-05:00

I went to the doctor yesterday and got permission to use full weight on the boot. Today I climbed and descended on 6 steps. Now I'm trying to figure out how to stay here until Saturday and then be able to leave on that day. That way my son will be available for transportation.

Two folks from church have already cleaned my apartment. So I won't have to face the rotten winter squash that was on the top of the fridge.

The hosptial is mailing me a disk with all my x rays. I'll post them as soon as I can.

I'm hoping to rent a wheelchair for work, and a walker for home. The big chore ahead is shopping for a car.

I still have not mastered the art of patience, but I certainly have had lots of instruction. Since patience is a GIFT of the Spirit I guess I'll have to have patience about receiving it.

I found a really neat selection on secular spirituality in this month's Christianity today

...readers and viewers, often young and outside the church, fashion personal spiriual systems from individual experience and elements of mythic popular culture. Seekers, then, get some answers and taste of transcendence without the moral accountability or costly interpersonal committments of church. But they also forfeit significant checks on the reasonableness of their beliefs, a worthy object of worship, authentic spiritual community, and, most importantly, any ultimately redeptive message or means.

-James Harrick "Sci-fi's Brave New World"

events

2009-02-05T18:21:00.004-05:00

Folks of my church community are in prayer for a family that's having a hard time. There seems to be one medical emergency after another in the two generations. Yesterday the mother in the second generation was hit by a car and has suffered some serious injury.

My room telephone number has been changed ... it is now 410-341-5527. I was pretty steamed about the change, but I got over it.

Then I got steamed that my roommate had gotten into my stuff while I was out for therapy. I went to our section office and said that third time was enough for me and that I did not wish to be in her room. Because there is painting etc. going on, they couldn't move her tonight, but they will SOON. Meanwhile, my roommates' wheel chair is posted outside of the nurses's station where they can keep an eye on her.

Connie came and brought a pickle which I scarfed without even savoring it. I was too agitated. After conversation we prayed for Tracy and I felt a little more centered.

My cribbage buddy is going to the hospital for chemo this weekend, so maybe I'll read up on cribbage via Wikipoedia and impress him when he gets back.

Not pinochle

2009-02-04T14:41:00.004-05:00

I'm learning cribbage. I was excited because I thought my dad described how my great grandmother played cribbage with my grandfather. Now that I'm on the computer, I looked up Dad's memoirs on my website and now I see that it was pinochle, not cribbage. I guess I'll learn pinochle too.
My roommate and I are in a new room down at the end of the hall. We were moved because there is wallpapering and painting going on. I think we'll have it quieter and there is a little more space.
My regular therapist is back and laid down the law. Back to doctor's orders. No walking.

to sleep, perchance to dream

2009-02-02T09:54:00.003-05:00

I'm sleep deprived. Last night my roommate was into "riding" her bed for twenty minute stretches. By that I mean she was using the electric bed raising/lowering controls. I tried to nap yesterday afternoon and I was wakened to report on how many bowel movements I had during that shift.

But here is piece of good news: I was actually WALKING today. I had a different therapist and I told her I didn't want to hop with the walker and she asked me if I could walk woth the walker and I did! I think I'll have no trouble with the stairs, once I get rid of this boot. (picture is on the wrong leg, btw)

Waking up

2009-01-31T13:35:00.005-05:00

A few days off oxycodone now and I'm feeling more like myself ... generally a nicer person and certainly more awake. I'm also more anxious now as I am not numbed about my have-to-buy-a-car situation and trying to figure out how mobile I will be at work (maybe I'll need a wheel chair for when I get tired in the afternoons?)
I have gotten around to plow through much of my professional e-mail and I'm thrilled to see that I was replaced (til the end of Feb) which means I'm not expendable.
I'm looking forward to RUNNING out of here. Though a few things I'll miss ... clean linens whenever I want them, getting laundry done often, three nice meals with lots of variety, sleeping til 8 and not rushing when I get up. I look forward to my steel cut oatmeal, good coffee, nobody waking me up for pills or tests, the smells of other people, my computer access, QUIET!!!, seeing kids,...
But don't think I have a clue of when I'm leaving. I'm guessing I'll be here til the middle of the month.

latest news from the nursing home

2009-01-29T11:27:00.004-05:00

It's hard to be newsy from a nursing home. Though last week was somewhat newsier than most. I would have kept you posted but the internet was down on the library computers. My roommate sort of went crazy. She was into my stuff a few times and was ranting to invisible people much of the time ... including nights. She also kept trying to crawl down out of her wheel chair, so I was hitting the call button rather often. I was feeling less and less charitable to the point I couldn't stand myself very much.

Two things have changed. I stopped taking oxycodone and switched to the pain med I used to take at home. And my roommate was taken off an antibiotic that was making her act so weird. So I'm feeling more charitable. It's needed here because there are some very disturbed patients. Today I offered to close a lady's door and she said "I'm dressed". Evidently she thought she looked OK in a bikini. More details would be too much information even for the TMI blog.

I also have finally figured out how to get the computer to print (the trick is to use a different computer). And how to use Skype with a mike and headphones. Which I"m going to do right now to call my step mother.

Happy day!

2009-01-23T18:25:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was my best day since the accident. For excellent starters I had a SHOWER! Hooray for my excellent CNA (nursing assistant) who was excellently tactful, thorough, patient and kind.

After that I took another WALK on the parallel bars. OK it was really a bunch of hops while supporting myself with my left elbow and right arm. But that is significant progress. Daily exercise is paying off.

A therapist says “EVERYONE progresses” The SORT of progress is what’s important. Significant progress is better than moderate progress.

My roommate’s brother bought me a big jar of kosher dill pickles. A dill pickele is as good a snack as a Three Musketeers’ bar and certainly not as high in sugar. I learned that there is a fridge and a microwave for patients. So if I get another cold I can warm up chicken soup. I’m becoming quite used to my roommate now. It’s nice to have someone to look out for. Since she nods out so often, she keeps me busy using my grabber to pick up pencils and books off the floor and I help the nurses remind her to eat.

Today I’m feeling optimistic about getting back to work in March. I’m dreading having to shop for a car though.

Today was another happy day. Nancy, who has visited before, brought Joyce. Joyce is one of my very favorite people in the world, and I had told Nancy that. Joyce no longer drives and it was especially thoughtful of Nancy to bring her. Among the many wonderful things about Joyce is my experience of her consistent and long term help with the ESL class. She actually started the teaching tradition long before I was involved. Joyce is my service role model.

The swearing in

2009-01-20T14:09:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure how to spell inauguration. Great day for me. I went to rehab early so I could watch the inauguration on TV. I took seven steps using the parallel bars using weight on my big left toe. Then I went to my room to watch the inauguration. During Rick Warren's invocation everyone on the floor .. nurses and patients ... were silent. It was a very moving moment. Then during Obama's speech there was lots of cheering.
When I came to the computer room, I heard from a guy from Europe who I used to talk to on Skype. He's moved to England and says everybody's pleased about our new choice of president. That should be no surprise. World opinion was my own major concern in voting.
That's it for today. It's not yet three and I'm tired!

aint behavin'

2009-01-18T11:06:00.004-05:00

School professionals are "on" all the time. We are always on task, polite and kind constantly, no matter how we feel.
So as a patient, I am a consumer instead of a provider. And I can misbehave and not get fired. And there are a few patients who give the nursing staff constant grief and the staff is required to give nothing but kindness back. So today I yelled at the guy in the room next to me because he feels that we ALL should be enjoying the same gospel music he has on his TV this morning, just like he thought we All should have been enjoying law and order last night at 2 AM. I went to his room and yelled "Are you hard of hearing sir?" And he shouted "all you do is complain". The nursing staff was in stitches. Reminds me of what I like about peer teaching. Only another student can say "Don't be a ding-a-ling" to another student. Sometimes such comments are needed - nonprofessionally of course.
...............
Dr. King Day
I'm just about over the cold I've had and it's great to be feeling better. I'm touch typing again with BOTH hands. That's a relief.I told the folks at therapy that I fully intend to watch the live swearing in tomorrow. I cancelled my hair cutting appointment too because I'd hate to say I missed this historic moment because I was having a shampoo. So I'll go one more day looking homely.
I'm remembering watching Kennedy's swearing in. I was in seventh grade in a two room school. Mr. Whitney let us watch the world series too. I know they are watching the inagueration at Pittsville tomorrow (thought doubt they'd watch a world series ;-) I think of my Dad. He would have enjoyed this moment so much!
Well, time to type a to-do/wish list for my son.

a nother world

2009-01-09T18:38:00.007-05:00

I so admire people who faithfully visit hospitals and nursing homes. When I leave here, will I be one of those people? Today I had nice visits from Connie and Julia (who brought chocolate covered raisins and nuts.. mmm)

I'm pretty groggy these days and don't accomplish much. I did help teach people to play on the wii today, and had a nice long conversation with a lady who has dementia pretty bad, but who likes converstion. I figure I was helping the nursing staff some by keeping her occupied in one place. I truly enjoy talking with her too.

I'm crawling through Infinite Jest but pretty slowly because even though I really enjoy the book, I keep falling asleep. I fall asleep because of the pain pills. I hope the pain I'm experiencing indicates good muscle work and nothing amiss.

I'm thinking a lot of thoughts and meeting really interesting people who have really intersting situations. Wish I had the accuity to write about them.

................................
It's been a while. I have had a cold. More later.
....................................

Great visits from church folks. Connie, Karin, Dave...
Also a happy face balloon to tie to my wheel chair and a nice visit from Judy who is in a neck brace and may be out from work herself soon. My coworkers declared a casual day on my behalf and took a nice collection for me!!!

Click here for next blog entry.

Nursing home continued

2009-01-05T18:28:00.006-05:00

I ate supper really fast so I could get on the computer. There are two computers and many more users.

The location of the nursing home is on the corner of Civic Avenue and route 50. If you click on the name on the map at the right you'll see a bird's eye view.

As for when to visit? Hard to say. I'm in the dining room at lunch time and at 6 PM usually.

What a treat today! The girl I mentor at my school showed up! It seems her mom works HERE! So she'll be able to visit lots of time and maybe I can tutor her some.

I'm starting to read a great book, but it's too big for me to carry (1,097 pages). I also started folding some origami figures. I'm giving up piano playing for a while ... my hand has been too sore. I learned to get into bed using a sliding board today. whee!

BLood work says I've got great numbers.

Seth and Gareth came for more Uno today.

Fog delay for the return to school. Bet teachers loved that!
..........................
Tuesday
I'm in the computer room looking for origami directions on line. I thought I wouldn't take too long, but find I have to download stuff like pdf reader and flash readers etc.
I continue to get acclimated.
............................
Thursday
I've been here much too long. I get excited over the meals.
Yesterday they had a Wii bowling game. Great fun.
I'm still either in pain or numbed out.

I am listening to the life story of a lady who was shot excaping from East Germany. Was an olympic swimmer, too.

Time to go to a new blog post!

Nursing Home

2009-01-02T12:48:00.004-05:00

I've moved into a nursing home, which I will blog on here.

When I was 18, 19 and 20 I worked in a few nursing homes. Now I'm on the other side of the experience. It's nothing I would volunteer for, but it's not torture either. I have a telephone, thanks to my son, and its number is 410-749-2634. I stay out of my room as much as I can. My roommate plays the TV constantly and loud, she throws food on the floor, and she has very smelly toileting accidents. So far she has only left the room to go to a church service, so I leave often. It could be worse. She could scream all the time and doesn't.

I have access to blogging in the "library" which is a very pleasant room on the far side of the building from mine. I have yet to bring my earphones. When I do, I'll be able to listen to any phone messages left on 410-713-4408, and maybe I can use skype to call long distance.

I'm keeping a list of "pain and sufferings" for possible legal use, but I'll try not to inflict blog readers with them.

This morning, being Sunday, had no physical therapy, so I didn't take a pain pill. Big mistake. I went to the church service in the dining room and had to leave and go back to rest in bed (in a nice quiet room). I had to take two pain pills then instead of the one I should have taken in the first place.

Yesterday I had two visitors from church. One friend came to help a patient with her hair. Meanwhile her husband is home with heart complications after knee surgery. (I just met another woman today with simmilar heart problems after knee surgery and I'm feeling fortunate with my own knees.) My other visitor travelled some distance back home to get me a clock and a box of splenda packets. Having a clock plugs me back into western civilization! I asked her to tell me her life story and she told me a great deal. I enjoyed that greatly! I think I need to take time to hear more about other people. There are so many wonderful stories in the people of my life.

Later my son and grandson came to play UNO. I had great fun because I found a few ways to cheat. They also brought a bounty of chinese food!

The folks I ate supper with last night enjoy singing. We sang "my girl" last night, so I'm going to dig up some lyrics on the web. There's a printer here.

Scroll here for next installment.

hospital

2008-12-11T13:17:00.042-05:00

I'm in the hospital ... recently switched to rehab ... i was in a car accident Sat, pick up turned right in front of me, i had no choice but to hit it. Monday had surgery. two broken leg bones, messy, wrist bone, not so messy. more to follow ...

If you haven't guessed already, the car is totaled and my days of driving stick shift are done for. Yesterday it seems as if the push for me to be more independent has slowed to a crawl. I'm under orders to call for a bedpan rather than hop to the commode. Evidently my bones are so much of a mess that any weight bearing activity is dangerous.

My son brought pizza and a movie yesterday ... certainly a treat. Made my blood sugar rise but forgivable. Earlier a visitor came by and fascinated me with anecdotes about pet birds.
A friend is acting as my "private social worker" and was able to assure me that I'll be able to stay here until at least the end of the month. I was also able to get some suggestions for lawyers.

... Monday. I've got a lawyer. No trouble trusting him since I've known him for about ten years. He will come to visit tomorrow afternoon. he suggests that my son take pictures of me, ugly bruises etc. One of the teachers that I assist came by this evening. I'm so grateful to know so many people who are so generous with time and concern. Especially in this very busy month.

I'm hoping I'll learn more patience because it's my impatience which gives me the most pain.

... update Dec. 16
I'm feeling so blessed in a laid up, banged up sort of way. My therapy sessions were good .. I didn't misbehave and I worked hard ... feeling the burn. Then suddenly I got moved to a new room! It's private and has more room for my equipment. And visitors no longer have to sit on the commode .. I've got a few chairs. My lawyer came by and made me feel that things would wind up OK .. a long time down the road, but OK. Then came Dave the good singer from church. It's nice to have the time to better know people I know by sight.

NEW ROOM NUMBER 3128
NEW PHONE 410-219-1329

Tomorrow, I hope to get things together to wrap presents during occupational therapy. When people are fretting about Christmas preparations, I think I might win the prize. I won't even be able to go home for weeks and weeks. But I had done most of my "shopping" before Thanksgiving.

Dec. 17
I still haven't wrapped presents. I missed OT because of intestinal cramps. But I think I haggled myself permission to use the commode with non-therapist staff.
Huge news of the day is that I have more surgery coming up on Friday. Good new is that it should not set me back to square one on recovery. There a lot of misplaced bone fragment near the achilles tendon that would cause arthritis later. Dr. wants to "smush" them into the right place. Smush is a medical term.
My son brought me some clothes and spread my great get well and Christmas cards around. It really cheers me up to see them.

Dec. 18
here is a call for help. I have a whole lot of forms to fill out and could use some help doing the pen work. PT and oT have just about wiped me out today.

This afternoon the therapy folks brought cookies to my room. They didn't have to do that and could have insisted I take the wheel chir to them. So I am thrilled and have a twinge of good ol American traditional Christmas spirit. Maybe all Ebineezer Scrooge needed was a cookie. God Bless us! Every one!

dec 19 Operation today. I'm back in the tcu with the private room. dr has clout.

Dec. 20 Last night's pain was the worst I can remember, but then we don't really remember pain do we? Today the Kim's brought me some wonderful noodles. Korean food is both hearty and healthy. I also had visits from the Replogles, my "designated social worker" Connie, and a call from my vice principal. My pastor drove all the way to Pittsville to deliver a present to my mentee, who was delighted. I feel so very well cared for.

Dec. 21 - actually it's 4 AM on the 22nd. I am not in pain! and I asked my nurse what pain medicines I've had since early afternoon and he said I haven't had any. Yesterday was full of progress. Finally I got my hair washed. A nice guy from OT did it. My PT person gave me great help with the wheel chair and good exercise too. I have so much strengthening to do. I had great visitors! Gareth and Seth came by, Melesa and Rob Canfield, Judy Meyers brought real flowering camelias, Julia brought me goodies that included gingerbread and the flavor of Christmas, and Connie brought me a violin motif arrangement. By the time Carol Replogle called to check in, I had gone to bed early.

i had asked to transfer to my bed after i had finished lunch. thy said i had to wait half an hour after eating. i asked if i was swimming. they didn't like that comment and i had to wait over an hour. i hate silliness. it was the first meal i'd had out of bed.

Today I am determined to work on personal stuff. I am feeling overwhelmed about it already. My son has been looking for my car title stuff. My car was paid for more than 4 years ago and I have nice folder - somewhere.
Memo to self - ask Connie her life story.

later...My grandma was proposed to on the longest night of the year - the winter solstice. So it was neat to share that info with my OT who had a new big diamond and was walking on air today.

I did a good bit of phone work and learned where I would be next, and found out my health insurance premium payments during my unpaid leave were about 1/10 what I had expected. What good news!

My wheel chair stamina - sitting and rolling - just about doubled today.

Dec. 23 - father's birthday and i remember interviewing my grandmother about the blessed event. Martha Usilton brought a poinsettia that has a rather unique kind of red, looks painted on. Joni brought me envelopes and stamps. Carol R. called and we talked about all sorts of stuff, shared family histories. Good day for exercise, went to bed early again, but got up early for starters. Gareth and Seth came by. Seth and I are urging Gareth to take some sabbath time.

Dec. 24 - I got a call from my cousin - a son of the other twin in the picture. It has been a good day. Did paperwork while listening to lute music on Pandora. Next month I'll be roughing it - no way to plug my computer into the net. The place has a room that has some desktops, so i may blog a bit. Catch up reading here I come. Looks like I'll be back in a tiny space again.

Dec.26 - If one can be considered busy while moving in slow motion that's me today. I washed labels over the coffee cups I gave to the therapy staff (along with fair trade coffee which I, in turn, bum in the morning). My son found my car title (in a box labeled old files) and I made some progress toward getting a new car. Now I've got my legs up in bed and am watching House.

Dec. 28 - Morning finds me not so much full of self pity as annoyed or disgruntled. I'm tired of waking up with casts immobilizing my left side and unable to wash parts of my body or go to the toilet without company. I also can't find ways to be more independent except to keep developing my muscles.

I'm grateful for the cheerful crew in morning therapy and the coffee they make (Union Victoria Guatemalan coffee!). Maybe we're all cheerful because we're all taking Oxycontin, but it's nice to be social. I'm not a terribly social person at work, but I miss the interaction I have.

Someone taught me a neat card trick yesterday. I spent much of yesterday trying to figure out the math behind it. Started to make a spread sheet to show the possibilities. Writing functions helped me see the relationships. I think what made the trick seem so amazing is that there are both ordinal and cardinal numbers to consider.

I got to show the card trick to a nurse a then to a fourth grade teacher friend (who brought oranges!). If you wish to see it, bring a deck of cards when you visit.

I'll be working on origami projects in the coming month.

As I write this I'm hoping to see a friend who's just had knee surgery. Also praying for his recovery.

I'll be moving to the Salisbury Center nursing facility (known as Genisis) tomorrow, New Year's Eve. I am in 517 (which is as far away from the computer room as can be).
It's time to close this blog entry and start a new one called "nursing home". Click here to continue.

Waiting

2008-12-01T07:54:00.007-05:00

One of my favorite bloggers remarked on the events of a few days ago, black Friday, as an instance of the need for waiting, and specifically, waiting on God. I've never understood Black Friday, maybe because I'm an INTJ which classifies me as highly independent and an introvert. "Hey let's go join a huge crowd and buy what everyone else wants." No thanks. But the importance of waiting applies to me as well. I would like to be relieved of pain yesterday. I feel I have a right to eat sweets every day. I want my friends and family to be immediately enthused about my ideas. I want my students to follow my directions the first time -- actually that's one of my classroom rules which I would find hard to give up ... it prevents me from doing the broken record thing.

Psalm 37:

7 Rest in the LORD and wait patiently for Him; Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way, Because of the man who carries out wicked schemes. 8.Cease from anger and forsake wrath; Do not fret; it leads only to evildoing.

Today I have gratitude for the music teacher who taught me to sing that psalm in a song, O Rest in the Lord from Mendelssohn's Elijah. And thanks as well, to Mendelssohn who also wrote the melody for "Hark the Herald". Which takes me around the circle to the words of the great satirist Tom Lehrer

Hark the herald tribune sings,
Advertising wondrous things.
God rest ye merry, merchants,
May you make the yuletide pay.
Angels we have heard on high
Tell us to go out and buy!

As with many of Lehrer's topics, over the years they have worsened into tragedy.

Thank you President Carter

2008-11-28T23:43:00.004-05:00

An email friend tells me about her day of giving - items for a needy family and quilts for young mothers. And I'm thinking about the wonderful paradox that one's generosity increases one's own gratitude.

I have a quilt made by my great grandmother. It's pretty raggedy and perhaps I should find a way to get it mended, but it's so very comfortable and reminds me to be grateful for the family line that passed it to me.

I'm watching an old Charlie Rose interview with President Carter in 1999 - Carter unswerving in his love for the Bible teachings and his efforts for peace. He sees no difference between peace between individuals and peace between nations. A truly great man I am grateful for.

So there's my gratitude list for this evening- three people who I never met but who have had a wonderful impact on my life.

Lest we forget

2008-11-28T10:13:00.002-05:00

Lest we forget.

I remember when I heard this live on WBAI before it had been recorded. Yeah, I'm old.

Morning gratitude

2008-11-28T08:07:00.005-05:00

I really don't feel all that grateful this morning. I had even forgotten that I intended to. I'm just feeling the general confusion of the morning of an unstructured day. I thought I do just one thing on the computer this morning before going back to sleep, but found myself again wandering around in cyberspace until I didn't feel like sleeping anymore.

Fortunately my email had a blog comment to moderate and that reminded me of what I wrote yesterday. So that's gratitude number one. And having an unstructured day is gratitude number two. Which leads to me a thought of house cleaning so I won't be embarrassed when Ed comes to pick up my exercise bike to add to the school gym - so I'm grateful to have a coworker as pleasant and quietly witty as Ed ("I don't think anyone can describe me as 'rousing'"). And grateful that Bob hauled up my laundry bags yesterday and played my piano while he waited for his wife and didn't even look at the mess. And glad I can go swimming instead of using the exercise bike which I use as a clothes rack to dry my swim clothes. I'm starting to lose count now.

TMI