Surprise! You're going to Aruba!

Well, he did it again. Dave has earned an exotic, all-expenses-paid trip.  

This time, it's to . . . . 

Aruba! 

We depart February 17 on the red-eye, and come home (hopefully not red-skinned) on February 22. Short, and undoubtedly sweet!  And free! I'm so glad my kiddos are big enough that I don't have to worry about them.

More to come.  In the meantime, enjoy these sneak peaks!

I'm off to get on the treadmill.

I’m so testy.

Those of you who know me know that, if your question to me starts with ‘do you remember,’ the answer will likely be ‘no.’ Chances are it’s in my memory bank somewhere, hidden in the dark recesses that have been inexplicably masked by something yet unidentified. It’s why I blog. My memory is fleeting and fuzzy at best. The most important events in my life – well, some of them anyway – are shadows in a cave. There, but invisible.  I forget events. People. Movies I saw. Conversations I had. Places I've been. Dave says, 'surprising things'.

I’ve always attributed it to when I fell off my horse, Molly, back in, oh, somewhere around 1999. I can’t remember exactly when it was. I was riding through the field behind our house and she spooked some little skittery creature. I think I remember seeing a fox. She spun and I didn’t. I fell and she didn’t. I’m not sure how long I was knocked out, but I woke up with her standing quietly above me, wondering what the hell just happened and why I was on the ground. Thankfully she didn’t remember either. I was in too much pain to ‘get back on the horse’ as the adage goes, so we walked home. I was sobbing. She was indifferent. It was probably only a mile. I untacked her, put her in the barn, went inside, and got in my bed. Dave came up to see what was going on and suggested we go to the emergency room. When I couldn’t sit up for fear of the searing metal rod I was sure had impaled my spine and cranium would pierce through the skin and paralyze me forever. I think I remember Dave carrying me to the car. Maybe I walked. We should have called an ambulance, in all reality. After hours in the ER, x-rays, and probably a bunch of other stuff, I was diagnosed with a compressed hip joint and a broken cervical vertebra. The 7^th, I think. Anyway, I’ve always thought I probably suffered a brain injury as well, which resulted in my defective head.

Memories aren’t the only things slipping from me. I lose track of things, have a hard time finding words, misspell and mistype, get lost, lose my bearings. My hearing is degrading faster than it should. My vision is becoming less clear at an alarming rate. I have headaches. Oh, the headaches. (Sounds like Dr. Seuss.)  Over the last two or three years, all of those have been getting worse, faster. Anyway, after one particularly gripping one that knocked me out for about 5 days, I decided it was time to see a doctor about it all. Dave looked at me kind of funny when I suggested it and said that I’d been to see a doctor about it all already. Twice. I didn’t remember. So, I decided it was time to see a doctor about it all . . . again.

I saw a physician’s assistant at my normal medical clinic on November 16. She did a basic neurological exam (‘follow my finger with your eyes, touch your nose, what day is it’), which I passed with flying colors. She determined that my headaches weren’t migraines since I didn’t get nauseous. That was good. She didn’t think that Early Onset Alzheimer’s was a possibility since there was no family history. That was good. She deduced that they were ‘tension headaches’ caused by tight muscles in my neck and shoulders, but sent me for a CT scan, just to be safe. It was normal. When she called me with the results, 10 days later, she acted like that was the end of it. When I asked what I could do about my headaches, she said she had no idea and referred me to a neurologist. That was four hours of my life I’ll never get back.

The neurologist, however, was a beacon of light in my cave. It took some effort to find him. I called the place closest to me and they said they could certainly see me - in June.  What?  It's December.  So, I called the 'patient advocates' at my insurance company, and they helped me find Neurological Associates, located in a neighboring town.  Granted I'd have to drive farther, but they could get me in on December 16. I'll take it. Dave went with me since the doctor would undoubtedly want to know all about my symptoms, medical history, things I had noticed, what I didn’t remember and I undoubtedly wouldn’t remember. The doctor – P.A., actually – was thorough, polite, didn’t make me feel rushed or stupid, and talked to us for about 90 minutes. He did the same basic neurological exam, which I passed with flying colors. Again. He asked LOTS of questions, many of which Dave had to answer, correct, or refute. He said that the headaches could be caused by a myriad of things, and that the memory loss could be as simple as my body having to work so hard to deal with the pain that it doesn’t have the energy to also remember things. Huh. Sounds lazy. Or, the memory loss, vision loss, hearing loss, and resulting frustration of all of the above could be causing my head to hurt. No wonder. Basically, he had no idea either. I’m an anomaly.

So, he referred me for a plethora of testing:

• an EEG (to measure brain activity and rule out a micro-seizure disorder),

For this test, I returned to the office where I saw Dr. Andrew, Neurological Associates, in Orem. I forgot how to get there, but luckily my GPS remembered.

The doctor’s office called me the day before with instructions:   

The test will last two hours, so be prepared for that - I told the office I’d be there by Noon, so that work out alright.

Clean, dry hair with no product in it - Well, okay. I can clip it up afterward. I’ll just have to remember to bring my hairspray.

  

Freshly-washed face with no moisturizer or make up - I can put some on in the car afterwards.  I’ll just have to remember to bring my makeup bag.

  

No stimulants like coffee, and no alcohol for 8 hours prior to the test - Ummm . . . I’m sorry, what?  That might be a dealbreaker.

So, I’m going to look like crap and be tired. Great.

When I got to the doctor’s office, a few minutes before my 9:00 a.m. appointment time, they weren’t ready for me.  In fact, I waited almost 40 minutes past my appointment time.  I finally went back to the ‘sleep room,’ complete with a comfy bed.  My immediate thought was, “just go away and let me have a nap since you wouldn’t let me have any coffee”.  The tech explained what would happen. I had 25 wires glued to my head, neck and face, which were hooked up to a monitor.  I looked something like this.

 Then I laid on the bed in the pitch dark while the tech talked to me through a speaker from another room giving polite instructions.  She must have been able to see me but not hear me because she said that, if I needed anything, I should raise my hand for four or five seconds.  I pictured one of those infrared scenes from Paranormal Activity.

Open your eyes.

Close your eyes.

Open.

Close.

Open and blink twice.

Close.

Now we’re entering the hyperventilation stage.  (What? Aren’t you supposed to avoid hyperventilating?)

Breathe deeper and more quickly than you usually do.

[after 1 minute] Speed up your breathing.

[after two more minutes] Now we’re going to flash a strobe light. Try to keep your eyes open and your face relaxed.

Commence mind-numbing unnaturally bright flashes at random intervals punctuated by plunges into otherworldly pitch black.

Seriously. Have you ever tried that? Was she kidding? By the end of about 2 or 3 minutes, my eyes were watering, my face was tingling like I’d just sucked on a lemon, and my head was pounding! I think they were trying to induce a seizure. Forget hyperventilation-avoidance. We should be teaching our kids to stay the hell away from strobe lights.

My reward was getting to lay on the bed in the dark for 30 minutes while she discreetly monitored my brain waves from the other room. I’m pretty sure I snored at least twice.  I’m glad she couldn’t hear me.  It wasn’t as comfy as it looked, although that could have had something to do with the wires sticking out of my head.

When I came out of the room, my hair still had glue and pieces of gauze throughout it and was sticking up every which way. There were red marks on my face and neck from the pen she used to measure, and from the tape being ripped off. Something like this little guy.

 Add to that attractive look the wicked headache I’d woken up with and that had only gotten worse with no coffee and no breakfast (I forgot to eat), and I opted to work from home the rest of the afternoon.

I think I should get the results in a week or so . . . Stay tuned.

• an EKG (to measure my heart activity since I have an irregular heartbeat and a lack of oxygen could cause headaches – among other fatal things),

Ummm . . . I don't think I had this one.  I'd better check with the doctor.

• blood work (including a CBC to measure overall health and rule out anemia and infection, a met panel to check kidney and liver function, a sed rate test to check for inflammation, and both a T3 and a TSH to check my thyroid),

Have I ever told you about my veins? They're angry. Or shy. Or something. And they're directly connected to my eyes. They're in cahoots.  Whenever my eyes see a needle, my veins collapse. I think they're going incognito in response to an enemy invasion. I didn't know this about my dumb veins until I had deep veinous thrombosis, a.k.a. blood clots, following a car accident, resulting in chondromalacia patellae ~ crushed kneecap cartilage ~ resulting in a knee brace, resulting in a blood clot that ran the full length of my right leg, resulting in surgery, resulting in six months in the hospital (okay, it was only 12 days, but it felt like six months). Every hour or so the phlebotomists just couldn't wait to get into my room and give me a poke to check my clotting ability, a medicine adjustment, another poke, another adjustment, and so on throughout the day and night for 6 mo-, uhhh, 12 days.  Anywho, I am grateful I know that about my dumb veins now. Not that it does any good. The phlebotomists think they're smarter than my dumb veins. But, alas. They are not, which usually results in multiple pokes. Like this time. Only two, though, so that was good. Perhaps a record. After obediently filling three vials, my veins were allowed a well-deserved rest and some whining.

I think I should get the results in a week or so . . . Stay tuned.

• an overnight oximeter to monitor my oxygen levels during sleep

You know that thing they stick on your fingertip when you go to the doctor to check your blood oxygen levels?  I had one of those on overnight.  It wasn't too bad, except the cord connecting the fingertip thingy to the monitor was kind of short, so I had to keep it next to me on the bed.  

I think I should get the results in a week or so . . . Stay tuned.

• a Holter monitor that will provide a 24-hour look at my heart activity.

So this was a royal pain. Standing was fine, sitting was uncomfortable, and sleep was impossible with stickers stuck all over my chest and belly, and wires attaching those to a monitor that had a very bright green light. I managed to keep it under my pillow and somehow remembered to drag the monitor with me each time I rolled over. Unfortunately, when I woke up, 12-hours into my 24-hours of required monitoring, I forgot about the monitor and stood up out of bed.  The monitor dropped to the length of the wires, without coming unplugged, and then made a loud continuous beep and the green light shut off.  I called the heart monitor giver-outers when I got in to work and they said that the unit would likely have kept recording, had the technician that affixed it to me given me a monitor with an actual battery compartment cover as opposed to one covered with tape.  Sheesh.  They took the monitor back and assured me they would let me know if I needed to re-do the test because of the shortened monitoring time.  I've not heard back, so I presume I'm done with that.

I think I should get the results in a week or so . . . Stay tuned.

I was also prescribed a low-dose blood pressure medication (Propranolol) and an anti-depressant (Amitriptyline – wait, haven’t I been on that once before? I don’t remember.) to work as a preventative medicine for keeping the headaches at bay.

Two and a half weeks in and I think this is actually helping. I've had some headache-free days, more than not, actually, and have only had two that ranked 3 out of 4.

Holy schnikies. I’m exhausted just thinking about it all!  I go back again in about a month to follow up with him. The results (that’s another to-be-written post) will hopefully tell me why my head is defective and what came first – the headache or the memory. I’m pretty sure a cranial transplant would be easier and cheaper.

Oh yeah, and I had my wisdom teeth out, which hasn’t really helped the head-hurting issue. Hopefully I’ll become wiser now. Or is it the other way around? I don’t remember.

Hang on.  Shouldn't I have some results by now?  I'd better check with the doctor . . .

. . . so, it's been way longer than a week - 6 weeks, actually. I finally [after a couple of nasty phone calls and emails] got someone to call me back. Not the doctor.  I was told he doesn't call patients.

I'm sorry, is that an option?   

The office manager called instead.  

Sheesh.  I swear it's like taking your car to the mechanic. Whatever we hear/see/feel, doesn't translate when the 'doctor' tests it, which results in no diagnosis. 

As you would imagine, everything was normal . . . except my overnight oximeter. 

The result showed that my oxygen saturation levels dropped to between 84 and 89% nearly one-quarter of the night. In other words, there wasn't enough oxygen going through my system to perform 'normal' function, which occurs when oxygen levels are between 95% and 100%.  As you can imagine, lack of oxygen causes issues in a body, similar to what someone would experience at very high altitudes - confusion, headaches, dizziness. The next step is to participate in an overnight sleep study. 

When I Googled that, these are some of the pictures that came up. 

I have a feeling there won't be much actual sleep going on . . . Stay tuned.

My sleep study has been scheduled for April 22.  Unfortunately, I'll run out of my headache prevention medicine before that, and the doctor won't refill it until he sees me again, and he won't see me again until after the sleep study results are in. Maybe I need a new doctor. At least I understand now why it was so easy to get an appointment with them! No one wants to go there. Sheesh. . . Stay tuned.

Have I ever told you about . . . how to care for my dogs?

It's simple. Really. 

These are the instructions we left with Sarah’s friend Kesler the last time we went out of town. He graciously stayed at the house for us to keep track of these little creatures.

"Let me preface this by saying our dogs are just a tiny bit spoiled, particular, loud, and annoying.  They will bark at pretty much everything, shed a lot, have horrific (likely toxic) breath, and sometimes get poopy butts. They’re also very sweet, love to snuggle and be petted (except not Mante’s tail – don’t touch that, or you might die), they will miss you while you’re gone and prove it when you get back with their undying love.

Cooper (the one with the brown head):

·       Eats in the laundry room, next to the water

·       Gets ¼ to ⅓ of a can of Science Diet U/D in the white cans, for breakfast and for dinner

·       Has arthritis, so please give him one doggy aspirin each morning.  He can eat ½ at a time.  Mante can have a Kong treat (in the cupboard in the laundry room) when Cooper gets his medicine.

·       He is not allowed to lick anything except himself, because that’s gross. Okay, so they’re both gross. Just tell him, ‘Don’t lick’ and he should stop.

·       Cooper likes to chase balls and will bring them back to you.  Mante will try to interfere which could result in what looks and sounds like a fight to the death, so you probably won’t get very many throws before you have to stop.  :(

Mante (the one with the fluffy tail):

·       Eats in the kitchen, at the base of the cabinets next to the air return vent

·       Gets ⅓ to ½ of a can of Castor & Pollux, for breakfast and for dinner

·       He also needs two kinds of medicine once each day

­    Allergy medicine – ½ pill of Apoquel hidden in a little square of Kraft sliced cheese (they can each have a few bites of cheese without medicine, too)

­    Ear infection medicine – 4 drops of medicine dropped straight down into the dark part of each ear every morning, and then massage the base of his ears so it goes down into the canal.  It works best if you have him sit on the counter (he might stand up on your shoulder) - Just hold on to him so he doesn’t try to jump off. That would be bad. And, you’ll be covered with hair, so maybe pick a sweatshirt to wear every time and protect your clothes.  There’s a lint roller on the counter in the laundry room.  And, good luck catching him.  That might require trickery. :)

·       He is terrified of everything, all the time.  Don’t take it personally.

·       He is not allowed to lick his feet until they are raw, so please stop him if he starts going bald.  The Apoquel should help keep that in check.

·       Mante loves to chase anything that Cooper has, and likes to eat socks.  But, he will pull the strings off them and may choke, so please take away any socks that start to get shredded.  He also likes to randomly run through the house at full speed for no apparent reason.  If he does this, you can stomp your feet a little or clap and keep him going.  It’s kind of cute.

Other Stuff:

·       They usually eat dinner before we go to work, so around 6:00, but any time before 10:00 is fine.  They let you know it’s time for dinner and they’re starving to death at around 5:30.  Please heat up their food bowls after you fill them for about 20 seconds in the microwave.  Like I said, they’re a tiny bit spoiled.

·       They don’t like to eat with their collars on because they clank a lot but, if you take the off while they eat, please put them back on after in case they escape.

·       No people food (other than the cheese).  They will try hard to convince you otherwise.

·       There are water jugs in the laundry room that you can use to refill their water bowl.

·       They know these commands:

­     Go outside

­     Go potty

­     Hurry up

­     Get in the house

­     Get in your bed

­     Are you hungry, and Let’s eat

­     Sit

­     Stay

­     Probably lots of other stuff in French that we don’t know

·       Please keep them out of the bedrooms because they sometimes pee on random things.

·       Feel free to take them for walks, or not.  Cooper can’t go more than to the bottom of the hill and back or his leg will be sore, and he’s fat so he gets worn out quickly.

·       They both love to lie on blankets, and Mante prefers laying on your right side.  I know.  Don’t judge. 

·       They’re allowed on any couches or chairs, but no tables.

·       They sleep in the laundry room with the baby gate up.  When you’re ready, just say, ‘Get in your bed’ and they’ll run in there.  They can sleep with you, but they might bark or pee."

See?  Simple!

 Next time, I think I’ll just stay home.

Pray for Paris, Peace and Humanity - Day 7

Okay, so I'm a little late with Day 7.  Don't judge.

Today I say a prayer of thanks. I’m grateful to live in a place where I can receive quality dental care for a reasonable price. I’m grateful for a job that provides health insurance. I’m grateful for the people who are willing to spend years in school learning how to take care of my teeth, and for the educational system that allows them to do so. I pray for the extension of these ‘necessities’ (a.k.a. luxuries) to the rest of the world, in whatever fashion it can be afforded to them. Working in the healthcare industry for 25 years could very well have swayed my vote, but I believe that quality care for all parts of our bodies and minds is something that no living thing should do without.  After a trip to the dentist, I learned I have two cavities in my molars ~ my first in decades ~ and two more in my stubborn and wonky wisdom teeth. Since one of those is inaccessible due to the wise tooth’s sideways ascent into my jawbone, the dentist recommended removing the smarties and filling the molars.  So, I took the plunge and scheduled my appointment for December 11. (That will be another post.) Wish me luck.

In the meantime, we gear up for Thanksgiving. I read my blog from last year, and it still rings true, so I’ll share it again, with a few timely revisions, as Thanksgiving Revisited.

Thanksgiving Revisited

I posted this last year, but it still rings true with a few timely revisions.

It’s interesting to me that we can be sort-of programmed to do certain things at certain times. Take today, for example. It’s the last Thursday of November. Pretty much anyone in the United States of America can tell you the significance of this day. It’s Thanksgiving, of course. Since we were children, we can remember mom getting up early putting a turkey in the oven, spending hours and hours and hours making mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and twelve or six or two different side dishes, and rolls, and pies. Tables were set. Music was played. Guests were dressed up. Wine was poured. Toasts were made. Dinner was served.

But why? What is the significance of this day? This moment?

Are we practicing a religious celebration? Nope. Are we expressing our love toward our one and only? Nope. Are we recognizing one of our Country’s great current or historical leaders, or fallen soldiers, or national freedom? Nope. Are we copying historical events? Kind-of. We’re probably copying our mom’s, if nothing else.

Although Thanksgiving has turned into a very different one than that of centuries past, the tradition has remained. The original celebrators were thankful for their successful harvest. Ummm . . . I could kill a plastic plant. I have no culinary harvest. I don’t grow corn like the Wampanoag Indians. I don’t catch my own fish, or shoot my own deer, or milk my own cow like the Pilgrims.

My harvest is different.

My harvest is my husband, who is my rock, who makes me insane, who is sarcastic and funny, who has been a part of my life longer than he wasn’t, who is so freaking smart it scares me a little, and who knows just how to hug me so I can feel the fear, or pain, or anger leaving my body with a deep breath.

It’s my children, who were wanted more than words can ever express, who have made me laugh, and cry, and scream, and sing, and dance, and never question, and unwaveringly defend, and pray, and create, and love.

It’s my parents who raised me to expect more of myself tomorrow than I gave today, who taught me to be hopeful, and forgiving, and humble.

It’s my brothers and sister, who teased me, tickled me, gave me advice and rides, and loved me no matter what was happening in our collective or individual lives. And it’s the knowledge that I will see the lost one again one day.

It’s my friends who are emotionally close and logistically way too far, and the ones who are logistically close but I’ve struggled to let myself know.

It's my dogs who bark too much, get poopy-butts, need allergy medicine, and nearly die from excitement when I walk in the door, who can't wait for me to sit down so they can jump on my lap, who wait patiently through the night to see me the next day.

It’s my house that is messy, disorganized, not fully decorated the way I want, expensive, warm, filled with photos, and memories, and love, and the place where my husband and children come home to me.

It’s my job that I don’t usually look forward to going to, but enjoy once I get there, and the paycheck that results.

It’s my car that I hated writing a check for, resent paying the gas and insurance for, am frustrated to repair, and that gets me safely and unfailingly wherever I ask it to.

It’s the fresh food that I am too tired and lazy to go to the well-lit, plentifully stocked grocery store to buy, and even more unenthused to cook.

It’s the education that never seems to end, that eats up too much time, that is hard and expensive and rewarding and exciting, and will allow me to finally be a teacher.

My harvest is my hopes and dreams, which I am allowed to have because I was raised in a country protected by volunteers and led by visionaries, soldiers and leaders who have guided us through large and small battles to ensure that I can wake up every day, in my warm home, with my loving husband and children, and go to work, in my car, to make money to buy food, and celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends.

Even though we have lost so many people that we loved in the past few years, it’s okay to be thankful. In fact, we must be. We must recognize what we have, and loudly appreciate it ~ The people around us, and the people who have left us, because each one has given us a piece of who we are today. As cliché as it sounds, we would not be who we are today without their presence in our lives. We must take full advantage of every opportunity that we are presented with, because that’s what freedom means. We must not let one minute of our life pass without it having the significance it deserves.

We’re programmed to do that on Thanksgiving. But, today I realized that every day should be one for giving thanks.

Pray for Paris, Peace and Humanity – Day 6

Tonight we're doing something. Something interesting, unique, and a little scary. We're going to the Statewide Annual ’15 Craft, Photography, Video & Digital Works Gallery Stroll. A piece (or maybe 2 or 3 or 10) of my nephew's artwork will be displayed. I'm excited to see all of the various perspectives on the world. My nephew’s work is a sort of photographic collage. I love it. Okay, it's an obsession. I own several pieces ~ from his beach series, his stage series, and his subway series. They’re strategically placed throughout my house, some hung, some still waiting to be hung. (That’s another post.)

My nephew, Chris, won’t be there, but his widow will. 

Although, I suspect, he will be near, watching, appreciating, beaming with pride, and love, and loss.

I believe that all of our lost ones are doing this. Watching. Close. Guiding us. Laughing with us when we stumble, crying with us when we hurt, showing themselves in thoughtful, mysterious glimpses. We grieve for them. It never goes away. They are bricks in our pockets. More are lost, and the grief compounds. Family, friends, strangers. Some make the news, most don’t. None are less important, none carry less weight for those left behind. The loss of anyone is a loss to someone. Someone’s spouse. Someone’s child. Someone’s world.

The seemingly senseless killing of late by terrorists leaves me grieving not only for those lost, but for those left. For the brothers and sisters, moms and dads, children, aunts and uncles, grandparents, friends, coworkers, and countless other relations, close and distant in proximity and connection. Innocent people who had never encountered those pulling the trigger. Who didn’t make the legislative decisions that brought war to a foreign place. Who were sitting, eating, watching, listening, without a care in the world. Who don't share the religious views and desire for martyrdom of those standing before them. Who were without the ominous foresight that their end was coming. 

For those who were left, I’m sorry for your loss. I wish I knew what to do to create a world in which killing wasn’t arbitrary, and daily. I pray their death was swift, that a purpose comes from it, and that they had no regrets.

 www.theguardian.com

Hug your children. Say your I’m sorry’s. Catch up on your I love you’s. Let things go. Forgive. Love. Pray. Peace will come ~ If not for the world, for your world.

Pray for Paris, Peace and Humanity – Day 5

As I drove into work today, the sky was particularly brilliant, breathtaking, mysterious, and ominous, and I wondered what it meant.

Over the past couple of years, as we've given new angels to Heaven, mornings after have invariably led to amazing sunrises. It was as if those who were waiting for our loved one beyond the veil were expressing their gratitude to us - for loving them while they were here, and for giving them back. 

I've heard that sunrises symbolize the retreating darkness and prevailing light.  That's a nice thought. Of course, that's not what it really is. It's just us, spinning around and around and around. The sun is consistent, stable, unwavering, trustworthy, brilliant. It's us, our lives, our world ~ and our worlds ~ that won’t stand still.

Why don't we stop spinning? Why don't we shift on our axis? What categorically horrific thing would happen to civilization as we know it if we did?

I challenge us to think that we can.  In fact, we must.

We must stop spinning around in circles, in a never-ending cycle.  We must shift on our axis. We must look for new opportunities of growth, new challenges to our thinking and our belief and our mindset.

We must symbolize retreating darkness and prevailing light.

Stop the negative thoughts as they being to form.

Take a breath and consider what we say.  (As I used to tell my kids, use your head before you use your mouth.)

Wait 10 seconds to evaluate our next action.

Volunteer.

Give.

Recycle.

Teach.

Lead.

Love.

We must believe that, if we stop spinning, if we shift on our axis, if we grow, and learn, and change, a categorically wonderful thing will happen to civilization as we know it.

Today I pray that we will be a sunrise.

Pray for Paris, Peace and Humanity – Day 4

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and vast Kingdom ruled by a wise and omniscient King. The King smiled upon the land, and it was rich and fertile, the air and water fresh and abundant, the diverse animals fat and happy, and the people cognizant and appreciative of their many blessings. Resources were respected and preserved. Ideas flowed freely between the adults, without guile or judgment. Children were recognized as the Kingdom’s future, and were encouraged and supported, allowed to reach for their dreams and develop their own beliefs. For thousands upon thousands of years, the Kingdom continued to flourish under the rule of the One Wise King.

At their conception, the people were given a gift from the King ~ the will to choose. He wanted them to choose Him, to choose right, to choose love. But he knew that they would not. True to His vision, the people became clouded, selfish, greedy. They lived each day certain there would be another. They used more resources than they replaced, calling them possessions. They dirtied the air and polluted the water in an attempt to make life more convenient. They killed the animals simply for entertainment, sending a multitude of species to extinction. And they turned against one another. The people of the Kingdom began to judge one person’s worth over another, one person’s decisions over another, one person’s belief over another. They spoke angrily, acted viciously. Neighbors turned on neighbors. Family turned on family. Children were viewed with lesser importance and treated cruelly, without love, their value underestimated, unremembered. The people used their will to destroy what once was precious ~ Life in the Kingdom.

The King was sad. He gave His people everything they could ever need, but their desires continued to grow. His Grace wasn’t enough for them. The King tried to stay in the hearts of his people, and guide them with his Word. But they didn’t listen. They made up their own rules and called them His. They wrote their own prophecies and called them His. They divided and conquered one another. They turned on Him.

The King was not an unforgiving King, and he waited and waited for the people to change their ways, to return to His love. But their hatred grew, and he promised vengeance against those who lived in sin and did not repent.

One day, in the Kingdom’s future chapters which are yet to be written, the King will seek that vengeance, and the evil ones will fall. What will happen to the Kingdom and its inhabitants after that day is unknown. The only way for the people to ensure they will survive His wrath and live with their beloved King once more, is to turn from evil, and turn to Him.

And so we wait . . .

Pray for Paris, Peace, and Humanity - Day 3

Day 3. I’m back to work after my CT scan which, thankfully, did not take the hour-and-a-half that the registrar predicted. In 15 short minutes, I was in and out, and my headache and I were on our way to work. As the collective prayer time approaches, I read of a college closed for threatening activity, a 4-year old killed in a road rage accident, the rape of an 11-year old, a lion that took down an antelope on a tourist-filled road, and I grieve for them. I read a hateful and damning message on my niece’s Facebook page and ache over her hardened heart. I worry about my health, my children’s safety, my family’s well-being, my husband’s happiness. I pray for peace. I pray for humanity. I pray for the world. Soften our hearts, Lord. Hear our pleas for Your grace. Walk beside us as we navigate this ungodly earth. Lead us toward You, God, and away from the hatred and evil that is quickly taking us over.

Pray for Paris, Peace, and Humanity - Day 2

Day 2 was a bust.  Well, kind of.  At the appointed collective praying time, I was waiting in line at the pharmacy. I’d spent the morning at the doctor’s office for unexplained recurring headaches, the last of which knocked me on my arse for 4 days. Since I don’t have typical migraine symptoms but have had increasing memory lapses and decreasing vision and hearing, the darling 14ish-year-old physician’s assistant, Saba Eslami, supposed they were tension headaches caused by stress, lack of sleep, etc. But, to be safe, she referred me for a CT scan of my brain. Not daunting at all. In the meantime, she prescribed 500 mg Naproxen, which I can take up to 2 of every 12 hours. After waiting 30 minutes in my warm car and unsuccessfully retrieving my prescription, I returned home to snuggle up in a minky blanket and OD on Netflix and leftover pasta. It struck me then that I truly have only first-world problems. In response to a relatively minor physical ailment, I took the day off my job, drove myself to a doctor who was affordable and accessible and for whom I have a well-provisioned health insurance plan to cover. I received prescription medication. I was referred for further evaluation. I was in a warm home, on a soft couch, eating filling food and drinking clean water. Despite my pain, I was humbled. I am truly blessed, and am thankful and honored to live in America, where I am free to go to the doctor, and provide for my family, and eat and drink and pray.

Pray for Paris, Peace, and Humanity

It's the first of seven consecutive "collective praying events" set up by a random stranger imploring the world to pray for peace, humanity, and Paris. On Friday, Paris was ravaged by seven terrorist acts, planned to be carried out simultaneously, by ISIS, the Islamic State, the latest in the world's bullies who seek to instill fear and loathing around the world. This Google search shows today's latest:  Paris Attacks.

I've decided to spend my reflection time blogging about how I feel about the world.  It's a snippet in time, a momentary but honest statement.

I'm continually disheartened by the lack of humanity among humanity. We will be our own demise.  We will bring about the end of our own species, just as we've brought about the end of countless others. It seems that there are daily reminders of the growing hatred among us. The growing fear among us. The growing intolerance among us. 

I'm continually embarrassed to associate myself with humanity. Why can't I be like a dragonfly? Peacefully flying through my world, dipping and diving with the current, landing when I'm tired, lifting when I'm ready, living, unencumbered, without guile, without weight, without feeling.  Why am I so bothered by dead deer, and ostracized children, and abused animals, and poached lions?  Why am I so weighed down with the starving children in Africa, and the tsunami victims in Asia, and the futility of preparing for 'the big one', and people running stop signs, and the dismembered suicide bombers who are acting in a way that they believe to be right. Where is the peace? Where is the humanity?  Where are the prayers?  Is everyone just doing what they believe to be right?  Is that the answer?  To let them?

Maybe, to give clarity to the world's choices, I need to find clarity in my own.  Maybe I need to take time to find out how I can be a better person, how I can be more humane, how I can find my own peace.  I think that if I did that, and you did that, and they did that, only then might the world see calm, and love, and brotherhood.  That's what I believe.  That's my prayer.

Is it still recurring if it's different?

Dreams are weird. For those who know me, really know me, it's no surprise that I have an hours-long, colorful, noisy, temperature-laden, and emotionally-full nighttime cinema going on in my head every night. Honestly, it’s amazing that I don’t wake up more exhausted than I was when I went to sleep. Oh, wait. That happens. Some of the time I remember what the movie was about. Lots of times I don’t. Occasionally, the dreams are so moving, or scary, or mind-bending, that I remember them forever.

Like the one in which I first met my daughter, before she was even a twinkle, when she visited me as a two-year old, standing in my lit hallway in the middle of the night, wearing her blue nightie with her blonde tousled hair, and then turning to walk down the stairs. I didn’t remember that movie until she was actually a two-year old, standing in the exact same spot, wearing the exact same thing, with the exact same blonde tousled hair.

Or the one in which I sit up in bed to see an old-fashioned, white wicker baby pram rolling upside-down across my ceiling.

Or the one in which I wake up to find an Indian warrior in full feather headdress standing at my bedside watching me sleep. I could smell the charcoal fire and sweat, see the glisten and depth in his eyes, feel his warmth, and I was unafraid.

Or the time I thought someone was crawling in my bedroom window as a teenager. I was afraid.

Or the time I woke up screaming, only to be led into the bathroom by my mom to get some water, and relive the entire dream that involved pulling back the shower curtain to find her dead in the tub.

Or the one after my brother died when I knocked and knocked and knocked on my best friend’s door, only to figure out I was at the wrong house. When I turned around, I saw a neighbor, whom I have not had contact with since our move away from Colorado, standing in the driveway hugging Greg.

I used to dream all the time about rescuing people or animals, being the first to arrive at car accidents, pulling kids out of water, salvaging relationships. After my brother died, I began having dreams where I needed to be rescued. Like the time I was hiding in closets and running through an abandoned house with creaky floors, broken windows, and a carpet of dead bugs and leaves, and then through a snow-covered and wooded yard, trying to escape my brothers who were playing some sort of a game where I was the prey, and they were both coming after me with a knife.

But, from as far back as I can remember (I assume since high school), I’ve had one dream time and time again.  I am in high school (thus my assumption), it’s the first day, and I’ve lost my schedule. I have no idea where to go, when to be there, or how to find my locker. Instead of spending the day in class, making friends and learning about fractions and government systems, I’m wandering hallways, running between buildings as loose papers flew around the empty concrete pathways, and waiting in and endless line at the counselor’s office. I never make it to class before the bell rings. I had this one a lot, and consider it my recurring dream.

Tomorrow I start my final task in school before student teaching commences next fall. I will be observing in classrooms for a total of 60 hours, watching how the teacher interacts with the kids, evaluating her classroom management techniques, and even teaching or helping to teach lessons to the kids. Last night, I had my recurring dream, but it was different. Is it still recurring if it's different?

This time I was a student teacher (go figure) arriving for my first day. The school was spread over a large piece of land, as was the school of my youth, incidentally. In fact, lockers were quite a distance, requiring driving. I checked in with the classroom teacher I was to be working with, and realized I’d left all of my materials in my ‘locker.’ I started the long drive to the other building, only to get hopelessly lost, having strange encounters with random strangers and family members, going in and out of doors, peeking in windows, and never finding what I needed. When I finally made it back to the classroom, without said materials, it was empty. It was then that I remembered there was to be a ‘first-day potluck’ in another building. But I hadn’t told the family, who had traveled with me to the unknown location of this school and was waiting patiently in a hotel room. I tried and tried to call, never reaching anyone, so I headed to the potluck with a sense of mom-radar dread. As I hesitatingly mingled and tried to meet other members of the staff without seeming like a worried drama queen, my pocket finally buzzed. As soon as I heard Dave’s voice, I knew that the world was right, and that everything would be okay. And then I woke up.