This morning I woke up with a 56-year old man in my bed. Yes, it is Sam's birthday and we are celebrating by tearing up our floors. After the day we've spent, he doesn't feel 56. He feels 99 years old. So do I.
It all started over a year ago. I couldn't breathe at night and kept waking up with a dry mouth. My head was consistently congested and Sam kept telling me to roll over and face the wall because I was snoring so loudly. Then his asthma kicked up and he'd come to bed wheezing like a concertina. We promptly went in and got allergy testing. It was an interesting process, getting pricked with little tines all up and down our arms. After measuring some of the larger welts that came up we realized that we are both highly allergic to dust and moderately allergic to cats. Rather than say goodbye to Otis, we invested in a high quality mobile air filter. We cleared up quickly.
But we have considerable trouble if we don't have our filter going. It's probably due to the old, dirty carpet that we have in the house. It was filthy when we got here and using a Dyson plus getting it professionally shampooed didn't really improve it that much. So we began considering the possibility of putting in wood floors. Then we can just swipe a damp dust mop over it a couple times a week and get rid of the dust easily.
The search for the perfect flooring began. Being a do-it-yourself maven, I naturally wanted to buy the flooring and install it myself. I've been known to bite off more than I can chew, so Sam was a bit leary about this. We have 1400 square feet to put down, including the staircase. That excludes three bathrooms and the den, which has ceramic tile on the floor.
We asked a couple handymen to come give us estimates. They said they would charge us between $2000 - $4000 to install it for us. On top of the flooring, that could easily run $6000 just to purchase. We called a company in the area that advertises that if you purchase two rooms worth of carpet or flooring, they will install the rest in the house for free. The guy who came out measured the house (and came up with the exact measurement that I did, which was good confirmation that I can measure properly!) But then he told us that the total cost to use would be $24,000. Are you kidding? Even at Lowe's we could get all the flooring we would need for $2.89 per square foot which would come in way below his price. He couldn't give us a breakdown of installation, products, etc. and kept telling us that his was the best deal in town. We reported him to his company's headquarters and kept looking.
Long story short, we found a family owned flooring outlet about 30 miles from us where we found some lovely distressed, handscraped laminate flooring. It is thick and has lovely coloring (if you click on the hyperlink you can scroll down on the website and see it). They were such friendly people and gave us a discount on the high quality underlayment and threw in the installation kit for free. We ended up purchasing 108 cartons of flooring and 14 rolls of underlayment. Total cost: $3300, plus $120 for a Black and Decker chop saw (YAY! more power tools for Barbara!)
So back to today. Since we pulled up the carpet in one upstairs bedroom yesterday, all that we had to do today was to pull up the carpet in the second bedroom, remove the carpet tack strips, level the floor and clean it all out. I ended by cutting the underlayment to fit one of the rooms. Fatigue overcame both Sam and me, and we flopped down on the couch a couple hours ago, nearly drifting into a coma. We are sooo worn out!
The puppies slept through almost all the pounding and hefting of carpet down the stairs. It was only when I put them in the backyard after their sleepy time that I heard a frenzy of barking. There they were, with their little legs stiff in defiance, barking their heads off at the heap of old carpet out at the side of the house. Territorial little guys!
Unfortunately, we realized that a chop saw isn't all that we need to install the flooring. We need a table saw, which we will need to borrow in the next day or so. For now, we are dozing on the couch, almost prostrate with exhaustion. We chose quite an activity today to celebrate increasing age! Will keep you posted and upload pictures of the finished business. Don't hold your breath...
August 19, 2010
August 13, 2010
Welcome Babycakes!
Yesterday, Destiny Rae was born to my neice, Angie. She woke up on Thursday morning with swollen up legs all the way up to her hips. Apparently Destiny was resting on her lymph nodes or something. Anyhow, you can see why, when I called Angie earlier in the week she said, "I'm as big as a house, Aunt Barbara!" She was, poor thing.
Here is the expectant family waiting for everything to begin: Angie, Kaiden, and Ryan (Daddy). Note that they all look pretty much awake and alert. It didn't last for long!
When finally Destiny was born, Great-GrandDaddy carried Kaiden to the window so he could get his first look through the glass as Destiny was getting dressed. (I just love this picture!) Destiny was 7 lbs., 7 oz., and 20 inches long, with lots of black hair.
And finally Kaiden gets a closer look at his sister. He's wearing a button on his shirt that says, "I'm the Big Brother!"
He thinks he'll keep her, and gives her a kiss. I think he likes her. Be still my heart!
But he is still a little boy who is tired and needs a nap. And he still needs to know his mother loves him. She does, and he got a nap.
Here is the expectant family waiting for everything to begin: Angie, Kaiden, and Ryan (Daddy). Note that they all look pretty much awake and alert. It didn't last for long!
When finally Destiny was born, Great-GrandDaddy carried Kaiden to the window so he could get his first look through the glass as Destiny was getting dressed. (I just love this picture!) Destiny was 7 lbs., 7 oz., and 20 inches long, with lots of black hair.
And finally Kaiden gets a closer look at his sister. He's wearing a button on his shirt that says, "I'm the Big Brother!"
He thinks he'll keep her, and gives her a kiss. I think he likes her. Be still my heart!But he is still a little boy who is tired and needs a nap. And he still needs to know his mother loves him. She does, and he got a nap.
Angie is holding court today with all of the extended family buzzing about, holding Destiny and Ryan is sound asleep in the back bedroom. Grampa has run out to get dinner and diapers. Grandma is overseeing everything and trying to keep the extended family entertained. Great-GrandDaddy is reading a book to Kaiden to keep him occupied. So the circle of life carries on. Welcome, little Destiny Rae!
New Love
Have you ever had an experience that caused you to see your loved one in a new way? Was it unexpected? Or had you prayed for the change of perspective regarding that individual? Do you think it's possible?
Perhaps there is a life situation that you have hoped to feel differently about, so you've prayed about it. And you still feel resentful, wounded, suspicious, livid. A prayer for a different feeling goes up most urgently, when you realize that you are guilty of harboring bad feelings. Have you ever experienced a shift in perspective about that situation?
How about a work situation or an unpleasant aspect of your experience: not having enough money for your needs, or feeling hopeless that you might never advance in your job. Quite possibly there are people at work who talk your ears off about inconsequential things, or who catch you in the hall to tell you the latest salacious tidbit. Have you ever prayed about these aspects of your life, and have you had a change of heart?
That has happened to me on a number of occasions. It happened when I went out of state for an interview and found everything objectionable about the process. Then suddenly, both Sam and I had a change of heart and were gung-ho for the new job.
It happened about our move to my current job in Southern California. I had no intention of ever coming back here and yet, it has become a real joy and pleasure to teach here. Who would have thought it? And now, it's happened three more times.
I am now head over heels in love with our puppies. That is an about-face from my determination to get rid of them as quickly as possible. These little guys are loud, chew everything in sight, whine and scream if they are left behind the gate while I go for my morning walk. And yet when I return there is no jubilation like the joy they express at my reappearance. They dance about asking to be petted. So happy are they to be near me. In the morning, after they go out for that morning potty run, they fly back in the door and settle on my lap with their squeak toys. The squeaking is loud and prolonged, and they settle into me happily. Then at night when it is time for us to go to bed, we drag their sleepy bodies outside for one more potty break. As they stumble back inside, we pick them up and murmur into their little fuzzy necks, "Nite-nite, Babies" as we lay them down together in their little bed. So my mind and heart can change after all. I try to remember this when I look out the back door and find Charlie humping on Baxter's head, or when Baxter is digging up the bulbs in my garden.
The loss of Sam's job was another thing that I had no positive feelings about whatever. It was a very stressful job that made me worry that Sam would drop of a heart attack. It is not easy to be the face of an organization that people want to tell off every day of your job. But he loved being able to change people's minds and truly tried in every way possible to help them. Now he's been let go and someone else is being hired on--a veiled indication of the new boss' dislike of Sam, for whatever reason. It has been very difficult for Sam, as anyone might imagine. But now I feel relief that he is not having to put up with everyone's complaints day in and day out. I am glad that I have him home with me on this month that I have chosen to either ignore work, or work at home. We had a beautiful day together out and about: a drive to Santa Monica, lunch at Cantor's Jewish Deli on Fairfax, a walk through Old Pasadena and then a stroll through Victoria Gardens in Rancho Cucamonga. We got home tired but happy. The future is uncertain regarding a job for Sam, but I am not at all uncertain about God's loving care for us. I know that we will be okay one way or the other. Perhaps it was the unsolicited phone call from a medical school asking me to consider being their new director of a family medicine behavioral science department to the tune of twice my current salary. While I don't want to leave my current job, it was an indication that God can pull things out of thin air in order to provide for us. We just need to trust, and as Corrie ten Boom said, "Don't wrestle, just nestle" (into the arms of God.
This is the God who can change hearts and give us new love for our lives, remove our discontent, and cheer us over to His way of seeing things. On this night, I am very, very grateful and look forward with expectation to what He will have for my Sam and me as we face whatever comes.
Perhaps there is a life situation that you have hoped to feel differently about, so you've prayed about it. And you still feel resentful, wounded, suspicious, livid. A prayer for a different feeling goes up most urgently, when you realize that you are guilty of harboring bad feelings. Have you ever experienced a shift in perspective about that situation?
How about a work situation or an unpleasant aspect of your experience: not having enough money for your needs, or feeling hopeless that you might never advance in your job. Quite possibly there are people at work who talk your ears off about inconsequential things, or who catch you in the hall to tell you the latest salacious tidbit. Have you ever prayed about these aspects of your life, and have you had a change of heart?
That has happened to me on a number of occasions. It happened when I went out of state for an interview and found everything objectionable about the process. Then suddenly, both Sam and I had a change of heart and were gung-ho for the new job.
It happened about our move to my current job in Southern California. I had no intention of ever coming back here and yet, it has become a real joy and pleasure to teach here. Who would have thought it? And now, it's happened three more times.
I am now head over heels in love with our puppies. That is an about-face from my determination to get rid of them as quickly as possible. These little guys are loud, chew everything in sight, whine and scream if they are left behind the gate while I go for my morning walk. And yet when I return there is no jubilation like the joy they express at my reappearance. They dance about asking to be petted. So happy are they to be near me. In the morning, after they go out for that morning potty run, they fly back in the door and settle on my lap with their squeak toys. The squeaking is loud and prolonged, and they settle into me happily. Then at night when it is time for us to go to bed, we drag their sleepy bodies outside for one more potty break. As they stumble back inside, we pick them up and murmur into their little fuzzy necks, "Nite-nite, Babies" as we lay them down together in their little bed. So my mind and heart can change after all. I try to remember this when I look out the back door and find Charlie humping on Baxter's head, or when Baxter is digging up the bulbs in my garden.
The loss of Sam's job was another thing that I had no positive feelings about whatever. It was a very stressful job that made me worry that Sam would drop of a heart attack. It is not easy to be the face of an organization that people want to tell off every day of your job. But he loved being able to change people's minds and truly tried in every way possible to help them. Now he's been let go and someone else is being hired on--a veiled indication of the new boss' dislike of Sam, for whatever reason. It has been very difficult for Sam, as anyone might imagine. But now I feel relief that he is not having to put up with everyone's complaints day in and day out. I am glad that I have him home with me on this month that I have chosen to either ignore work, or work at home. We had a beautiful day together out and about: a drive to Santa Monica, lunch at Cantor's Jewish Deli on Fairfax, a walk through Old Pasadena and then a stroll through Victoria Gardens in Rancho Cucamonga. We got home tired but happy. The future is uncertain regarding a job for Sam, but I am not at all uncertain about God's loving care for us. I know that we will be okay one way or the other. Perhaps it was the unsolicited phone call from a medical school asking me to consider being their new director of a family medicine behavioral science department to the tune of twice my current salary. While I don't want to leave my current job, it was an indication that God can pull things out of thin air in order to provide for us. We just need to trust, and as Corrie ten Boom said, "Don't wrestle, just nestle" (into the arms of God.
This is the God who can change hearts and give us new love for our lives, remove our discontent, and cheer us over to His way of seeing things. On this night, I am very, very grateful and look forward with expectation to what He will have for my Sam and me as we face whatever comes.
August 7, 2010
Lyrics in Life
Some months ago I picked up a CD from my collection so I could listen to something in the car while driving to San Diego. It was a recording of early American religious hymns in the shapenote style. Only a few are actually shapenote songs. The rest I considered to be meandering odd pieces that were not all terribly melodic. Coming from the 17th and 18th century, they were a bit austere, musically speaking. But since I hadn't heard them for a long time, I put in the CD and started listening. I skipped over the odd sounding songs and the lyrics that I couldn't fully understand in favor of the more familiar tunes and lyrics.
I well remember "Oh Praise the Lord" by Billings. As a teenager, I used to belt out these lines to my brothers in an operatic voice:
Ye dragons with contagious breath,
People the dark abode of death;
Change your vile hissing into heavenly psalms;
And praise your maker with your for-or-or-or-ked tongue.
That really did seem appropriate for a brother somehow.
So I resurrected this CD about four months ago. Now every time I get in the car I immediately put it on and start singing along. These are some of the finest lyrics I have ever heard in terms of embodying the gospel and being songs to cheer the heart. Ever since I have been listening to these, I feel as though I enter into a very different atmosphere and even world.
Here are some of the lyrics:
Methinks I see a Heav'nly Host,Of Angels on the Wing;
Methinks I hear their chearful Notes,So merrily they sing:'
Let all your Fears be banish'd hence,Glad Tidings I proclaim,
For there's a Saviour born to Day,And Jesus is his Name.
Lay down your Crooks, and quit your Flocks,To Bethlehem repair;
And let your wand'ring Steps be squared By yonder shining Star.
Seek not in Courts or Palaces, Nor royal Curtains draw;
But search the Stable, see your God Extended on the Straw.
Then Learn from hence, ye rural Swains, The Meekness of your God,
Who left the boundless Realms of Joy, To ransom you with Blood.
The Master of the Inn refus'd A more commodius Place;
Ungenerous Soul of savage Mould, And destitute of Grace.
Exult ye Oxen, low for Joy, Ye Tenants of the Stall,
Pay your Obeisance; on your Knees Unanimously fall.
The Royal Guest you entertain Is not of common Birth,
But second in the Great I am; The God of Heav'n and Earth.'
Then suddenly a Heav'nly Host Around the Shepherds throng,
Exulting in the threefold God And thus address their Song:
'To God the Father, Christ the Son, And Holy Ghost ador'd;
The First and Last, the Last and First,Eternal Praise afford.
William Billings, 1778 (found here)
I well remember "Oh Praise the Lord" by Billings. As a teenager, I used to belt out these lines to my brothers in an operatic voice:
Ye dragons with contagious breath,
People the dark abode of death;
Change your vile hissing into heavenly psalms;
And praise your maker with your for-or-or-or-ked tongue.
That really did seem appropriate for a brother somehow.
So I resurrected this CD about four months ago. Now every time I get in the car I immediately put it on and start singing along. These are some of the finest lyrics I have ever heard in terms of embodying the gospel and being songs to cheer the heart. Ever since I have been listening to these, I feel as though I enter into a very different atmosphere and even world.
Here are some of the lyrics:
Methinks I see a Heav'nly Host,Of Angels on the Wing;
Methinks I hear their chearful Notes,So merrily they sing:'
Let all your Fears be banish'd hence,Glad Tidings I proclaim,
For there's a Saviour born to Day,And Jesus is his Name.
Lay down your Crooks, and quit your Flocks,To Bethlehem repair;
And let your wand'ring Steps be squared By yonder shining Star.
Seek not in Courts or Palaces, Nor royal Curtains draw;
But search the Stable, see your God Extended on the Straw.
Then Learn from hence, ye rural Swains, The Meekness of your God,
Who left the boundless Realms of Joy, To ransom you with Blood.
The Master of the Inn refus'd A more commodius Place;
Ungenerous Soul of savage Mould, And destitute of Grace.
Exult ye Oxen, low for Joy, Ye Tenants of the Stall,
Pay your Obeisance; on your Knees Unanimously fall.
The Royal Guest you entertain Is not of common Birth,
But second in the Great I am; The God of Heav'n and Earth.'
Then suddenly a Heav'nly Host Around the Shepherds throng,
Exulting in the threefold God And thus address their Song:
'To God the Father, Christ the Son, And Holy Ghost ador'd;
The First and Last, the Last and First,Eternal Praise afford.
William Billings, 1778 (found here)
As I've listened to these songs scores of times, I've fallen in love with the richness of the lyrics. After all, where else might you sing about "rural swains" and "tenants of the stall?" I always grin broadly when I sing along the words, "Lay down your crooks and quit your flocks, to Bethlehem repair." This King's English languages the shepherds in the most lofty way possible. Just wonderful verbiage.
There are a couple songs on this CD that I doubt I shall ever fully appreciate. One of them begins, "Zadok the Priest gave up the ghost..." My thought usually is, Who cares?!
There is one song that begins as a dirge:
My flesh shall slumber in the ground...
For a long time I just skipped over it and said, "Oh, that thing." But one day I actually listened to it in full. It is now a favorite of mine:
My flesh shall slumber in the ground
Till the last trumpet’s joyful sound;
Then burst the chains in sweet surprise,
And in my Savior’s image rise.
When shall I wake and find me there?
Interestingly enough, the week before Sam's job was eliminated, I began to take notice of a song that is based on Psalm 42. It is one of the most moving Psalms that I can think of, particularly now. It paints a picture of one whose faith is unwavering even with untoward circumstances. The refrain is life and breath for me just now. I love the King James version:
As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.
My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?
When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday.
Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.
O my God, my soul is cast down within me: Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
Yet the LORD will command his lovingkindness in the day time, and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.
I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me; while they say daily unto me, Where is thy God?
Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.
Few Psalms could possibly comfort me more at this time of financial uncertainty. And how grateful I am that I became more aware of this Psalm only recently--right when I needed to internalize its meaning. It reminds me of my time in Minnesota while I was in graduate school. The only means I had to support myself was my nursing license, and so I went to work for a temp nursing agency. Most of the time I knew the staff and routines of hospitals since I went to a handfull of them repeatedly. I was even on the schedule for over a year for two large county hospitals, and was the charge nurse several times in a small hospital down river from St. Paul. I practiced nursing for 20 years--18 of them in ICU settings. And yet I still felt anxious every single day on the way to my job site. I really never felt terribly competent, even though I probably only made 2-3 medical mistakes in 20 years. It was probably because nursing did not come naturally to me and it was considerable work just to stay at it day after day, night after night. As I'd get in the car, my heart would begin to sink and I'd start to feel overwhelmed and anxious. But I had no alternative, and it did pay well. So this is when I developed the habit of singing a hymn several times on the way to work, just as a reminder that God was in control and I'd be okay. In fact, how I felt was probably irrelevant in the larger, spiritual scheme of things. God had something in store for me and my job was to put one foot in front of the other.
Oh, those were hard days. But out of that time I learned patience, reliance on God, perserverence, and stamina. And once again, I internalized these words:
How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said
Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?
Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flames shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never, forsake!
("Keen", 1787).
This was the song on my lips once also, after I had applied for a pastoral job in Northern California and learned that someone else had been hired. I was sure that my future was in shambles without getting my foot in the door as a pastor, and I sang this song all the way home some 500 miles South. It was a real comfort to me.
The blessing is in the faith behind the lyrics of these wonderful old hymns. Once, after a painful relationship breakup, and after special prayer that I would survive it all, I awoke every morning for two weeks with a hymn in my mind. The words were always just what I needed for that day. Without this evidence from God that I would be okay, it is doubtful that recovery from this could have occurred as well as it did.
These hymns gave courage and cheer to many of our forebearers. They are still good, and the lyrics still inspire and uplift. I am really thankful.
August 4, 2010
Second Thoughts
I suppose it's not a whole lot different than what happens to new parents: Second Thoughts. Night before last, I laid in bed thinking who might be glad to be given these puppies. I was feeling ill over the weekend and was utterly exhausted after flopping around for two days. It is an enormous amount of work to manage two active puppies who tussle and fight all day if they are left unsupervised. That translates into no naps for Barbara. Then I found a website that explains why people should never, ever adopt two puppies at the same time. Especially two puppies of the same gender. There will be fights and posturing for dominance constantly. Two puppies are twice the work, since if the owner isn't vigilant. You have to spend time with each puppy, training them separately and helping each to bond to you as the owner and "pack leader." Pack leaders don't allow fighting between other dogs in the pack. They stop the fight. I've seen this with the older sister dog at the dog nanny's house. She stands between Baxter and Charlie when they begin snarling at one another, so they are pretty calm around her. But without a pack leader, maybe they will have vicious fights for dominance and act like nothing less than "an eight-legged dog" as the woman in the vet's office mentioned to me.
After reading this website, I sat back and tried to decide which puppy we should give away, and who might take it. Which one could I bear to part with? I was so tired and felt so hopeless about having the dogs maim one another, being unable to control them, having them run into traffic, or worse yet, completely ignoring Sam and I as their owners. Perhaps we will never learn to be the pack leader. We have to get another crate and start crate training them. What will I do with them once I start working? I can't bear the thought of them being in a crate for 9 hours--that is inhumane. But they are already starting to nibble on the corner of the sectional. This wasn't a good idea at all to get puppies.
To top it off, Sam came home with a box of his personal effects from his office on Monday. His job has been eliminated and he is now officially unemployed. My heart breaks for him--this was a job that he really enjoyed. Given that the job market is abysmal here, it was a sobering thought that we would not have his input in our finances for awhile. If that is the case, can we afford this vicious, fighting, eight-legged dog?
I told Sam what I had found on the internet and that I was discouraged and worn out with them. "We have to give them to Mimi" (our loving dog nanny who has asked to be their godmother). "This will break my heart." That is what we both thought.
The next day, we spent the day with the boys, carefully taking them out separately to learn how to walk on the leash. We have a month here when we will both be here at home. We have time to train them and get them to behave well. Sam looked down at them sleeping on their little puppy blanket in the den, Baxter on his back with his feet paddling the air as his dreams made him sniffle. Charlie rolled over lazily and looked up at us. "We can't give them away," Sam said thoughtfully. "We can do okay with them."
And we have. Yesterday we put them both on leashes and went in opposite directions in the front yard. I should say, we tried to go. Charlie thought it was a splendid game, tucked his little tail between his legs and started to bolt across the lawn with me in hot pursuit. He had the leash in his teeth and was not about to drop it. Meanwhile, Sam didn't know what to do with Baxter, who threw himself down on the grass and sadly looked up at him through his eyebrows. He is a stubborn little guy, and no matter what Sam did, Baxter would not move. He dug in his heels and started howling.
But we did it together, and with a few treats, the boys started behaving rather well. We're up for it again today. Now, the babies are asleep on the floor. they are so darling when they are asleep...
August 3, 2010
Food Fetish
America seems to have a food fetish. Since the Supersize Me movie, a number of programs about food and eating a lot, have come out. I had the interesting experience of seeing one of them today: Man vs. Food. I was flabbergasted. The whole show is about this overweight guy named Adam Richman who goes to various eateries in the U.S. that serves ginormous portions of food to see if he can eat this portion within one hour. So he is seen going in to the kitchen to watch the cook prepare his 12-egg omelette with cheese, mushrooms, and onions inside, and add two large bisquits, a pound of hash browns, and a pound of sausage in it. He comments about how wonderful it looks and how he can't wait to sink his teeth into it. Earlier today we saw him try to eat 5 lbs of steak, two large buns and a pound of creamed spinach and broccoli. He came within two spoonfuls of doing it within an hour. His face was ashen, he was bloated, and God only knows what his stomach looked like on the inside. it must have been stretched way out of shape, not to mention what his arteries must look like. But while everyone in the shop was cheering, hooting, and raising their drunken fists in the air to encourage him, he just kept pushing it down.
This man did manage to get down the omelette but failed to eat the steak dinner. He goes at food like the truest glutton I've ever seen.
Aside from recoiling at what he is doing to his body, I can't believe the message he is sending to young people today. And we wonder why at least 28% of the people in this country can be considered obese (30% over their desired weight). If you look at the people who are watching him gulp down these massive quantities of food, you won't find very many of average size. And there aren't many people in the restaurants who are cheering that I would want my kids to emulate.
People don't think that these kinds of messages stick with young people. Why try to be healthy when these guys on TV look fine (more or less) and are yucking it up with both feet in the trough? There are incredible restaurants and diners in this country that thumb their noses to health. Here's one: the Heart Attack Grill where people over 350 lbs eat for free. They allow non-filtered cigarettes there, and the menu items are things like the Quadruple Bypass Burger, Triple Bypass Burgers, Flatliner Fries, and Jolt Cola. Are these people crazy?
In case you can't tell, this is a bona fide rant. Our country is suffering from poor nutrition, when we are the best fed people in the world. We have so much while the vast majority of the world don't have enough to eat. It is almost painful watching a porky guy chow down a plateful of food that could easily feed a family of six. What are we coming to? While the economy is going downhill and people are struggling with the enormous global issues we face today, the best we can do is watch people gorge and destroy their health?
This man did manage to get down the omelette but failed to eat the steak dinner. He goes at food like the truest glutton I've ever seen.
Aside from recoiling at what he is doing to his body, I can't believe the message he is sending to young people today. And we wonder why at least 28% of the people in this country can be considered obese (30% over their desired weight). If you look at the people who are watching him gulp down these massive quantities of food, you won't find very many of average size. And there aren't many people in the restaurants who are cheering that I would want my kids to emulate.
People don't think that these kinds of messages stick with young people. Why try to be healthy when these guys on TV look fine (more or less) and are yucking it up with both feet in the trough? There are incredible restaurants and diners in this country that thumb their noses to health. Here's one: the Heart Attack Grill where people over 350 lbs eat for free. They allow non-filtered cigarettes there, and the menu items are things like the Quadruple Bypass Burger, Triple Bypass Burgers, Flatliner Fries, and Jolt Cola. Are these people crazy?
In case you can't tell, this is a bona fide rant. Our country is suffering from poor nutrition, when we are the best fed people in the world. We have so much while the vast majority of the world don't have enough to eat. It is almost painful watching a porky guy chow down a plateful of food that could easily feed a family of six. What are we coming to? While the economy is going downhill and people are struggling with the enormous global issues we face today, the best we can do is watch people gorge and destroy their health?
July 30, 2010
Time Off
Today was the last day I will be working until August 30. There are no words for the relief I feel. The last three weeks have been very difficult for me, as my motivation and energy have been at an all time low. It has been a grueling school year. We doctoral faculty are supposed to have the summer off from teaching so we can publish and conduct our research. Today I sent in an article to the Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Social Work--an article that has been in the making for four years. It is finally submitted. I have given the green light to a student to schedule his dissertation defense at the end of August, and sent the fifth revision suggestions of another dissertation to its owner today. All of my supervision except one individual has been either put on hold or parcelled out to others for the month. My work phone and email notifications that I'm out of the office have been created. So now I just need to relax.
Perhaps I'll sleep for the first week, if sleep is to be had with these little busybodies of ours. They need to be trained, as they still aren't too swift recognizing their own names, even if they are able to sit and come on command (if a treat is forthcoming). I have 108 packs of laminate wood flooring in the garage that I'd like to install in the house. It is sitting next to my new chop saw. I have six cans of paint, ready to get the bathrooms and our bedroom ceiling in order. The pale grey-green color for our bedroom walls has yet to be purchased. The material for our bedspread pillow shams are laid out and ready to be sewn. Every time I look at the livingroom windows I think about what kind of curtains I will make to hang. So there is no shortage of things to do while I'm off work. My challenge is to go slowly and to recognize that whatever doesn't get done now will be completed later.
While my neice is awaiting the birth of her second child, and my nephew is planning his wedding, while Sam is working every day, I will be here on the couch watching daytime TV, reading books that I have put off for four years, and cuddling my puppies. It is a good life after all.
Perhaps I'll sleep for the first week, if sleep is to be had with these little busybodies of ours. They need to be trained, as they still aren't too swift recognizing their own names, even if they are able to sit and come on command (if a treat is forthcoming). I have 108 packs of laminate wood flooring in the garage that I'd like to install in the house. It is sitting next to my new chop saw. I have six cans of paint, ready to get the bathrooms and our bedroom ceiling in order. The pale grey-green color for our bedroom walls has yet to be purchased. The material for our bedspread pillow shams are laid out and ready to be sewn. Every time I look at the livingroom windows I think about what kind of curtains I will make to hang. So there is no shortage of things to do while I'm off work. My challenge is to go slowly and to recognize that whatever doesn't get done now will be completed later.
While my neice is awaiting the birth of her second child, and my nephew is planning his wedding, while Sam is working every day, I will be here on the couch watching daytime TV, reading books that I have put off for four years, and cuddling my puppies. It is a good life after all.
Our Boys at 11 weeks
Here are our 10-week old babies. And I do mean, babies! As you can see, they can't seem to get close enough to us. We have licked toes and cheeks (yick), little eager faces that crumple up when we walk out of the room, and howls and gnashing of teeth when we leave them in their playpen. Above is Sam with Charlie, who has been nuzzling him for some time. Since he is a little Houdini, he is probably just pacing himself for a leap up onto the back of the sofa where Otis (the cat) is reclining (with an expression of utter disdain).
This is Charlie before he got groomed yesterday. He has a sensitive little soul and when I have shaken a newspaper at him he screamed out as though I were skinning him alive. We have to be very careful when we reprimand Baxter because Charlie goes and hides behind the chair just to get away from us. He is a little dickens though. No one can run as fast as this little guy can.
This is our pathetic-expressioned little Baxter who should have been named Doloroso. He is as cute as a button, but as naughty as a puppy can be. I'm forever pulling landscaping bark, lilly fronds, sticks, dead roses--anything he can get in his mouth--out of his teeth. It's a marvel that he's alive, for all the plant matter he has ingested over the last two weeks. He has an ear-rending little bark and whenever Charlie, who runs faster, takes off with something he wants, he barks him into dropping it. He has already been put in time-out twice this afternoon. Our little sensitive Charlie has been so horrified at his discipline that he laid in front of the kennel (his time-out spot) and whined.
And now they are trying to kill each other by tearing each other's ears and jowls off. I suppose that is what happens when you have two male dogs. They are eager to learn how to be leaders of the pack. That includes us. When they wake up in the morning and see us coming to let them out of their little doggie playpen, they come roiling out of there at 90 mph, unsure where they're going, but full of exhuberance and life. When we see them after being away, their little upturned faces, licks on our ankles, and wagging tails tell us that we made the right decision in getting them. I just love my boys!July 16, 2010
Puppy Update
It's been quite a week. At the risk of sounding like a boring first time parent who strings out every detail, I have to say something about what we've been going through with these little guys. Sam and I are trying to accommodate the needs of these puppies and it's pretty overwhelming to be fully responsible for two bored, whining, yipping, crying babies with unreliable bladders. Baxter and Charlie are now nine weeks old and it seems that they've grown this week already. I will try to post some pictures in the next couple days. That will require time and concentration, neither of which their demands have allowed.
We've fallen into a daily pattern: whining at 5:00 a.m. means that they need to get outside right away to "do their business." After running through the backyard sampling every piece of chipped bark they can pick up from the flowerbeds, they frenziedly lick dried earthworms off the sidewalk, find bird droppings in the grass to roll in, then go on a romp under the trees. Of course, I stand on the porch and cheer them on so they'll pee before they come inside. As they squat in the grass, they turn to look at me and get my approval. Baxter has big soulful cocker spaniel eyes, and to see him peering back over his shoulder as he does his business, always makes me laugh. Three cheers for going outside and not inside on the carpet!
We then go inside for their breakfast, which they eat in between trying to tear each other's ears off. That comes with barking, whining, and all sorts of growling noises. Just as they sound as though they will kill one another, they suddenly head for their bowl and have a few more mouthfuls of kibble. Then it's off to the races once again.
We have a variety of toys: little fuzzy squeaky (annoying) toys that they love to play with and fight over. And I do mean fight. There are clear rubbery bones that they chew on, and a canvas octopus with squeaky parts in every tentacle and the main body. That is quite a noisy invention but they love it. Funnily enough, their favorite toy is an empty Arrowhead water bottle. It crunches and cracks as they both try to bite on it with their tiny razor teeth.
They play with their toys for awhile before edging over to the tassle on my persian rug. This is where they've learned the word "No!" as they chew and then look over at me to see if I notice what they're doing. They tear in and out of their doggy playpen, roiling across their blanket and chewing everything they come in contact with. Even while you hold them and look at them, they're trying to chew the air, your nose, their own foot or tail. They're typical babies: everything goes into the mouth. I'm continually pulling landscaping bark out of their mouths, and lilly fronds from them. What the fascination is with these things, I do not know.
After about 20 minutes of being occupied by their toys, they get bored and start throwing themselves at the wall of their playpen, trying to get out. They either clamor over the barrier, or squeeze past the ottoman, and tear off into the living room. This is precisely the time they should go back outside, I've learned, as I've cleaned up little suprises that they've left under the table, in the corner, or even in the middle of the living room floor. (glad they're not Great Danes!) They check out the place where Otis' food dish used to be, sniff around Stepdaughter's bedroom door and whine a little bit, before wildly chasing each other through the living room, around the couch as fast as they can go.
At some point they come back to their little enclosure and flop down on the floor where they fall onto their backs or lie halfway under the couch, dead to the world. For awhile they lie on the tile floor, but then they gravitate together and lie curled up together. They really love each other and it is evident. Other than hiccups or flailing legs in their puppy dreams, the house is quiet for about an hour. thank goodness--I can get something done and even leave the room while they're asleep.
If you multiply this series of activities by 20 times, this is what life is like for these dogs every day. We are utterly worn out.
Little Baxter is stocky--a real butter ball. He has shorter legs than Charlie, and is really a beautiful puppy with those soulful eyes of his. He has a very sensitive temperament and if you scold him, he looks like he might curl up and die. Yesterday I swatted him with a piece of paper--one piece of paper! --to penalize him for chewing off the tassel on the area rug. I thought he might collapse. He dashed around behind his puppy carrier and cowered, looking at me through his eyebrows with the most dejected and pained expression. I was absolutely stricken.
Charlie, on the other hand, is a natural guard dog but has the build of a poodle. He stood, stiff legged at the edge of our lawn when my 300 lb. neighbor stopped in his driveway yesterday to say hello. "Oh, such vicious attack dogs!" he said of my 5-lb. ferocious dustmops. Funny, cockapoo guard dogs, I know. But they bark at Otis, at anyone who comes to the door, and at the neighborhood dogs that he hears. They even bark at our reflection in the sliding glass window at night. Charlie is full of spunk. Baxter, our little fat boy, just sits and ponders--I think he has a therapist personality. (We should get along just fine!)
If I go upstairs to get a shower, the place turns into the house of howling, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. You would think someone is killing them. and of course, if one howls, the other chimes right in.
Last week we had a woman with a 16-month old son stop in. The dogs were terrified of the little boy, probably because he squealed in excitement and his arm and leg movements were pretty unpredictable. As we went out into the back yard, the boy squealed, Charlie let out a blood curdling scream, peed himself and lay like he was dead under the lawn chair. Across the lawn, Baxter began screaming right along with him before he could even see what was going on. I wonder what the neighbors thought. Poor little enmeshed things!
They have the most ear rending little barks you ever heard. Otis thinks so, too. He hardly comes downstairs during the day when the boys are out because they see him and bark at him. He's coming ever closer, as I think he realizes they are just babies. But when they bark, he lets fly with a string of feline expletives and shoots over the back of the couch and back up the stairs. I think we're going to need to do some intentional damage control so he doesn't become a recluse who lives on the guestroom bed upstairs.
To be honest, I wonder what in the world we have done. This morning at 3:30 all I could think of was getting them back to the breeder as soon as we can. They are such noisy, inconvenient little things that I love more than I wish I did. It almost breaks my heart to hold them at night and see their little eyes looking up at me and feel their cheeks against mine. Maybe I don't want to love anything this much (this is the therapist speaking...) or maybe this is normal for parents of little puppies. I just wonder how on earth I'm going to do this when I go back to work in the fall. Maybe I can take them to class with me--until the Dean finds out.
In the meantime, we need to put our off-white sectional upstairs in the sitting area of our bedroom, along with the leather ottoman. They will shred these things. We'll get a couple rocking chairs and a cheap sofa, a cheap rug, and install a gate across the entry way into the kitchen/den area. Then they can have space to run around and if they have an accident it won't ruin the rug. Maybe the time will come when they can be trusted to go into the livingroom without leaving little piles under the end table or behind the couch, and without chewing everything in sight.
They are darling and they will be wonderful companions for many, many years (they live up to 20 years). But getting to adulthood is almost a dream that we don't think will ever come true right now. They are so cute and we love them so much. We are also very tired. Otis' nose is out of joint and he's on his last nerve. New little lives take a lot of energy and patience.
We've fallen into a daily pattern: whining at 5:00 a.m. means that they need to get outside right away to "do their business." After running through the backyard sampling every piece of chipped bark they can pick up from the flowerbeds, they frenziedly lick dried earthworms off the sidewalk, find bird droppings in the grass to roll in, then go on a romp under the trees. Of course, I stand on the porch and cheer them on so they'll pee before they come inside. As they squat in the grass, they turn to look at me and get my approval. Baxter has big soulful cocker spaniel eyes, and to see him peering back over his shoulder as he does his business, always makes me laugh. Three cheers for going outside and not inside on the carpet!
We then go inside for their breakfast, which they eat in between trying to tear each other's ears off. That comes with barking, whining, and all sorts of growling noises. Just as they sound as though they will kill one another, they suddenly head for their bowl and have a few more mouthfuls of kibble. Then it's off to the races once again.
We have a variety of toys: little fuzzy squeaky (annoying) toys that they love to play with and fight over. And I do mean fight. There are clear rubbery bones that they chew on, and a canvas octopus with squeaky parts in every tentacle and the main body. That is quite a noisy invention but they love it. Funnily enough, their favorite toy is an empty Arrowhead water bottle. It crunches and cracks as they both try to bite on it with their tiny razor teeth.
They play with their toys for awhile before edging over to the tassle on my persian rug. This is where they've learned the word "No!" as they chew and then look over at me to see if I notice what they're doing. They tear in and out of their doggy playpen, roiling across their blanket and chewing everything they come in contact with. Even while you hold them and look at them, they're trying to chew the air, your nose, their own foot or tail. They're typical babies: everything goes into the mouth. I'm continually pulling landscaping bark out of their mouths, and lilly fronds from them. What the fascination is with these things, I do not know.
After about 20 minutes of being occupied by their toys, they get bored and start throwing themselves at the wall of their playpen, trying to get out. They either clamor over the barrier, or squeeze past the ottoman, and tear off into the living room. This is precisely the time they should go back outside, I've learned, as I've cleaned up little suprises that they've left under the table, in the corner, or even in the middle of the living room floor. (glad they're not Great Danes!) They check out the place where Otis' food dish used to be, sniff around Stepdaughter's bedroom door and whine a little bit, before wildly chasing each other through the living room, around the couch as fast as they can go.
At some point they come back to their little enclosure and flop down on the floor where they fall onto their backs or lie halfway under the couch, dead to the world. For awhile they lie on the tile floor, but then they gravitate together and lie curled up together. They really love each other and it is evident. Other than hiccups or flailing legs in their puppy dreams, the house is quiet for about an hour. thank goodness--I can get something done and even leave the room while they're asleep.
If you multiply this series of activities by 20 times, this is what life is like for these dogs every day. We are utterly worn out.
Little Baxter is stocky--a real butter ball. He has shorter legs than Charlie, and is really a beautiful puppy with those soulful eyes of his. He has a very sensitive temperament and if you scold him, he looks like he might curl up and die. Yesterday I swatted him with a piece of paper--one piece of paper! --to penalize him for chewing off the tassel on the area rug. I thought he might collapse. He dashed around behind his puppy carrier and cowered, looking at me through his eyebrows with the most dejected and pained expression. I was absolutely stricken.
Charlie, on the other hand, is a natural guard dog but has the build of a poodle. He stood, stiff legged at the edge of our lawn when my 300 lb. neighbor stopped in his driveway yesterday to say hello. "Oh, such vicious attack dogs!" he said of my 5-lb. ferocious dustmops. Funny, cockapoo guard dogs, I know. But they bark at Otis, at anyone who comes to the door, and at the neighborhood dogs that he hears. They even bark at our reflection in the sliding glass window at night. Charlie is full of spunk. Baxter, our little fat boy, just sits and ponders--I think he has a therapist personality. (We should get along just fine!)
If I go upstairs to get a shower, the place turns into the house of howling, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. You would think someone is killing them. and of course, if one howls, the other chimes right in.
Last week we had a woman with a 16-month old son stop in. The dogs were terrified of the little boy, probably because he squealed in excitement and his arm and leg movements were pretty unpredictable. As we went out into the back yard, the boy squealed, Charlie let out a blood curdling scream, peed himself and lay like he was dead under the lawn chair. Across the lawn, Baxter began screaming right along with him before he could even see what was going on. I wonder what the neighbors thought. Poor little enmeshed things!
They have the most ear rending little barks you ever heard. Otis thinks so, too. He hardly comes downstairs during the day when the boys are out because they see him and bark at him. He's coming ever closer, as I think he realizes they are just babies. But when they bark, he lets fly with a string of feline expletives and shoots over the back of the couch and back up the stairs. I think we're going to need to do some intentional damage control so he doesn't become a recluse who lives on the guestroom bed upstairs.
To be honest, I wonder what in the world we have done. This morning at 3:30 all I could think of was getting them back to the breeder as soon as we can. They are such noisy, inconvenient little things that I love more than I wish I did. It almost breaks my heart to hold them at night and see their little eyes looking up at me and feel their cheeks against mine. Maybe I don't want to love anything this much (this is the therapist speaking...) or maybe this is normal for parents of little puppies. I just wonder how on earth I'm going to do this when I go back to work in the fall. Maybe I can take them to class with me--until the Dean finds out.
In the meantime, we need to put our off-white sectional upstairs in the sitting area of our bedroom, along with the leather ottoman. They will shred these things. We'll get a couple rocking chairs and a cheap sofa, a cheap rug, and install a gate across the entry way into the kitchen/den area. Then they can have space to run around and if they have an accident it won't ruin the rug. Maybe the time will come when they can be trusted to go into the livingroom without leaving little piles under the end table or behind the couch, and without chewing everything in sight.
They are darling and they will be wonderful companions for many, many years (they live up to 20 years). But getting to adulthood is almost a dream that we don't think will ever come true right now. They are so cute and we love them so much. We are also very tired. Otis' nose is out of joint and he's on his last nerve. New little lives take a lot of energy and patience.
July 10, 2010
Dying
I had a long conversation with a friend tonight and I won't be able to sleep now. She told me that last week her doctor told her that she will die within a year due to a number of chronic illnesses that she has had for over 50 years.
I am stunned.
Veronica is one of the cheeriest women I know and she has endured more in life than almost any woman I can think of. Born to a woman who was married nine times, she was pressed into the job of taking care of her hypochondriac semi-prostituting mother from the time she turned 13. Leaving that home, she married an abusive man who verbally and emotionally abused her for 20 years. Three sons later, she left him, only to have her church ask her to give up her church office. "Too many people misunderstand what has happened." So she gave up her office and watched as her husband was hired on by another local church to do what she wanted to do so badly. She watched as he received accolades for what she could do much better but was not allowed to, for no good reason. At the same church, she was finally hired to be involved in part time ministry, but was elbowed out by a family with money and influence whose child wanted to take over her responsibilities. Veronica asked if she could continue on without pay, just to be able to contribute to the church. She has been allowed to up until the end of this month. It will be her last opportunity to serve the church in this way.
Meanwhile, Veronica was diagnosed with Hepatitis C. She picked it up in a transfusion she was given at birth, after which she almost died. No one knew what was wrong with her, but she narrowly survived and was severely jaundiced at the time. Veronica grew out of it, she thought. In fact, it was growing insidiously inside of her until last year she was told that she had severe cirrhosis of the liver. And then the bleeding started: severe nosebleeds that took forever to staunch. Her ankles and thighs swelled up to twice their size and she became very tired. While this was happening, she lost two of her part time jobs and now she is $700 short every month. How does she manage? In a word, God. People have given her money, put cash inside of her purse--all of this without a word from her, but there are many prayers ascending from her every day about how she will manage. It has been this way--hand to mouth--since her divorce. Her credit had been ruined by her ex-husband, and the alimony and child support ran out way too soon.
Veronica's doctor has put her on the liver transplant list. She is not excited. "If the transplant doesn't kill me, paying for it will!" She does not know how she will manage financially if she can't work, can't pay for her car, has no one to care for her through the medical crisis, etc. She wonders why she should consider a liver transplant if she can only plan on five good years to follow. It's really hard on one's body and she is uncertain about it. But now the doctor tells her that she has a cirrhotic heart. I had no idea there was such a condition, but it is like cardiac stenosis (hardening and narrowing of the vessels). Veronica needs to give someone medical power of attorney, but her boys don't want to talk to her about it. They feel sick at heart that she is ill and can't bear the thought that she will most likely die soon. So they completely avoid talking about her illness. She has tried to tell them that they can sell her one and only antique furniture piece in order to bury her--up on the hill where next to her stillborn baby girl lies. They simply can't talk with her about dying.
This is why I talked with her so long tonight. "I hate to even ask this question, Veronica, but do you feel that you are ready with God?"
"Yes. But more than that, I wonder why I've lived through all these things just to have this happen."
She tells me that two weeks before she was diagnosed with Hepatitis she had a vivid dream of a man who was speaking to her. He told her that she had lupus and that it was very serious. "Well, I'm going to fight it," she told him. Although she couldn't see his face, she had the distinct impression that he sincerely approved of her plan. "Maybe I'm in denial," she told me today. "But I talk about dying on purpose. And when I do, there is nothing in me that answers to that. I just don't think it's going to happen to me because I remember that dream." She is a new grandmother and has done so much reading on her illness and medications that she is now suggesting medication regimes to her physicians. By following her plan, she has lost much of the extra fluid in her legs and her chest pain has diminished somewhat. She wants to avoid the transplant if possible. Veronica is having a cardiac angiogram next week to see how cirrhotic her heart is and if needed, to place a stent in her arteries to decrease the chance of heart attack. And yet even with all of this happening, she continues to take care of her mother and also another elderly woman who has mobility problems. She is usually cheerful and eager to be involved with people. I really love her and it is hard to think of her goodhearted soul having to suffer the way she has--and quite possibly, the way she will before she dies.
If there is anyone who reads this blog, please put Veronica on your prayer list. She needs your prayers more than you can imagine. Prayer is the best thing, she tells me, and she adds tentatively, it is the only thing that has helped her survive. I pray not for a miracle--althought that would thrill my soul--but that she will have peace and if/when she does die, she will slip away quickly and painlessly. She has had enough pain in this life.
So tonight, with a very heavy heart I'm thinking of Veronica. I feel challenged to make every day of my life count--my life that has so much good in it. May God bless my friend with a cheerful heart, peace that passes all understanding, and a real sense of how much God loves her as she declines.
I am stunned.
Veronica is one of the cheeriest women I know and she has endured more in life than almost any woman I can think of. Born to a woman who was married nine times, she was pressed into the job of taking care of her hypochondriac semi-prostituting mother from the time she turned 13. Leaving that home, she married an abusive man who verbally and emotionally abused her for 20 years. Three sons later, she left him, only to have her church ask her to give up her church office. "Too many people misunderstand what has happened." So she gave up her office and watched as her husband was hired on by another local church to do what she wanted to do so badly. She watched as he received accolades for what she could do much better but was not allowed to, for no good reason. At the same church, she was finally hired to be involved in part time ministry, but was elbowed out by a family with money and influence whose child wanted to take over her responsibilities. Veronica asked if she could continue on without pay, just to be able to contribute to the church. She has been allowed to up until the end of this month. It will be her last opportunity to serve the church in this way.
Meanwhile, Veronica was diagnosed with Hepatitis C. She picked it up in a transfusion she was given at birth, after which she almost died. No one knew what was wrong with her, but she narrowly survived and was severely jaundiced at the time. Veronica grew out of it, she thought. In fact, it was growing insidiously inside of her until last year she was told that she had severe cirrhosis of the liver. And then the bleeding started: severe nosebleeds that took forever to staunch. Her ankles and thighs swelled up to twice their size and she became very tired. While this was happening, she lost two of her part time jobs and now she is $700 short every month. How does she manage? In a word, God. People have given her money, put cash inside of her purse--all of this without a word from her, but there are many prayers ascending from her every day about how she will manage. It has been this way--hand to mouth--since her divorce. Her credit had been ruined by her ex-husband, and the alimony and child support ran out way too soon.
Veronica's doctor has put her on the liver transplant list. She is not excited. "If the transplant doesn't kill me, paying for it will!" She does not know how she will manage financially if she can't work, can't pay for her car, has no one to care for her through the medical crisis, etc. She wonders why she should consider a liver transplant if she can only plan on five good years to follow. It's really hard on one's body and she is uncertain about it. But now the doctor tells her that she has a cirrhotic heart. I had no idea there was such a condition, but it is like cardiac stenosis (hardening and narrowing of the vessels). Veronica needs to give someone medical power of attorney, but her boys don't want to talk to her about it. They feel sick at heart that she is ill and can't bear the thought that she will most likely die soon. So they completely avoid talking about her illness. She has tried to tell them that they can sell her one and only antique furniture piece in order to bury her--up on the hill where next to her stillborn baby girl lies. They simply can't talk with her about dying.
This is why I talked with her so long tonight. "I hate to even ask this question, Veronica, but do you feel that you are ready with God?"
"Yes. But more than that, I wonder why I've lived through all these things just to have this happen."
She tells me that two weeks before she was diagnosed with Hepatitis she had a vivid dream of a man who was speaking to her. He told her that she had lupus and that it was very serious. "Well, I'm going to fight it," she told him. Although she couldn't see his face, she had the distinct impression that he sincerely approved of her plan. "Maybe I'm in denial," she told me today. "But I talk about dying on purpose. And when I do, there is nothing in me that answers to that. I just don't think it's going to happen to me because I remember that dream." She is a new grandmother and has done so much reading on her illness and medications that she is now suggesting medication regimes to her physicians. By following her plan, she has lost much of the extra fluid in her legs and her chest pain has diminished somewhat. She wants to avoid the transplant if possible. Veronica is having a cardiac angiogram next week to see how cirrhotic her heart is and if needed, to place a stent in her arteries to decrease the chance of heart attack. And yet even with all of this happening, she continues to take care of her mother and also another elderly woman who has mobility problems. She is usually cheerful and eager to be involved with people. I really love her and it is hard to think of her goodhearted soul having to suffer the way she has--and quite possibly, the way she will before she dies.
If there is anyone who reads this blog, please put Veronica on your prayer list. She needs your prayers more than you can imagine. Prayer is the best thing, she tells me, and she adds tentatively, it is the only thing that has helped her survive. I pray not for a miracle--althought that would thrill my soul--but that she will have peace and if/when she does die, she will slip away quickly and painlessly. She has had enough pain in this life.
So tonight, with a very heavy heart I'm thinking of Veronica. I feel challenged to make every day of my life count--my life that has so much good in it. May God bless my friend with a cheerful heart, peace that passes all understanding, and a real sense of how much God loves her as she declines.
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