October 24, 2010
Home Improvements
This is the flooring that I have been installing in our upstairs bedrooms. Last night the last room got finished up. It is really nice laminate flooring and everything looks very different now that it is installed. All that is left is to finish putting the quarter round all the way around the baseboard to finish it off and to cover the gap between the wall and the flooring.
There is definitely an art to installing this kind of floor. I think I've finally got the knack of it because the last bedroom--our room--went in very fast. Now the living room-dining room needs to be done and all new baseboard needs to be installed. We are paying someone to come out and install the wood on the stairs and upstairs landing. That would be just too much for me to try to do. Then after they tell me how much space I need to leave them for the stair installation, I'll do the downstairs.
I think I've saved us about $10,000 installing this myself. In the process, I've been able to buy a couple nifty saws and get much better using a coping saw. I've learned how to install baseboard and quarter round. My right arm feels pretty strong now from hammering it all into place with a rubber mallet. The instructions say to "tap it in place." My eye. I have had to whack it into place almost without fail, for three bedrooms.
So this project is halfway completed now. I wish it could all be done at one time, but for now, I am content with it. Last night we stood at one end of our bedroom and looked across the length of it. We could hardly recognize our own room. The floor is shiny and feels very solid under foot.If we're wearing socks we can run and slide for several feet. I just hope not to do that in the middle of the night. For now, it is a good feeling to be halfway done.
October 21, 2010
An average day
School has started at last. We are in the fourth week of classes and have already gotten well acquainted with my students. It has been a good beginning.
Today a student came by to ask about an assignment and I felt impressed to take her to lunch at the hospital cafeteria. She was thrilled. So we wandered off up the hill to the hospital and got our food, returned to my office, and chatted as we ate.
You can learn a lot about people when you eat with them, and when you take the time to talk to them. She laughed, told me about her many tears the first couple weeks of classes, and that she is finally optimistic that she can do the work. This student went to the same college that I attended as a kid, so I have tried to look out for her. When she was ready to leave for her statistics class I asked if I could pray for her. She was very happy that I did.
We had a statewide earthquake disaster drill today. It actually reminded me of the drills we used to have as school aged children during the Cold War: get under the desk--as if that would protect us from a nuclear blast! As I was teaching, an administrator came by and reminded me from the hall that it was time to "Duck, cover and hold." As everyone slid down under the long tables at which they were seated, my Canadian student looked from one person to the next, trying to figure out what was happening. She has never been in an earthquake before, so of course, the students who have experienced earthquakes took great delight in regaling her with the horrible sights and sounds when there is a major earthquake. She later told me that she expected to be on the first plane to Canada if we have a quake any time soon. Knock on wood...
That was in my four-hour morning research class. I have tried to get out of teaching it every year since it was assigned to me, but to no avail. The faculty like how I teach it but they have no idea of the amount of anxiety that it creates for me. I suppose that I need to just relax and settle into the coursework. I know a lot more about research than I think I do, but with the workload that I carry, I feel like I'm winging it most of the time. We'll see how the course evaluations come out at the end of the quarter.
Four hours is a long class period to fill. We usually take two 10-minute breaks so people can revive themselves before the next onslaught of information. Today was the first class that just flowed along by itself: a guest speaker for 30 minutes, question and answer for 20 minutes, group activity with discussion for 40 minutes, videos and discussion for 60 minutes, and lecture for the rest of the time. That anyone learns anything in there is always a surprise to me, even though they seem engaged. I wonder if I will ever feel that I know enough to teach these classes?
One of my students and I met with a neonatologist who wants to collaborate with us to create medical simulations involving "problem families" so her physicians in training can learn how to attune to patients. The patients will be acted out by my doctoral students, who will then evaluate the physicians on how well they attuned, enlisted, and empowered them. I think this should be a wonderful experience. My student and I have created a workshop out of our simulation idea and will be presenting this at a conference in New Orleans in January.
Then I rushed back to the office and picked up my CD with two posters on it that need to be printed off. Fortunately, the printing services office was still open and they got all the particulars for the poster. They will be done by Monday morning. These are posters that are for the purpose of sharing research or conceptual information at the National Council on Family Relations in Minneapolis in two weeks. One is about how medical family therapists work with patients and families who are awaiting organ transplantation. The other is the research findings from a project I did while I lived in Washington, about how family therapists interact with their own families, given their clinical and academic expertise on family life and relationships. It is a beautiful poster, but I am so energized about the content that I have been preoccupied with it for weeks. Hopefully, I can get it ready for publication in a family therapy journal.
Another task was going to another department on campus for the dissertation proposal meeting of a student on whose committee I am serving. It was a most interesting conversation, and an even more formal, stilted setting than I've ever been in before. The student had to introduce each of us and say a few words about us--even though most of us knew each other. But since I was on "foreign" territory, I just played along. There were three of us women on the committee and one man who is the statistical expert. He obviously had more say about what was to happen than any of the rest of us, given that he spelled out how he thought everything should be done. I couldn't have disagreed more and let him know, as diplomatically as possible, that there were more efficient and theoretically sound ways to obtain the findings that the student sought. That energized the other women and threw the conversation into a fury of idea generation. When I left an hour and a half later, the statistician had his shorts in a wad, the student was fearful that I was pulling out of her committee, the third committee member had left the room in a dour mood, and the Chair of the committee was trying to maintain some control of the enthusiastic suggestions that we made, talking over one another.
Well, they asked me for my expertise and I gave it. The research idea was one of the more cockeyed ideas I've heard in awhile. It just wasn't popular to point that out. But if I didn't (and I emphasize here, there were no ill feelings toward me in my words--I just upset their way of doing things), the student would produce a useless study and an awful dissertation.
So here I sit on the couch, having graded this week's batch of research papers. Students were told that they have to "position" themselves in terms of their own biases and life experiences that influence their objectivity in research. Ten out of sixteen students nailed it. Six were absolutely clueless and wrote these rambling stream-of-consciousness reflections that were not even close to what was required. Where were they when I explained and explained and explained this in class? I'm not sure.
School is in session. I love what I do. There is never a dull moment, and I so enjoy all that I get to do here. Never take your job for granted. Some people work very hard at jobs they hate, and they do it for 40 years. I am one of the lucky ones.
Today a student came by to ask about an assignment and I felt impressed to take her to lunch at the hospital cafeteria. She was thrilled. So we wandered off up the hill to the hospital and got our food, returned to my office, and chatted as we ate.
You can learn a lot about people when you eat with them, and when you take the time to talk to them. She laughed, told me about her many tears the first couple weeks of classes, and that she is finally optimistic that she can do the work. This student went to the same college that I attended as a kid, so I have tried to look out for her. When she was ready to leave for her statistics class I asked if I could pray for her. She was very happy that I did.
We had a statewide earthquake disaster drill today. It actually reminded me of the drills we used to have as school aged children during the Cold War: get under the desk--as if that would protect us from a nuclear blast! As I was teaching, an administrator came by and reminded me from the hall that it was time to "Duck, cover and hold." As everyone slid down under the long tables at which they were seated, my Canadian student looked from one person to the next, trying to figure out what was happening. She has never been in an earthquake before, so of course, the students who have experienced earthquakes took great delight in regaling her with the horrible sights and sounds when there is a major earthquake. She later told me that she expected to be on the first plane to Canada if we have a quake any time soon. Knock on wood...
That was in my four-hour morning research class. I have tried to get out of teaching it every year since it was assigned to me, but to no avail. The faculty like how I teach it but they have no idea of the amount of anxiety that it creates for me. I suppose that I need to just relax and settle into the coursework. I know a lot more about research than I think I do, but with the workload that I carry, I feel like I'm winging it most of the time. We'll see how the course evaluations come out at the end of the quarter.
Four hours is a long class period to fill. We usually take two 10-minute breaks so people can revive themselves before the next onslaught of information. Today was the first class that just flowed along by itself: a guest speaker for 30 minutes, question and answer for 20 minutes, group activity with discussion for 40 minutes, videos and discussion for 60 minutes, and lecture for the rest of the time. That anyone learns anything in there is always a surprise to me, even though they seem engaged. I wonder if I will ever feel that I know enough to teach these classes?
One of my students and I met with a neonatologist who wants to collaborate with us to create medical simulations involving "problem families" so her physicians in training can learn how to attune to patients. The patients will be acted out by my doctoral students, who will then evaluate the physicians on how well they attuned, enlisted, and empowered them. I think this should be a wonderful experience. My student and I have created a workshop out of our simulation idea and will be presenting this at a conference in New Orleans in January.
Then I rushed back to the office and picked up my CD with two posters on it that need to be printed off. Fortunately, the printing services office was still open and they got all the particulars for the poster. They will be done by Monday morning. These are posters that are for the purpose of sharing research or conceptual information at the National Council on Family Relations in Minneapolis in two weeks. One is about how medical family therapists work with patients and families who are awaiting organ transplantation. The other is the research findings from a project I did while I lived in Washington, about how family therapists interact with their own families, given their clinical and academic expertise on family life and relationships. It is a beautiful poster, but I am so energized about the content that I have been preoccupied with it for weeks. Hopefully, I can get it ready for publication in a family therapy journal.
Another task was going to another department on campus for the dissertation proposal meeting of a student on whose committee I am serving. It was a most interesting conversation, and an even more formal, stilted setting than I've ever been in before. The student had to introduce each of us and say a few words about us--even though most of us knew each other. But since I was on "foreign" territory, I just played along. There were three of us women on the committee and one man who is the statistical expert. He obviously had more say about what was to happen than any of the rest of us, given that he spelled out how he thought everything should be done. I couldn't have disagreed more and let him know, as diplomatically as possible, that there were more efficient and theoretically sound ways to obtain the findings that the student sought. That energized the other women and threw the conversation into a fury of idea generation. When I left an hour and a half later, the statistician had his shorts in a wad, the student was fearful that I was pulling out of her committee, the third committee member had left the room in a dour mood, and the Chair of the committee was trying to maintain some control of the enthusiastic suggestions that we made, talking over one another.
Well, they asked me for my expertise and I gave it. The research idea was one of the more cockeyed ideas I've heard in awhile. It just wasn't popular to point that out. But if I didn't (and I emphasize here, there were no ill feelings toward me in my words--I just upset their way of doing things), the student would produce a useless study and an awful dissertation.
So here I sit on the couch, having graded this week's batch of research papers. Students were told that they have to "position" themselves in terms of their own biases and life experiences that influence their objectivity in research. Ten out of sixteen students nailed it. Six were absolutely clueless and wrote these rambling stream-of-consciousness reflections that were not even close to what was required. Where were they when I explained and explained and explained this in class? I'm not sure.
School is in session. I love what I do. There is never a dull moment, and I so enjoy all that I get to do here. Never take your job for granted. Some people work very hard at jobs they hate, and they do it for 40 years. I am one of the lucky ones.
October 3, 2010
Good Night, Jack
Last week my friend, Jack had a stroke. I made him cookies the week before and when I went to see him, he wasn't there. So I took the cookies to work instead and saw that they got eaten. Jack had actually fallen that week and had lain on the floor for over 24 hours. He was paralyzed over half of his body and had some difficulty speaking. I went over to the hospital to see him a couple days after he was admitted, but he was asleep. He was very still and breathing ever so quietly, his chest barely moving. It didn't seem right to awaken him. At 96 years of age he had earned the right to sleep how and when he wanted, especially after having a stroke. So I left him a note to let him know that I was there, and that I'd be looking in on him another time.
Jack was discharged later that day to a nursing home in town. The social worker called to let me know where he was, given that I hold his medical power of attorney. Knowing that Jack was doing well enough to be discharged was encouraging. It was several days before I got to visit him in the nursing home.
When his wife was dying I promised her that I'd take care of Jack, so I wanted to go see him. That called for another batch of goodies. I made him a plate of brownies, picked up a potted miniature pink rose bush, and headed over to the care center. Jack was asleep in the bed. I looked at him for a long time. I don't think I'd ever seen him without his glasses before, and his left arm was all black and blue, sticking out from under the covers. He was sleeping soundly. I left the brownies, roses, and a card for him. "You're in my thoughts and prayers, Jack," the card said. I left without getting to see him.
Jack fell asleep for the last time two days later. I still had not gotten to see him. I can only hope that he realized that I had been there. We burried him today. He had no children, only his sister's niece and two great-nephews. I had met them at Etta's funeral service a year and a half before. They were very gracious today. Apparently, Jack had written his own eulogy, planned his funeral, and requested that I sing the same song that I'd sung at Etta's graveside service: "The Beautiful Hills" from the old Christ in Song hymn book.
I have said before that the closest I feel to God and the most comforted I feel is at an Adventist funeral service. It is always such a powerful reminder that the work of living is done, and these dear old souls await the resurrection. Jack told his pastor the day before he died that he was ready to die and looking forward to seeing the face of Jesus. He had not a shred of hesitation--he was ready and eager to see God and his beloved Etta once again. It is not surprising. He worked for our church for 41 years, going wherever he was asked, moving every few years, taking on responsibilities that required tremendous effort and steadfastness.
He sacrificed a great deal, as did Etta, given the numerous responsibilities he's had for so long. And yet, he was kind and gracious to everyone he met. All the bank tellers knew him as being a sweet, gentle old man. He and Etta very generously gave me a beautiful crystal bowl, a Cuisinart hand mixer, and a Cuisinart food processor one year. I was shocked! All I'd done for them was stop by and visit them or take them soup, bread, or cookies from time to time. It must have meant a lot to them, but those gifts were totally unexpected and certainly not deserved.
Jack was one of those saintly men from a generation where people believed in steadfastness, sacrifice, and integrity. He sacrificed more than I, in my generation, have ever been called upon to give. Our generation is all about getting beautiful houses, having the most fulfilling jobs, and taking vacations. His generation was about work, perserverence, and contributing to something larger--the church and the good of society. Jack and Etta contributed huge amounts of money to the church, our university, and hospital, among other entities. He didn't think twice about it. All he had belonged to God and Jack merely returned it as needed.
So now the tired old saint sleeps and waits the trumpets of the resurrection morning. Good night, Jack. You will be dearly missed.
Jack was discharged later that day to a nursing home in town. The social worker called to let me know where he was, given that I hold his medical power of attorney. Knowing that Jack was doing well enough to be discharged was encouraging. It was several days before I got to visit him in the nursing home.
When his wife was dying I promised her that I'd take care of Jack, so I wanted to go see him. That called for another batch of goodies. I made him a plate of brownies, picked up a potted miniature pink rose bush, and headed over to the care center. Jack was asleep in the bed. I looked at him for a long time. I don't think I'd ever seen him without his glasses before, and his left arm was all black and blue, sticking out from under the covers. He was sleeping soundly. I left the brownies, roses, and a card for him. "You're in my thoughts and prayers, Jack," the card said. I left without getting to see him.
Jack fell asleep for the last time two days later. I still had not gotten to see him. I can only hope that he realized that I had been there. We burried him today. He had no children, only his sister's niece and two great-nephews. I had met them at Etta's funeral service a year and a half before. They were very gracious today. Apparently, Jack had written his own eulogy, planned his funeral, and requested that I sing the same song that I'd sung at Etta's graveside service: "The Beautiful Hills" from the old Christ in Song hymn book.
I have said before that the closest I feel to God and the most comforted I feel is at an Adventist funeral service. It is always such a powerful reminder that the work of living is done, and these dear old souls await the resurrection. Jack told his pastor the day before he died that he was ready to die and looking forward to seeing the face of Jesus. He had not a shred of hesitation--he was ready and eager to see God and his beloved Etta once again. It is not surprising. He worked for our church for 41 years, going wherever he was asked, moving every few years, taking on responsibilities that required tremendous effort and steadfastness.
He sacrificed a great deal, as did Etta, given the numerous responsibilities he's had for so long. And yet, he was kind and gracious to everyone he met. All the bank tellers knew him as being a sweet, gentle old man. He and Etta very generously gave me a beautiful crystal bowl, a Cuisinart hand mixer, and a Cuisinart food processor one year. I was shocked! All I'd done for them was stop by and visit them or take them soup, bread, or cookies from time to time. It must have meant a lot to them, but those gifts were totally unexpected and certainly not deserved.
Jack was one of those saintly men from a generation where people believed in steadfastness, sacrifice, and integrity. He sacrificed more than I, in my generation, have ever been called upon to give. Our generation is all about getting beautiful houses, having the most fulfilling jobs, and taking vacations. His generation was about work, perserverence, and contributing to something larger--the church and the good of society. Jack and Etta contributed huge amounts of money to the church, our university, and hospital, among other entities. He didn't think twice about it. All he had belonged to God and Jack merely returned it as needed.
So now the tired old saint sleeps and waits the trumpets of the resurrection morning. Good night, Jack. You will be dearly missed.
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.
September 9, 2010
Musings
It seems that my creativity has completely dried up.
The last month has been a nice change from the rushing back and forth from the office, and it put an end to my 16 hour days, at least 12 hours of which I worked. Sam was laid off on the first day of my "vacation" and that made for an unusual time off experience for me.
He has been looking daily at numerous job websites and establishments that post jobs. There is really very little to be had out there, so it means a lot of work for very little response. But I have been happy to have him with me for this last month. I may have gone crazy with these puppies had I been 100% responsible for them, day in and day out.
Because we have young dogs who can't travel yet, we couldn't go away this last month. Therefore it really hasn't felt likc much of a holiday. We have however, been able to watch them grow, to train them to some degree, and to have the luxury of sitting on the floor and holding them every morning. They have a very strong bond to us, even if they are naughty sometimes (like the other night when they started chewing on the couch. Sam was apoplectic!)
We've been getting up in the night with them at least once, usually twice, so they can relieve themselves outside. They are getting better as they get older and more continent, for which I'm thankful. But I am extremely tired due to sleeping lightly at night so I'll hear them, or that they usually wake up in the morning around 5:30.
Meanwhile, Otis has lost weight and become a bit more to himself. I suppose he has had to withdraw some, just for his own sanity. He does sleep with us at night though--the one time he has us all to himself. We're keeping an eye on him to be sure he's okay. He's eating well now, but after we got the puppies, he didn't want to eat much of anything. He doesn't own the whole house any more. Just everything but the den and kitchen. Baxter and Charlie have a sense of ownership for that space and go nose to nose with him if he drinks from their water dish or sniffs their food. Even a pass through the room by Otis causes great excitement, barking, and hurling themselves at him. Of course, that goes over like a rubber crutch.
But now I'm back at work and supposed to be productive, cranking out the work. I just want to go up to a mountain cabin, curl in a ball under a down comforter, and sleep for several days.
It has been nice to see a few of the students and some of my colleagues again--that's all that are on campus just now since school doesn't start until September 27th. I've been holed up in my office, trying to get an application for a post-master's certificate written. It has to go through the administrative committee hoops on the 22nd, so this document needs to be comprehensive and thorough. It is like writing a dissertation, I'm finding. I'm already up to about 60 pages. I never knew I could say so much about the topic, or about accreditation issues, etc.
There are syllabi to construct and a course to put online. I have to start going back up into the hospital to make rounds with my students; and to the outlying clinics where they work (under my license). So that will be more to do.
When I get home, it is always nice to see what Sam has been doing. Yesterday, he had my car serviced, done some shopping, and got all of our packages and mail sent out. What a relief! We've made a deal that since he doesn't like laying the new flooring, he will carry in the big cartons of wood to the space where I'll be working, tear up the carpet and padding and remove it, and then clean the floors once they are in. That suits me well, since putting in the floor is much like making a quilt: a good activity to do at one's own speed whilst reflecting on life. I now have two rooms done, with the exception of half of one closet. This weekend we will get started on our bedroom upstairs. We are finding that wood floors make everything look much more spacious. Our livingroom and dining area should look enormous. We will hire someone to do the stairs and upstairs hall-landing area. I enjoy saying I can do this myself, but this is not an endurance contest, and that will be a really complicated space to do. I'd rather not, thank you.
So as I ponder my utter lack of creativity right now, it may be obvious to the reader, but only slowing dawning on me, that there are so many things to manage right now that creativity has gone on hiatus for the time being. Everywhere I look there is something that needs to be done. When I was single, I ordered my life and household so that there wouldn't be all of these unfinished tasks plus a list of things to do in the future. But now that I share my life with others and have more responsibilities, it's a hard lesson to learn that being compulsive about everything simply doesn't pay.
I passed up a job offer that pays twice what I am paid now, and that would put me in an esteemed school of medicine as director of a collaborative care training program. I recommended one of my recent graduates whom I have been grooming for this kind of work for three years now. He has had three interviews with them thus far, and will have an on site formal interview next week. He is thrilled and so am I. I really didn't want to leave here, since this is a dream job and I hold strong convictions that I belong here.
Even so, there are some steps that I've taken at work to try to improve my working conditions, since people here get worked to death (just as I heard on the street when I interviewed here!): I've asked for a raise at work. I've asked for an assistant who can supervise my interns out in the field. That right there will save me about 10 hours per week. I've asked for a couple grad assistants who will work with me to get things done for my classes and to keep my office paperwork filed, etc. And I've told my boss that I do love him dearly, but I will never work for him as hard as I did last year. Especially since I don't go home with him at night. He laughed and seemed tickled by that, "Give me that ultimatum, Barbara!" he challenged.
I'm planning to work at home--to have a writing day--once per week. Every Friday I will stay home as often as possible. I will also have one clinical day: Tuesday. The other days will be "Run sheep, run!" kind of days.
So as I sit here on the couch in my PJs, my babies curled around my feet on their blanket, Otis on the back of the couch out of their reach, purring, I am lead to think that perhaps this is as good as it will get for awhile. I am not unhappy particularly, just consumed with everything going on at present. Perhaps at some point I will be struck with something clever and interesting to read. Until then, I will do well to check in here.
The last month has been a nice change from the rushing back and forth from the office, and it put an end to my 16 hour days, at least 12 hours of which I worked. Sam was laid off on the first day of my "vacation" and that made for an unusual time off experience for me.
He has been looking daily at numerous job websites and establishments that post jobs. There is really very little to be had out there, so it means a lot of work for very little response. But I have been happy to have him with me for this last month. I may have gone crazy with these puppies had I been 100% responsible for them, day in and day out.
Because we have young dogs who can't travel yet, we couldn't go away this last month. Therefore it really hasn't felt likc much of a holiday. We have however, been able to watch them grow, to train them to some degree, and to have the luxury of sitting on the floor and holding them every morning. They have a very strong bond to us, even if they are naughty sometimes (like the other night when they started chewing on the couch. Sam was apoplectic!)
We've been getting up in the night with them at least once, usually twice, so they can relieve themselves outside. They are getting better as they get older and more continent, for which I'm thankful. But I am extremely tired due to sleeping lightly at night so I'll hear them, or that they usually wake up in the morning around 5:30.
Meanwhile, Otis has lost weight and become a bit more to himself. I suppose he has had to withdraw some, just for his own sanity. He does sleep with us at night though--the one time he has us all to himself. We're keeping an eye on him to be sure he's okay. He's eating well now, but after we got the puppies, he didn't want to eat much of anything. He doesn't own the whole house any more. Just everything but the den and kitchen. Baxter and Charlie have a sense of ownership for that space and go nose to nose with him if he drinks from their water dish or sniffs their food. Even a pass through the room by Otis causes great excitement, barking, and hurling themselves at him. Of course, that goes over like a rubber crutch.
But now I'm back at work and supposed to be productive, cranking out the work. I just want to go up to a mountain cabin, curl in a ball under a down comforter, and sleep for several days.
It has been nice to see a few of the students and some of my colleagues again--that's all that are on campus just now since school doesn't start until September 27th. I've been holed up in my office, trying to get an application for a post-master's certificate written. It has to go through the administrative committee hoops on the 22nd, so this document needs to be comprehensive and thorough. It is like writing a dissertation, I'm finding. I'm already up to about 60 pages. I never knew I could say so much about the topic, or about accreditation issues, etc.
There are syllabi to construct and a course to put online. I have to start going back up into the hospital to make rounds with my students; and to the outlying clinics where they work (under my license). So that will be more to do.
When I get home, it is always nice to see what Sam has been doing. Yesterday, he had my car serviced, done some shopping, and got all of our packages and mail sent out. What a relief! We've made a deal that since he doesn't like laying the new flooring, he will carry in the big cartons of wood to the space where I'll be working, tear up the carpet and padding and remove it, and then clean the floors once they are in. That suits me well, since putting in the floor is much like making a quilt: a good activity to do at one's own speed whilst reflecting on life. I now have two rooms done, with the exception of half of one closet. This weekend we will get started on our bedroom upstairs. We are finding that wood floors make everything look much more spacious. Our livingroom and dining area should look enormous. We will hire someone to do the stairs and upstairs hall-landing area. I enjoy saying I can do this myself, but this is not an endurance contest, and that will be a really complicated space to do. I'd rather not, thank you.
So as I ponder my utter lack of creativity right now, it may be obvious to the reader, but only slowing dawning on me, that there are so many things to manage right now that creativity has gone on hiatus for the time being. Everywhere I look there is something that needs to be done. When I was single, I ordered my life and household so that there wouldn't be all of these unfinished tasks plus a list of things to do in the future. But now that I share my life with others and have more responsibilities, it's a hard lesson to learn that being compulsive about everything simply doesn't pay.
I passed up a job offer that pays twice what I am paid now, and that would put me in an esteemed school of medicine as director of a collaborative care training program. I recommended one of my recent graduates whom I have been grooming for this kind of work for three years now. He has had three interviews with them thus far, and will have an on site formal interview next week. He is thrilled and so am I. I really didn't want to leave here, since this is a dream job and I hold strong convictions that I belong here.
Even so, there are some steps that I've taken at work to try to improve my working conditions, since people here get worked to death (just as I heard on the street when I interviewed here!): I've asked for a raise at work. I've asked for an assistant who can supervise my interns out in the field. That right there will save me about 10 hours per week. I've asked for a couple grad assistants who will work with me to get things done for my classes and to keep my office paperwork filed, etc. And I've told my boss that I do love him dearly, but I will never work for him as hard as I did last year. Especially since I don't go home with him at night. He laughed and seemed tickled by that, "Give me that ultimatum, Barbara!" he challenged.
I'm planning to work at home--to have a writing day--once per week. Every Friday I will stay home as often as possible. I will also have one clinical day: Tuesday. The other days will be "Run sheep, run!" kind of days.
So as I sit here on the couch in my PJs, my babies curled around my feet on their blanket, Otis on the back of the couch out of their reach, purring, I am lead to think that perhaps this is as good as it will get for awhile. I am not unhappy particularly, just consumed with everything going on at present. Perhaps at some point I will be struck with something clever and interesting to read. Until then, I will do well to check in here.
August 27, 2010
Happy Birthday!
Tomorrow is my mother's 81st birthday. She is going strong and looks terrific. One of the ladies at the Villa (retirement center where she lives) had a tea for her. Mother said she has never had a birthday party, never had a tea in her honor, so she was excited. Her hair had been set and styled and she was wearing a lovely turquoise dress when I got there to help her get spiffed up. She looked lovely and her face glowed with excitement at the tea.
Heady, a wonderfully warm woman of Hungarian background, hosted the tea. It was a great group of ladies: Kathleen, the activities coordinator was there; Evelyn (93), Mother's best friend was there; Hepsi, a new resident from India, came; Salma, who is the self-proclaimed matriarch of the Villa (she has lived there 18 years); and Joyce, who is from New England and is struggling with a new cochlear implant. The six residents who attended were all over 80 years of age, and so very sweet.
Heady had baked little shortbread cookies with apricot and raspberry fillings, lemon curd tarts with raspberries on top, cucumber-cream cheese-mint appetizers, home grown cherry tomatoes, cream scones with raspberry cream, and wonderful tea. All of the tea cups were different and quite elegant. There were antique clear dishes that we ate from, and on each of the tea saucers was a teaspoon with different flower on the tip of it. Heady brought out all of her beautiful cut linens for the table: beautiful white cut linen placemats, a pale green tablecloth, and a runner with various teacups cross stitched on it. Two burning candles topped it off. We were all in awe.
We chatted, laughed, and talked. Interesting, the topics that they wanted to share. One of them was how they want to die. I suppose that at their ages, this is something that is a matter of course. Heady said that she wants to die doing something that she enjoys, and then told us how her mother died while scrubbing the floor on hands and knees in her sister's house. Someone else wants to die in her sleep, and another said that she hopes to die from a massive heart attack--quickly and suddenly. I looked over at Kathleen, who is my age. The horror on her face was probably a reflection of my own. I was appalled to be talking about this over my mother's birthday tea. But she didn't seem to mind and added her two cents about her wishes. Kathleen asked, "Barbara, do you want to live to be a hundred?"
Mother piped up, "It's great if your marbles all roll in the same direction!" Everyone howled with laughter.
Then the conversation moved to upper arm strength. Salma told us that she had arm wrestled her sons, grandsons, and now her great-grandsons. "When they can pin me, then that's the last time." She giggled and looked around the table. "I'm a tough one!" and everyone laughed. A couple of women flexed their biceps and explained how they grew so large: making bread, doing housework, farm work, etc. It struck me that English women would be absolutely scandalized with these antics, were this a British tea. But this was a friendly, happy, warm event that was to honor my mother. And she loved it.
The next topic was middle age memory loss. Heady had recently read research that low dose Ritalin helps with memory loss in elderly. Although this is correct, and a blessing to many, for a moment I envisioned all these women on Ritalin, bounding through the halls with their walkers. I could hardly contain myself.
Joyce taught us how to say (in sign language) that we will meet our friends in heaven. Everyone tried to get the hand gestures just right. To see all those dear arthritic hands moving in unison, fingers and wrists all askew, was very moving to me. Particularly, given the message that they were conveying to one another.
I asked Heady how she started giving teas. It was something that she dreamed up after she retired and moved to a Southeast mountain town. "If those people there didn't know your grandparents, they thought of you as an outsider," she said. So as a way to extend friendship to her neighbors she invited them to tea. They loved it, and after today's fare, I can see why. She really wanted to start a Bible study, but they had no interest in that. So she kept up having teas and they always came and really enjoyed themselves. "That is my missionary work," she mused aloud. "Who would have thought?"
Indeed. But what a lovely tradition.
Looking around the table, I knew that all of the ladies have emotional battle scars. One of them can't hear. Another can barely walk. One has congestive heart failure so bad that her ankles are the size of her calves. And several have gnarled fingers from arthritis. At one point, Evelyn leaned over to me and put her hand on mine.
"You have such beautiful hands!" she exclaimed.
I was shocked, seeing that I have wrecked any vestige of refinement on my hands this week putting in the floor.
"Really?"
"Oh yes," she said. And she gently stroked my arm and hand. Evelyn ran her hand longlingly at my arm. "You have lovely skin." Her wrinkled, cool, somewhat translucent hand on my wrist felt warmly comforting and I wish she would have kept her hand on mine longer.
There were cards and a gift for Mother. The women shared with her how much they love her and how her cheeriness has ministered to them. One lady drew a picture of herself making the hand gestures ("I love you!") that she makes to Mother every morning at breakfast from across the dining room. Mother was pleasantly surprised at how eager all the ladies were to make the birthday tea a nice experience for her. I was so very happy to see her glowing face, laughing at their jokes, and participating without hesitation. Gathering up the table centerpiece (two dozen yellow roses) that Heady insisted she take, she fairly floated out of the room and down the hall to her apartment.
Mother is 81 years old tomorrow. I hope I am as fortunate as she is to be surrounded by people who love me when I am her age.
Happy Birthday, Mommy.
August 24, 2010
Lovely Furballs
We are falling into a daily routine with our puppies these days. They have been very full days, what with the flooring going in, Sam's job search, and my general time-off lazing about on the couch. Here's what our days are like:
5:30 One of the boys barks to go outside to do their business. One of us bolts down the stairs to put them out. While they are outside, we wash and refill their half-gallon water dish and shake out their blanket. A good sniff around the den next, to be sure there are no nasty little surprises left anywhere, that the couch isn't bitten into, and their toys are out from under the couch.
5:45 After chasing each other around the yard, doing their business, tearing a few more iris fronds out of the ground, they come careening into the house when I whistle for them. They are usually chewing landscaping bark that we remove by taking their jaw in hand and saying, "Ah!" They open their mouths and we remove whatever half-chewed foreign object is there.
6:00 Breakfast for the boys that triggers wild jumping, crying, and wriggling about, licking my legs and pulling on my nightgown whilst I fill their food bowls.
6:10 I sit on the floor and the boys climb onto my lap to chew their toys for awhile. They really seem to enjoy snuggling into my lap. This always dissolves into one puppy on either side of my legs, digging for all they are worth to reach each other under my knees. Once contact is made by my lifting of the knees, they reach for each other's mouths, biting, showing teeth, and whining, nipping, and growling at each other. This goes on until the growling and barking grows annoying.
As a way to prevent the escalation, we have a training session.
The puppies can now sit, shake hands, and lie down. Getting down and staying down until they are released is what we're working on right now. When I tell them, "Down!" and point to the floor right in front of them, they both whine and cry as if they don't want to do it. But eventually they do lie down, for a few moments. And that is enough, for the time being. They are only three months, so while Charlie could continue on with training, Baxter isn't nearly as mature. He just wants to have a good time and be a baby.
7:00 We have to do the face and ear washing ritual. I get one of them on my lap and with a cotton ball, gently clean around their eyes and then inside their ears. They are usually very happy to sit still while their eyes are cleaned, but the ear cleaning doesn't usually occur without a whine or struggle. But after the cleaning, we snuggle for awhile. Their little bodies go limp and they lean into me, sleepy and content.
Mornings are their sleepy times. They generally sleep from about 8:30 - noon, waking up for a potty trip outside, before going back to sleep for another hour or two. This is when I can get things done around here.
In the afternoon they really come alive after their lunch. We try to put them outside for about 30 minutes at a time so they can play, run around, and get out from under our feet. They yip and fight under the bushes until they drop and chew on things they shouldn't be eating: lily fronds, bark, sprinkler heads, etc. Because it's been over 100 degrees outside this week, we bring them in pretty quickly.
In the evening when it gets cooler, they roil about yipping and chasing each other through the yard or the den. When I say to them, "Wanna go for a walk?" Charlie goes ballistic, jumping up and down, whining, and chasing his tail. Baxter slinks off under the bench and lies down, looking sadly up at me through his eyebrows. He is frightened of cars, of the leash, of birds, and of himself, most likely. It is only in the last two days that he's been able to walk any distance on the leash without throwing himself on the grass and screaming. (Not howling, screaming, as though I were skinning him alive). Charlie on the other hand, rushes to the front door and holds his head high while he trots down the sidewalk next to me.
When they get back from the walk, we go through their tricks again and get treats. That keeps them satisfied for about 20 minutes, and then they get wild again, racing through the house. That is the signal that it's time to give them their evening ice cubes out on the back patio. They chew them and throw them in the air before having fights over the select cubes.
At some point they mercifully fall into a deep sleep on the floor, their fat little legs sticking straight out behind them as they sleep on their stomachs. At 10:00, we go out for a last potty stop, and then put them in their little puppy playpen for the evening. "Nite-nite!" we tell them as we turn off the lights. They are three sheets to the wind by the time we are to the stairs.
I suppose this is how new parents of human babies count their days, too. Sam has been through all of this before, but I haven't. These little guys are my kids. I'm delighted but tired. Their sleepy heads dozing against my neck, the wet nose on the back of my ankle when I'm cooking, the fat furry feet placed in my hand when I tell them to "shake," and the big black eyes gazing into mine, make it all worthwhile.
5:30 One of the boys barks to go outside to do their business. One of us bolts down the stairs to put them out. While they are outside, we wash and refill their half-gallon water dish and shake out their blanket. A good sniff around the den next, to be sure there are no nasty little surprises left anywhere, that the couch isn't bitten into, and their toys are out from under the couch.
5:45 After chasing each other around the yard, doing their business, tearing a few more iris fronds out of the ground, they come careening into the house when I whistle for them. They are usually chewing landscaping bark that we remove by taking their jaw in hand and saying, "Ah!" They open their mouths and we remove whatever half-chewed foreign object is there.
6:00 Breakfast for the boys that triggers wild jumping, crying, and wriggling about, licking my legs and pulling on my nightgown whilst I fill their food bowls.
6:10 I sit on the floor and the boys climb onto my lap to chew their toys for awhile. They really seem to enjoy snuggling into my lap. This always dissolves into one puppy on either side of my legs, digging for all they are worth to reach each other under my knees. Once contact is made by my lifting of the knees, they reach for each other's mouths, biting, showing teeth, and whining, nipping, and growling at each other. This goes on until the growling and barking grows annoying.
As a way to prevent the escalation, we have a training session.
The puppies can now sit, shake hands, and lie down. Getting down and staying down until they are released is what we're working on right now. When I tell them, "Down!" and point to the floor right in front of them, they both whine and cry as if they don't want to do it. But eventually they do lie down, for a few moments. And that is enough, for the time being. They are only three months, so while Charlie could continue on with training, Baxter isn't nearly as mature. He just wants to have a good time and be a baby.
7:00 We have to do the face and ear washing ritual. I get one of them on my lap and with a cotton ball, gently clean around their eyes and then inside their ears. They are usually very happy to sit still while their eyes are cleaned, but the ear cleaning doesn't usually occur without a whine or struggle. But after the cleaning, we snuggle for awhile. Their little bodies go limp and they lean into me, sleepy and content.
Mornings are their sleepy times. They generally sleep from about 8:30 - noon, waking up for a potty trip outside, before going back to sleep for another hour or two. This is when I can get things done around here.
In the afternoon they really come alive after their lunch. We try to put them outside for about 30 minutes at a time so they can play, run around, and get out from under our feet. They yip and fight under the bushes until they drop and chew on things they shouldn't be eating: lily fronds, bark, sprinkler heads, etc. Because it's been over 100 degrees outside this week, we bring them in pretty quickly.
In the evening when it gets cooler, they roil about yipping and chasing each other through the yard or the den. When I say to them, "Wanna go for a walk?" Charlie goes ballistic, jumping up and down, whining, and chasing his tail. Baxter slinks off under the bench and lies down, looking sadly up at me through his eyebrows. He is frightened of cars, of the leash, of birds, and of himself, most likely. It is only in the last two days that he's been able to walk any distance on the leash without throwing himself on the grass and screaming. (Not howling, screaming, as though I were skinning him alive). Charlie on the other hand, rushes to the front door and holds his head high while he trots down the sidewalk next to me.
When they get back from the walk, we go through their tricks again and get treats. That keeps them satisfied for about 20 minutes, and then they get wild again, racing through the house. That is the signal that it's time to give them their evening ice cubes out on the back patio. They chew them and throw them in the air before having fights over the select cubes.
At some point they mercifully fall into a deep sleep on the floor, their fat little legs sticking straight out behind them as they sleep on their stomachs. At 10:00, we go out for a last potty stop, and then put them in their little puppy playpen for the evening. "Nite-nite!" we tell them as we turn off the lights. They are three sheets to the wind by the time we are to the stairs.
I suppose this is how new parents of human babies count their days, too. Sam has been through all of this before, but I haven't. These little guys are my kids. I'm delighted but tired. Their sleepy heads dozing against my neck, the wet nose on the back of my ankle when I'm cooking, the fat furry feet placed in my hand when I tell them to "shake," and the big black eyes gazing into mine, make it all worthwhile.
One down, five to go
I am sitting here on the couch with my feet up. Six of my fingernails are broken and jagged. My hands are so rough that if I handled pantyhose, the skin on my fingers would put runs in them. I have four bruises on my legs and numerous little cuts. The muscles around my knees are really, really sore and tired. My low back is a little tired and my eyes feel gritty from the sawdust that resulted from all the floor boards that I've cut. My left index fingernail is white from being hit three times (count 'em, THREE times!) with the mallet. But we have a gorgeous floor in one bedroom upstairs. It is the study, and will be used as a hobby or guest room while we live here. It is the room in which I've learned how to lay laminate flooring.
Sam and I started out together working on it, but I discovered rather quickly that unlike me, he doesn't find it terribly exciting work. (I also hatched a new research interest: how do renovation activities impact marriages?!) Doing my own renovation has very different meaning for me than it has for him. To Sam, 'having' to do it ourselves means that we are short on money, because people should be paid to come in and do this. But for me, who grew up where so many homes were over 100 years old and everyone was renovating something, it is just part of life. There is real New England pride in being able to say that you did something yourself. So I have been very eager to get started on this project.
It is a huge project! On Friday we tore up the old carpet and padding in two upstairs guest bedrooms. Sunday we got started putting down the floor following the advice of instructional videos that we found online. Start about two feet out from the far wall and then lay the boards in one at a time until there are two or three rows. Then shove the entire thing up to be plumb with the far walls. Sounded good, but it didn't work that way. We had real difficulty getting the boards to line up. Instead of tapping them into place, we were whaling away at them to get them to fit togehter. There was none of this "clicking the boards into place" kind of thing. It was brute force. After three hours we had only put down three feet of flooring. We were sweating and Sam was at the height of his element.
I called the flooring company. As I was explaining our dilemma to the good man on the phone he stopped short and said, "Is the pounding that I hear what you're doing with the flooring?" He was horrified. "You're going to ruin the boards that way. Bring in a box of your flooring and let's see how we can help you." So I jumped in the car and drove the 30 miles over to Buddy's Flooring Outlet and watched the manager pop all of the boards in my box into place in about three minutes flat. There is a technique that can't be taught and obviously, we didn't know it.
This morning I started in on the floor again, deciding that since I enjoyed it and Sam doesn't, I would happily do it alone at my own speed. Seven hours later, that study is almost done. The boards aren't on the closet floor yet, and I have one little board that needs to be cut with the coping saw to fit around the door jam. The last finishing touch will be the small baseboard round that needs to be nailed where the baseboard meets the flooring.
I am tired but happy. And somewhat overwhelmed at the magnitude of the rest of the job that is waiting. Gladly, I needn't do all the floors at one time, right now. I think I'll aim for the second guest room and the upstairs hallway before I call it quits. I have to go to work next week and I want to get some rest before school starts.
Hurray for do-it-yourself attitudes and efforts!
Sam and I started out together working on it, but I discovered rather quickly that unlike me, he doesn't find it terribly exciting work. (I also hatched a new research interest: how do renovation activities impact marriages?!) Doing my own renovation has very different meaning for me than it has for him. To Sam, 'having' to do it ourselves means that we are short on money, because people should be paid to come in and do this. But for me, who grew up where so many homes were over 100 years old and everyone was renovating something, it is just part of life. There is real New England pride in being able to say that you did something yourself. So I have been very eager to get started on this project.
It is a huge project! On Friday we tore up the old carpet and padding in two upstairs guest bedrooms. Sunday we got started putting down the floor following the advice of instructional videos that we found online. Start about two feet out from the far wall and then lay the boards in one at a time until there are two or three rows. Then shove the entire thing up to be plumb with the far walls. Sounded good, but it didn't work that way. We had real difficulty getting the boards to line up. Instead of tapping them into place, we were whaling away at them to get them to fit togehter. There was none of this "clicking the boards into place" kind of thing. It was brute force. After three hours we had only put down three feet of flooring. We were sweating and Sam was at the height of his element.
I called the flooring company. As I was explaining our dilemma to the good man on the phone he stopped short and said, "Is the pounding that I hear what you're doing with the flooring?" He was horrified. "You're going to ruin the boards that way. Bring in a box of your flooring and let's see how we can help you." So I jumped in the car and drove the 30 miles over to Buddy's Flooring Outlet and watched the manager pop all of the boards in my box into place in about three minutes flat. There is a technique that can't be taught and obviously, we didn't know it.
This morning I started in on the floor again, deciding that since I enjoyed it and Sam doesn't, I would happily do it alone at my own speed. Seven hours later, that study is almost done. The boards aren't on the closet floor yet, and I have one little board that needs to be cut with the coping saw to fit around the door jam. The last finishing touch will be the small baseboard round that needs to be nailed where the baseboard meets the flooring.
I am tired but happy. And somewhat overwhelmed at the magnitude of the rest of the job that is waiting. Gladly, I needn't do all the floors at one time, right now. I think I'll aim for the second guest room and the upstairs hallway before I call it quits. I have to go to work next week and I want to get some rest before school starts.
Hurray for do-it-yourself attitudes and efforts!
August 19, 2010
Fatigue and Satisfaction
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...
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 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.
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