Today I’m feeling a bit sad and contemplative.  Life is going so fast and I am not. I’ve lived almost half a century and yet there are so many things not yet experienced.

Things I’ve wanted to do in my lifetime:

Ø      Visit New England in the fall

Ø      Sculpture a bust

Ø      Visit New York City

Ø      See a live performance of Phantom

Ø      Cross-country ski

Ø      Water ski

Ø      Go to the Louvre

Ø      Write a book

Ø      Go to Egypt

Ø      Throw a pot

Ø      See and then hike the Grand Canyon

Ø      Hike up to Tablerock

Ø      Go on vacation to paint

Ø      Paint a Tromp L’oeil on my walls

Ø      Visit the Mayan ruins

Ø      Go to the Smithsonian

Ø      Go on a cruise

Ø      Hike the Appalachian Trail

Ø      Go camping for a week

Ø      Go to Greece

Ø      Learn to scuba dive

Ø      Scuba dive in Belize

 

I’m feeling the years stealing my dreams. Some things can never be done due to physical limitations. Some things will never be done due to financial limitations. Some things are attainable. I just need to focus my energy on achieving them.  I need to re-dream some new dreams, ones that I can live for and work for. I mourn for the loss of dreams unattainable. But I can not dwell on those.  There are yet things to experience that I have not contemplated. I need to look forward for those.

 

When the holiday season rolls around I get a little nostalgic for the simpler times. One of those memories that popped into my head this week was growing up using a party line.

 

For those of you who are unfamiliar with party lines, let me explain.  The phone company, with their infinite wisdom, decided it would create a feeling of unified community if every neighborhood  shared one phone line.  Through the miracle of early technology they were able to create different codes of rings for each household.  One family might have one ring and another two rings, for example.  Now the idea was that when your ring would jangle, you would answer the phone.  If the neighbors ring code  burst forth, you were to politely ignore the intrusion on your quiet and solitude. It was a great system.  So much room for fun and mischief.

 

I'm not really sure who was on our party line besides a neighboring family and an old widow. 

 

The family we shared with had daughters.  Those daughters had boyfriends.  Now, I was only about 8 or 9 years old, so I thought all that mushy stuff was pretty gross, and terribly interesting.  It required great skill to listen in.  First you would hear their ring (2 short jingles), then you would wait about 30 seconds.  (Pick up too quick and they would hear you, pick up too slow and they would already be done talking.) Then, pick up the receiver while holding down the button. Then, most critically, very very slowly release the button.  Most of the time we could do this without detection.  Then listen......("so..... what do you want to do?", ".......I don't care","......Can I come over?", ".......sure")  It was terribly exciting and so fun to be the spy.  Wow, teenagers sure talked about exciting things.  The trick was to not lose control and let out a snicker or a snort.  That would tip off the love-birds and end the call.

 

One of the hardest parts about having a party line was trying to run a business using it.  My dad's retail business was in this predicament.  If you needed to make a call you were supposed to slowly lift the receiver and listen for a dial tone.  If instead you heard talking you were to hang up and try again later.  On one occasion my dad was in a hurry to make an important phone call.  He lifted the phone and heard our old neighbor widow lady talking to another older lady.  He hung up and paced for about 8 seconds when he tried it again.  Still talking, so he hung up (not too quietly) and paced for about 5 seconds and picked it up again. Now, my dad was a little short-changed when they were handing out patience, and it unfortunately showed that day.

 

When he picked up the phone the last time he heard, "Who keeps picking up the phone?". My dad responded, "Well if you old heifers wouldn't tie up the phone so much I wouldn't have to."

 

"Heifers?, who are you calling heifers? Who is this?"      ~Click~   My dad replaced the receiver. And then he didn't dare use the phone, for then they would know who he was.

 

When our neighbor, 3 doors down, moved out suddenly they left cats behind. There were some serious problems in their family and I honestly believe they were doing the best they could.  They left 4 large bags of cat food open on the floor. A hole was cut in one of the windows which the cats used to enter and exit. But the cat food ran out about 2 months later  and that's when they migrated down to my house.

 

One of the cats was Mr. Burns.  an extremely large gentle old tabby.  There was also a pregnant calico named Snickers. A month later Snickers had 5 kittens. We already had a dog and 2 house cats, so we were up to 10 animals.  We knew we couldn't handle that many pets so began to find homes for them. 

 

I placed an ad in the paper stating, "free cats".  The first call was from a very nice lady who lived in a small town 5 miles away.  She wanted a "big old cat that would just lay around and be lazy".  I had the perfect cat for her!  Mr. Burns was the perfect fit.  He did everything slowly.  he walked slow, he laid down slow, even his purr was slow and steady. She came to have a look and was instantly smitten.  I was very happy that Mr. Burns found such a loving family to adopt him.  I would miss him, but I knew it was for the best. She borrowed my pet carrier and took away loveable old Mr. Burns. Two days later she dropped the carrier off at my husband's office and we put the whole thing behind us. That is until 3 days later, I came home from work one day and there was Mr. Burns, lazily sitting on my front porch. He travelled 5 miles crossing a major freeway.  I was very surprised and happy to see him and decided it was meant to be.  He needed to be our pet.

 

After finding homes for all but one of the kittens we thought it best to give away Snickers, the calico mommy cat. Snickers was a very temperamental kitty.  She loved people to pet and hold her, but turned threatening and vicious if any other animal was in sight. More than once she has chased my dog across the yard. She really needed to be the only animal in the house. I put a notice in the newsletter where I work. The next day one of the professors came to ask about the cat.  I told him this cat was kind of bi-polar and needed to be an only cat.  He assured me that his wife really wanted another cat and that they would like to try giving it a home.  I told them they could take it on a trial basis, but if it didn't work out they could bring it back. He took Snickers to his home 3 miles west of where we live.

 

Every couple of days I would get an update.  "Your cat sure doesn't like other cats around, but we'd like to try it for a few more days", and "Your cat wandered over to the neighbors house when they had a barbecue out back and they loved him!", and "your cat keeps crossing the road, I'm afraid it's going to be hit by a car."  This went on for about 4 weeks.  I heard about his food choices, his preferred sleeping arrangements, and his continued lack of socialization with the other cats. 

 

One day the professor said, "I haven't seen your cat for a few days."  I thought she must have either been hit by a car or found a nice home without any kitty competition.  I preferred to think she was happily adopted by a lonely petless elderly couple who were doting on her and giving her all the attention and warmth she craved.  I thought that this chapter was now closed and I could concentrate on my remaining pets.  About a week passed.  I came home late one afternoon exhausted after a very emotionally trying week.  As I pulled up to the garage I thought I was hallucinating.  Snickers came running out of the garage toward me. She was pretty skinny and dirty, but really happy to see me.

 

She had to cross two highways, a river, and brave below freezing weather and a snow storm.  I don't know how she did it. 

 

My dog, Oscar, followed some neighbor dogs into the back yard last year and got lost for two days. Our property is about 5 acres, but that's still pretty sad that he couldn't find his way home.  I guess cats are just better at direction than dogs are, at least than MY dog is.

I guess that’s why the phrase “cats rule and dogs drool” came to be.  But I guess I can put up with some drool and barking and chasing around the house after the cats and  chewing up the cell phone and begging from the table and slobbing on the kittens ears and….. I guess I still like my mentally challenged dog the best.

 

 

My week has been an amazing rollercoaster ride of emotions. How much change can one person adjust to? endure?

 

I have already written about the amazing birth of my first grandson. It was amazing because it happened in our family.  Births happen all the time.  You see babies wherever you go, in stores, in church, sitting in the back of passing cars, on tv, being pushed in strollers down the street,....Everywhere! There's definitely something different about it when it happens to you.  You see the miracle of it, you feel the uniqueness, and love every minute.  Tuesday was definitely a high for me, Nathan's birth day. 

 

Life sometimes feels the need to balance you out a little.  Too much good without it's counter is not going to teach you anything.  My Thursday helped balance me back a little.

 

My father, who has cancer, was scheduled for a chemotherapy treatment on Thursday morning.  I have been the person in our family to go to every doctor appointment to take notes and ask questions.  That way I can send out the information to the rest of my large family and keep them all informed.  This particular day I did not go with my dad. The doctor said that all they would do is a blood test and then the Chemo treatment, which lasts about 6 hours. I received a phone call at work from my mother.  Dad's blood test showed very low levels.  He was too sick to have the treatment.  He had 3 shots before they sent him home and told him he would have to go back for more.  Maybe he would be well enough to have the Chemo next Tuesday. It was very disappointing.  Chemo is most effective if done on schedule.  We didn't want to have any delays.

 

Later that afternoon I was driving my daughter, Abby, to the high school to drop her off and then I was going to head up to the hospital to see my new grandson.  I had almost reached the school when my cell phone rang.  It was the coach of the JV basketball team.  My son Andy had dislocated his knee. I told them I would be right there as I was only a block away. I could hear the yelling before I entered the gym.  The entire team was standing in a circle around Andy who was lying on the floor, screaming his head off.  I could see the patella bone bulging on the side of Andy's right leg. Two coaches were helping him.  They had a wheelchair and were trying to lift him up into it. One coach did his best to keep his leg at the most unpainful angle possible. Somehow they got him in the chair and proceeded to wheel him out to my waiting Explorer.  An Explorer is not a small car.  I didn't think we'd have a problem, but Andy's not a small boy.  He stands at 6 foot one inch and weighs about 200 pounds. After a few minutes we realized there was no way we were going to be able to move him into the car.  I called 911 and ask for an ambulance. It was a freezing cold night.  Andy is outside next to my car in a wheelchair, clothes dripping wet from sweat, yelling and thrashing.  I had a quilt in the car left over from watching frigid soccer games the week before and wrapped him up while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. In just a couple of moments we could hear the sirens. I prayed that the motorists would pull off to the side of the road quickly allowing the ambulance to arrive faster.

 

When they arrived they assessed the situation and decided there was no way they could move him without deadening the pain somewhat.  They would start an IV and administer morphine. It was dark and cold. Andy was dehydrated from a hard workout and his vessels were constricted with the cold.  They tried and tried to find a vein and were unsuccessful. Many people were starting to arrive at the school for the opening night of the musical. One by one people would stop to help.  A nurse, a lab tech, another EMT. Finally they started an IV in his hand and got the morphine flowing.  They then put an inflatable brace around Andy's leg and started to pump it up. Andy's kneecap, mercifully, popped back into place. They were then able to lift him out of the wheelchair and up onto the gurney.  Throughout the entire episode I held my emotions in check.  It was only as I was driving up to the hospital, for a moment, that I had a little break-down.  It broke my heart to see my baby, all six feet of him, hurting and helpless. I was so grateful for the good people who did there best to help Andy.

 

Once I got Andy home from the hospital and settled in the recliner with the TV remote in his hand, I was able to head back to the hospital once again.  This time I was going to hold my grandson for the first time. It was quite late, about 10:30, when the entire family, (minus Andy), congregated in the tiny hospital room.  We oohed and ahhed and felt the closeness of a family bonded together through the common celebration of welcoming it's newest member. I had to go out out in the hall for something and I noticed many small children, a few teens and a couple adults gathered there.  The children were sobbing as if there hearts were breaking. There was grief and unbelief in all of their faces. I realized with a start that they had just lost a family member. 

 

It really made me pause.  I was feeling the stresses of the day with all the many ups and downs?  I was mentally exhausted - until I witnessed the grief of the family in the hall. Suddenly my little trials didn't seem so unique. I had a pretty good day, considering. My day was filled with good friends, new life, a little stress and pain, and an opportunity to mother my son. I didn't have to deal with death today.  Another day I will, but not today.

 

 

 

What is it about new babies?  They don't do much. They cry and eat and mess in their diapers and just lay there. They just lay there and steal your heart and turn you into an emotional, goo-goo talking, formerly mature day-dreamer.

 

My first grandson was born yesterday.  They induced labor at 8 in the morning.  My son kept me informed all day through the miracle of text-messaging.

 

7:55 am  "We're in the hospital and we're not coming home alone"

8:09 am "She just got induced ten min ago"

noon "They just put her on oxygen"

12:15 pm "Water broke"

2:07 pm "She's a four and she has an epidural in"

2:21 pm "No baby yet and not much happening"

and then

3:42 "C section"

4:10 "Come now!"

The thoughts that run through your head as you're racing to the hospital.  Hopeful and fearful.  When we arrived the baby was already here. He breathed in meconium and had to be taken straight to NICU.

Nathan Isaiah was born at 4:15. He weighed 6 lb 1 oz and was 20 inches long. He's doing well now and should be back in his mama's room by tomorrow evening. What a cutie! My first try at being a grandma had fantastic results.

 

Last week my brother, Storyteller, reminded me of my youthful obsession with the spooky show “Night Gallery”. I’ve since been obsessed with “Twilight Zone”, “X-Files”, and  "Highlander". For some reason I am drawn to the odd, spooky, weird, and supernatural.  When a show on aliens or supernatural phenomenon comes on TV my husband will call out “your kind of show is on”.

 

One aspect of my fascination comes from that little thrill you get when you hear something that can’t possibly be true. Or can it?  It is a little thrill of fear.

 

Fear (n): synonymous with terror, dread, horror, fright, panic, alarm, trepidation, and apprehension

 

Here are some common fears.

 

“I’m Scared, But I Probably Won’t Die”

 (scary movies, rollercoaster rides, spooky stories told around a campfire)

 

You may have a hard time going to sleep because of this kind of fear, but you probably won’t be harmed physically.  My son Andy has this kind of fear. Andy is my 6 foot 1 inch sixteen year old, and for some reason the movie “Mothman” got under his skin. He refuses to go unaccompanied outside at night. When I press him to “please get my book from the car”, he will give me a “you’ve got to be kidding” look and say, “Mothman”, as if that explains it all. Last June, our family flew to Cincinnati for my oldest daughter’s graduation.  We were there for about 5 days. A week later we were back home in Idaho and Andy was looking at an Atlas of Ohio. Suddenly he let out a high-pitched squeal. I hurried to see what was the matter. He showed me how close Cincinnati was to Point Pleasant. I’m just glad he didn’t know about that before the trip.

            We watch scary movies all the time and have discovered that if things get too intense all you have to do is turn the sound off.  It’s that dang music that gets you all worked up. My daughter Lisa, who teaches Music 101, shows a segment of “Signs” to her class. It is near the end where the alien is in the house. The music changes from scary to hopeful when they finally put 2 and 2 together about the helpful qualities of good old H²O. 

 

Phobias: inexplicable or illogical fear

(claustrophobia, agoraphobia, hydrophobia, or arachnophobia)

 

I went to the grocery store last week and purchased many items, including Hobo spider traps. (Hobos are large, very fast poisonous spiders that love to migrate indoors every fall.)  When I was at the checkout a young female employee was routinely scanning item after item. She picked up the trap, flipped it over so the bar code was down, saw the picture of the Hobo on the front and promptly screamed and threw the traps into the air.  She was red in the face with embarrassment; everyone around her was red in the face from laughing.

It’s not so funny, though, when you are the one with the phobia. My illogical fear is of mice.  Spiders don’t bother me.  I have been known to squash a spider with my finger if there wasn’t a shoe handy. But let a mouse run across the room and I will do my best to keep both feet off the ground while screaming hysterically.  I have had some terrifying experiences with the ferocious little beasts that makes it perfectly logical as to why I am reduced to sobbing and making high leaps onto anything close by, but I’ll save those stories for another day.

 

“I Can’t See It" or "I Don’t Know What It Is” or Fear of the Unknown:

 

Death would come under this category.  I truly believe that if we knew what happens when we die we wouldn’t be scared of it anymore.  I don’t have this particular fear.  What I am afraid of is the pain and suffering that comes before death, but come to think of it, I have given birth to 5 children, had multiple gall bladder attacks, and have chronic back pain. I guess pain is all that bad, so there’s nothing to worry about.

             

Fear of ghosts, spirits, or any other manifestation from the other side is another one. Another of my daughters, Abby, has had a few experiences with the supernatural. She will be in her room trying to go to sleep and her lamp will suddenly light up. Also on many occasions she felt someone breathing right in her face. She was not afraid, but annoyed that she was not able to sleep.  When she told me about it I told her it was probably her deceased grandpa coming to check on her.  All she needed to do was say out loud, “Hi grandpa.  I’m glad you’re here, but I need to get some sleep so please stop breathing in my face.” The very next night she reported that it happened again and she took my advice. The breathing stopped and Abby was able to sleep.  I think maybe I would have been wide awake after that!

            I was walking my dog, Oscar, around the cemetery one afternoon while waiting for Andy to finish up with the weed-whacking there.  There was noone else in the cemetery and it was a quiet peaceful afternoon. All of a sudden, Oscar jumped and started growling and barking at one particular spot under a tree.  He circled around this spot, barking the whole time.  It was exactly the same kind of bark he used when a stranger would show up at our door.  I know there was someone there that Oscar could see, and I couldn’t. Was I scared? No. If anything I was jealous.  I would like to be able to see a little bit more than what I see. Does that make me weird?  Maybe.

 

Real Fear

I do fear for the safety of my family, that they will not be harmed or make poor choices. I am afraid that I haven’t been the kind of mother I should have been (good mothers don’t have to be good cooks, do they?).  I’m sure that if I fell off a cliff I would experience real fear as I traveled down. 

 

I believe in the scripture, “If ye are prepared, ye shall not fear.”  I guess I have a bit more preparation to do.

I love my job. I am a Geology Lab Supervisor.  At this university I oversee the weather station, web site, museum,  library and help the geology labs run smoothly.  Throughout my life I've always picked up interesting or pretty rocks and loved anything science related, so the fit was good when I came to work here. 

 

Geologists are the most down-to-earth people I know (and that's not just a pun).  I work with 6 men who have their doctorates in geology, one even did post-doc work at the Smithsonian Institute for 2 years.  On paper, a pretty intimidating group.  But these guys are funny, and kind, and just the salt of the earth.  (sorry, another pun).  I look forward to going to work every day, and that's a great feeling.

 

At work a couple of days ago I heard a story about another lab supervisor, in another department, that made me even more glad that I work here with good old hard, inanimate rocks.  If you are squeamish at all you may wish to stop reading now.

 

In the Biology department there is an Anatomy and Physiology Lab that has a cadaver disecting room.  This is where aspiring students learn gross anatomy and test themselves on their suitability to entering the medical field. A local high school biology class decided to take advantage of their close proximity to such fine facilities and took a field trip to this lab.  Our university does all it can to help out with these tours and scheduled a very knowledgable lab assistant to guide the tour. This guide took the students in to view the cadavers.  Desiring to help all he could, he used a pencil to point out various muscles. With the tip of the pencil he lifted the outer muscles to expose the deeper tissues and show the complexities of the marvelous human body. The lab assistant, seeing that the group was very impressed with his grand knowledge and expertise, paused, asked if there were any questions, and.. then... stuck the pencil in his mouth. 

 

His face froze and the color drained, leaving him as white as the cadaver next to him. He then proceeded to "toss his cookies", which seemed to have a contagious effect on many of the students in the room. 

 

Needless to say,  I'm glad I work in geology.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It used to bother me when I heard comments about how pretty or beautiful other women were.  Why?  Does their beauty somehow negate my worth?  No, the answer was just plain old jealousy.  Why should they have that look and not I? I used to yearn for someone to tell me how beautiful or pretty I am. (Parents and daughters exempt) It never happened, and never will. At least not in the way I used to wish for. Why is there an obsession with beauty anyway?

 

Test studies show that children think prettier teachers are nicer. “Beautiful people” are more likely to get hired, promotions, dates, compliments, and smiled at (unless a homely person is looking at them jealously).

 

Is there a correlation between your weight and beauty?  You bet your thunder-thighs there is?  My daughter, Joni, was with a group of college students the other day when one of the boys was trying to describe a girl he just met.  He said, “she was very beautiful, very thin” three times until Joni said sardonically, “we got it, she was beautiful and thin.” 

 

This obsession with beauty spills over into an “thin” obsession.  We’ve all seen the tabloid cover shots of cadaverous actresses, role models for the teenage masses.  If you wear a size 12 or larger you are somehow less desirable.

 

I guess I have been thinking about this a lot this past week because of the death of a former classmate.  She didn’t really stand a chance in this world of shallow values. Cindy Jo was a nice quiet girl from a poor single parent family.  She lived in a one room house with her mother and a brother who had a hard time staying out of jail.  She was overweight and not what the world would call beautiful.  Some cruel boys in first grade christened her “Porky Pig” and the nickname stuck. I always tried to be pleasant to her, but we were never what you would call friends.  I’ve seen her on and off over the years. She graduated from high school, went to work on the same factory line as her mother, and never moved from the one room house.  Her health declined, her kidneys failed, and at the age of 48 she died. When her picture appeared in the paper in the death notices it was a glamour shot.  You know those photo shoots where you get all dolled up and the photographer does his best to make you look like a movie star. There she was, looking as much like the world’s definition of beauty as she could, obviously still yearning for society's definition of beauty.

 

A quote that I use a lot is “Life isn’t fair, get used to it”.  Never has it applied more than to Cindy Jo.  I hope that the imbalance of her, and my, shortcomings are somehow counterpoised with other matters of worth. Maybe those of us of the plainer folk variety are more interesting, more thoughtful, more deep. Maybe we are funnier, more caring, more kind.  There should be a trade-off, right? 

I had on my mind to write about something entirely different today.  Then I took a peek at my brother's space and read about his experience wrestling in high school.  It was too coincidental that just last night my daughter had stopped by and told me a little concerning HER high school athletic career.

 

A little background:

Joni, my 20 year old, is a natural and accomplished athlete.  She had always been very tall for her age growing up so we put her in every sport we could.   She excelled.  She had the perfect body for basketball and volleyball. She stopped growing finally at 5'11". She had the perfect mind for it. She graduated high school with a 4.0 taking honors classes.  She was a smart player.  She had the perfect "drive" to excell in sports. "Drive" or "being competitive" was an inherited trait she got from her father. She always wanted to be the best and would do whatever it took to keep herself at the top of her game.  She made it onto the 8th grade volleyball and basketball teams as a 7th grader.  Something that had not been done in our district before.  As an 8th grader she was the top scorer in basketball in the entire district.  That's when the problems began.

 

Going into her Freshman year the high school basketball coach approached us, as parents, and ask if he could take Joni up to the high school team. We were flattered. We were happy that she would have such an awesome opportunity. We were glad that her talents were being recognized, so we said okay.  Since volleyball season is first we expected Joni to play 9th grade volleyball and then high school basketball. One day into the V-ball tryouts, the high school volleyball coach called us up and asked us to  let Joni come and play on her team.  In two seperate sports she had jumped onto the varsity team, skipping both the 9th grade and the Jr. Varsity teams.  On paper it sounds like a dream come true.  It was more like a nightmare.

 

Joni's best friend, also an athlete, was jealous.  The friendship ended. Her other friends forgot about her.  She was so involved with the team she wasn't around for fun.  The older girl's resented her, especially the ones on Jr. Varsity. Their parents resented us. Rumors flew that we had called the coach, begging him to take our daughter up.  Joni was a target.  For four years she was a target. I will always regret letting her jump ahead.  She was still the best athlete on the team, but her emotional state was a wreck.

 

She decided not to play inter-college sports, grades are too important to her. She is attending a university that allows her to play sports competitively, but just for fun. Yesterday she was talking to a college friend and the subject of high school came up.  The friend confided that she heard some of Joni's former high school team mates were still saying negative things about her. Joni said, "I just want to get away from here and go where no one knows me".

 

I guess one lesson Joni learned from her trial was compassion.  She worked with handicapped kids during high school, (they didn't judge her) and is going to start nursing school next summer. I heard so many people say that high school was the best time of their life.  I'm sad for them.   High school was a refining fire for me and my family. Something to endure and try to learn from. But I'll always believe that the best is still coming.