As a kid, I always considered myself blessed. I was undeservedly privileged. That's not to say that we had money because we didn't, but I was loved and well-cared-for. The Covill kids were not spoiled by any sense of the word; however, we were privileged by living in an intact family with old-fashioned values and were tight-knit. Were it not for that, I'm not sure what would have become of us children. We moved around so much with the Navy that there were no real roots except for my grandparents' farm that was always our home base. As young people, all three of the Covill siblings had their own personal issues caused by circumstances beyond our control. Still, through it all, we went places and did things that most American kids don't get a chance to do, and Mom made it her mission to point that out on a regular basis. We had an enviably firm family foundation.
I, however, believed myself to be above the instability of the moving fray. I endeavored to be the "good kid". And I was, for the most part. I always did what I thought I was supposed to do....what people wanted me to do...what was "right" and "good" to do. It worked for me. As it happens, I was in possession of some intelligence and some talent here and there. Add that to the angelic attitude, and you have the makings of what my mother sometimes called the Model Child. As it turned out, I was the Model Child, which became both a blessing and a curse. Things came easy to me. Even at a very young age, I observed that I didn't have to work very hard in school, and people genuinely liked me. I determined that must be because GOD liked me, too. God wanted me to succeed. God gave me the gifts that helped me do it, and if God was for me, who could be against me? That's what I mean about being undeservedly privileged. I really didn't have to do anything to be on a pedestal of positive recognition in school or in life. That was my immature reasoning about my life as a kid. It truly was a gift. If things went well for me, it must be because God had ordained it for me.
An example of this sort of thing came when I was in, I think, third or fourth grade. We lived in Danville, Illinois. (This was in the mid-50s.) The Community Chest Foundation, or some such civic non-profit organization, held a yearly "Red Feather" campaign to raise funds for local charitable endeavors, like orphanages and the like. Somewhere in town, there was a sign with a big feather painted on it. As funds were raised, red would be added to the feather like a thermometer, showing how much money was raised each day. The hook was that young women were nominated to be Miss Red Feather. People voted for the gal of their choice by donating money. Whoever raised the most money became Miss Red Feather for that year. And, to squeeze as much money out of the community as they could, schools were encouraged to participate, with students bringing in coins to place as their votes for LITTLE Miss Red Feather. It was a competition, of sorts, and somehow, I was nominated as one of the candidates. (I have no idea why or by whom, or even if I was part of the competition just for my school or district-wide.) I didn't know anyone in the school other than my own classmates. I was quiet and not particularly popular among the kids. I don't remember having to do one single thing to campaign or sell myself as a candidate. Still, I was leading in votes during much of the week-long campaign. I thought that was a pretty big honor. I felt special. Even better that absolutely nothing was expected of me. If I won, maybe I'd get my picture in the local newspaper as Little Miss Red Feather. If I lost, I wasn't out a thing. Easy-peasy. As the week was coming to a close, there was a last-minute push to get in the monetary votes to sway the election. I was nosed out by someone I didn't know. I didn't win, but I had learned an important lesson: I had to be the luckiest kid on the planet just to be that big a part of something I didn't even know about, and I didn't even have to work at it.
I developed an attitude that things should just fall into my lap because, well, for many years, they just did. I'd let God guide me by allowing good things to come my way. I wasn't aware it was happening or how very dangerous that was to my psyche. Most people, I've discovered, find a passion in life. They know what their dreams are and what they are striving for. In short, they know what they want. They set goals by which to achieve them. It gives them a drive and motivation to launch into the adult world with purpose. I, however, just did what I was supposed to do and let life just happen to me. No plan. No dreams. No real idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up, other than just be a super wife, and super mom to children, with all of us supported by a husband/father who loved us and treated us as his treasures, because that was the way things were for my parents. (Oh boy! Was I in for an education about the institution of marriage!) I scratched many vocations off my list of possibilities as unreasonable. I didn't really want to become a teacher, but that's what I became...because that's what my parents were. (Mom always told me that teaching or nursing were "respectable" jobs for women.) I wasn't encouraged to reach for the stars. Just to raise my hand toward that which was reachable.
As a result, it is inordinately difficult for me to fill out, say, dating profiles because I don't know what I want. I only know that I will recognize it when I see it, and that won't come quickly. If I were asked the cliche' "If you could go anywhere in the world that you wanted, where would you go?", I wouldn't be able to answer. I want to go everywhere...and nowhere. It's too complicated a question for me to take lightly, and I would second-guess myself out of any choice I made just before I gave up in frustration because, God knows, I would never have that pot of gold at the end of my rainbow to make it possible. It's nonsense anyway. Totally not feasible because I am old and poor and...well...why put myself through the agony of pressing my face to the window and drool over what's inside when I know I can't have it? I wouldn't even try.
Just before I retired from teaching in 2009, my daughter challenged me to think about a dream of what I wanted my retirement to be like. "What is one thing that you've always wanted to have or do?" Honestly, I couldn't think of a thing other than just getting through the time before I could finally retire. I think I mumbled something like, "Well, I've always wanted a piano..." which was followed by, "But I don't have room for one, and I can't play well enough to justify the expense of getting one." I knew my daughter was looking for something more ethereal in thought; something more grandiose and bucket-listy. Part of me wondered if she thought she could supply me with whatever my dream was. For that reason, and others, I simply could not commit. And even if she were in the position of granting my wishes, I didn't have any idea what I wanted. Still don't. It's almost a mental illness with me. I can expound on all of the "should's" in life. I generally have an opinion about nearly everything. But I can't tell you what I want for my own future. God quit making my path easy many decades ago. I grew up. I became a realist...or maybe a fatalist, still letting life just happen as it will without any push or drive from me. In some respects, I gave up trying to make things better for myself because...well...if God wanted it for me, it would happen without any effort from me, right?? I gave up trying to have or do anything other than what was my lot in life.
As I've grown older and must contend with the infirmities that come with the "golden years", I have considered myself somewhat of a victim, partially because of the pervasive lack of mind control that I've been discussing. I had a ruptured brain aneurysm, then I had a heart attack, then I developed back problems that have affected my mobility and ability to do many things without help. With no exercise and my love of food, I allowed myself to get heavy. What else did I have in life? I took it all because that's what I was supposed to do: endure without complaining, like my mother and my grandmother did. Just keep plugging with no plan. Joined with the indignities of a major scar on my head with little hair to cover it, and having to take pills every day of my life, was the fact that I hated the way I looked. It colored everything about how I felt about me, and about my life. I had to accept that I wasn't young and sexy anymore, nor was I in the least bit easy to look at. I couldn't even look at pictures of myself. Not even the good ones. I believed myself to be totally lacking in will power, so why even try?
I don't know what got into me. Back in late May, something just came over me that said, "You don't have to live like this. You don't have to be a victim of your own weaknesses". I decided to put myself on a diet because my weight is something I CAN control. Oh, I've dieted before--usually Weight Watchers--but I never, ever stayed with the program long enough to lose all of the weight that needed to come off. It wasn't long before all of the weight came back on because I wasn't even trying to be good anymore. I still had my WW materials from my previous attempt years before. I can no longer afford the meetings, but my daughter and son-in-law can, and they are succeeding nicely. I figured I could rely on them for the moral support that meetings would give me. So, I gathered the old WW program information I had stashed in my bookcase, set a day of the week to be my official weigh-in day, went grocery shopping to stock up on the things I knew I would need, and began a journey to lose weight.
As ludicrous as it sounds for someone who has just floated in life, I have discovered strength I didn't know I had. For some reason, I'm still on that diet. I'm still losing. I've not let myself stray far from the regimen, nor have I lost heart or given up. For once, I'm TRYING. And it's working! I've lost 27 pounds (with many more to go), but far from feeling like I am being cheated out of the things I love to eat, I feel empowered by every ounce that comes off. I look better. I feel better. I can reach parts of my body that I haven't been able to reach well for quite awhile. I know I have lowered my risk for diabetes and have probably helped my blood pressure considerably.
Best of all, I have come to understand the intricacies of the emotions that have defeated me at my core for a lifetime. It only took 70 years to get there! Those complications that took so long to develop probably won't be resolved in what's left of my life, but at least I comprehend them better. I accept that God hasn't singled me out for special treatment, and that He isn't going to save me from myself. That part, I must do alone. As Dr. Phil would say, "If you are in a boat that is sinking, pray to God...but row for the shore." There is value in trying. Finally, I'm rowing!
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Hallowe'en, 2017
Perhaps you think I made a typographical error in the title of this post. Au contraire! Once upon a time, when I was a kid many decades ago, the word Halloween was spelled with an apostrophe between the e's. That is because the original name for the occasion was All Hallows Evening, or Hallowed Even. The terms were consolidated into one word, and the apostrophe was inserted to show that the "v" was left out. And somewhere along the line between my childhood and now, the apostrophe was dropped. How do I know this, you might ask? I know because the holiday term appeared on more than one spelling list in my grade school days. In order to be correctly spelled, it had to be capitalized, and it had to contain that blasted apostrophe. Miss either one, and the word was counted WRONG on the test. Horrors! I was a Spelling Nazi who never missed words on tests, except that one. And now, everyone thinks I'm nuts when I tell them it used to be spelled with an apostrophe. The response is usually along the lines of, "No, it wasn't", or worse, "How old are you, anyway"?
It has become somewhat traditional for me to post an after-action report about the nightly visitors that darken my door on Halloween. Here are my observations for 2017:
1. This is the first year that the bat wreath hung on my front door actually did its job. The wreath, purchased at a Covered Bridge Festival craft fair many years ago, has a battery-powered motion sensor. When anyone approaches the door (or even drives by on the street, it seems) the bat laughs maniacally while its red eyes flash. Most years, kids hardly even notice it. That may be because I've always had the top half of the storm door windows pulled up to keep the cold air out. Yesterday, I endeavored to pull the window up for the winter but thought I'd leave it down just for one more day. Thus, when it laughs, the kids can hear it. Every single kid or group of kids that came to the door tonight saw it and heard it. One small group of costumed young ladies even shrieked when they saw it. Two more girls--maybe aged 12 or so--actually screamed and ran away from the door. We laughed and laughed. Even the parents waiting on the sidewalk thought it was funny. Yes! Finally, the wreath did what I intended for it to do--although, in truth, it's pretty tame. Note to self: remember to leave the storm door window down until after Halloween from now on.
2. One group of little ghoulies showed up on my stoop, right ahead of their young parents with what looked like young Chocolate Labrador dogs. Except the dogs were in costume. They were disguised as Dalmations. Couldn't fool me!
3. A majority of my early trick-or-treaters tonight were bigger kids--like 6th grade or older. Usually, the early ones are the little kids, but not this year. I began to wonder if it was too cold for parents to want their little ones to be outside. (It's only 42 degrees. At least it's not raining or windy.) One older kid said, "I'm 16 now, so this is my last year." Sixteen? Heck, my parents made us quit along about age 10 or 12. Not fair!
4. One family came roaring up in the yard in a golf cart. How very decadent!
5. My very first trick-or-treater was a mother. She was wearing some sort of a rabbit costume, and she came before the hours declared by the Town of Plainfield. She had three bags: one for her, and one each for her two children, neither of which were with her. "One's in trouble, and the other one is sick," she said. I thought to myself, "So the one who is in trouble still gets Halloween candy anyway, without having to go out in the cold to work for it?" Hey...where can I get a gig like that???
6. One father and son combo that came to the door turned out to be one of my former students who lives just down the street from me, and his soon-to-be 9-year-old son. He stood at the door and talked for a bit, then insisted that I take down his phone number after he asked if I had any family nearby. He kept saying, "If you need help with anything, I want you to call me. I would love to help you out. I really mean it." I assured him I would. What a sweetheart!
Funny story about this young man. I had his older brother in 4th grade, then 5th grade, then 6th grade...and when he was about to graduate to the Jr-Sr high school, he discovered that I was transferring there, as well. His parting words to me were: "Gee whiz, Ms. McNary. Are you going to follow me to college??"
The boys had an older sister whom I didn't have in class. When she graduated, she left this note in her Senior Last Will and Testament: "To the teachers, I bequeath my brothers. And if you think the older one is bad, wait until you get the younger one!" The younger one was the one at my door tonight. I never had a single problem with him in class, although I'd heard stories. Ah, that's sisterly love for ya!
7. Every year, I fill up a big bowl with candy and put it by the door, and every year, I have at least one-fourth of the candy left. Some years, I tried to count the number of ghosties that came to the door, just to have an idea of how many I should count on in the future, but I always lost track after 30 or so. Still, it never seemed that I had as many as, say, 60 kids. This year, I splurged and bought a bag of the expensive stuff. You know, the M and Ms and Twixes and Milky Ways and Snickers kind of good stuff. The bag said there were 60 pieces. No problem! The candy sat around here for a couple of weeks, and although I did sit down and calculate the number of Weight Watcher points in each piece, I never ate a single one. I figured I was set for an evening of doorway marauders. However, even though I only gave out ONE piece of candy per kid, I ran out of the good stuff and had to dig into my own stash of York Peppermint Patties to get me through the final count. Oh well!
~~On a non-Halloween note, I went to Walgreen's today to get my flu shot. Two years ago, my pulmonologist told me he wanted me to get flu shots every year. He also wanted me to get a Prevnar13 (pneumonia) vaccination. I was under the impression that it wasn't wise to get both at the same time, so I got a flu shot and determined that I would get the pneumonia shot another time. Last year, I never did get around to going for either one. Today, my to-do list included getting this year's flu shot, and when I got there, I asked the technician about getting the other one. He said there would be no problem with getting both at once, so I decided just to do it. One in each arm.
The technician asked which side I normally sleep on. I indicated that I do both sides but sleep more on my left side than my right. He said that people complain more about soreness from the pneumonia shot than the flu shot, so he injected the left arm with flu vaccine and the right arm with pneumonia vaccine. Honest to goodness, I didn't even feel the flu shot. The pneumonia one stung a bit going in...but...guess which arm is quite sore tonight and will probably cause problems with sleep? Yep...the flu-shot arm. The one that isn't supposed to hurt as much. The one that I will be trying to sleep on. Well, what did I expect? I mean, it IS Halloween, after all. Trick or treat! Guess the trick's on me. Now, where's my treat???
It has become somewhat traditional for me to post an after-action report about the nightly visitors that darken my door on Halloween. Here are my observations for 2017:
1. This is the first year that the bat wreath hung on my front door actually did its job. The wreath, purchased at a Covered Bridge Festival craft fair many years ago, has a battery-powered motion sensor. When anyone approaches the door (or even drives by on the street, it seems) the bat laughs maniacally while its red eyes flash. Most years, kids hardly even notice it. That may be because I've always had the top half of the storm door windows pulled up to keep the cold air out. Yesterday, I endeavored to pull the window up for the winter but thought I'd leave it down just for one more day. Thus, when it laughs, the kids can hear it. Every single kid or group of kids that came to the door tonight saw it and heard it. One small group of costumed young ladies even shrieked when they saw it. Two more girls--maybe aged 12 or so--actually screamed and ran away from the door. We laughed and laughed. Even the parents waiting on the sidewalk thought it was funny. Yes! Finally, the wreath did what I intended for it to do--although, in truth, it's pretty tame. Note to self: remember to leave the storm door window down until after Halloween from now on.
2. One group of little ghoulies showed up on my stoop, right ahead of their young parents with what looked like young Chocolate Labrador dogs. Except the dogs were in costume. They were disguised as Dalmations. Couldn't fool me!
3. A majority of my early trick-or-treaters tonight were bigger kids--like 6th grade or older. Usually, the early ones are the little kids, but not this year. I began to wonder if it was too cold for parents to want their little ones to be outside. (It's only 42 degrees. At least it's not raining or windy.) One older kid said, "I'm 16 now, so this is my last year." Sixteen? Heck, my parents made us quit along about age 10 or 12. Not fair!
4. One family came roaring up in the yard in a golf cart. How very decadent!
5. My very first trick-or-treater was a mother. She was wearing some sort of a rabbit costume, and she came before the hours declared by the Town of Plainfield. She had three bags: one for her, and one each for her two children, neither of which were with her. "One's in trouble, and the other one is sick," she said. I thought to myself, "So the one who is in trouble still gets Halloween candy anyway, without having to go out in the cold to work for it?" Hey...where can I get a gig like that???
6. One father and son combo that came to the door turned out to be one of my former students who lives just down the street from me, and his soon-to-be 9-year-old son. He stood at the door and talked for a bit, then insisted that I take down his phone number after he asked if I had any family nearby. He kept saying, "If you need help with anything, I want you to call me. I would love to help you out. I really mean it." I assured him I would. What a sweetheart!
Funny story about this young man. I had his older brother in 4th grade, then 5th grade, then 6th grade...and when he was about to graduate to the Jr-Sr high school, he discovered that I was transferring there, as well. His parting words to me were: "Gee whiz, Ms. McNary. Are you going to follow me to college??"
The boys had an older sister whom I didn't have in class. When she graduated, she left this note in her Senior Last Will and Testament: "To the teachers, I bequeath my brothers. And if you think the older one is bad, wait until you get the younger one!" The younger one was the one at my door tonight. I never had a single problem with him in class, although I'd heard stories. Ah, that's sisterly love for ya!
7. Every year, I fill up a big bowl with candy and put it by the door, and every year, I have at least one-fourth of the candy left. Some years, I tried to count the number of ghosties that came to the door, just to have an idea of how many I should count on in the future, but I always lost track after 30 or so. Still, it never seemed that I had as many as, say, 60 kids. This year, I splurged and bought a bag of the expensive stuff. You know, the M and Ms and Twixes and Milky Ways and Snickers kind of good stuff. The bag said there were 60 pieces. No problem! The candy sat around here for a couple of weeks, and although I did sit down and calculate the number of Weight Watcher points in each piece, I never ate a single one. I figured I was set for an evening of doorway marauders. However, even though I only gave out ONE piece of candy per kid, I ran out of the good stuff and had to dig into my own stash of York Peppermint Patties to get me through the final count. Oh well!
~~On a non-Halloween note, I went to Walgreen's today to get my flu shot. Two years ago, my pulmonologist told me he wanted me to get flu shots every year. He also wanted me to get a Prevnar13 (pneumonia) vaccination. I was under the impression that it wasn't wise to get both at the same time, so I got a flu shot and determined that I would get the pneumonia shot another time. Last year, I never did get around to going for either one. Today, my to-do list included getting this year's flu shot, and when I got there, I asked the technician about getting the other one. He said there would be no problem with getting both at once, so I decided just to do it. One in each arm.
The technician asked which side I normally sleep on. I indicated that I do both sides but sleep more on my left side than my right. He said that people complain more about soreness from the pneumonia shot than the flu shot, so he injected the left arm with flu vaccine and the right arm with pneumonia vaccine. Honest to goodness, I didn't even feel the flu shot. The pneumonia one stung a bit going in...but...guess which arm is quite sore tonight and will probably cause problems with sleep? Yep...the flu-shot arm. The one that isn't supposed to hurt as much. The one that I will be trying to sleep on. Well, what did I expect? I mean, it IS Halloween, after all. Trick or treat! Guess the trick's on me. Now, where's my treat???
Thursday, October 12, 2017
The Art of Grieving
Some things that I've observed about grief situations:
1. It is not uncommon for the bereaved to end up comforting others who are supposed to be doing the comforting. The phenomenon has something to do with the attitude of the one who has lost a loved one. We go to do something or say something to try to help the one who is grieving, hoping beyond hope that he/she isn't simply a pool of blubbering flesh. We don't know what to do, in that case. And when they seem to be holding up, we are relieved...refreshed, even...to be able to say that we went to visit and all seems well. Truth is, all is NOT well, but in our efforts to navigate the mine fields of grief situations, we tiptoe carefully, and when the survivors seem to be sane and dealing with things in public, we sigh, but we leave encouraged. What we don't understand is that people who are in the early stages of loss are often numb. They are functioning on auto-pilot, just getting through each day because they have to, not because they feel confident that they can.
2. It is often quite difficult for those who are grieving to ask for help. This is particularly true of people who have lost loved ones suddenly or unexpectedly. They have, up to now, lived their lives independent of needing others to supply anything to them. They now feel weak, vulnerable, and wondering what will become of them without the person they lost. Even those whose loved ones passed after a long and protracted battle for life are left questioning themselves. "I have to do this alone now. I should be able to handle this because I've known the end was coming...yet I feel so unprepared." Asking for help only affirms their fears that they can't handle things by themselves. They can. They just can't grasp it yet.
3. Everyone comes rushing to help in the beginning...and then...after the funeral is over and the dust has settled, they slowly begin to disappear into the mist. That's when the grief gets rough. "I have all of these bills. The family income has gone way down. I have these kids to feed, but the lawn needs to be mowed and the floors are dirty, and I am too emotionally exhausted to handle it all." Yeah...that.
4. Anyone of any age at all has lost someone to the inevitable fate of death. Those trying to comfort those who mourn find themselves recalling their own feelings when their loved one died. We share those times in an effort to let the bereaved understand that we are with them in spirit. I'm not certain it is always helpful, but it is normal.
5. People who are grieving are in emotional pain that can also affect the physical body. Emotional pain hurts. We want it to go away as soon as possible so we can function normally once again. We seek one day without crying...one day without aching...one day when we can actually laugh again and forget all of that nasty grief stuff...but it hangs on. We draw lines in the sand, hoping or expecting that tomorrow will be better. And when it isn't, we get impatient with ourselves. We spank ourselves for not getting well sooner, or (conversely) spank ourselves for daring to have a moment of happiness when the loves of our life have died. How DARE I smile? How DARE I not carry on as if all is well?
6. Not knowing what to say to someone who is bereft is an awful burden. What if I say something that reminds him/her how hurt he/she is? What if I say something that makes things worse? How should I handle this?? I have a list of things that we say that I consider offensive even if well-intended.
A. "You have my thoughts and prayers." Great. It is comforting to know that people are thinking of you and praying for you--but no amount of thinking or praying is going to change your reality. Maybe it's better just to express the truth. "I can only imagine how much you must hurt." Or "My heart is with you now and always." Or "I'll be over tomorrow from 2:00-4:00 to watch the kids so you can take a nap. Let me know if it won't work for you."
B. "He/She is in a better place." I particularly hate this one. Better for whom? I'm pretty sure the one who died wasn't particularly happy to do so; I'm positive that the ones left behind would have preferred another outcome! The "better place" thing sounds religious and assumes that the deceased lived a saintly life. No one does! Having an "angel" watching over us sounds attractive, but maybe we'd rather have the angel in person on earth!
C. "Everything will get better in time." While this is true to a degree, it seems to me like telling a child whose puppy just died, "Don't worry. We'll get another puppy." The raw grief that we feel doesn't ever go away. It gets put in another part of the brain, in time, to be taken out only when we feel safe enough to do so. I've seen it. I've lived it.
7. Grief is not reserved just for those who have experienced a death in their lives. It also happens with divorces, betrayals, and personal hurts that come at a level so deep that we can't always talk about them. I'm not speaking about someone who merely gossips about you. I'm talking about something that happens that hits you to the very core of who you are. Situations in which you were so emotionally invested that someone unilaterally changing the relationship rules throws you into an emotional tailspin over a long period of time. As surely as you will experience grief due to a death, you will also experience one or more of these. Not if, but when. Prepare your heart.
I am writing all of this because yet another of my friends has lost a loved one. Her wife died, suddenly, while being treated for throat cancer. (Yes, I said HER wife.) They had kids together. The funeral was today. I notice that my friend seems impatient with herself because things aren't getting any easier yet. Holy Moses...it is waaaay to early for her to be ready for things to get easier. She has a long row to hoe, and she needs to give herself permission to grieve. If she doesn't, it will follow her for years. (Hint, hint, to my niece Lynn.)
I ache for the grieving and hope for the best. It is the unfortunate part of life. We are assured the "pursuit of happiness" by the Constitution. Doesn't mean we will always get it.
1. It is not uncommon for the bereaved to end up comforting others who are supposed to be doing the comforting. The phenomenon has something to do with the attitude of the one who has lost a loved one. We go to do something or say something to try to help the one who is grieving, hoping beyond hope that he/she isn't simply a pool of blubbering flesh. We don't know what to do, in that case. And when they seem to be holding up, we are relieved...refreshed, even...to be able to say that we went to visit and all seems well. Truth is, all is NOT well, but in our efforts to navigate the mine fields of grief situations, we tiptoe carefully, and when the survivors seem to be sane and dealing with things in public, we sigh, but we leave encouraged. What we don't understand is that people who are in the early stages of loss are often numb. They are functioning on auto-pilot, just getting through each day because they have to, not because they feel confident that they can.
2. It is often quite difficult for those who are grieving to ask for help. This is particularly true of people who have lost loved ones suddenly or unexpectedly. They have, up to now, lived their lives independent of needing others to supply anything to them. They now feel weak, vulnerable, and wondering what will become of them without the person they lost. Even those whose loved ones passed after a long and protracted battle for life are left questioning themselves. "I have to do this alone now. I should be able to handle this because I've known the end was coming...yet I feel so unprepared." Asking for help only affirms their fears that they can't handle things by themselves. They can. They just can't grasp it yet.
3. Everyone comes rushing to help in the beginning...and then...after the funeral is over and the dust has settled, they slowly begin to disappear into the mist. That's when the grief gets rough. "I have all of these bills. The family income has gone way down. I have these kids to feed, but the lawn needs to be mowed and the floors are dirty, and I am too emotionally exhausted to handle it all." Yeah...that.
4. Anyone of any age at all has lost someone to the inevitable fate of death. Those trying to comfort those who mourn find themselves recalling their own feelings when their loved one died. We share those times in an effort to let the bereaved understand that we are with them in spirit. I'm not certain it is always helpful, but it is normal.
5. People who are grieving are in emotional pain that can also affect the physical body. Emotional pain hurts. We want it to go away as soon as possible so we can function normally once again. We seek one day without crying...one day without aching...one day when we can actually laugh again and forget all of that nasty grief stuff...but it hangs on. We draw lines in the sand, hoping or expecting that tomorrow will be better. And when it isn't, we get impatient with ourselves. We spank ourselves for not getting well sooner, or (conversely) spank ourselves for daring to have a moment of happiness when the loves of our life have died. How DARE I smile? How DARE I not carry on as if all is well?
6. Not knowing what to say to someone who is bereft is an awful burden. What if I say something that reminds him/her how hurt he/she is? What if I say something that makes things worse? How should I handle this?? I have a list of things that we say that I consider offensive even if well-intended.
A. "You have my thoughts and prayers." Great. It is comforting to know that people are thinking of you and praying for you--but no amount of thinking or praying is going to change your reality. Maybe it's better just to express the truth. "I can only imagine how much you must hurt." Or "My heart is with you now and always." Or "I'll be over tomorrow from 2:00-4:00 to watch the kids so you can take a nap. Let me know if it won't work for you."
B. "He/She is in a better place." I particularly hate this one. Better for whom? I'm pretty sure the one who died wasn't particularly happy to do so; I'm positive that the ones left behind would have preferred another outcome! The "better place" thing sounds religious and assumes that the deceased lived a saintly life. No one does! Having an "angel" watching over us sounds attractive, but maybe we'd rather have the angel in person on earth!
C. "Everything will get better in time." While this is true to a degree, it seems to me like telling a child whose puppy just died, "Don't worry. We'll get another puppy." The raw grief that we feel doesn't ever go away. It gets put in another part of the brain, in time, to be taken out only when we feel safe enough to do so. I've seen it. I've lived it.
7. Grief is not reserved just for those who have experienced a death in their lives. It also happens with divorces, betrayals, and personal hurts that come at a level so deep that we can't always talk about them. I'm not speaking about someone who merely gossips about you. I'm talking about something that happens that hits you to the very core of who you are. Situations in which you were so emotionally invested that someone unilaterally changing the relationship rules throws you into an emotional tailspin over a long period of time. As surely as you will experience grief due to a death, you will also experience one or more of these. Not if, but when. Prepare your heart.
I am writing all of this because yet another of my friends has lost a loved one. Her wife died, suddenly, while being treated for throat cancer. (Yes, I said HER wife.) They had kids together. The funeral was today. I notice that my friend seems impatient with herself because things aren't getting any easier yet. Holy Moses...it is waaaay to early for her to be ready for things to get easier. She has a long row to hoe, and she needs to give herself permission to grieve. If she doesn't, it will follow her for years. (Hint, hint, to my niece Lynn.)
I ache for the grieving and hope for the best. It is the unfortunate part of life. We are assured the "pursuit of happiness" by the Constitution. Doesn't mean we will always get it.
Thursday, October 5, 2017
Confessions of a Reluctant Non-Recycler
Once upon a time, I had a garage. It was just a one-car garage, but a garage nonetheless. When I first moved to this little house-on-a-slab, one of the first things I bought was a set of three bins that nested on top of each other, to be used for recycling paper, plastic, and cans. It was in the garage along with just about everything else that wouldn't fit in the house. I used them...a little.
Plainfield's trash service provided curbside recycling, for which residents are charged a minimal fee with the water/sewer bill. And for said recycling, they provided big open tubs. BRIGHT ORANGE big open tubs. At one point, Plainfield changed trash service companies. The new company provided their own bright orange recycling tubs, so then I had two of them. The three bins, two bright orange open tubs, and my garbage cans all resided in the garage. Keeping them there meant I didn't have to go out in the cold to deposit the trash bags in them, nor did I have to worry about critters getting into stuff. It was easy enough to drag the trash cans to the curb on trash day...but organizing the recycling was a pain. No one ever explained how to do it. Does the waste paper need to go in plastic bags at the bottom of the tub so it won't get wet while waiting for the trash truck in the rain? Do the cans need to be washed out and de-labeled? Will steel or aluminum cans recycle the same? Did I need to check every plastic container to see if it was recyclable or not? It got to be WORK, and I got worse and worse about it as time went on.
And then the garage went bye-bye. My daughter and her two young children came to live with me. My little house had three small bedrooms, the smallest of which I was using as a radio shack/computer room. That left two bedrooms. For a whole year, my granddaughter slept in my water bed with me, and my grandson slept in a double bed with his mother. It didn't work well. The adults were putting the children to bed at their appointed hour, then tiptoeing around to get in bed when it was our turn. The children, being children, were thrashers. The adults weren't sleeping well. Finally, daughter and I decided that the garage needed to become Grandma's room, with a double bed, radios, and desktop computer; my old room with the half-bath became my daughter's room. The next largest bedroom became the granddaughter's bedroom, and the smallest one became my grandson's room with a Spiderman loft bed to double his usable space. We hired a relative in the construction business to transform the garage into a big room. Everything in the former garage was moved to the covered patio. It took years to get it all sorted and disbursed. YEARS...
Without a garage in which to stash all of the equipment, recycling went by the wayside. Then, in a single stroke, daughter and grandchildren departed. So there I was, all alone, having spent $10,000 (much of which came from my daughter) with no garage and four bedrooms. And still no place to keep the recycling stuff. The trash cans went to the front of the house. (They really belonged behind the privacy fence, but that became a problem when the gate would freeze shut in the winter.) The bright orange tubs went to the mini-barn because they were too open and too orange to keep at the front of the house. I pitched the bins. And thus ended my futile attempts to recycle.
I haven't totally abandoned the whole notion of recycling. My church has two big paper recycling dumpsters at the back of the church lot. They use the money that comes from that to fund the paper purchases for the church. For a long time, I recycled paper there, in paper grocery bags....but...the bags would rip...my back didn't like me for hauling heavy, ripped bags to the car and then to the church. I finally gave that up, but I DO still recycle magazines there.
Then, too, I recycle the plastic bags that groceries get packed in. I hate those things. I swear they breed. Put two of them in the pantry, and the next thing I know, there are dozens of them! I keep a few to reuse for keeping things dry during transport to other places, but I DO put them in the recycle bins in the vestibules of grocery stores a couple of times a month. (Interestingly, the "red" State of Indiana, led by then-Governor Mike Pence [now Vice President of the US], passed a law under the radar, forbidding any county or community to ban the use of those damnable plastic bags!)
So there it is. I plead the Fifth. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don't buy individual plastic bottles of drinking water, but I do buy big packages of meat, then repackage them in plastic freezer bags. I do cut up the plastic rings that hold pop bottles together, but I very rarely buy "sodee" that comes with those. I use a lot of paper plates and bowls and foam cups, very bad for the environment, but using regular plates and bowls and cups/glasses consume a lot of water to wash them. Also bad for the environment. What's an old lady to do??
Plainfield's trash service provided curbside recycling, for which residents are charged a minimal fee with the water/sewer bill. And for said recycling, they provided big open tubs. BRIGHT ORANGE big open tubs. At one point, Plainfield changed trash service companies. The new company provided their own bright orange recycling tubs, so then I had two of them. The three bins, two bright orange open tubs, and my garbage cans all resided in the garage. Keeping them there meant I didn't have to go out in the cold to deposit the trash bags in them, nor did I have to worry about critters getting into stuff. It was easy enough to drag the trash cans to the curb on trash day...but organizing the recycling was a pain. No one ever explained how to do it. Does the waste paper need to go in plastic bags at the bottom of the tub so it won't get wet while waiting for the trash truck in the rain? Do the cans need to be washed out and de-labeled? Will steel or aluminum cans recycle the same? Did I need to check every plastic container to see if it was recyclable or not? It got to be WORK, and I got worse and worse about it as time went on.
And then the garage went bye-bye. My daughter and her two young children came to live with me. My little house had three small bedrooms, the smallest of which I was using as a radio shack/computer room. That left two bedrooms. For a whole year, my granddaughter slept in my water bed with me, and my grandson slept in a double bed with his mother. It didn't work well. The adults were putting the children to bed at their appointed hour, then tiptoeing around to get in bed when it was our turn. The children, being children, were thrashers. The adults weren't sleeping well. Finally, daughter and I decided that the garage needed to become Grandma's room, with a double bed, radios, and desktop computer; my old room with the half-bath became my daughter's room. The next largest bedroom became the granddaughter's bedroom, and the smallest one became my grandson's room with a Spiderman loft bed to double his usable space. We hired a relative in the construction business to transform the garage into a big room. Everything in the former garage was moved to the covered patio. It took years to get it all sorted and disbursed. YEARS...
Without a garage in which to stash all of the equipment, recycling went by the wayside. Then, in a single stroke, daughter and grandchildren departed. So there I was, all alone, having spent $10,000 (much of which came from my daughter) with no garage and four bedrooms. And still no place to keep the recycling stuff. The trash cans went to the front of the house. (They really belonged behind the privacy fence, but that became a problem when the gate would freeze shut in the winter.) The bright orange tubs went to the mini-barn because they were too open and too orange to keep at the front of the house. I pitched the bins. And thus ended my futile attempts to recycle.
I haven't totally abandoned the whole notion of recycling. My church has two big paper recycling dumpsters at the back of the church lot. They use the money that comes from that to fund the paper purchases for the church. For a long time, I recycled paper there, in paper grocery bags....but...the bags would rip...my back didn't like me for hauling heavy, ripped bags to the car and then to the church. I finally gave that up, but I DO still recycle magazines there.
Then, too, I recycle the plastic bags that groceries get packed in. I hate those things. I swear they breed. Put two of them in the pantry, and the next thing I know, there are dozens of them! I keep a few to reuse for keeping things dry during transport to other places, but I DO put them in the recycle bins in the vestibules of grocery stores a couple of times a month. (Interestingly, the "red" State of Indiana, led by then-Governor Mike Pence [now Vice President of the US], passed a law under the radar, forbidding any county or community to ban the use of those damnable plastic bags!)
So there it is. I plead the Fifth. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don't buy individual plastic bottles of drinking water, but I do buy big packages of meat, then repackage them in plastic freezer bags. I do cut up the plastic rings that hold pop bottles together, but I very rarely buy "sodee" that comes with those. I use a lot of paper plates and bowls and foam cups, very bad for the environment, but using regular plates and bowls and cups/glasses consume a lot of water to wash them. Also bad for the environment. What's an old lady to do??
Thursday, September 21, 2017
(Hopefully) Helpful Hints to New Drivers
Since my granddaughter is now enrolled in Driver's Ed, and her brother isn't that far behind her, I have gathered my thoughts to provide these hints. I have NO idea if they will ever see this, but it won't be because I didn't try! Robin, Ryan, some of this will be a repeat of what you've already been taught, but every one of these hints comes from personal experience that wasn't always fun!
1. When you leave the car, roll up the windows. Even if you think you will only be away from the vehicle for a few moments on a beautiful day, roll up the windows. Make it automatic.
2. When you step out of the vehicle, stop and ask yourself: Are the lights off? Do I have the keys? Do not proceed until you can answer "yes" to both questions.
3. Leave nothing in the car that is valuable. Not even small change. Computers and cell phones and/or cameras need to go with you when you leave the vehicle. No exceptions.
4. Never, ever, deliberately run over something in the road that looks harmless, if you can help it. I can list example after example of when that cost a bunch of money in flat tires, undercarriage damage, and other ugly stuff.
5. If you take the only family car out on an errand, consider what will happen if you do something stupid like lock your keys in the car. How will the family get to you for rescue?
6. Whenever you leave a vehicle, make certain that all non-automatic lights are OFF. If you leave a door open, the lights on, or an inside light on, the battery will drain to the point of not being able to be restarted the next day. Some cars have "dummy" circuits that shut them out automatically, but not all. Make sure you know before you get stuck in BFE with a car that won't start!
7. If the "check engine" light comes on, alert the parents. If the "check engine" light comes on and FLASHES, pull over and call the parents for help.
8. Never leave the car so low on fuel that people can't run errands the next day. If the needle is close to bottom, tell somebody if you don't have the funds to gas up. And don't attempt to go anywhere if there isn't enough gas to get you there and back.
9. However tempting it may be, put the cell phone down. You can address texts and calls when you get where you are going. Funerals are quite expensive and ruin people's lives forever.
10. A motor vehicle is a guided missile. Driving one without parents may seem like freedom for awhile, but driving maturely is a HUGE responsibility.
11. Do NOT get into a vehicle with an impaired person at the wheel. Get out and call your parents to pick you up. It may be embarrassing for a moment, but your parents will be much happier knowing that you are safe than if you had one moment of stupid that proved fatal.
12. Understand that driving is a privilege and not a right. If you break the laws of your state or your home, you mess up your own independence. This is serious stuff.
13. Whether you are changing a tire or loosening a screw, remember "righty, tighty; lefty, loosey".
14. Until you are 18, your parents are responsible for what you do or don't do. Don't get stupid enough to risk all they have done for you.
15. If you get pulled over for any reason but feel uncomfortable about it, continue to drive to a well-lighted, safe location before pulling over. If you have an operative phone, record your experience. Do NOT allow anyone to take you anywhere unless you have broken the law and the arresting entity can tell you about it.
God bless you as you learn!
Grandma
1. When you leave the car, roll up the windows. Even if you think you will only be away from the vehicle for a few moments on a beautiful day, roll up the windows. Make it automatic.
2. When you step out of the vehicle, stop and ask yourself: Are the lights off? Do I have the keys? Do not proceed until you can answer "yes" to both questions.
3. Leave nothing in the car that is valuable. Not even small change. Computers and cell phones and/or cameras need to go with you when you leave the vehicle. No exceptions.
4. Never, ever, deliberately run over something in the road that looks harmless, if you can help it. I can list example after example of when that cost a bunch of money in flat tires, undercarriage damage, and other ugly stuff.
5. If you take the only family car out on an errand, consider what will happen if you do something stupid like lock your keys in the car. How will the family get to you for rescue?
6. Whenever you leave a vehicle, make certain that all non-automatic lights are OFF. If you leave a door open, the lights on, or an inside light on, the battery will drain to the point of not being able to be restarted the next day. Some cars have "dummy" circuits that shut them out automatically, but not all. Make sure you know before you get stuck in BFE with a car that won't start!
7. If the "check engine" light comes on, alert the parents. If the "check engine" light comes on and FLASHES, pull over and call the parents for help.
8. Never leave the car so low on fuel that people can't run errands the next day. If the needle is close to bottom, tell somebody if you don't have the funds to gas up. And don't attempt to go anywhere if there isn't enough gas to get you there and back.
9. However tempting it may be, put the cell phone down. You can address texts and calls when you get where you are going. Funerals are quite expensive and ruin people's lives forever.
10. A motor vehicle is a guided missile. Driving one without parents may seem like freedom for awhile, but driving maturely is a HUGE responsibility.
11. Do NOT get into a vehicle with an impaired person at the wheel. Get out and call your parents to pick you up. It may be embarrassing for a moment, but your parents will be much happier knowing that you are safe than if you had one moment of stupid that proved fatal.
12. Understand that driving is a privilege and not a right. If you break the laws of your state or your home, you mess up your own independence. This is serious stuff.
13. Whether you are changing a tire or loosening a screw, remember "righty, tighty; lefty, loosey".
14. Until you are 18, your parents are responsible for what you do or don't do. Don't get stupid enough to risk all they have done for you.
15. If you get pulled over for any reason but feel uncomfortable about it, continue to drive to a well-lighted, safe location before pulling over. If you have an operative phone, record your experience. Do NOT allow anyone to take you anywhere unless you have broken the law and the arresting entity can tell you about it.
God bless you as you learn!
Grandma
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
The Last First
Wednesday of next week (September 27th) marks the one-year anniversary of my brother-in-law's passing. He had suffered for years with Fronto-Temporal Degeneration. Dementia. His widow (my sister) had been his faithful wife for 55 years. The last few of those years were the toughest for her while dealing with his combativeness, moods, demands, and (finally) his inability to accept her being out of his sight. I'm sure he was terrified at the changes in his life. She had no respite.
The last month of his life was the worst for her. She was being asked to make decisions about his care. He could no longer really walk. Couldn't swallow. Wouldn't bathe; wouldn't shave; wouldn't change clothes; and wouldn't let anyone help him do those things. He was hospitalized for sepsis with a diseased gall bladder, urinary bladder, and an obvious decline in his ability to communicate. She just wanted to take him home to his recliner and his familiar surroundings in order to make him comfortable, but God had other ideas. She finally understood that there was very little she could do for him at home. Then came the quest to find nursing facilities that she/they could afford that would even accept him. Just about the time that she found a place, he took a turn for the worse, and she had still other decisions to make. The doctors were urging her to put him in hospice. She was reluctant, thinking perhaps that it meant she was giving up on him. Again, God took over. Mere days after allowing him to be in hospice, he passed peacefully. Finally, peace. No more pain for anyone.
The morning that he passed, she came home from the hospital and cried in my arms for a bit. Then she did what all Covill/Armstrong women do. She started to take hold. The problem with that is that she was very, very sick with pneumonia, partially because she hadn't been taking care of herself in all of her trials. I arrived only late in the day before, but thankfully, I could somewhat take over while she was ordered to bed by her pulmonologist. She was in control of everything, but it swirled around her as she struggled to breathe. She should have been in the hospital, herself, but it couldn't be just then.
I can't imagine what it is like to lose the love of your life after that many years. I was also doing the Covill/Armstrong woman thing. Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead. What needs to be done? Okay...let's git 'er done. I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about her grieving, figuring that she had been grieving the loss of her husband long before he actually died. We were surrounded by every kind of grief possible, from a daughter throwing herself across her father's casket saying, "Don't leave me, Daddy!" to a grandchild writing poetry to Grandpa. Some of it was, to me, unnecessary drama, but who am I to judge? We all do what we do in special circumstances.
After Roger died, the whole family had to deal with "firsts". The first Thanksgiving without Roger. The first Christmas without Roger. The first birthday, Easter, Father's Day without Roger. My sister has gotten through it all with her usual aplomb--by helping others in her family, however treacherous to herself all that may be. And now, a year later, we are facing the first anniversary of Roger's death. This is the last "first" to get through. It won't be any more difficult than the others, but it is a day when moral support may be required. I will be going to Illinois next week to be with my sister. She didn't ask. I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that she can navigate this day successfully on her own, bless her. So why am I going?
I am going because it will be a tough day for her.
I am going because I don't want her to have to stand alone among her family that is filled with drama.
I am going because I loved her husband and want to be there as she lays a special wreath on his grave site.
I am going because I know she would do the same for me.
But most of all, I am going because she is my sister.
The last month of his life was the worst for her. She was being asked to make decisions about his care. He could no longer really walk. Couldn't swallow. Wouldn't bathe; wouldn't shave; wouldn't change clothes; and wouldn't let anyone help him do those things. He was hospitalized for sepsis with a diseased gall bladder, urinary bladder, and an obvious decline in his ability to communicate. She just wanted to take him home to his recliner and his familiar surroundings in order to make him comfortable, but God had other ideas. She finally understood that there was very little she could do for him at home. Then came the quest to find nursing facilities that she/they could afford that would even accept him. Just about the time that she found a place, he took a turn for the worse, and she had still other decisions to make. The doctors were urging her to put him in hospice. She was reluctant, thinking perhaps that it meant she was giving up on him. Again, God took over. Mere days after allowing him to be in hospice, he passed peacefully. Finally, peace. No more pain for anyone.
The morning that he passed, she came home from the hospital and cried in my arms for a bit. Then she did what all Covill/Armstrong women do. She started to take hold. The problem with that is that she was very, very sick with pneumonia, partially because she hadn't been taking care of herself in all of her trials. I arrived only late in the day before, but thankfully, I could somewhat take over while she was ordered to bed by her pulmonologist. She was in control of everything, but it swirled around her as she struggled to breathe. She should have been in the hospital, herself, but it couldn't be just then.
I can't imagine what it is like to lose the love of your life after that many years. I was also doing the Covill/Armstrong woman thing. Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead. What needs to be done? Okay...let's git 'er done. I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about her grieving, figuring that she had been grieving the loss of her husband long before he actually died. We were surrounded by every kind of grief possible, from a daughter throwing herself across her father's casket saying, "Don't leave me, Daddy!" to a grandchild writing poetry to Grandpa. Some of it was, to me, unnecessary drama, but who am I to judge? We all do what we do in special circumstances.
After Roger died, the whole family had to deal with "firsts". The first Thanksgiving without Roger. The first Christmas without Roger. The first birthday, Easter, Father's Day without Roger. My sister has gotten through it all with her usual aplomb--by helping others in her family, however treacherous to herself all that may be. And now, a year later, we are facing the first anniversary of Roger's death. This is the last "first" to get through. It won't be any more difficult than the others, but it is a day when moral support may be required. I will be going to Illinois next week to be with my sister. She didn't ask. I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that she can navigate this day successfully on her own, bless her. So why am I going?
I am going because it will be a tough day for her.
I am going because I don't want her to have to stand alone among her family that is filled with drama.
I am going because I loved her husband and want to be there as she lays a special wreath on his grave site.
I am going because I know she would do the same for me.
But most of all, I am going because she is my sister.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
In Search of the Perfect Cocktail Sauce
Yeah...I know. This is a First World problem!
In my world, there is only ONE use for cocktail sauce, and that is SHRIMP.
I was never a seafood aficionado in my youth, but I came to love the stuff when I became adult enough to understand that it is expensive. (It's expensive for a reason, right?) The rest is history.
Our family always gathered at my grandparents' farm for holidays. Mom was busy cooking a huge holiday meal (Thanksgiving and Christmas) and so didn't want to have to also cook breakfast or lunch for us all. Thus was born the hors d'ouevres table--or "horse's ovaries", as we called it. The card table in the living room held raw oysters, crackers, pickled herring, cheeses, shrimp and cocktail sauce, California onion dip and chips. The cocktail sauce for Mom's shrimp was always excellent, flavored with just enough wasabi from Japan to make it zesty, but I never thought to ask for a recipe! Unfortunately, Mom passed in 1986, and I've been left on my own to find the perfect sauce ever since.
In my quest to duplicate Mom's sauce, I thought the secret ingredient was wasabi. When we came home from Japan in 1958, Mom had a quart-sized tin of powdered green wasabi. (That tin lasted 20 years!!) But since I didn't have that resource, I kept trying to find the right sauce. I have powdered wasabi now that the US has discovered it, but my sauce still doesn't match Mom's.
A few years ago, I bought cocktail sauce from Aldi's. It was "their" brand--Tate's--and it was GOOD. It didn't need to be doctored to be just the right combination of thick and zippy. The very next time I went to Aldi's to get more, they had changed their brand from Tate's to Burnham's. Not quite the same. And just last week, I went to Aldi's to get some Burnham's Cocktail Sauce, only to discover that it is now considered seasonal and not carried at the moment. Huh? Cocktail sauce is seasonal??
Who'd a-thunk it?
My sister told me that she always uses Holland House Cocktail Sauce, so I ventured out to find some. At the time, I couldn't find it at Walmart, which is where I was shopping. I picked up their store brand. Meh! Too bland. Had to be doctored to make it zestier.
The last time I made the long distance trek to Trader Joe's, I ran into their version of cocktail sauce. They always sell good stuff, so I got a bottle. OMG! Too watery and too sweet! Couldn't even get it to stick to the shrimp!
Then I started shopping at Meijer. Couldn't find Holland House there, either, at first...so I got the Meijer brand Zesty Cocktail Sauce. It wasn't too bad, but the next time I went to get it, they were out. Got the regular non-zesty Meijer brand cocktail sauce. No twang to it. Had to doctor it. Yuck!
The last time I went to Meijer with cocktail sauce on my shopping list, I was delighted to find both Holland House AND the Zesty Meijer brand--so I bought one of each!! I'm going to try the Holland House first. Wish me luck!
It would seem that I eat a lot of shrimp. Actually, I do now. I always have some in the freezer. It is low in calories and fat (although high in cholesterol), easy to thaw and eat as a diet treat. Love it!
The verdict is still out on which brand is the perfect sauce for my precious shrimp. I'll keep you posted!
In my world, there is only ONE use for cocktail sauce, and that is SHRIMP.
I was never a seafood aficionado in my youth, but I came to love the stuff when I became adult enough to understand that it is expensive. (It's expensive for a reason, right?) The rest is history.
Our family always gathered at my grandparents' farm for holidays. Mom was busy cooking a huge holiday meal (Thanksgiving and Christmas) and so didn't want to have to also cook breakfast or lunch for us all. Thus was born the hors d'ouevres table--or "horse's ovaries", as we called it. The card table in the living room held raw oysters, crackers, pickled herring, cheeses, shrimp and cocktail sauce, California onion dip and chips. The cocktail sauce for Mom's shrimp was always excellent, flavored with just enough wasabi from Japan to make it zesty, but I never thought to ask for a recipe! Unfortunately, Mom passed in 1986, and I've been left on my own to find the perfect sauce ever since.
In my quest to duplicate Mom's sauce, I thought the secret ingredient was wasabi. When we came home from Japan in 1958, Mom had a quart-sized tin of powdered green wasabi. (That tin lasted 20 years!!) But since I didn't have that resource, I kept trying to find the right sauce. I have powdered wasabi now that the US has discovered it, but my sauce still doesn't match Mom's.
A few years ago, I bought cocktail sauce from Aldi's. It was "their" brand--Tate's--and it was GOOD. It didn't need to be doctored to be just the right combination of thick and zippy. The very next time I went to Aldi's to get more, they had changed their brand from Tate's to Burnham's. Not quite the same. And just last week, I went to Aldi's to get some Burnham's Cocktail Sauce, only to discover that it is now considered seasonal and not carried at the moment. Huh? Cocktail sauce is seasonal??
Who'd a-thunk it?
My sister told me that she always uses Holland House Cocktail Sauce, so I ventured out to find some. At the time, I couldn't find it at Walmart, which is where I was shopping. I picked up their store brand. Meh! Too bland. Had to be doctored to make it zestier.
The last time I made the long distance trek to Trader Joe's, I ran into their version of cocktail sauce. They always sell good stuff, so I got a bottle. OMG! Too watery and too sweet! Couldn't even get it to stick to the shrimp!
Then I started shopping at Meijer. Couldn't find Holland House there, either, at first...so I got the Meijer brand Zesty Cocktail Sauce. It wasn't too bad, but the next time I went to get it, they were out. Got the regular non-zesty Meijer brand cocktail sauce. No twang to it. Had to doctor it. Yuck!
The last time I went to Meijer with cocktail sauce on my shopping list, I was delighted to find both Holland House AND the Zesty Meijer brand--so I bought one of each!! I'm going to try the Holland House first. Wish me luck!
It would seem that I eat a lot of shrimp. Actually, I do now. I always have some in the freezer. It is low in calories and fat (although high in cholesterol), easy to thaw and eat as a diet treat. Love it!
The verdict is still out on which brand is the perfect sauce for my precious shrimp. I'll keep you posted!
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Single Parenthood
I was watching a re-run Dr. Phil program this morning. Dr. Phil was dealing with parents of violent children, one of whom was the father of a school shooter. In May of 2001, the then-15-year-old boy had taken a gun to school, killing two students and injuring 11 others. (He is, of course, in prison now.) When he spoke to Dr. Phil on the phone from prison, he said that he had only intended to create a ruckus that would cause the police to shoot him. He said he wanted to die that day; that he was only going to shoot people in the legs until the police came. Considering the fact that the two people he killed were shot in the back and in the head, Dr. Phil told him that his story wasn't consistent with what actually happened, but he didn't dwell on that.
Dr. Phil also interviewed the young man's father in person. The dad was understandably devastated that his son had done something so tragically wrong. He made the comment that he had "raised [his] son for the last 12 years, alone". There is something in that statement that made him believe that the whole world--or at least the whole caring world--would understand. Single parenthood is a trap. It's one of those circumstances that makes a parent victorious if the children turn out to be model citizens, or victimized if they become Public Enemies. Parents come in pairs. (Pair-ents?) It takes two to make them. Shouldn't it also take two to raise them? Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer kids coming from intact homes, and even fewer still whose divorced parents can even get along well enough to distribute the responsibilities of child-rearing evenly.
What is it about parenting that makes us feel that we need a partner to do it? Misery loves company? Many hands make light work? More like: it's the most important and most difficult job in the world, and everyone who creates babies thinks parenting should just come naturally. It has been said that kids don't come with an owner's manual. That, and the fact that being a parent is a full-time job, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no respite for responsibility. And it lasts a lifetime. No "backsies".
My stepchildren obviously came from a "broken home". It was, perhaps, because of them that I made it my classroom policy never to give homework over weekends or holiday breaks. (By the way, research doesn't support not giving homework. Kids who have it--and I should add actually do it--perform better in school, grade-wise.) The stepkids didn't come for weekends often because we lived probably three hours away from them, but when they did come, we had things to do. There was little time to do homework (although we encouraged it if they had it), and I was stricken by how unfair it was for the kids, through no fault of their own, to have visitation weekends fraught with the stress of trying to get homework done with very little time to do it. And then there was the weekend that we delivered the kids back to their mother on Sunday evening, only to discover that my stepson had left his school books at our house. Their next visiting weekend wasn't to be for another few weeks, so what to do?? I don't remember how it was handled, but I'm pretty sure it required a day trip to Munster, IN, to deliver the books a week later. Thus was born my homework policy!
In my years as a teacher, I didn't pay a lot of attention to students' home situations unless they were pointed out to me. I should have, perhaps. I was fairly secure, however, that I could tell which students were from single-parent situations based on a number of things. Fortunately, no one ever asked me to do that, but I'm betting that I would have been correct at least 80% of the time.
Then there is the simple truth that, even when I was still married to our daughter's father, I was a single parent. He didn't pay much attention to our kid--my only child (his third)--and I worked all the harder to make up for it. On the two or three occasions that I had to leave him in charge, it didn't go well. Once, I took the 25-mile drive to go over and see my mother for an hour or two. She asked me where Megan was. I said, "I left her at home with J." Her response troubled me some. "Do you think you should have done that?" Well...uh...he IS her father, right? I should be able to trust him to take care of things for a couple of hours...right? Right??
"Daddy" and I divorced when our daughter was 12. The trouble started when she was 11. I hung on and hung on until, finally, one day she said, "Mom, we would all be healthier if you and Dad got a divorce." Ah...the wisdom of children! It was all I needed to move forward. In the divorce process, I decided that, by damn, I was going to FORCE my soon-to-be-ex-husband to be a father by spelling out all of the visitation arrangements. All my ex wanted was "reasonable visitation with prior notice". My attorney wasn't pushing for anything else. When I questioned that, she said, "I thought you told me that your daughter and your husband don't have a very good relationship." I said, "They don't." She responded, "Then why do you want to do that to your child?" As my father-in-law would have said, she had me by the whing-whang. She was right. I just hadn't looked at it that way before.
The first thing I came to know as a single person/parent was that I was all alone in the world. My ex wouldn't be doing things to benefit us. He would continue in his quest to establish his new life with his secretary/lover/eventual wife. One of my parents was gone, and the other was many miles away. I made MANY parenting mistakes in those days, some of which were caused by our new circumstances, and some of which were caused by a lack of coverage at home...but hindsight, as they say, is always 20/20, and I couldn't make up for two parents minus one. God knows I tried.
I wasn't a single mother because I wanted to be. It was foist upon me. Were it up to me in those days, I would still be married to my daughter's father. (Oh, God...what a thought!) It didn't take long for me to understand that I was doing the best I could. I wasn't raised in a broken home, nor was he. It was tough to deal with the perceived failure, but staying in that marriage would have resulted in unacceptable outcomes. Reality bites! I couldn't hang my child out to dry. When she went to high school, things were exciting. She was active with the school's show choir, Belles et Beaux, which received all kinds of awards for their musicianship and precision. It was so much fun to be a parent then. Meg sent her father a copy of her competition schedule each year. He never came. The last year, she told me that if he didn't show up for at least one competition, she never wanted to see him again. I couldn't fix it. Thankfully, he and his "new" wife showed up for one competition during her senior year. They watched Belles et Beaux perform but didn't stay for any other performances or to see how they placed in the competition. He missed out on getting a taste for our daughter's hard work and passion, how very good she had become with her dance moves. In those moments, I was not sorry to be a single mom. I would not have traded my involvement for his lack of involvement for anything in the world!
Although my ex lived less than 35 miles away at the time, my daughter didn't see him very often. "Reasonable visitation" apparently meant whenever he took the time to see her--maybe once a month. Sometimes less often than that. Even when she got her driver's license and a car, she didn't initiate visits with him. Very few of their visits were for overnight. (I can only think of three times in all those years.) Much, much later, when Meg became a single mother, herself, her children spent every weekend with their father in a town 90 miles from us, and they traded holidays. (She and her two young children lived with me then.) I once made the absent-minded comment that I would have killed to have had that kind of visitation arrangement for her. Oh, the joys of having a free weekend or two! Meg seemed shocked, maybe even offended, as if my saying that was some sort of indictment about life with her in her younger years. Nope! Not even close! I was simply bemoaning the fact that single motherhood without an active ex-parent is tough stuff.
I never, ever regretted the closeness that I had with my daughter. We did things together. We sang in the car on trips. We followed the Ben Davis Marching Giants everywhere they went. We watched movies together. We became show choir devotees, loving every second of it. But even the most dedicated, loving parent needs a break, sometimes...to recharge the batteries that keep the energy flowing.
Make no mistake: I wasn't a martyr. I never felt sorry for myself. I had a job to do, and I did it. If something needed to be fixed, I fixed it. If something needed to be done, I did it. I gave up on the notion that someone would rush in to rescue me (mostly), and that was sometimes difficult. (I think my generation of women was raised to believe that we should have a husband to do those things.) I'm reminded of a time when the kitchen sink--the side with the garbage disposal in it--stopped up and wouldn't drain, even if the disposer was running. While Meg and her then-husband stood scratching their heads trying to figure out what to do about it, I got out the toilet plunger and--plunge, plunge, plunge--down went the water. Megan looked at me and said, "Mom! You're such a MAN!" I took that as a compliment!
Single parents are either the good guys or the bad guys, with not much in between. Self-doubt and guilt go hand-in-hand with the position, along with the joy; however, even the married parents in an intact family suffer from that. It's in the contract! I am happy to say that our daughter and our grandchildren are doing very well for themselves in spite of us. Her husband is handsome and intelligent, attentive and an excellent provider. Her children are attractive and smart and talented. She has carved out a relationship with her father. Life is good for them. And isn't that all ANY parent--single or not--can hope for?
Dr. Phil also interviewed the young man's father in person. The dad was understandably devastated that his son had done something so tragically wrong. He made the comment that he had "raised [his] son for the last 12 years, alone". There is something in that statement that made him believe that the whole world--or at least the whole caring world--would understand. Single parenthood is a trap. It's one of those circumstances that makes a parent victorious if the children turn out to be model citizens, or victimized if they become Public Enemies. Parents come in pairs. (Pair-ents?) It takes two to make them. Shouldn't it also take two to raise them? Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer kids coming from intact homes, and even fewer still whose divorced parents can even get along well enough to distribute the responsibilities of child-rearing evenly.
What is it about parenting that makes us feel that we need a partner to do it? Misery loves company? Many hands make light work? More like: it's the most important and most difficult job in the world, and everyone who creates babies thinks parenting should just come naturally. It has been said that kids don't come with an owner's manual. That, and the fact that being a parent is a full-time job, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no respite for responsibility. And it lasts a lifetime. No "backsies".
My stepchildren obviously came from a "broken home". It was, perhaps, because of them that I made it my classroom policy never to give homework over weekends or holiday breaks. (By the way, research doesn't support not giving homework. Kids who have it--and I should add actually do it--perform better in school, grade-wise.) The stepkids didn't come for weekends often because we lived probably three hours away from them, but when they did come, we had things to do. There was little time to do homework (although we encouraged it if they had it), and I was stricken by how unfair it was for the kids, through no fault of their own, to have visitation weekends fraught with the stress of trying to get homework done with very little time to do it. And then there was the weekend that we delivered the kids back to their mother on Sunday evening, only to discover that my stepson had left his school books at our house. Their next visiting weekend wasn't to be for another few weeks, so what to do?? I don't remember how it was handled, but I'm pretty sure it required a day trip to Munster, IN, to deliver the books a week later. Thus was born my homework policy!
In my years as a teacher, I didn't pay a lot of attention to students' home situations unless they were pointed out to me. I should have, perhaps. I was fairly secure, however, that I could tell which students were from single-parent situations based on a number of things. Fortunately, no one ever asked me to do that, but I'm betting that I would have been correct at least 80% of the time.
Then there is the simple truth that, even when I was still married to our daughter's father, I was a single parent. He didn't pay much attention to our kid--my only child (his third)--and I worked all the harder to make up for it. On the two or three occasions that I had to leave him in charge, it didn't go well. Once, I took the 25-mile drive to go over and see my mother for an hour or two. She asked me where Megan was. I said, "I left her at home with J." Her response troubled me some. "Do you think you should have done that?" Well...uh...he IS her father, right? I should be able to trust him to take care of things for a couple of hours...right? Right??
"Daddy" and I divorced when our daughter was 12. The trouble started when she was 11. I hung on and hung on until, finally, one day she said, "Mom, we would all be healthier if you and Dad got a divorce." Ah...the wisdom of children! It was all I needed to move forward. In the divorce process, I decided that, by damn, I was going to FORCE my soon-to-be-ex-husband to be a father by spelling out all of the visitation arrangements. All my ex wanted was "reasonable visitation with prior notice". My attorney wasn't pushing for anything else. When I questioned that, she said, "I thought you told me that your daughter and your husband don't have a very good relationship." I said, "They don't." She responded, "Then why do you want to do that to your child?" As my father-in-law would have said, she had me by the whing-whang. She was right. I just hadn't looked at it that way before.
The first thing I came to know as a single person/parent was that I was all alone in the world. My ex wouldn't be doing things to benefit us. He would continue in his quest to establish his new life with his secretary/lover/eventual wife. One of my parents was gone, and the other was many miles away. I made MANY parenting mistakes in those days, some of which were caused by our new circumstances, and some of which were caused by a lack of coverage at home...but hindsight, as they say, is always 20/20, and I couldn't make up for two parents minus one. God knows I tried.
I wasn't a single mother because I wanted to be. It was foist upon me. Were it up to me in those days, I would still be married to my daughter's father. (Oh, God...what a thought!) It didn't take long for me to understand that I was doing the best I could. I wasn't raised in a broken home, nor was he. It was tough to deal with the perceived failure, but staying in that marriage would have resulted in unacceptable outcomes. Reality bites! I couldn't hang my child out to dry. When she went to high school, things were exciting. She was active with the school's show choir, Belles et Beaux, which received all kinds of awards for their musicianship and precision. It was so much fun to be a parent then. Meg sent her father a copy of her competition schedule each year. He never came. The last year, she told me that if he didn't show up for at least one competition, she never wanted to see him again. I couldn't fix it. Thankfully, he and his "new" wife showed up for one competition during her senior year. They watched Belles et Beaux perform but didn't stay for any other performances or to see how they placed in the competition. He missed out on getting a taste for our daughter's hard work and passion, how very good she had become with her dance moves. In those moments, I was not sorry to be a single mom. I would not have traded my involvement for his lack of involvement for anything in the world!
Although my ex lived less than 35 miles away at the time, my daughter didn't see him very often. "Reasonable visitation" apparently meant whenever he took the time to see her--maybe once a month. Sometimes less often than that. Even when she got her driver's license and a car, she didn't initiate visits with him. Very few of their visits were for overnight. (I can only think of three times in all those years.) Much, much later, when Meg became a single mother, herself, her children spent every weekend with their father in a town 90 miles from us, and they traded holidays. (She and her two young children lived with me then.) I once made the absent-minded comment that I would have killed to have had that kind of visitation arrangement for her. Oh, the joys of having a free weekend or two! Meg seemed shocked, maybe even offended, as if my saying that was some sort of indictment about life with her in her younger years. Nope! Not even close! I was simply bemoaning the fact that single motherhood without an active ex-parent is tough stuff.
I never, ever regretted the closeness that I had with my daughter. We did things together. We sang in the car on trips. We followed the Ben Davis Marching Giants everywhere they went. We watched movies together. We became show choir devotees, loving every second of it. But even the most dedicated, loving parent needs a break, sometimes...to recharge the batteries that keep the energy flowing.
Make no mistake: I wasn't a martyr. I never felt sorry for myself. I had a job to do, and I did it. If something needed to be fixed, I fixed it. If something needed to be done, I did it. I gave up on the notion that someone would rush in to rescue me (mostly), and that was sometimes difficult. (I think my generation of women was raised to believe that we should have a husband to do those things.) I'm reminded of a time when the kitchen sink--the side with the garbage disposal in it--stopped up and wouldn't drain, even if the disposer was running. While Meg and her then-husband stood scratching their heads trying to figure out what to do about it, I got out the toilet plunger and--plunge, plunge, plunge--down went the water. Megan looked at me and said, "Mom! You're such a MAN!" I took that as a compliment!
Single parents are either the good guys or the bad guys, with not much in between. Self-doubt and guilt go hand-in-hand with the position, along with the joy; however, even the married parents in an intact family suffer from that. It's in the contract! I am happy to say that our daughter and our grandchildren are doing very well for themselves in spite of us. Her husband is handsome and intelligent, attentive and an excellent provider. Her children are attractive and smart and talented. She has carved out a relationship with her father. Life is good for them. And isn't that all ANY parent--single or not--can hope for?
Monday, September 11, 2017
The Christian Life
As it happens, I am a member of one of the adult Sunday school classes in my church, Plainfield United Methodist. (PUMC.) Members of the class are grouped in teams that take turns, quarterly, to teach the weekly lessons. Most of the time, we teach from "canned" materials: books with DVDs and leader's manuals, but there is usually a lot of wiggle room to adapt a lesson to the demographic of any particular class group. When it is my team's turn to teach, I am usually the one behind the book, although we do share the responsibilities. And, as my former students can attest, I tend to see the inter-connectedness of all things which can take me off on tangents. I have to remind myself often to get back to a lesson's main point after looking at all of the issues associated with it.
My class consists mostly of retired folks who have raised their families and are quite set in their beliefs. Some are conservative fundamentalists who take every word in the Bible in a literal sense. Others are more liberal in their approach to scriptural understanding. It sometimes makes for some interesting discussions in class. I am reminded of a scene in the TV show Big Bang Theory, in which Sheldon, who is a quirky scientist, tries to corner his born-again Christian mother in what he considers the absurd stories of the Bible. He challenges her by saying something like, "Oh come on, Mom. What did Noah feed the lions in the ark?" Her immediate response is, "The bodies of drowned sinners, of course." Funny? You betcha! Or is it?
When one is trying to have a searching, fact-finding conversation about matters of faith, it can be frustrating to be met with answers such as this. The seeker is looking for things that make sense, while the Bible is full of stories that just don't. What separates two people in dialogues such as these is a rift in the basic premise: you are either a believer, or you aren't. Either you believe in God and believe that the Bible is His unerring word, or you don't believe in God and think that the Bible is a collection of myths designed to explain natural phenomena, like folklore. Or, perhaps, the latter doesn't know what to believe and is just seeking answers.
Unfortunately, conversations such as this often end in frustration. People get divided into "camps". The believers, armed with what the Bible tells them, work feverishly to persuade the non-believers in their "truth", forgetting about the flaw that divides them. If you don't believe in God or the sanctity of the Bible, no amount of convincing is going to convert them. When cornered with natural facts, many Christians retreat to comments such as, "God works in mysterious ways", or "We are human and imperfect, but we know we are forgiven...saved". That doesn't help those who don't feel accepted into the faith.
A week or two ago, I happened onto a very intellectual and pointed discussion on a Facebook friend's account. He is a former pastor/missionary; a very devout and learned Christian. He has also discovered that he is bisexual, and that has thrown everything in his life into, as we say, a cocked hat. He posted something (right now, I forget just what) to which another of his FB friends responded that he felt the duty as a Christian to point out people's sins to them. Whaaaat? Does he really believe that sinners don't know their sin? It's like telling an overweight person that they are fat. Yeah...so?? Is that announcement something he/she didn't already know? Will it inspire them to change? I don't think so. I chimed into the online conversation saying that I took issue with his heartfelt need to tell others what they are doing wrong makes a judge out of him, when the Master (Jesus, Himself) tells us "Judge not lest you be judged." His response to that shocked me. He wasn't as concerned about the sins of others but about how those sins would dilute Christianity. (And I found that same sentiment in my SS class on Sunday!)
I consider myself to be a Christian. Why? I'm not sure. Even as a child, when I saw the contradictions in life between what we know through science and what the Bible tells us, I would pass it off, choosing not to deal with it in any intellectual way. I said my prayers faithfully every night, as if they were some sort of magic spell that would protect me from boogeymen and bad guys; then, I would feel guilty if I fell asleep while praying, thinking God would be angry with me for my inattention. As far back as I can remember, I always believed in God, and in Jesus. If anyone influenced me in this, it was my grandparents. My parents weren't church attenders. I am a Christian because, I think, that's what I was supposed to do.
Frankly, I don't believe some of the stories in the Bible--at least not in a literal sense. I don't believe there is a Satan, no matter what the Bible says. There is evil, for sure...but it can't be attributed to anything other than the bad feelings within us. Yes, even us! I struggle every time I am confronted with a situation that calls for "What Would Jesus Do?" What Jesus would do isn't popular politics at the moment. I am just living my elderly life believing that Right Makes Might. If things aren't "right", we will fail....right?
My class consists mostly of retired folks who have raised their families and are quite set in their beliefs. Some are conservative fundamentalists who take every word in the Bible in a literal sense. Others are more liberal in their approach to scriptural understanding. It sometimes makes for some interesting discussions in class. I am reminded of a scene in the TV show Big Bang Theory, in which Sheldon, who is a quirky scientist, tries to corner his born-again Christian mother in what he considers the absurd stories of the Bible. He challenges her by saying something like, "Oh come on, Mom. What did Noah feed the lions in the ark?" Her immediate response is, "The bodies of drowned sinners, of course." Funny? You betcha! Or is it?
When one is trying to have a searching, fact-finding conversation about matters of faith, it can be frustrating to be met with answers such as this. The seeker is looking for things that make sense, while the Bible is full of stories that just don't. What separates two people in dialogues such as these is a rift in the basic premise: you are either a believer, or you aren't. Either you believe in God and believe that the Bible is His unerring word, or you don't believe in God and think that the Bible is a collection of myths designed to explain natural phenomena, like folklore. Or, perhaps, the latter doesn't know what to believe and is just seeking answers.
Unfortunately, conversations such as this often end in frustration. People get divided into "camps". The believers, armed with what the Bible tells them, work feverishly to persuade the non-believers in their "truth", forgetting about the flaw that divides them. If you don't believe in God or the sanctity of the Bible, no amount of convincing is going to convert them. When cornered with natural facts, many Christians retreat to comments such as, "God works in mysterious ways", or "We are human and imperfect, but we know we are forgiven...saved". That doesn't help those who don't feel accepted into the faith.
A week or two ago, I happened onto a very intellectual and pointed discussion on a Facebook friend's account. He is a former pastor/missionary; a very devout and learned Christian. He has also discovered that he is bisexual, and that has thrown everything in his life into, as we say, a cocked hat. He posted something (right now, I forget just what) to which another of his FB friends responded that he felt the duty as a Christian to point out people's sins to them. Whaaaat? Does he really believe that sinners don't know their sin? It's like telling an overweight person that they are fat. Yeah...so?? Is that announcement something he/she didn't already know? Will it inspire them to change? I don't think so. I chimed into the online conversation saying that I took issue with his heartfelt need to tell others what they are doing wrong makes a judge out of him, when the Master (Jesus, Himself) tells us "Judge not lest you be judged." His response to that shocked me. He wasn't as concerned about the sins of others but about how those sins would dilute Christianity. (And I found that same sentiment in my SS class on Sunday!)
I consider myself to be a Christian. Why? I'm not sure. Even as a child, when I saw the contradictions in life between what we know through science and what the Bible tells us, I would pass it off, choosing not to deal with it in any intellectual way. I said my prayers faithfully every night, as if they were some sort of magic spell that would protect me from boogeymen and bad guys; then, I would feel guilty if I fell asleep while praying, thinking God would be angry with me for my inattention. As far back as I can remember, I always believed in God, and in Jesus. If anyone influenced me in this, it was my grandparents. My parents weren't church attenders. I am a Christian because, I think, that's what I was supposed to do.
Frankly, I don't believe some of the stories in the Bible--at least not in a literal sense. I don't believe there is a Satan, no matter what the Bible says. There is evil, for sure...but it can't be attributed to anything other than the bad feelings within us. Yes, even us! I struggle every time I am confronted with a situation that calls for "What Would Jesus Do?" What Jesus would do isn't popular politics at the moment. I am just living my elderly life believing that Right Makes Might. If things aren't "right", we will fail....right?
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Washington Fire
It seems that all of the Pacific Northwest is on fire these days. I've been watching the situation with interest because my daughter lives in a suburb of Seattle, Washington, and forest wildfires in that area, all the way down through Oregon, have produced enough environmental smoke to make outdoor activities inadvisable. Ash from the fires is falling like snowflakes for miles and miles. Precious natural features are burned and/or threatened. Firefighters are doing their level-best to contain the fires and mitigate the damage.
Washington is known as the Evergreen State. They are proud of their trees, considered one of the most precious resources of the area, yet it is dry as cardboard out there right now. They need a soaking rain, which is ironic for an area that is known to be misty and wet much of the year. Outdoor burning and campfires have been banned until relief comes, but that hasn't stopped the fires from occurring.
Unfortunately, one of the fires--known as the Eagle Creek fire--didn't happen by accident. It apparently occurred through juvenile stupidity. The story that is reported in the news is that there was a group of boys in that area--a park with trails--who were "horsing around", as we call it. A female hiker saw one boy in the group, a 15-year-old, throw what looked like a smoke bomb into a canyon. She continued on her hike, then turned around a few minutes later. When she passed the spot where the smoke bomb went down, she notice a great deal of smoke coming up, smelling of a wood fire. She ran to the parking area in order to alert the authorities. There, she saw the boy who threw the firework. She said, "Do you realize you just started a forest fire?" His response was, "What are we supposed to do about it now?" Very quickly, the whole area was ablaze--a fire that has burned many thousands of acres, burned or threatened to burn homes and park lodges, and taken probably millions of dollars to battle. (And it isn't even close to being contained, as I type this.) The boy was interrogated by police as part of their on-going investigation into the fire. He has not been arrested...yet.
I wasn't there to hear the boy's tone of voice or see his attitude when confronted by the hiker, but I do know kids of that age, having worked with teenagers for more years than I care to count. Their hormones and peer situations take over their still-immature ability to think things through. (The human brain doesn't physically stop growing until about age 26 or after, which is the cause for auto insurance rates to be so high for young drivers, and especially for guys. The part of the brain that matures last is the part that affects reasoning--predicting the consequences of one's own behavior. Dr. Phil calls it "being able to see around corners".) That's why kids do stupid things. Most don't do stupid things to be destructive or mean. They just think what they do will be funny or impress their friends. (How many times through my years of teaching did I hear, "It was just supposed to be a joke!"?) Witness the countless senior pranks that go awry every year...or the fraternity hazings...or the fast and reckless driving for which some teens are known.
When I was an upperclassman in high school, a freshman boy took the spindle note-holder that everybody's-favorite-speech-teacher had on his desk and put it on the teacher's chair before he entered the classroom. The student thought that the teacher would see the spindle before he sat. The whole class would get a kick out of it, and so would the teacher! As it happened, the teacher did NOT see it as he sat down. The spindle impaled him and perforated his intestines. He was rushed to the hospital and underwent emergency surgery to repair the damage. The student didn't intend to harm the teacher; he just wasn't thinking about what COULD happen if things didn't go as planned. Of course, all of the rest of us blamed the kid for being a jerk.
And so it will be with the 15-year-old alleged fire-starter in Washington. If he is charged and convicted--and maybe even if he isn't-- he will be largely hated for what he did. (Fueled by anonymity, people on the Internet can be particularly cruel, especially when they don't have or understand all of the details.) His parents will be chastised for not supervising their young'un closer. I seriously doubt that the boy went to the park that day with the intention of starting an epic conflagration. More likely, he and his buddies thought it would be "cool" to throw a firework into the canyon and see it do its thing. Who knows?
The only thing the kid is really guilty of is being a kid. Yes, what he did was irresponsible, especially considering the dry environmental circumstances. Yes, he needs to be held accountable, if he actually was the culprit that started the fire. How else will he learn? One of the harsh realities of growing up is that, no matter what kind of punishment the authorities may bring to bear, that boy will have to live the rest of his life knowing what he did. Every time he passes that area and sees the charred remains of the forest, he'll be reminded that he caused that damage. When he thinks about the resources wasted, the man-hours expended, the countless animals that lost their habitats or their lives, the people who were displaced, the atmosphere that was befouled so badly that outdoor activities for miles around had to be canceled or moved indoors, he will think, "I'm the idiot that did that. I didn't mean to, but that's what happened. I can't take it back." And it won't just happen over a short time. The forest will only have just begun to renew itself thirty years from now when the boy is a middle-aged man. Unless the young man is totally without conscience, he will pay for his immature behavior in lost self-esteem, public scorn, parental sacrifice, and maybe even financial hardship for the family and/or loss of freedom by way of incarceration. It won't be a good time, regardless of what happens.
I hope I'm right. I hope the kid, if he truly was at fault, does have a sense of shame that will lead him to be a more thoughtful, responsible person that will spell redemption in his personal life. I'll pray for that.
In the meantime, the fire still burns out of control. I feel sorry for all that has happened to that region of beauty that is known as the Pacific Northwest. I feel sorry for the harm that has come to so many. I feel sorry for the senseless waste of energy and resources, both financial and natural. Maybe I really am a "bleeding heart liberal" because, most of all, I feel sorry for that kid.
Washington is known as the Evergreen State. They are proud of their trees, considered one of the most precious resources of the area, yet it is dry as cardboard out there right now. They need a soaking rain, which is ironic for an area that is known to be misty and wet much of the year. Outdoor burning and campfires have been banned until relief comes, but that hasn't stopped the fires from occurring.
Unfortunately, one of the fires--known as the Eagle Creek fire--didn't happen by accident. It apparently occurred through juvenile stupidity. The story that is reported in the news is that there was a group of boys in that area--a park with trails--who were "horsing around", as we call it. A female hiker saw one boy in the group, a 15-year-old, throw what looked like a smoke bomb into a canyon. She continued on her hike, then turned around a few minutes later. When she passed the spot where the smoke bomb went down, she notice a great deal of smoke coming up, smelling of a wood fire. She ran to the parking area in order to alert the authorities. There, she saw the boy who threw the firework. She said, "Do you realize you just started a forest fire?" His response was, "What are we supposed to do about it now?" Very quickly, the whole area was ablaze--a fire that has burned many thousands of acres, burned or threatened to burn homes and park lodges, and taken probably millions of dollars to battle. (And it isn't even close to being contained, as I type this.) The boy was interrogated by police as part of their on-going investigation into the fire. He has not been arrested...yet.
I wasn't there to hear the boy's tone of voice or see his attitude when confronted by the hiker, but I do know kids of that age, having worked with teenagers for more years than I care to count. Their hormones and peer situations take over their still-immature ability to think things through. (The human brain doesn't physically stop growing until about age 26 or after, which is the cause for auto insurance rates to be so high for young drivers, and especially for guys. The part of the brain that matures last is the part that affects reasoning--predicting the consequences of one's own behavior. Dr. Phil calls it "being able to see around corners".) That's why kids do stupid things. Most don't do stupid things to be destructive or mean. They just think what they do will be funny or impress their friends. (How many times through my years of teaching did I hear, "It was just supposed to be a joke!"?) Witness the countless senior pranks that go awry every year...or the fraternity hazings...or the fast and reckless driving for which some teens are known.
When I was an upperclassman in high school, a freshman boy took the spindle note-holder that everybody's-favorite-speech-teacher had on his desk and put it on the teacher's chair before he entered the classroom. The student thought that the teacher would see the spindle before he sat. The whole class would get a kick out of it, and so would the teacher! As it happened, the teacher did NOT see it as he sat down. The spindle impaled him and perforated his intestines. He was rushed to the hospital and underwent emergency surgery to repair the damage. The student didn't intend to harm the teacher; he just wasn't thinking about what COULD happen if things didn't go as planned. Of course, all of the rest of us blamed the kid for being a jerk.
And so it will be with the 15-year-old alleged fire-starter in Washington. If he is charged and convicted--and maybe even if he isn't-- he will be largely hated for what he did. (Fueled by anonymity, people on the Internet can be particularly cruel, especially when they don't have or understand all of the details.) His parents will be chastised for not supervising their young'un closer. I seriously doubt that the boy went to the park that day with the intention of starting an epic conflagration. More likely, he and his buddies thought it would be "cool" to throw a firework into the canyon and see it do its thing. Who knows?
The only thing the kid is really guilty of is being a kid. Yes, what he did was irresponsible, especially considering the dry environmental circumstances. Yes, he needs to be held accountable, if he actually was the culprit that started the fire. How else will he learn? One of the harsh realities of growing up is that, no matter what kind of punishment the authorities may bring to bear, that boy will have to live the rest of his life knowing what he did. Every time he passes that area and sees the charred remains of the forest, he'll be reminded that he caused that damage. When he thinks about the resources wasted, the man-hours expended, the countless animals that lost their habitats or their lives, the people who were displaced, the atmosphere that was befouled so badly that outdoor activities for miles around had to be canceled or moved indoors, he will think, "I'm the idiot that did that. I didn't mean to, but that's what happened. I can't take it back." And it won't just happen over a short time. The forest will only have just begun to renew itself thirty years from now when the boy is a middle-aged man. Unless the young man is totally without conscience, he will pay for his immature behavior in lost self-esteem, public scorn, parental sacrifice, and maybe even financial hardship for the family and/or loss of freedom by way of incarceration. It won't be a good time, regardless of what happens.
I hope I'm right. I hope the kid, if he truly was at fault, does have a sense of shame that will lead him to be a more thoughtful, responsible person that will spell redemption in his personal life. I'll pray for that.
In the meantime, the fire still burns out of control. I feel sorry for all that has happened to that region of beauty that is known as the Pacific Northwest. I feel sorry for the harm that has come to so many. I feel sorry for the senseless waste of energy and resources, both financial and natural. Maybe I really am a "bleeding heart liberal" because, most of all, I feel sorry for that kid.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
A Tale of Two Organizations
With the horrible disaster of Hurricane Harvey devastating parts of Texas with heavy rains and storm surges, comes the usual flood of people wanting to help but scarcely knowing what to do. Also with it comes a spate of television commercials of organizations asking for financial donations to help their responses to the human suffering at the disaster sites. Two of the biggest such organizations are the American Red Cross (ARC) and The Salvation Army (TSA).
Both organizations, made up of some leadership and many, many volunteers, are known as "first responders", although not in the sense that they show up to dig through piles of rubble or float boats to rescue victims of a disaster. Instead, they provide support for the rescuers and the rescued by providing food, hydration, supplies, shelter, and after-care for those affected, whether from a local building fire or a tragedy the size of Texas (pun intended). As such, they rely heavily on the financial support of the masses who are high-and-dry and (hopefully) grateful enough for their safe status to be willing to chip in to assist those who aren't.
I have a little bit of experience in the disaster arena to know how these organizations work. Let me share some of that with you.
First, a little history.
Back in 1997, I caught the radio bug and became an amateur radio operator, also know as a "ham" operator. It changed my life. Suddenly, I was introduced to a whole new eclectic group of people--mostly men--who took me into the radio "brotherhood" and would come to my rescue whenever things went wrong, from my daughter's locking her keys in my car while visiting at her boyfriend's house in Indy, to replacing a failed water heater. I had inadvertently become the sweetheart of the local radio club that ran a respected repeater in our county. It seemed that I was always listening and would always respond when appropriate.
One day, I overhead a radio conversation between one of my local friends and someone I hadn't heard before as he traveled to the Indy area on business. The next day, I overheard the same fellow calling for my friend on his way back out of town to his home in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Since my friend didn't answer, I did. Just to be social, I talked to the gentleman until he drove out of range of our repeater--maybe 40 or 50 miles. Two days later, I received a packet of information in the mail, with an application form to join a radio organization known as SATERN--the Salvation Army Team Emergency Radio Network. It seems that the fellow I had talked to was the National Director of SATERN, and was also the Director of the Salvation Army's Emergency Disaster Services for the entire metro-Chicago division! His call sign was WW9E, and his name was Pat. Major Pat, by rank.
After weeks--maybe months--of phone calls, Major Pat and I became friends. He liked my enthusiasm for radio and what he called my "can-do" attitude. He worked on me to become the SATERN Coordinator for the Indiana Division. I eventually said yes, not because I wanted to but because he was so persuasive! I also became friends with his wife (also a TSA officer/minister) and the rest of his family. He included me in many disaster training exercises. I spent a lot of time driving to the Chicago area and back in those days. He even included me in some exclusive (and expensive) Critical Incident Stress Management (CISM) training. It was through all of this that I learned that both the ARC and TSA had their own radio support groups. It would be part of my job to work with the ARC in any disaster situations that involved both groups.
There was, in my local radio repeater club, a fellow (I'll call him "Doc") who seemed to have his finger in every radio pie in two counties, and made sure everyone knew it. He was a bit quirky and not at all the kind of person that people accepted as being a good spokesman for any organization or amateur radio, for that matter. He did, however, apply to become a SATERN member when I was recruiting. He was well known to be heavy into ARC dealings. Eventually, he was appointed to do the same things for the ARC radio group that I was doing for SATERN in Indiana. I thought it a bit of a conflict of interest for him to be on my SATERN team during a disaster situation when he would be expected to be functioning with the ARC group, so I excused him from membership by email, wishing him all the best and telling him that I looked forward to working with him in our disaster capacities. Oh, my! You'd think I had put him in stocks in the town square for public ridicule! He whined to the local radio club's president that I had kicked him out of SATERN, which resulted in a four-hour one-on-one meeting with him during which he lied his socks off with rambling banter and self-aggrandizement. The following morning, I joined some other repeater club friends for breakfast and told them that I never again would meet with Doc without an escort to witness his insanity. I never restored Doc to the rolls of SATERN, but I did let him volunteer when I didn't think he could do too much harm.
Just as I learned how TSA operates and handles disaster situations from Major Pat, I also came to see how the ARC operates through Doc. It wasn't pretty! One event that made me absolutely furious occurred at Amateur Radio Field Day one June years ago. Field Day is a 24-hour disaster preparedness event during which radio groups or clubs throw up antennas and start making as many contacts as they can during the hours of operation. Major Pat had been suggesting that I enlist EDS in Indianapolis to send a canteen (a mobile feeding unit) as support for Field Day. With a little finagling, I was able to get a commitment for just that.
The little gal in charge if TSA's emergency disaster services in those days didn't know the area very well but arrived just a few minutes before I did at the Field Day site. She pulled into the parking lot of the site, slightly downhill from where the radio operators would actually be. The first person she ran into was Doc, who told her that the parking lot was just the perfect spot for the canteen. (He told me that he told her it would be okay for her to park there until I showed up to tell her where to park.) Up at the operating site, he had parked a Red Cross ERV--similar to a canteen but without kitchen facilities. (It was more like a storage truck.) It was immediately apparent to me that he didn't want the canteen up where the ERV would be, for publicity reasons. He had also plastered signs and banners all over the canteen, calling the event the Red Cross Field Day (it isn't) and listing all of the local business sponsors of the ARC. That's like putting a Donald Trump sign in the window of a Planned Parenthood building. Blasphemy! The gal that drove the canteen was new to Field Day and amateur radio business, so she didn't know any better. I soon got that straightened out. Had her move the canteen up to the operating site and got the signs off. A bit later, I noticed that the ERV had been re-parked, nose-to-nose, with the canteen, again for publicity. It would have been impossible for the reporters who came from the local media to take a picture of one without taking in the other. What enraged me the most about the whole deal was how many times Doc lied to me (and to the canteen driver), and the fact that the ERV wasn't functional but shared some of the spotlight with the canteen, which provided us with generator power for our radios, ice, cold drinks, and luscious strawberry shortcake at the end of the first day of Field Day--and took the TSA gal away from her station for the whole day. Grrrr....!!
One would think that was just a solitary event, not indicative of how the ARC works. I wish that were the case. During my days as SATERN Coordinator, I would run a SATERN booth at various hamfests in Indiana in order to introduce people to SATERN as well as recruit members. More than once, I had military veterans come up to me and thank me, as a representative of TSA, with tears in their eyes, for the times that they were far from home but given free cups of coffee, donuts, and other things for free, while the ARC would charge them.
Back in 2002, a tornado hit in Martinsville, IN, just south of Indianapolis, and was on the ground for 119 miles before it dissipated. TSA was going to station canteens in the Martinsville neighborhoods for the cleanup. Since I had been on the road to Chicago when this all transpired, I needed to turn around and head back to the Indy area to get a team of radio operators together to be communicators for the canteens and TSA leadership. (Thankfully, the authorities in Martinsville shut down the town at dark each day, to prevent looting and injuries, so I only had to find operators for the daylight hours.) Martinsville is in a geographic hole. Cell phone signals didn't do well there at that time. I needed a radio operator at Incident Command on the south side of Indy, an operator at the top of the hill at the outskirts of Mville (a church on the hill allowed us to set up in their parking lot), and a couple of operators to stay with the canteens, etc. Fortunately, we got that covered.
The first thing that happened was that TSA managed to get a room in a business building for the Incident Command Center, at which point the ARC came in to share the space and all but nosed them out. They slapped up all kinds of signs, "This way to Red Cross", etc...and usurped the tables, etc., that should have been shared.
The first full day of tornado clean-up, Doc showed up where my net control operator was set up in the church parking lot. Just across the road, the ARC had parked a trailer that came all the way up from Kentucky to use as their radio control center. Doc told me that we were welcome to come and use the restrooms in the trailer, etc. He wanted to show it off to me, so I did go and poke my nose in. Impressive, I thought! There were no personnel in it, but it sure looked nice. However, when I went over there to use the restroom, as invited, the place was locked up tight with no one around. I never did see anyone there, and the very next day, the trailer was gone, as was the ARC. TSA and SATERN stayed in Martinsville for nine days. I went to school every day to teach, then headed straight to Martinsville to see how things were going. We were a well-oiled machine! I was so proud of my people!
Time after time, I have seen people come up to Salvation Army canteens with money in their hands to buy a bag of chips or a banana or a cup of coffee or tea. They are turned down. TSA will not accept donations at their points of service. Donations can be made through the organization by phone or online, but unless it is Red Kettle season, you won't see them take a nickel for anything they do. But, of course, since TSA is a church--a faith-based organization--they don't get the kind of press that the ARC does. They usually lag behind the ARC in donations because TSA doesn't make big publicity splashes. TSA is one of the most effective charities around because a very high percentage of what they take in goes directly to the goods and services provided during disasters. Can't remember the exact figure. It's something like 93%. I'll have to look that up.
There is something else that I consider a bit shady about the ARC. Their head honcho has a salary of more than a million dollars a year. The top dude of TSA gets a salary of maybe $20,000 a year, plus perks. (Officers have to pay tax on the perks as income.) It seems that the Red Cross can never quite say exactly where all of the donated money is going. Their excuse for not distributing everything they take in for a particular disaster is that they will need money for the NEXT disaster. But people aren't donating now for the next disaster. They want to help with THIS one. Something seems a bit dishonest about that.
I'm not saying that the American Red Cross doesn't do good work. I just think their methods are a bit off. They come roaring in to a disaster site, make a big splash by tacking up signs everywhere, spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on TV time for donation solicitation, then get quiet about how much is spent where and on whom. They are gone almost as fast as they show up. Most disasters the size of Harvey in Texas is long-term. The assistance victims get needs to occur over months--maybe years--not just in the first few days. The Salvation Army, however, comes in quietly, assesses needs, and stays as long as necessary to get the job done without fanfare. An added bonus is that the TSA officers (who are ordained ministers) will even pray with you, or for you, just for emotional support and comfort. They don't ask for a thing in return. They are just present to do God's work.
And do you think I am the least bit biased? You bet I am!!
Both organizations, made up of some leadership and many, many volunteers, are known as "first responders", although not in the sense that they show up to dig through piles of rubble or float boats to rescue victims of a disaster. Instead, they provide support for the rescuers and the rescued by providing food, hydration, supplies, shelter, and after-care for those affected, whether from a local building fire or a tragedy the size of Texas (pun intended). As such, they rely heavily on the financial support of the masses who are high-and-dry and (hopefully) grateful enough for their safe status to be willing to chip in to assist those who aren't.
I have a little bit of experience in the disaster arena to know how these organizations work. Let me share some of that with you.
First, a little history.
Back in 1997, I caught the radio bug and became an amateur radio operator, also know as a "ham" operator. It changed my life. Suddenly, I was introduced to a whole new eclectic group of people--mostly men--who took me into the radio "brotherhood" and would come to my rescue whenever things went wrong, from my daughter's locking her keys in my car while visiting at her boyfriend's house in Indy, to replacing a failed water heater. I had inadvertently become the sweetheart of the local radio club that ran a respected repeater in our county. It seemed that I was always listening and would always respond when appropriate.
One day, I overhead a radio conversation between one of my local friends and someone I hadn't heard before as he traveled to the Indy area on business. The next day, I overheard the same fellow calling for my friend on his way back out of town to his home in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Since my friend didn't answer, I did. Just to be social, I talked to the gentleman until he drove out of range of our repeater--maybe 40 or 50 miles. Two days later, I received a packet of information in the mail, with an application form to join a radio organization known as SATERN--the Salvation Army Team Emergency Radio Network. It seems that the fellow I had talked to was the National Director of SATERN, and was also the Director of the Salvation Army's Emergency Disaster Services for the entire metro-Chicago division! His call sign was WW9E, and his name was Pat. Major Pat, by rank.
After weeks--maybe months--of phone calls, Major Pat and I became friends. He liked my enthusiasm for radio and what he called my "can-do" attitude. He worked on me to become the SATERN Coordinator for the Indiana Division. I eventually said yes, not because I wanted to but because he was so persuasive! I also became friends with his wife (also a TSA officer/minister) and the rest of his family. He included me in many disaster training exercises. I spent a lot of time driving to the Chicago area and back in those days. He even included me in some exclusive (and expensive) Critical Incident Stress Management (CISM) training. It was through all of this that I learned that both the ARC and TSA had their own radio support groups. It would be part of my job to work with the ARC in any disaster situations that involved both groups.
There was, in my local radio repeater club, a fellow (I'll call him "Doc") who seemed to have his finger in every radio pie in two counties, and made sure everyone knew it. He was a bit quirky and not at all the kind of person that people accepted as being a good spokesman for any organization or amateur radio, for that matter. He did, however, apply to become a SATERN member when I was recruiting. He was well known to be heavy into ARC dealings. Eventually, he was appointed to do the same things for the ARC radio group that I was doing for SATERN in Indiana. I thought it a bit of a conflict of interest for him to be on my SATERN team during a disaster situation when he would be expected to be functioning with the ARC group, so I excused him from membership by email, wishing him all the best and telling him that I looked forward to working with him in our disaster capacities. Oh, my! You'd think I had put him in stocks in the town square for public ridicule! He whined to the local radio club's president that I had kicked him out of SATERN, which resulted in a four-hour one-on-one meeting with him during which he lied his socks off with rambling banter and self-aggrandizement. The following morning, I joined some other repeater club friends for breakfast and told them that I never again would meet with Doc without an escort to witness his insanity. I never restored Doc to the rolls of SATERN, but I did let him volunteer when I didn't think he could do too much harm.
Just as I learned how TSA operates and handles disaster situations from Major Pat, I also came to see how the ARC operates through Doc. It wasn't pretty! One event that made me absolutely furious occurred at Amateur Radio Field Day one June years ago. Field Day is a 24-hour disaster preparedness event during which radio groups or clubs throw up antennas and start making as many contacts as they can during the hours of operation. Major Pat had been suggesting that I enlist EDS in Indianapolis to send a canteen (a mobile feeding unit) as support for Field Day. With a little finagling, I was able to get a commitment for just that.
The little gal in charge if TSA's emergency disaster services in those days didn't know the area very well but arrived just a few minutes before I did at the Field Day site. She pulled into the parking lot of the site, slightly downhill from where the radio operators would actually be. The first person she ran into was Doc, who told her that the parking lot was just the perfect spot for the canteen. (He told me that he told her it would be okay for her to park there until I showed up to tell her where to park.) Up at the operating site, he had parked a Red Cross ERV--similar to a canteen but without kitchen facilities. (It was more like a storage truck.) It was immediately apparent to me that he didn't want the canteen up where the ERV would be, for publicity reasons. He had also plastered signs and banners all over the canteen, calling the event the Red Cross Field Day (it isn't) and listing all of the local business sponsors of the ARC. That's like putting a Donald Trump sign in the window of a Planned Parenthood building. Blasphemy! The gal that drove the canteen was new to Field Day and amateur radio business, so she didn't know any better. I soon got that straightened out. Had her move the canteen up to the operating site and got the signs off. A bit later, I noticed that the ERV had been re-parked, nose-to-nose, with the canteen, again for publicity. It would have been impossible for the reporters who came from the local media to take a picture of one without taking in the other. What enraged me the most about the whole deal was how many times Doc lied to me (and to the canteen driver), and the fact that the ERV wasn't functional but shared some of the spotlight with the canteen, which provided us with generator power for our radios, ice, cold drinks, and luscious strawberry shortcake at the end of the first day of Field Day--and took the TSA gal away from her station for the whole day. Grrrr....!!
One would think that was just a solitary event, not indicative of how the ARC works. I wish that were the case. During my days as SATERN Coordinator, I would run a SATERN booth at various hamfests in Indiana in order to introduce people to SATERN as well as recruit members. More than once, I had military veterans come up to me and thank me, as a representative of TSA, with tears in their eyes, for the times that they were far from home but given free cups of coffee, donuts, and other things for free, while the ARC would charge them.
Back in 2002, a tornado hit in Martinsville, IN, just south of Indianapolis, and was on the ground for 119 miles before it dissipated. TSA was going to station canteens in the Martinsville neighborhoods for the cleanup. Since I had been on the road to Chicago when this all transpired, I needed to turn around and head back to the Indy area to get a team of radio operators together to be communicators for the canteens and TSA leadership. (Thankfully, the authorities in Martinsville shut down the town at dark each day, to prevent looting and injuries, so I only had to find operators for the daylight hours.) Martinsville is in a geographic hole. Cell phone signals didn't do well there at that time. I needed a radio operator at Incident Command on the south side of Indy, an operator at the top of the hill at the outskirts of Mville (a church on the hill allowed us to set up in their parking lot), and a couple of operators to stay with the canteens, etc. Fortunately, we got that covered.
The first thing that happened was that TSA managed to get a room in a business building for the Incident Command Center, at which point the ARC came in to share the space and all but nosed them out. They slapped up all kinds of signs, "This way to Red Cross", etc...and usurped the tables, etc., that should have been shared.
The first full day of tornado clean-up, Doc showed up where my net control operator was set up in the church parking lot. Just across the road, the ARC had parked a trailer that came all the way up from Kentucky to use as their radio control center. Doc told me that we were welcome to come and use the restrooms in the trailer, etc. He wanted to show it off to me, so I did go and poke my nose in. Impressive, I thought! There were no personnel in it, but it sure looked nice. However, when I went over there to use the restroom, as invited, the place was locked up tight with no one around. I never did see anyone there, and the very next day, the trailer was gone, as was the ARC. TSA and SATERN stayed in Martinsville for nine days. I went to school every day to teach, then headed straight to Martinsville to see how things were going. We were a well-oiled machine! I was so proud of my people!
Time after time, I have seen people come up to Salvation Army canteens with money in their hands to buy a bag of chips or a banana or a cup of coffee or tea. They are turned down. TSA will not accept donations at their points of service. Donations can be made through the organization by phone or online, but unless it is Red Kettle season, you won't see them take a nickel for anything they do. But, of course, since TSA is a church--a faith-based organization--they don't get the kind of press that the ARC does. They usually lag behind the ARC in donations because TSA doesn't make big publicity splashes. TSA is one of the most effective charities around because a very high percentage of what they take in goes directly to the goods and services provided during disasters. Can't remember the exact figure. It's something like 93%. I'll have to look that up.
There is something else that I consider a bit shady about the ARC. Their head honcho has a salary of more than a million dollars a year. The top dude of TSA gets a salary of maybe $20,000 a year, plus perks. (Officers have to pay tax on the perks as income.) It seems that the Red Cross can never quite say exactly where all of the donated money is going. Their excuse for not distributing everything they take in for a particular disaster is that they will need money for the NEXT disaster. But people aren't donating now for the next disaster. They want to help with THIS one. Something seems a bit dishonest about that.
I'm not saying that the American Red Cross doesn't do good work. I just think their methods are a bit off. They come roaring in to a disaster site, make a big splash by tacking up signs everywhere, spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on TV time for donation solicitation, then get quiet about how much is spent where and on whom. They are gone almost as fast as they show up. Most disasters the size of Harvey in Texas is long-term. The assistance victims get needs to occur over months--maybe years--not just in the first few days. The Salvation Army, however, comes in quietly, assesses needs, and stays as long as necessary to get the job done without fanfare. An added bonus is that the TSA officers (who are ordained ministers) will even pray with you, or for you, just for emotional support and comfort. They don't ask for a thing in return. They are just present to do God's work.
And do you think I am the least bit biased? You bet I am!!
Sunday, August 27, 2017
In Spite of My Last Blog Entry...
This is a post that I hope my grandchildren will find!
The day I became a grandmother, in the wee hours of August 6th, 2002, the focus of my life changed. My daughter--my only child--was no longer the total object of my affection. I was plunged into taking care of that newborn baby, first out of caring for my daughter's well-being as a new mother, and shortly thereafter coming to realize that the baby was the unchallenged love of my life. Anything that child or family needed, I supplied. A couple of hundred cloth diapers? No problem, Furniture? Piece o' cake. Babysitting? You got it! One Christmas, I spent over $200 on a Christmas gift to supply the parents with Colts tickets, parking fees, dinner before the event, and Colts apparel to make the evening special, plus babysitting services. I never regretted a penny of it! Most of what I spent on that family was my idea. No one asked for stuff. I gave them what I wanted them to have, whether they wanted it or not!
Fifteen months later, the OTHER love of my life was born. Thereafter, the family moved and moved...and moved again...and stuff happened. I wasn't as available to my grandson as I was for my granddaughter, but it wasn't his fault or mine. My heart was with him as much as it was with his sister. Love knows no boundaries!
My grandchildren are quite grown up now. Frighteningly so. As they grow up, I grow down. 'Tis a fact of life. As each week goes by, I wonder when I will come to the end of the road. I know how morbid it sounds, but we don't get to choose. I know there will be a day that I'm past the point of no return. Thus, I am thankful for every stinkin' day, no matter how it turns out!
The day I became a grandmother, in the wee hours of August 6th, 2002, the focus of my life changed. My daughter--my only child--was no longer the total object of my affection. I was plunged into taking care of that newborn baby, first out of caring for my daughter's well-being as a new mother, and shortly thereafter coming to realize that the baby was the unchallenged love of my life. Anything that child or family needed, I supplied. A couple of hundred cloth diapers? No problem, Furniture? Piece o' cake. Babysitting? You got it! One Christmas, I spent over $200 on a Christmas gift to supply the parents with Colts tickets, parking fees, dinner before the event, and Colts apparel to make the evening special, plus babysitting services. I never regretted a penny of it! Most of what I spent on that family was my idea. No one asked for stuff. I gave them what I wanted them to have, whether they wanted it or not!
Fifteen months later, the OTHER love of my life was born. Thereafter, the family moved and moved...and moved again...and stuff happened. I wasn't as available to my grandson as I was for my granddaughter, but it wasn't his fault or mine. My heart was with him as much as it was with his sister. Love knows no boundaries!
My grandchildren are quite grown up now. Frighteningly so. As they grow up, I grow down. 'Tis a fact of life. As each week goes by, I wonder when I will come to the end of the road. I know how morbid it sounds, but we don't get to choose. I know there will be a day that I'm past the point of no return. Thus, I am thankful for every stinkin' day, no matter how it turns out!
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Living Vicariously
Since age 32, when my daughter was born, there was nothing I wouldn't do for that child. Her father didn't turn out to be much of a support system, so even when I was married, I was a single parent. I did everything I could do to be both parents for my kid. A lot of years have gone over the dam and under the bridge since then, but I still feel connected. When my grandchildren were born, my entire world changed. You think being a parent is emotionally consuming? Nope. Not even close to grandparenting! I would die for my grandchildren, and I would die without them. That's just the way it is.
The family history has many twists and turns. My daughter and grandchildren now live in the Pacific Northwest, far far away from Grandma...and it kills me. The questions I want to ask and the stories I want to hear I only get second-hand, and then only when it is convenient for my busy daughter to check in. I get it. I cared for an aging parent once. But there is still something in me that longs to hear, "Mom, I miss you. When can you come to visit?" I long ago gave up the idea that she will ever again come here until I pass on.
My daughter and husband are now in a different place. My child, who used to camp as a child but decided later in life that there were too many bugs for outside activities, has now returned to embracing nature in her beautiful environs. I feel bad because there just aren't any "beautiful environs" where I live, but it's home. It's my home, and it was once HER home. I now just feel sort of left out--which is funny because she isn't doing anything I didn't do or wouldn't have done to make life good for her.
There are SO many parents in the world whose children have moved away from home at great distances. Why can't I adjust? I keep trying. I just get so lonely for my kid and the family, it's stupid. It's not that I don't have enough to do...
I hope all is well for my kiddos and my other family. I'm not giving up yet.
The family history has many twists and turns. My daughter and grandchildren now live in the Pacific Northwest, far far away from Grandma...and it kills me. The questions I want to ask and the stories I want to hear I only get second-hand, and then only when it is convenient for my busy daughter to check in. I get it. I cared for an aging parent once. But there is still something in me that longs to hear, "Mom, I miss you. When can you come to visit?" I long ago gave up the idea that she will ever again come here until I pass on.
My daughter and husband are now in a different place. My child, who used to camp as a child but decided later in life that there were too many bugs for outside activities, has now returned to embracing nature in her beautiful environs. I feel bad because there just aren't any "beautiful environs" where I live, but it's home. It's my home, and it was once HER home. I now just feel sort of left out--which is funny because she isn't doing anything I didn't do or wouldn't have done to make life good for her.
There are SO many parents in the world whose children have moved away from home at great distances. Why can't I adjust? I keep trying. I just get so lonely for my kid and the family, it's stupid. It's not that I don't have enough to do...
I hope all is well for my kiddos and my other family. I'm not giving up yet.
Monday, August 21, 2017
Solar Eclipse and More.
It's been awhile since I have waxed loquacious on this venue. This post will be disjointed and uninspired just to be in catch-up mode.
Eclipse.
Today, the US experienced a solar eclipse. In some parts of the country, it was total. In others, like where I live, it was close but no cigar. But oh my goodness, the hype! At one point, Walmart was selling eclipse glasses for $1 a pair. They ran out. The Plainfield Public Library ran out. The observatories ran out. And when the charlatans among us came into a few, they were selling the paper-framed glasses for $15 a pair...for a single use, since we won't be seeing another eclipse for a number of years. (I hate people sometimes!)
People kept their children out of school just so they could "safely" watch the eclipse at home. There were all kinds of warnings on the Internet about not looking directly at the sun, and how to make safe viewing devices, etc. You would think it was going to be armageddon! Crowds of people were traveling to locations where the eclipse would be total, clogging highways and filling motels and other accommodations. Crazy!
The most ridiculous eclipse advice that I saw, however, came from a website that warned people to keep their pets indoors during the solar event because animals' eyes are just as sensitive as humans'. Let that sink in for a minute. An animal, ignorant of the ways of the solar system, would not know what an eclipse is. The day that is destined to be just a little darker for a few minutes to them would just seem to be a normal cloudy day. Only humans are smart enough to know that something is happening with the sun and stupid enough to stare at it. I don't know of a single dog or cat that has said to itself, "There is an eclipse today. I think I will burn my retinas by looking directly at that big star up there." If that were the case, there would be millions of half-blind animals running into things due to sun blindness. How silly we humans are when it comes to our pets!
Here in Plainfield, when the eclipse was over, it was darker than during the event because rain clouds had moved in. Whoop-de-doo!
Grandchildren.
My grandchildren are at the end of a 12-day YMCA camp called "Backpacking and Kayaking". They went off into the wilderness of the Cascade Mountains to hike in the backcountry and learn sea kayaking skills. It is what their mother calls a ridiculously expensive camp, made worse by all of the gear that had to be purchased just to get them on their way. The experience sounded quite challenging to me. The real kicker? The kids had NO electronics for the excursion! I can hardly wait to hear their stories. Dear God, I hope it was good for them!!
Danville, IL.
I just got home two days ago from spending three days with my sister in Danville, IL. It's a long story. She wanted to be there to visit with her sister-and-bro-in-law from North Carolina who were in town for business, plus she has old friends there that she hadn't seen in awhile. Since Danville is almost the halfway mark between her house and mine, she strongly suggested that I should join her. She was paying the freight for the motel room and I couldn't think of any excuse not to go, so we had a very nice visit! The first night, we ate at a popular joint with very reasonable prices. The next day, she went to a semi-official class reunion. (She didn't actually graduate from Danville because of our nomadic Navy life, but she was adopted by that particular class.) The day after that, we went to visit some old friends of hers...and OMG! What a lovely house! What a beautiful setting! What wonderful people! I could have stayed there forever!
The last day, we went to lunch with my sister's sister-in-law. Nice place that reminded me of a venue in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, where my daughter and husband took the family moms for a champagne brunch on Mother's Day two years ago. Thereafter, Shari and I went exploring to look for the places of our past in the 3 1/2 years that we lived in that town during the Navy years. After that, we met the in-laws again at a really nice place called Possom Trot Supper Club, complete with a piano bar and good food.
I was home in good time last Saturday, having had a really nice time visiting with good people, and especially my sister. People jokingly call us Thelma and Louise, as if we are hell-on-wheels, but the only wheels are on wheelchairs! We are really just a couple of old sisters desperately trying to stay vital and above all of the drama that life presents. We are doing the best we can!
Today.
This month, I volunteered to make a dessert for my church's Free Lunch Saturday this week, which is open to the public. I've done this often, but after my knee blew out back in February, I haven't done it. I'm back in the saddle now. Decided I would make my pineapple cake with cream cheese frosting because it is easy. Got all of the ingredients, sure that I had a can of crushed pineapple in the pantry, somewhere. When I went to look for it, the pantry was in such disarray, I couldn't find it. Thus, I took the bull by the horns this AM and took all of the canned goods out of the pantry. Found it! All the way in the very back. Also found that I had many duplicate cans of things because, when I wasn't sure what I had, I just bought more! Longer story shorter, I have consolidated partial packages of things in the pantry, found ways to cook ahead, and feel better because the pantry now looks organized, even if it isn't!
Diet.
This is a sore subject. For the first time in 13 weeks, my weight was UP on weigh-in day. It was only up by .4 of a pound, but it is so very easy to get off track. I've been off track for days, and still off track even now that I'm home. It is a daily battle to stay away from things that aren't legal for my diet plan. I need to have a come-to-Jesus talk with myself so I don't sink all of the work I have done to lose the 20 lbs. I have lost so far!
There is another dimension to this. My Nosy Neighbor Fred (his label, not mine) brought me my mail today. I mentioned something about losing 20 pounds but not feeling any different. He said he could see it, but since I always wear baggy clothes, it was hard for him to tell. Ouch! As much as it hurt me to hear him say it, I acknowledged that he was 100% correct. I need to attend to wardrobe. I tend to go to loose clothing because it is comfortable, but it also makes me look like a bag lady. I've been that way most of my life. Maybe--just maybe--if I can continue to get my weight under control, I will find more stylish ways to present myself in public. Unfortunately, N. N. Fred only sees me at home!
Attitude of gratitude.
While I'm at it, I might as well express, in retrospect, how very blessed I am.
Neighbor Fred brings my mail up to the house from the street every day. If I am gone for a couple of days or a week or a month, he collects the mail for me. Every week, he voluntarily takes my trash can to the curb for collection and returns it to the house. And when my knee blew out, he came over to help me, went to the drug store to buy me some crutches, and keeps on eye on the house every day to see if it shows signs of life. Not sure what I would do without my Nosy Neighbor!
My daughter and family anticipate my needs, and voila! Things that I need arrive. In this past year, I got a new keyboard (because my old one was failing), a new indoor/outdoor weather system (because my old one was failing), things I needed to take care of my injured knee--heating pad, freezer ice packs, etc. The most recent blessing was a hand-me-down iPhone, complete with unlimited services on their nickel, which brought me into the latest century.
My sister anticipates my needs, as well. This past year, she has updated my coffee maker, bought me a slow cooker/crock pot, bought clothes for me, and provided fun times for us--Beef and Boards for my birthday (a really special experience) and the accommodations for our most recent trip to Danville. The list goes on. I don't ask. She just does! Makes me feel guilty sometimes because I really can't reciprocate, but she's not buying my love. She already has it!
My co-grandparent friends, Judy and Phil, are high on the list of blessings. Their son and my daughter were once married, giving us our wonderful grandchildren. And though our kids divorced, the grandparents did not. Since I have no family anywhere close to where I live, Judy and Phil are my "first contacts" on the hospital rolls. Judy came to take me to the ER the day my knee went south, bringing a wheelchair because I didn't see how we could get me there. She went with me to subsequent Dr. appointments. Phil accompanied me on surgery day, even signing a paper saying he would be responsible for me for the next 24 hours. (Okay, so we lied. I told him to. I knew they were only a phone call away.) We have shared holiday meals, Fourth of July events, grandchildren visits complete with Grandma Judy field trips. These people are the salt of the earth! Having them in my life is all I could ask of anyone. They are family!
And so it goes. The summer is almost over, although the field crops are still green. I cherish every day because we just don't know when the end will come. Guess what? The eclipse happened and we are all still here. Not the end of the world. I'm still kicking, too. Tomorrow is another day!
Eclipse.
Today, the US experienced a solar eclipse. In some parts of the country, it was total. In others, like where I live, it was close but no cigar. But oh my goodness, the hype! At one point, Walmart was selling eclipse glasses for $1 a pair. They ran out. The Plainfield Public Library ran out. The observatories ran out. And when the charlatans among us came into a few, they were selling the paper-framed glasses for $15 a pair...for a single use, since we won't be seeing another eclipse for a number of years. (I hate people sometimes!)
People kept their children out of school just so they could "safely" watch the eclipse at home. There were all kinds of warnings on the Internet about not looking directly at the sun, and how to make safe viewing devices, etc. You would think it was going to be armageddon! Crowds of people were traveling to locations where the eclipse would be total, clogging highways and filling motels and other accommodations. Crazy!
The most ridiculous eclipse advice that I saw, however, came from a website that warned people to keep their pets indoors during the solar event because animals' eyes are just as sensitive as humans'. Let that sink in for a minute. An animal, ignorant of the ways of the solar system, would not know what an eclipse is. The day that is destined to be just a little darker for a few minutes to them would just seem to be a normal cloudy day. Only humans are smart enough to know that something is happening with the sun and stupid enough to stare at it. I don't know of a single dog or cat that has said to itself, "There is an eclipse today. I think I will burn my retinas by looking directly at that big star up there." If that were the case, there would be millions of half-blind animals running into things due to sun blindness. How silly we humans are when it comes to our pets!
Here in Plainfield, when the eclipse was over, it was darker than during the event because rain clouds had moved in. Whoop-de-doo!
Grandchildren.
My grandchildren are at the end of a 12-day YMCA camp called "Backpacking and Kayaking". They went off into the wilderness of the Cascade Mountains to hike in the backcountry and learn sea kayaking skills. It is what their mother calls a ridiculously expensive camp, made worse by all of the gear that had to be purchased just to get them on their way. The experience sounded quite challenging to me. The real kicker? The kids had NO electronics for the excursion! I can hardly wait to hear their stories. Dear God, I hope it was good for them!!
Danville, IL.
I just got home two days ago from spending three days with my sister in Danville, IL. It's a long story. She wanted to be there to visit with her sister-and-bro-in-law from North Carolina who were in town for business, plus she has old friends there that she hadn't seen in awhile. Since Danville is almost the halfway mark between her house and mine, she strongly suggested that I should join her. She was paying the freight for the motel room and I couldn't think of any excuse not to go, so we had a very nice visit! The first night, we ate at a popular joint with very reasonable prices. The next day, she went to a semi-official class reunion. (She didn't actually graduate from Danville because of our nomadic Navy life, but she was adopted by that particular class.) The day after that, we went to visit some old friends of hers...and OMG! What a lovely house! What a beautiful setting! What wonderful people! I could have stayed there forever!
The last day, we went to lunch with my sister's sister-in-law. Nice place that reminded me of a venue in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, where my daughter and husband took the family moms for a champagne brunch on Mother's Day two years ago. Thereafter, Shari and I went exploring to look for the places of our past in the 3 1/2 years that we lived in that town during the Navy years. After that, we met the in-laws again at a really nice place called Possom Trot Supper Club, complete with a piano bar and good food.
I was home in good time last Saturday, having had a really nice time visiting with good people, and especially my sister. People jokingly call us Thelma and Louise, as if we are hell-on-wheels, but the only wheels are on wheelchairs! We are really just a couple of old sisters desperately trying to stay vital and above all of the drama that life presents. We are doing the best we can!
Today.
This month, I volunteered to make a dessert for my church's Free Lunch Saturday this week, which is open to the public. I've done this often, but after my knee blew out back in February, I haven't done it. I'm back in the saddle now. Decided I would make my pineapple cake with cream cheese frosting because it is easy. Got all of the ingredients, sure that I had a can of crushed pineapple in the pantry, somewhere. When I went to look for it, the pantry was in such disarray, I couldn't find it. Thus, I took the bull by the horns this AM and took all of the canned goods out of the pantry. Found it! All the way in the very back. Also found that I had many duplicate cans of things because, when I wasn't sure what I had, I just bought more! Longer story shorter, I have consolidated partial packages of things in the pantry, found ways to cook ahead, and feel better because the pantry now looks organized, even if it isn't!
Diet.
This is a sore subject. For the first time in 13 weeks, my weight was UP on weigh-in day. It was only up by .4 of a pound, but it is so very easy to get off track. I've been off track for days, and still off track even now that I'm home. It is a daily battle to stay away from things that aren't legal for my diet plan. I need to have a come-to-Jesus talk with myself so I don't sink all of the work I have done to lose the 20 lbs. I have lost so far!
There is another dimension to this. My Nosy Neighbor Fred (his label, not mine) brought me my mail today. I mentioned something about losing 20 pounds but not feeling any different. He said he could see it, but since I always wear baggy clothes, it was hard for him to tell. Ouch! As much as it hurt me to hear him say it, I acknowledged that he was 100% correct. I need to attend to wardrobe. I tend to go to loose clothing because it is comfortable, but it also makes me look like a bag lady. I've been that way most of my life. Maybe--just maybe--if I can continue to get my weight under control, I will find more stylish ways to present myself in public. Unfortunately, N. N. Fred only sees me at home!
Attitude of gratitude.
While I'm at it, I might as well express, in retrospect, how very blessed I am.
Neighbor Fred brings my mail up to the house from the street every day. If I am gone for a couple of days or a week or a month, he collects the mail for me. Every week, he voluntarily takes my trash can to the curb for collection and returns it to the house. And when my knee blew out, he came over to help me, went to the drug store to buy me some crutches, and keeps on eye on the house every day to see if it shows signs of life. Not sure what I would do without my Nosy Neighbor!
My daughter and family anticipate my needs, and voila! Things that I need arrive. In this past year, I got a new keyboard (because my old one was failing), a new indoor/outdoor weather system (because my old one was failing), things I needed to take care of my injured knee--heating pad, freezer ice packs, etc. The most recent blessing was a hand-me-down iPhone, complete with unlimited services on their nickel, which brought me into the latest century.
My sister anticipates my needs, as well. This past year, she has updated my coffee maker, bought me a slow cooker/crock pot, bought clothes for me, and provided fun times for us--Beef and Boards for my birthday (a really special experience) and the accommodations for our most recent trip to Danville. The list goes on. I don't ask. She just does! Makes me feel guilty sometimes because I really can't reciprocate, but she's not buying my love. She already has it!
My co-grandparent friends, Judy and Phil, are high on the list of blessings. Their son and my daughter were once married, giving us our wonderful grandchildren. And though our kids divorced, the grandparents did not. Since I have no family anywhere close to where I live, Judy and Phil are my "first contacts" on the hospital rolls. Judy came to take me to the ER the day my knee went south, bringing a wheelchair because I didn't see how we could get me there. She went with me to subsequent Dr. appointments. Phil accompanied me on surgery day, even signing a paper saying he would be responsible for me for the next 24 hours. (Okay, so we lied. I told him to. I knew they were only a phone call away.) We have shared holiday meals, Fourth of July events, grandchildren visits complete with Grandma Judy field trips. These people are the salt of the earth! Having them in my life is all I could ask of anyone. They are family!
And so it goes. The summer is almost over, although the field crops are still green. I cherish every day because we just don't know when the end will come. Guess what? The eclipse happened and we are all still here. Not the end of the world. I'm still kicking, too. Tomorrow is another day!
Monday, August 7, 2017
July Posts
I've been a slacker! So many things were going on here that I failed to post anything. So sue me!
Months ago, knowing that my grandchildren were going to be in Illinois to visit their father, and that he was willing to give them up for a week to visit their Indiana grandparents, I volunteered to drive up to Merrillville, IN, to meet him and do a Kid Trade. I know the route like the back of my hand, having driven that trip many, many times.
Grandma Judy went with me. We were to meet Daddy Nathan at Portillo's in Merrillville. Merrillville is only a couple of miles south of the I-80/94 interstate that runs across the top of Indiana just south of Lake Michigan. If you get up that far and drive to the west, you get onto the tollway I-294, which goes all through the Chicago suburbs around the lake. The trip to Merrillville from Indy takes 2 1/2 hours, barring accidents or construction slow-downs. The trip for the kids from the northern suburb of Zion, IL, is about 2 hours, barring the same issues. I am more than willing to be over the halfway mark just to avoid the Chicago traffic!
We were to meet at Portillo's--a Chicago establishment just beginning to move into Indiana. The kids actually got there about 20 minutes before we did. (We would have been there sooner but got lost in the parking lot. Go figure!) After good food and a short visit, we traded kids and hit the road. We were back in Plainfield before anyone could get hungry.
That was Saturday, July 22nd. On Sunday, my granddaughter went to Sunday school at the church I share with the other grandparents. The rest of that day was a wash. We had dinner with the other grandparents.
On Monday, the children got a reprieve. They were earlier scheduled to go to church to help Grandpa with his homeless feeding mission, but Grandpa had plenty of help, so they just loafed. Robin went to the local swimming pool while Grandma Judy did her water aerobics thing. That evening, two good things happened. Robin and I were able to watch The King and I, a movie I had been wanting to share with her for a couple of years...and Ryan's second drowned phone resurrected itself! I should note that it took a bunch of help from the parents in Seattle to help us figure out how to work the DVD player...and that the resurrected phone changed a lot of issues for my grandson! We ate popcorn and enjoyed the evening.
On Tuesday, the other grandparents, the grandchildren, and I drove to Terre Haute in two vehicles to go to the CANDLES Holocaust Museum. The lady that owns and runs the establishment is a survivor of Nazi doctor Josef Mengele's horrific experiments on twins during World War II. I have no idea if it meant anything to the children! When we left there, we found a park to eat our picnic lunch. I brought Uncrustables, chips, and cookies. The other grandparents brought cold drinks. It was nice!
On our way home on US 40, the other grandparents veered off into a cemetery, looking for Grandpa's father's grave. The kids and I drove on, but we found out that the grave being sought was right under our noses! I felt good about that...
That evening, the other grandparents wanted to eat at the Oasis Diner in Plainfield. It wasn't a particularly good experience. We were crowded into a table not big enough for everyone...was loud...and our orders weren't all as expressed. Enough of that!
The next day, Wednesday, was originally scheduled to be a day of rest, but Grandma Judy determined that the weather wasn't supposed to be good on Thursday, so we headed out--just four of this, this time--for Fountain City, IN, just north of Richmond near the Ohio border, to tour the Levi Coffin House. (Judy sat in the back seat with our grandson, asking for help with her cell phone, which she got!) Levi Coffin and wife were Quakers who provided refuge for black "freedom seekers" on what became known as the Underground Railroad. It was an interesting experience.
On our way there on I-70 eastbound, we noticed some construction slowdowns on the westbound side. I didn't think too much of it. After we left the Coffin house, we stopped at a local diner for lunch, even though it was way late for that. I stopped for gas. Glad I did! I was driving...and while tooling happily along on the interstate, we were soon the second car behind a state police vehicle, driving on the middle divided line with lights flashing, doing 40-45 mph. This went on for miles. When the trooper drove off on an exit, we were at the road construction, and the rest is history. When we finally got close to Indy traffic, during rush hour, every stinkin' road was backed up. Our proposed 1 1/2-trip took an hour longer than it should have. We were happy to be home!
I actually don't remember what we did on Thursday except I took the kids to Culver's. They had been lusting after that because there are no Culver's in Washington where they live.
Friday was the first day of my church's annual fish fry. The kids were scheduled to work the drive-thru, which they did. I picked them up when they called me to do so...then they rested until it was time to meet the other grandparents at the FF to actually eat. We ate and visited, etc...then came home until later when we were to meet their father and stepmother at the other grandparents' house for an ice cream cake dessert in celebration of Robin's birthday, a few days later. Soon thereafter, everyone retired to my house to sleep, pack, and get ready for their next-day trip to Pennsylvania for a week-long SCA camping trip. They left only a few minutes later than anticipated on Saturday, and I have missed them ever since!
God bless my grandbabies. Every time they leave, I think of things we should have done or things I should have said. They got back to their Illinois home late yesterday and will be flying home tomorrow evening. I pray for them in their travel adventures. If anything happened to them, you could visit me in the psych ward at the nearest hospital!
Months ago, knowing that my grandchildren were going to be in Illinois to visit their father, and that he was willing to give them up for a week to visit their Indiana grandparents, I volunteered to drive up to Merrillville, IN, to meet him and do a Kid Trade. I know the route like the back of my hand, having driven that trip many, many times.
Grandma Judy went with me. We were to meet Daddy Nathan at Portillo's in Merrillville. Merrillville is only a couple of miles south of the I-80/94 interstate that runs across the top of Indiana just south of Lake Michigan. If you get up that far and drive to the west, you get onto the tollway I-294, which goes all through the Chicago suburbs around the lake. The trip to Merrillville from Indy takes 2 1/2 hours, barring accidents or construction slow-downs. The trip for the kids from the northern suburb of Zion, IL, is about 2 hours, barring the same issues. I am more than willing to be over the halfway mark just to avoid the Chicago traffic!
We were to meet at Portillo's--a Chicago establishment just beginning to move into Indiana. The kids actually got there about 20 minutes before we did. (We would have been there sooner but got lost in the parking lot. Go figure!) After good food and a short visit, we traded kids and hit the road. We were back in Plainfield before anyone could get hungry.
That was Saturday, July 22nd. On Sunday, my granddaughter went to Sunday school at the church I share with the other grandparents. The rest of that day was a wash. We had dinner with the other grandparents.
On Monday, the children got a reprieve. They were earlier scheduled to go to church to help Grandpa with his homeless feeding mission, but Grandpa had plenty of help, so they just loafed. Robin went to the local swimming pool while Grandma Judy did her water aerobics thing. That evening, two good things happened. Robin and I were able to watch The King and I, a movie I had been wanting to share with her for a couple of years...and Ryan's second drowned phone resurrected itself! I should note that it took a bunch of help from the parents in Seattle to help us figure out how to work the DVD player...and that the resurrected phone changed a lot of issues for my grandson! We ate popcorn and enjoyed the evening.
On Tuesday, the other grandparents, the grandchildren, and I drove to Terre Haute in two vehicles to go to the CANDLES Holocaust Museum. The lady that owns and runs the establishment is a survivor of Nazi doctor Josef Mengele's horrific experiments on twins during World War II. I have no idea if it meant anything to the children! When we left there, we found a park to eat our picnic lunch. I brought Uncrustables, chips, and cookies. The other grandparents brought cold drinks. It was nice!
On our way home on US 40, the other grandparents veered off into a cemetery, looking for Grandpa's father's grave. The kids and I drove on, but we found out that the grave being sought was right under our noses! I felt good about that...
That evening, the other grandparents wanted to eat at the Oasis Diner in Plainfield. It wasn't a particularly good experience. We were crowded into a table not big enough for everyone...was loud...and our orders weren't all as expressed. Enough of that!
The next day, Wednesday, was originally scheduled to be a day of rest, but Grandma Judy determined that the weather wasn't supposed to be good on Thursday, so we headed out--just four of this, this time--for Fountain City, IN, just north of Richmond near the Ohio border, to tour the Levi Coffin House. (Judy sat in the back seat with our grandson, asking for help with her cell phone, which she got!) Levi Coffin and wife were Quakers who provided refuge for black "freedom seekers" on what became known as the Underground Railroad. It was an interesting experience.
On our way there on I-70 eastbound, we noticed some construction slowdowns on the westbound side. I didn't think too much of it. After we left the Coffin house, we stopped at a local diner for lunch, even though it was way late for that. I stopped for gas. Glad I did! I was driving...and while tooling happily along on the interstate, we were soon the second car behind a state police vehicle, driving on the middle divided line with lights flashing, doing 40-45 mph. This went on for miles. When the trooper drove off on an exit, we were at the road construction, and the rest is history. When we finally got close to Indy traffic, during rush hour, every stinkin' road was backed up. Our proposed 1 1/2-trip took an hour longer than it should have. We were happy to be home!
I actually don't remember what we did on Thursday except I took the kids to Culver's. They had been lusting after that because there are no Culver's in Washington where they live.
Friday was the first day of my church's annual fish fry. The kids were scheduled to work the drive-thru, which they did. I picked them up when they called me to do so...then they rested until it was time to meet the other grandparents at the FF to actually eat. We ate and visited, etc...then came home until later when we were to meet their father and stepmother at the other grandparents' house for an ice cream cake dessert in celebration of Robin's birthday, a few days later. Soon thereafter, everyone retired to my house to sleep, pack, and get ready for their next-day trip to Pennsylvania for a week-long SCA camping trip. They left only a few minutes later than anticipated on Saturday, and I have missed them ever since!
God bless my grandbabies. Every time they leave, I think of things we should have done or things I should have said. They got back to their Illinois home late yesterday and will be flying home tomorrow evening. I pray for them in their travel adventures. If anything happened to them, you could visit me in the psych ward at the nearest hospital!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)