Sunday, July 31, 2005
I am supposed to be resting, which, for the most part I have done since Thursday afternoon. However, the call of the grass, a call neglected for my jaunt last weekend, was too strong yesterday. So, I arose from my supine position to mow. By the time I was through, I had 97 mosquito bites on my legs. At least, I think they are mosquito bites. Today I discovered that, having been unable to resist the urge to scratch, apparently while sleeping, I now have 97 welts on my legs. I am, to say the least, most uncomfortable and have found resting difficult. Having slathered on the anti-itch gel, I am hoping for a better night's sleep tonight.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
I heard the kindest words today...
I was speaking with someone about how much I have changed. The greatest concern I have with the MS is how very much it has affected my mind. The shear amount of cognitive dysfunction that I am faced with oft threatens to overwhelm me. So I ignore the sum and try to deal with small doses.
For example, I have written about my decision to stop worrying about my signature. Writing by hand is difficult, cursive is near impossible. Between remembering how words are spelled and letters are formed, I make a tremendous amount of mistakes. I would get so upset when I misspelled my name or when I couldn't form the letters. Then one day it struck me that most likely few people would ever really care about my signature. I could fret during the refinance, but elsewhere any scrawl would do.
But more important than struggling to write by hand is the realization that I have poor impulse control. My brain is not working well in that department and this issue colors not only my life but my personality, or at least how people can perceive me.
I grow agitated when I am confused and feeling threatened by that confusion. I become short with those who try, to help me to try to lead me to a solution. All I want is out of the situation and can see or understand little beyond my overwhelming desire to leave, to run away, to escape my confusion.
Sometimes I am concentrating so hard on the simplest of things that I literally do not hear questions posed to me. This past weekend, I hurt my best friend's husband's feelings because he asked me the same question three different times and I never answered him. He was asking if I was going to visit his family with them on Sunday. An important question. An answer that meant a lot to him. And there I was, completely unaware that he had asked me a question even once. Time after time after time. I was near horrified when he told me that I had ignored him.
I could go on, but the sum is too much for me to swallow at any one time. I struggle with the loss of who I was, of my rather fine brain that is now filled with holes and pitfalls.
Anyway, I was telling this person that a friend who is a clinical social worker translated much of what I am battling into clinical terms. It was sobering and yet freeing at the same time. But it was also sad. I miss who I was. I sometimes do not like who I am. I struggle with God's sovereignty in this area, in this path He has chosen for me to walk. I trust Him. I do revel in the knowledge that I stand in grace. Yet I sometimes, lately, as I stand by and watch my mind seem to slip away ever so slowly, I find myself engulfed in sorrow for that which I have lost and fearful anger for I feel as if few truly hear me when I try to say how very much I have changed...and still am changing. How very many plans and aids I've gathered around me to compensate...to cover...to hide that which I have lost.
So...I told this person about how I wished she could have know that me. And her rather quick response was that she liked who I am now, that who I was then didn't matter to her.
Would that she could understand how very much her response means to me...
I was speaking with someone about how much I have changed. The greatest concern I have with the MS is how very much it has affected my mind. The shear amount of cognitive dysfunction that I am faced with oft threatens to overwhelm me. So I ignore the sum and try to deal with small doses.
For example, I have written about my decision to stop worrying about my signature. Writing by hand is difficult, cursive is near impossible. Between remembering how words are spelled and letters are formed, I make a tremendous amount of mistakes. I would get so upset when I misspelled my name or when I couldn't form the letters. Then one day it struck me that most likely few people would ever really care about my signature. I could fret during the refinance, but elsewhere any scrawl would do.
But more important than struggling to write by hand is the realization that I have poor impulse control. My brain is not working well in that department and this issue colors not only my life but my personality, or at least how people can perceive me.
I grow agitated when I am confused and feeling threatened by that confusion. I become short with those who try, to help me to try to lead me to a solution. All I want is out of the situation and can see or understand little beyond my overwhelming desire to leave, to run away, to escape my confusion.
Sometimes I am concentrating so hard on the simplest of things that I literally do not hear questions posed to me. This past weekend, I hurt my best friend's husband's feelings because he asked me the same question three different times and I never answered him. He was asking if I was going to visit his family with them on Sunday. An important question. An answer that meant a lot to him. And there I was, completely unaware that he had asked me a question even once. Time after time after time. I was near horrified when he told me that I had ignored him.
I could go on, but the sum is too much for me to swallow at any one time. I struggle with the loss of who I was, of my rather fine brain that is now filled with holes and pitfalls.
Anyway, I was telling this person that a friend who is a clinical social worker translated much of what I am battling into clinical terms. It was sobering and yet freeing at the same time. But it was also sad. I miss who I was. I sometimes do not like who I am. I struggle with God's sovereignty in this area, in this path He has chosen for me to walk. I trust Him. I do revel in the knowledge that I stand in grace. Yet I sometimes, lately, as I stand by and watch my mind seem to slip away ever so slowly, I find myself engulfed in sorrow for that which I have lost and fearful anger for I feel as if few truly hear me when I try to say how very much I have changed...and still am changing. How very many plans and aids I've gathered around me to compensate...to cover...to hide that which I have lost.
So...I told this person about how I wished she could have know that me. And her rather quick response was that she liked who I am now, that who I was then didn't matter to her.
Would that she could understand how very much her response means to me...
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Ask me where I am right now.
"Where are you?"
I am sitting right next to my best friend as we are dueling in on-line Scrabble while her husband is working outside and her daughter is sleeping upstairs...and we will be having pizza tonight!
Yep, I threw way too much stuff for two days into a suitcase and hopped in the car to drive to her home. Three hours later, I was with my friend. Hmm...after getting not the news I expected, instead of picking up the shears, I picked up the keys.
Progress?
Driving is difficult for me, especially long distances. The arthritis in my back and wrists makes for an extremely painful journey. Still, I wanted to come. And it was a bit easier than last time...though I was really agitated when I met up with my friend at the Philles' stadium where we agreed to meet. She and her husband were being welcoming and all I wanted was to drive so the journey could be completed. It should have been so I could have arrived at her house, but it was to get out of that blasted car. Of course, not even knowing that I have to drive back home in just one more day is enough to dampen my joy at being with her.
Not even the fact that I just lost the game of Scrabble...
Not even.
"Where are you?"
I am sitting right next to my best friend as we are dueling in on-line Scrabble while her husband is working outside and her daughter is sleeping upstairs...and we will be having pizza tonight!
Yep, I threw way too much stuff for two days into a suitcase and hopped in the car to drive to her home. Three hours later, I was with my friend. Hmm...after getting not the news I expected, instead of picking up the shears, I picked up the keys.
Progress?
Driving is difficult for me, especially long distances. The arthritis in my back and wrists makes for an extremely painful journey. Still, I wanted to come. And it was a bit easier than last time...though I was really agitated when I met up with my friend at the Philles' stadium where we agreed to meet. She and her husband were being welcoming and all I wanted was to drive so the journey could be completed. It should have been so I could have arrived at her house, but it was to get out of that blasted car. Of course, not even knowing that I have to drive back home in just one more day is enough to dampen my joy at being with her.
Not even the fact that I just lost the game of Scrabble...
Not even.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
I was quite productive tonight...
I finally put my life on a spreadsheet, at least my financial life. I have all my banking (checking, savings, retirement, and mortgage), credit cards, and utilities accounts into and Excel workbook with the account numbers, phone numbers, and log-in information. Given how spotty my memory is becoming, I resolved to put everything together for me in one place.
I also did my filing. Like my laundry, it tends to pile up since I am working so much. I come home and the last thing that I wish to do is work more. But tonight I took care of three months of paper piles and created my monster electronic file.
I deserve a Dr. Pepper!
I finally put my life on a spreadsheet, at least my financial life. I have all my banking (checking, savings, retirement, and mortgage), credit cards, and utilities accounts into and Excel workbook with the account numbers, phone numbers, and log-in information. Given how spotty my memory is becoming, I resolved to put everything together for me in one place.
I also did my filing. Like my laundry, it tends to pile up since I am working so much. I come home and the last thing that I wish to do is work more. But tonight I took care of three months of paper piles and created my monster electronic file.
I deserve a Dr. Pepper!
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
My writing student and I spent the evening working on our respective stories. Dueling laptops!
She commented that we rarely write together anymore, rather wistfully so. She gave me pause. You see, I rejoice in the fact that she does not need me to write with her anymore. She is so very talented and I oft marvel at her craftsmanship at such a young age. Now, we write together and take breaks sharing what we've written. We discuss her word choice and plot direction (after I've savored the new bits she's written for a few moments) and return to our own tasks.
But as I think about her remark I realize that I, too, miss those times.
When we first started, she was but twelve. The first time we talked, I asked her to tell me her strengths and weaknesses as a writer and what goals she might like to set. I was surprised to listen to her self assessment and smiled when she said that "someday I'd like to write a novel." For me, that "someday" should always be today.
She started with three stories, dropped to two after a few months because she wisely realized the historical fiction story was beyond her reach if she were to write an authentic piece, and dropped the second once after moving from being homeschooled to public high school put so many demands on her time. While I would have preferred her to stay with the popular fiction piece written in first person, present tense, she chose her Camelot-like piece. I marvel, I am humbled actually, at how easily she falls into the speech patterns and cadence for such a story. Over a hundred pages later (singled spaced no less), her story has such life.
When we started, we would sit at one computer together and write. We started with some of her pieces and began reworking them. I would type until she saw where I was going and then she would take over the keyboard and mouse. In short, most of my instruction was modeling. We would also, of course, talk through her work to cover grammar and literary elements instruction. For the most part, though, we collaborated together in the purest sense.
Perhaps we should take the time to write together now...having moved from teacher and student to equals in composition...of course, all the good bits we'd do would have to go into my story...hers has plenty of them already!
She commented that we rarely write together anymore, rather wistfully so. She gave me pause. You see, I rejoice in the fact that she does not need me to write with her anymore. She is so very talented and I oft marvel at her craftsmanship at such a young age. Now, we write together and take breaks sharing what we've written. We discuss her word choice and plot direction (after I've savored the new bits she's written for a few moments) and return to our own tasks.
But as I think about her remark I realize that I, too, miss those times.
When we first started, she was but twelve. The first time we talked, I asked her to tell me her strengths and weaknesses as a writer and what goals she might like to set. I was surprised to listen to her self assessment and smiled when she said that "someday I'd like to write a novel." For me, that "someday" should always be today.
She started with three stories, dropped to two after a few months because she wisely realized the historical fiction story was beyond her reach if she were to write an authentic piece, and dropped the second once after moving from being homeschooled to public high school put so many demands on her time. While I would have preferred her to stay with the popular fiction piece written in first person, present tense, she chose her Camelot-like piece. I marvel, I am humbled actually, at how easily she falls into the speech patterns and cadence for such a story. Over a hundred pages later (singled spaced no less), her story has such life.
When we started, we would sit at one computer together and write. We started with some of her pieces and began reworking them. I would type until she saw where I was going and then she would take over the keyboard and mouse. In short, most of my instruction was modeling. We would also, of course, talk through her work to cover grammar and literary elements instruction. For the most part, though, we collaborated together in the purest sense.
Perhaps we should take the time to write together now...having moved from teacher and student to equals in composition...of course, all the good bits we'd do would have to go into my story...hers has plenty of them already!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Do you have a friend who will sing you voice mail messages? How about play you hymns on her flute over the phone? If you don't, I wish you one!
Such joy comes from hearing her ring on my phone. I smile, knowing that even if I cannot take the call, the voice mail will be great. Singing, stories, or just time listening to her daughter. If I do get to talk with her, then it is all the better. And...sometimes when I answer the phone, I am greeted with the tones of her logging on to the Scrabble server.
How many people will sing over the phone? Not many, I would venture. They would worry about how they sound. But with my friend it is the joy of song.
Sing a song to a friend. Leave a musical voice mail. Share a smile.
Such joy comes from hearing her ring on my phone. I smile, knowing that even if I cannot take the call, the voice mail will be great. Singing, stories, or just time listening to her daughter. If I do get to talk with her, then it is all the better. And...sometimes when I answer the phone, I am greeted with the tones of her logging on to the Scrabble server.
How many people will sing over the phone? Not many, I would venture. They would worry about how they sound. But with my friend it is the joy of song.
Sing a song to a friend. Leave a musical voice mail. Share a smile.
Monday, July 18, 2005
"Can you imagine what is it like to be afraid to go to sleep at night?"
A young man was referring to children growing up in a place where violence is not unfamiliar, or so he supposed. He was speaking to someone he assumed knew naught but loving safety in her childhood as he mostly likely had experienced himself. Never would he have guessed that a family member had repeatedly visited himself upon her and created an atmosphere of terror, not safety.
She did know what it was like to be afraid to sleep at night.
She found his comment insensitive and inappropriate. She was angered and shaken at his comment. I agreed with her. I agreed because I also knew that fear as a child, a young adult. She knew I would understand. And I understood exactly how she felt about his comment. I would have felt the same had I been there.
But he didn't know. How could he?
It makes me wonder...how often have I been equally "insensitive" because I didn't know?
A young man was referring to children growing up in a place where violence is not unfamiliar, or so he supposed. He was speaking to someone he assumed knew naught but loving safety in her childhood as he mostly likely had experienced himself. Never would he have guessed that a family member had repeatedly visited himself upon her and created an atmosphere of terror, not safety.
She did know what it was like to be afraid to sleep at night.
She found his comment insensitive and inappropriate. She was angered and shaken at his comment. I agreed with her. I agreed because I also knew that fear as a child, a young adult. She knew I would understand. And I understood exactly how she felt about his comment. I would have felt the same had I been there.
But he didn't know. How could he?
It makes me wonder...how often have I been equally "insensitive" because I didn't know?
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Two Hours! Two hours of teaching a sixteen year old to drive!
What a saint I am, eh? No...not really. I actually find it a bit of an honor to teach her. I mean, her parents are trusting me not only with her current safety, but with that of her future.
I also find it a rather interesting exercise in communications. I have been her writing teacher for over four years. Sometimes, now, as we are working, I do not even have to speak in complete sentences to give her pointers or ask her to consider an idea. I start to speak and she leaps to where I am going in my direction. Right now, she is volunteering a bit at work. I set her to a complex task of formatting, searching and sifting, and organizing press files. When I envisioned her working on the task, I suspected that she would need little direction. I was right. I showed her some examples, opened the folders on the server, and set her to work. She exceeded my expectations and then some. All with so little verbal direction, because of our rapport and tacit communication skills.
But in driving, in teaching driving, there is no tacit language. I have to be direct and clear and literal about each action and reaction. Doing so is not as easy as it may seem...especially, since so much of my own driving takes place without thought. Ever vigilant to the dangers of the road, I nonetheless have the automaticity that comes with driving for over two decades. Now, I must think back to when I began and separate out each individual part of being a cautious and careful driver and find a way to share that with her that is clear and instructive to her.
She normally quite capable, so I was surprised to see her a bit nervous and fearful of learning a new skill. She has been hesitant. She is not fluid. Yet, she trusts me to instruct her now as I have in the past. Her parents trust me. I am working to honor that trust...and to create an atmosphere that is safe enough for her to take risks and learn without bringing harm to her, the vehicle, or anything else.
But the best part is that I get to share in this experience with her. I get to be with her as she takes the first steps toward true independence.
She is a remarkable young woman. Brilliant. A talented writer and musician. A truly analytical thinker. A curious mind.
For over four years, I have been privileged to watch her grow and learn in her literary craftsmanship. I am thankful to be a part of this, too.
What a saint I am, eh? No...not really. I actually find it a bit of an honor to teach her. I mean, her parents are trusting me not only with her current safety, but with that of her future.
I also find it a rather interesting exercise in communications. I have been her writing teacher for over four years. Sometimes, now, as we are working, I do not even have to speak in complete sentences to give her pointers or ask her to consider an idea. I start to speak and she leaps to where I am going in my direction. Right now, she is volunteering a bit at work. I set her to a complex task of formatting, searching and sifting, and organizing press files. When I envisioned her working on the task, I suspected that she would need little direction. I was right. I showed her some examples, opened the folders on the server, and set her to work. She exceeded my expectations and then some. All with so little verbal direction, because of our rapport and tacit communication skills.
But in driving, in teaching driving, there is no tacit language. I have to be direct and clear and literal about each action and reaction. Doing so is not as easy as it may seem...especially, since so much of my own driving takes place without thought. Ever vigilant to the dangers of the road, I nonetheless have the automaticity that comes with driving for over two decades. Now, I must think back to when I began and separate out each individual part of being a cautious and careful driver and find a way to share that with her that is clear and instructive to her.
She normally quite capable, so I was surprised to see her a bit nervous and fearful of learning a new skill. She has been hesitant. She is not fluid. Yet, she trusts me to instruct her now as I have in the past. Her parents trust me. I am working to honor that trust...and to create an atmosphere that is safe enough for her to take risks and learn without bringing harm to her, the vehicle, or anything else.
But the best part is that I get to share in this experience with her. I get to be with her as she takes the first steps toward true independence.
She is a remarkable young woman. Brilliant. A talented writer and musician. A truly analytical thinker. A curious mind.
For over four years, I have been privileged to watch her grow and learn in her literary craftsmanship. I am thankful to be a part of this, too.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Saturday. The mowing guilt has begun.
With the rain this week and that predicted for the coming days, I ought to mow while the sun is shining. No matter that it is sweltering. The grass is calling.
Fortunately, Tiger is playing. He takes precedence over grass.
Madison is singing right now. Fancy is setting on her latest clutch of eggs. Kashi is laying at my feet. I am ensconced in the green chair.
Peace reigns here this day and for that I am grateful to the Lord for all that He has given me.
Truly all...for all is part of His plans and purpose. I do not always understand. I am oft tired and weary. But all is the life I lead...a life Christ saved.
I will enjoy the golf. I will savor the peace. I will relish the time to work on my own writing. I will rest for the week ahead.
With the rain this week and that predicted for the coming days, I ought to mow while the sun is shining. No matter that it is sweltering. The grass is calling.
Fortunately, Tiger is playing. He takes precedence over grass.
Madison is singing right now. Fancy is setting on her latest clutch of eggs. Kashi is laying at my feet. I am ensconced in the green chair.
Peace reigns here this day and for that I am grateful to the Lord for all that He has given me.
Truly all...for all is part of His plans and purpose. I do not always understand. I am oft tired and weary. But all is the life I lead...a life Christ saved.
I will enjoy the golf. I will savor the peace. I will relish the time to work on my own writing. I will rest for the week ahead.
Friday, July 15, 2005
I found joy in the number 815 today.
A choice. A plan fulfilled. Hope begins.
That aside, I held my own in a conversation that was troubling in both content and person. Still, I raised an issue, asked for him to help me understand his point of view, and stated my own. His answers were not what I either expected or would have desired...but the conversation itself was the smallest of victories.
Two things to savor this day...
Choice.
I have a long history of being forced to live the choices of others. Today, I chose laughter. I chose my ideas. I chose my voice. For the good or bad, I chose today.
I stood in grace...and not tears...
Is it not amazing what Christ can help us bear...if we choose?
A choice. A plan fulfilled. Hope begins.
That aside, I held my own in a conversation that was troubling in both content and person. Still, I raised an issue, asked for him to help me understand his point of view, and stated my own. His answers were not what I either expected or would have desired...but the conversation itself was the smallest of victories.
Two things to savor this day...
Choice.
I have a long history of being forced to live the choices of others. Today, I chose laughter. I chose my ideas. I chose my voice. For the good or bad, I chose today.
I stood in grace...and not tears...
Is it not amazing what Christ can help us bear...if we choose?
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I am working on a document that is the most challenging task I have taken on to date. Harder even than my dissertation.
I have a glimpse. I have an opportunity to prove that I am more than my skills and degrees. My value added is not merely the sum total of my literacy and organizational skills. I can be strategic. I can be...
In doing so, I am coordinating pieces from other people from work. Tonight I read that from my boss. And I was humbled.
What she wrote was beautifully and thoughtfully crafted business prose. Her word selection. Her sentence structure. Everything worked together to communicate her message, her ideas.
Equally important was the substance of what she wrote. Simply put, she gave me pause.
Will I be able to do the same?
I have a glimpse. I have an opportunity to prove that I am more than my skills and degrees. My value added is not merely the sum total of my literacy and organizational skills. I can be strategic. I can be...
In doing so, I am coordinating pieces from other people from work. Tonight I read that from my boss. And I was humbled.
What she wrote was beautifully and thoughtfully crafted business prose. Her word selection. Her sentence structure. Everything worked together to communicate her message, her ideas.
Equally important was the substance of what she wrote. Simply put, she gave me pause.
Will I be able to do the same?
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
At the last, the old man chuckled, though Aryanth was startled to see tears seeping down his cheeks. She chose the laughter. “Where do you find your humor?"
Though I wrote this in the young adult on which I am working some time ago, never before have I understood how very close laughter and tears can be.
I admitted to my boss this morning that my heart was grieving and but for the responsibilities owing, I would not have been at work.
For the first time, I thought of taking medicine at work. I have Zanax for infrequent occasions when my hormones spiral out of control during my cycle and my emotions overwhelm me. Pop one of those pills and discover distance. Distance and time enough for the hormone flux to pass. I've never taken it outside my home before...but I was tempted.
She agreed it might be best if I wanted to stay and that she would keep an eye out for me since it was the first time that I would be taking the pill without crawling under the covers for a nap or for the night.
But before I could leave her office to return to mine and bury myself in my work, she told me the funniest sad story. I laughed until I started coughing and wheezing. An act of kindness on her part.
At that moment, I chose the laughter.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
I was filled with such joy and such sorrow that I near marvel at His craftsmanship of this day.
Tonight I stood in the shower, scalding water running down my body, hoping to chase the chills away. Half of me wondered if I would faint in the heat and didn't care. Half of me couldn't help but smile at the blessed gift wrought by a volunteer at work.
I stand in grace. I stand in grace. I stand in grace.
Tonight I stood in the shower, scalding water running down my body, hoping to chase the chills away. Half of me wondered if I would faint in the heat and didn't care. Half of me couldn't help but smile at the blessed gift wrought by a volunteer at work.
I stand in grace. I stand in grace. I stand in grace.
Monday, July 11, 2005
I worked in the yard Saturday, but did so for my own pleasure, not mulch guilt. And it certainly wasn't as grueling as yesterday. All I did was putter around my potted plants and work on Bird Central in my back yard.
For the arduous task of getting my photo taken (it is quite awful) and submitting my passport application, I rewarded myself with a new bird feeder and an iron pole with two curved hooks for hanging feeders. I also bought a third hook and some thistle. And...I bought a squirrel baffle!
I was quite excited at the prospect of feeding only birds and not the local squirrel family.
Getting it set at the right angle so that no squirrel could leap from the tree took quite a bit of persistence, but I believe I prevailed.
I also discovered some seedlings from last summer among my plants, so I repotted them with root stimulator.
Altogether it was a great day...but soon became greater!
You see, I discover the miracle mint.
What is miracle mint you ask? Well, let me tell you. Last summer, I went to spend the weekend with my best friend the week before she her first child was due. We were going to cram in lots of games and such since she would shortly be quite busy with a newborn. But her daughter had other plans. She decided to arrive early.
It was quite a blessing for me to be able to be there as my friend welcomed her daughter...even if it meant that we weren't going to be playing lots and lots of games! The day before, I had been admiring some mint in her yard. It reminded me of my childhood. My friend gifted some to me and I brought it home as a reminder of her new beginning.
Unfortunately, I neglected to bring the mint inside before the first freeze and it died since I had left it in the pot. I was quite sad about losing the mint.
Well, Saturday, after I had puttered and potted and assembled, I fell to watering the plants before going inside and discovered the miracle mint!
My friend's mint was growing in the same pot as one on of the perennials that I had tried wintering inside. Now, you might think that is not quite miraculous, but I do. The mint had been in the corner of the upper deck beneath the water fountain, while this plant had been on the lower deck in the opposite corner. How did it get transplanted? Birds? Those rotten squirrels? Why didn't I see evidence of the mint all winter or even in the spring? One day...seemingly...poof!
I suppose I will never know, but I did rather gently pull the mint out of the pot and put it in another with much fertilizer and moist soil! I cannot wait to make mint tea!
P.S. Many, many, many more birds have come now that they have squirrel free feeding zone... but alas..no golden finches...
For the arduous task of getting my photo taken (it is quite awful) and submitting my passport application, I rewarded myself with a new bird feeder and an iron pole with two curved hooks for hanging feeders. I also bought a third hook and some thistle. And...I bought a squirrel baffle!
I was quite excited at the prospect of feeding only birds and not the local squirrel family.
Getting it set at the right angle so that no squirrel could leap from the tree took quite a bit of persistence, but I believe I prevailed.
I also discovered some seedlings from last summer among my plants, so I repotted them with root stimulator.
Altogether it was a great day...but soon became greater!
You see, I discover the miracle mint.
What is miracle mint you ask? Well, let me tell you. Last summer, I went to spend the weekend with my best friend the week before she her first child was due. We were going to cram in lots of games and such since she would shortly be quite busy with a newborn. But her daughter had other plans. She decided to arrive early.
It was quite a blessing for me to be able to be there as my friend welcomed her daughter...even if it meant that we weren't going to be playing lots and lots of games! The day before, I had been admiring some mint in her yard. It reminded me of my childhood. My friend gifted some to me and I brought it home as a reminder of her new beginning.
Unfortunately, I neglected to bring the mint inside before the first freeze and it died since I had left it in the pot. I was quite sad about losing the mint.
Well, Saturday, after I had puttered and potted and assembled, I fell to watering the plants before going inside and discovered the miracle mint!
My friend's mint was growing in the same pot as one on of the perennials that I had tried wintering inside. Now, you might think that is not quite miraculous, but I do. The mint had been in the corner of the upper deck beneath the water fountain, while this plant had been on the lower deck in the opposite corner. How did it get transplanted? Birds? Those rotten squirrels? Why didn't I see evidence of the mint all winter or even in the spring? One day...seemingly...poof!
I suppose I will never know, but I did rather gently pull the mint out of the pot and put it in another with much fertilizer and moist soil! I cannot wait to make mint tea!
P.S. Many, many, many more birds have come now that they have squirrel free feeding zone... but alas..no golden finches...
Sunday, July 10, 2005
1. Mowed
2. Edged
3. Weeded
Rested
4. Bought and loaded into the car 15 bags of mulch
5. Spread 13 bags of mulch
6. Fainted in the back yard
7. Finished 2 other bags of mulch
Collapsed on kitchen floor
8. Played Scrabble with best friend.
9. Ate something
10. Keep thinking about the mulching still undone.
11. Bought and loaded into the car 18 more bags of mulch.
12. Spread 10 bags of mulch.
13. Fainted in the backyard again.
14. Spread 4 more bags of mulch.
15. Stacked other 4 on the side of the yard to wait until the stoop is redone.
16. Called myself all kinds of a fool for being too stubborn to stop (I knew I would not finish if I didn't.
The yard looks lovely...
2. Edged
3. Weeded
Rested
4. Bought and loaded into the car 15 bags of mulch
5. Spread 13 bags of mulch
6. Fainted in the back yard
7. Finished 2 other bags of mulch
Collapsed on kitchen floor
8. Played Scrabble with best friend.
9. Ate something
10. Keep thinking about the mulching still undone.
11. Bought and loaded into the car 18 more bags of mulch.
12. Spread 10 bags of mulch.
13. Fainted in the backyard again.
14. Spread 4 more bags of mulch.
15. Stacked other 4 on the side of the yard to wait until the stoop is redone.
16. Called myself all kinds of a fool for being too stubborn to stop (I knew I would not finish if I didn't.
The yard looks lovely...
Friday, July 08, 2005
The basement flooded this morning with the heavy rains. It is so hard not to get discouraged since it happened a little over a month ago during another heavy rain. I do not like this developing trend.
I am so ready for this house NOT to soak up my money!
And...don't any of you remind me that this is the "joys of homeownership." I have repaired and replaced and upgraded this place. It ought to be quite grateful to me since it was in such a state of disrepair!
I am so ready for this house NOT to soak up my money!
And...don't any of you remind me that this is the "joys of homeownership." I have repaired and replaced and upgraded this place. It ought to be quite grateful to me since it was in such a state of disrepair!
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Some months ago, my mother shipped me hundreds of old family photos she had discovered while cleaning out my grandmother's house. She asked me to sort through them and create six packets to distribute to family members. Some of the photos date back to the mid 1800s.
Once I started going through them, I realized that they should all be scanned so the complete set could be preserved. The only problem is that I did not have a scanner and to do so at work after hours would be too much for me (we have a slow scanner).
I actually have a printer that is 11 years old--an HP that is still chugging along. So while I have wanted a scanner and a fax and have been researching all-in-one printers, I have held off making a purchase because I don't really need a printer. And...of course...I cannot decide between laser (like I have now) and inkjet. Since I would want a scanner that is legal sized, the price range is $400-700. Not a purchase I would make lightly.
I couldn't really justify buying a scanner for the interim...until 2 days ago. I found a new one from HP that is so sweet! It is about an inch high, has a glass top so that you can what you are scanning and can be separated from its base to scan just about anywhere. It is QUITE quick and has OCR software for scanning text. AND...it was only $39.00.
So, I have spent the evening beginning the LONG task of scanning all these photos. I am doing so at 300 dpi for print quality, but even though the file sizes are large I managed to scan over 30 photos in just about an hour.
I chose my mother's pictures first. While I could have done more, I found it difficult to sort through her photos. You see...my grandmother had cut my mother's face out of several of the photos.
I know that she told my mother that she only had children because my grandfather wanted them. He died when my mother was eleven, leaving my grandmother with three small children she did not want.
I always assumed she raised them with ambivalence. But these photos give evidence of antipathy...certainly not love.
Once I started going through them, I realized that they should all be scanned so the complete set could be preserved. The only problem is that I did not have a scanner and to do so at work after hours would be too much for me (we have a slow scanner).
I actually have a printer that is 11 years old--an HP that is still chugging along. So while I have wanted a scanner and a fax and have been researching all-in-one printers, I have held off making a purchase because I don't really need a printer. And...of course...I cannot decide between laser (like I have now) and inkjet. Since I would want a scanner that is legal sized, the price range is $400-700. Not a purchase I would make lightly.
I couldn't really justify buying a scanner for the interim...until 2 days ago. I found a new one from HP that is so sweet! It is about an inch high, has a glass top so that you can what you are scanning and can be separated from its base to scan just about anywhere. It is QUITE quick and has OCR software for scanning text. AND...it was only $39.00.
So, I have spent the evening beginning the LONG task of scanning all these photos. I am doing so at 300 dpi for print quality, but even though the file sizes are large I managed to scan over 30 photos in just about an hour.
I chose my mother's pictures first. While I could have done more, I found it difficult to sort through her photos. You see...my grandmother had cut my mother's face out of several of the photos.
I know that she told my mother that she only had children because my grandfather wanted them. He died when my mother was eleven, leaving my grandmother with three small children she did not want.
I always assumed she raised them with ambivalence. But these photos give evidence of antipathy...certainly not love.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
For someone who is supposed to be intelligent, I am quite stupid...For someone who is supposed to be a talented writer, I am a poor communicator...What is so clear to me is not to others...my intentions are not obvious...I am perceived not as I am and nearly always worse...or are those perceptions who I really am? I shudder to think so...
Psalm 139 has always been a passage that drew me and held me in a way I cannot quite articulate, but Paul's plea at the end has never been more my cry than at this moment.
Psalm 139 has always been a passage that drew me and held me in a way I cannot quite articulate, but Paul's plea at the end has never been more my cry than at this moment.
"Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious thoughts;
And see if there be any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way."
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I am mortified! Absolutely and completely mortified.
After a senior management meeting today, I asked my boss how it went and she said okay. When I pressed her, she said that I had looked "adoringly" at the president of the organization!
ARGH. UGH. How could she even use that word in describing how I looked at him? UGH. UGH. ARGH! What a horrible adjective to use in a business meeting!
I am fairly sure that even when I've dated someone, I've never looked adoringly at him. I checked with my best friend and she's fairly sure too. Me? Look adoringly?????????
I keep wracking my brains trying to think about what possibly could have been going through my mind at the time. She said it was while he was talking. While he was talking? We were discussing creating a business plan. Composition talk made me look at him adoringly? ARGH! That word! UGH!
How am I supposed to go into the next meeting? Work one-on-one with him?
Adoringly!
ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now...to be honest...there is someone at work whom I wouldn't mind batting my eyelashes at save for the fact that he is twelve years my junior. He's gorgeous and groomed and smiles so beautifully. Working one-on-one with him can be a distraction.
But the president? Ugh! What a thought that I could look adoringly at him!
Does anybody have a grocery sack I can wear over my head tomorrow?
BIG SIGH!!!
After a senior management meeting today, I asked my boss how it went and she said okay. When I pressed her, she said that I had looked "adoringly" at the president of the organization!
ARGH. UGH. How could she even use that word in describing how I looked at him? UGH. UGH. ARGH! What a horrible adjective to use in a business meeting!
I am fairly sure that even when I've dated someone, I've never looked adoringly at him. I checked with my best friend and she's fairly sure too. Me? Look adoringly?????????
I keep wracking my brains trying to think about what possibly could have been going through my mind at the time. She said it was while he was talking. While he was talking? We were discussing creating a business plan. Composition talk made me look at him adoringly? ARGH! That word! UGH!
How am I supposed to go into the next meeting? Work one-on-one with him?
Adoringly!
ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now...to be honest...there is someone at work whom I wouldn't mind batting my eyelashes at save for the fact that he is twelve years my junior. He's gorgeous and groomed and smiles so beautifully. Working one-on-one with him can be a distraction.
But the president? Ugh! What a thought that I could look adoringly at him!
Does anybody have a grocery sack I can wear over my head tomorrow?
BIG SIGH!!!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Yesterday at church one of the "hymns" was
I didn't sing the words.
I didn't sing the words not because I do not want God to bless our country but because I couldn't look past them.
The second verse speaks of the brave pilgrims with the western expansion. Yes, those folks were brave, but much of their actions decimated a people who rightfully owned the land upon which they were settling. Their actions had repercussions that echo across the centuries today, a haunting melody. Native American tribes are dying off and few have ever enjoyed the wealth that
The third verse speaks of "heroes proved in liberating strife." We do have such a bloody history, eh? But the heroes I think of were heroes lead by
Yes, I pray for our country. Yes, I am thankful for those patriots who hundreds of years ago chose self government and fought for freedom. I just couldn't sing words that glossed over our history. I believe that the evils we've committed should never be forgotten and should illuminate the choices we are making today. This song does not do that. I couldn't sing it.
Perhaps I am being too serious about one song, one moment in church. But this Fourth of July, I would prefer to ponder on the words of
One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the
I find his closing remarks in the fourth paragraph a charge that we should still seek:
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
"this grace in which we stand"
I have been thinking a lot about that phrase.
I find it nearly incomprehensible how words penned thousands of years ago can speak so clearly to me. I know that God's Word is a living document, that scripture can sustain and teach and comfort and chastise. I know this. Yet, a moment like yesterday, when I turned to the Bible to set aside what I was feeling and seek truth and found a passage that troubles and comforts at the same time, causes me to marvel anew.
I stand in God's grace. As a child of Christ, I have salvation and live beneath His grace.
Yesterday, that was never more evident when I was struggling with hurt from my brother's call and found a reminder of where I really am. Not in Alexandria. Not in a job that causes such anquish at times. Not in a body trapped by disease. I am in God's grace.
What ways does He let me know that His family can cover the hurts of mine?
I had resigned myself to not talking with my best friend again until the Tuesday morning commute. Naturally, the weekends are spent with her family, not on the phone with me or playing Scrabble. Not that we don't ever play on a weekend, but I just don't count on it. Her husband is home, both their families are off work, lots of things to do.
There I was, feeling a bit lonely, comforted by God's Word, but still stinging from hearing my brother hang up on me. And she called for a game or two! She hadn't read my post. She didn't know how my day had gone.
But God did! Even though I really don't like losing, I do so enjoy playing Scrabble and talking with her and hearing about all the things going on in her life. God gave me a family in her who does not mind that I am no longer svelte. Who is willing to walk at my slower pace. Who would never hang up on me. Who truly loves and appreciates me, foibles and all. Who reminds me to walk in truth. That is my comfort. My state of grace.
Why does the passage trouble me?
I stand in grace. This I know.
But... I walk in fear at times. And one of those times is now.
I realized something while talking with my boss during my review on Thursday... I genuinely fear the two vice presidents. One has yelled at me twice and threatened me. The other one I have heard yell at staff. Their anger frightens me. I do not feel completely safe when I am with them and avoid any chance at being caught alone.
I pop into the first one's office when I have a question so I can ask it and leave. I no longer make appointments to discuss something alone with him. I fear what he might say if the door were shut. If he was ready for my presence rather than being caught a bit off guard.
The other is extremely dismissive of me and of my work, my ideas. It is hard to talk with him when he looks at me as if I didn't really matter. When he tells me he is too busy to do the communications task I need. When he bypasses me and talks to the press. His latest tactic is to send my boss an email notifying her of a press contact after the fact. I do not matter. I am dismissed. When I try to get him to work with me, I know I irritate him and sometime anger him. Although he has not yet yelled at me as did the other vice president, I know that he yells at his staff and I do not want to be caught in his anger.
Neither is interested in working with me, so I have accommodated them by working around them as much as possible and limited my contacts with them when I needed to interact with them. The situation is not good for our company as well-managed communications, staffed by myself or someone else, is critical to growth. But how do you work with people who frighten you?
I stand in grace. I stand in grace. I stand in grace.
What does this truth mean for me at work?
And...I wonder...is yelling SOP for the business world?
I have been thinking a lot about that phrase.
I find it nearly incomprehensible how words penned thousands of years ago can speak so clearly to me. I know that God's Word is a living document, that scripture can sustain and teach and comfort and chastise. I know this. Yet, a moment like yesterday, when I turned to the Bible to set aside what I was feeling and seek truth and found a passage that troubles and comforts at the same time, causes me to marvel anew.
I stand in God's grace. As a child of Christ, I have salvation and live beneath His grace.
Yesterday, that was never more evident when I was struggling with hurt from my brother's call and found a reminder of where I really am. Not in Alexandria. Not in a job that causes such anquish at times. Not in a body trapped by disease. I am in God's grace.
What ways does He let me know that His family can cover the hurts of mine?
I had resigned myself to not talking with my best friend again until the Tuesday morning commute. Naturally, the weekends are spent with her family, not on the phone with me or playing Scrabble. Not that we don't ever play on a weekend, but I just don't count on it. Her husband is home, both their families are off work, lots of things to do.
There I was, feeling a bit lonely, comforted by God's Word, but still stinging from hearing my brother hang up on me. And she called for a game or two! She hadn't read my post. She didn't know how my day had gone.
But God did! Even though I really don't like losing, I do so enjoy playing Scrabble and talking with her and hearing about all the things going on in her life. God gave me a family in her who does not mind that I am no longer svelte. Who is willing to walk at my slower pace. Who would never hang up on me. Who truly loves and appreciates me, foibles and all. Who reminds me to walk in truth. That is my comfort. My state of grace.
Why does the passage trouble me?
I stand in grace. This I know.
But... I walk in fear at times. And one of those times is now.
I realized something while talking with my boss during my review on Thursday... I genuinely fear the two vice presidents. One has yelled at me twice and threatened me. The other one I have heard yell at staff. Their anger frightens me. I do not feel completely safe when I am with them and avoid any chance at being caught alone.
I pop into the first one's office when I have a question so I can ask it and leave. I no longer make appointments to discuss something alone with him. I fear what he might say if the door were shut. If he was ready for my presence rather than being caught a bit off guard.
The other is extremely dismissive of me and of my work, my ideas. It is hard to talk with him when he looks at me as if I didn't really matter. When he tells me he is too busy to do the communications task I need. When he bypasses me and talks to the press. His latest tactic is to send my boss an email notifying her of a press contact after the fact. I do not matter. I am dismissed. When I try to get him to work with me, I know I irritate him and sometime anger him. Although he has not yet yelled at me as did the other vice president, I know that he yells at his staff and I do not want to be caught in his anger.
Neither is interested in working with me, so I have accommodated them by working around them as much as possible and limited my contacts with them when I needed to interact with them. The situation is not good for our company as well-managed communications, staffed by myself or someone else, is critical to growth. But how do you work with people who frighten you?
I stand in grace. I stand in grace. I stand in grace.
What does this truth mean for me at work?
And...I wonder...is yelling SOP for the business world?
Saturday, July 02, 2005
So far...I have slept late, folded five loads of laundry, washed, dried, and folded two more, changed the sheets on the bed, and ironed 10 shirts/jackets.
A great way to start a holiday weekend, eh?
I do have fourteen mosquito welts on one foot and another eight on the other. I am not sure when I was bitten, but the itchy red lumps say that I was. So, much of my work was done while trying not to scratch (I was not always successful).
My brother called. He was returning my frenetic call from Wednesday night. He asked me what I was doing and I told him that I was working up the energy to iron. He repeated what I had said as if that were crazy or weird. Other people might not have to work energy to iron, but I do. The labor and the heat takes it toll when I do. Then he asked why I had called him. I had wanted him to read what I was considering turning in as my self evaluation. When I told him that I already had to turn it in, he asked me how the review went. When I started to tell him, he cut me off saying that I was giving him too many details. He didn't know those people and never would.
I stopped short. Four people? That's too many to remember? This is my life. Work. Kashi and the birds. The house. My best friend and her husband and her daughter. Any time I try to talk about them both my mother and my brother tend to cut me off saying it was too much information. I find that so very hurtful. My world is not important to them.
When he cut me off, I grew quiet and then responded that my life obviously wasn't very important to him. My brother hung up on me.
My mother does the same.
It is hard not to be hurt, not to feel rejected, not to feel as if I do not matter.
Wiping away a few tears, I hacked on my hair for a while and then turned to the place I should have before picking up the shears. I was reading in Romans and came upon a reminder of where my hope should be...not in a family who is interested in my life...not in a job where I can make a difference...
"Therefore having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our instruction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we hope in the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation bring about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us."
~Romans 5:1-5
A great way to start a holiday weekend, eh?
I do have fourteen mosquito welts on one foot and another eight on the other. I am not sure when I was bitten, but the itchy red lumps say that I was. So, much of my work was done while trying not to scratch (I was not always successful).
My brother called. He was returning my frenetic call from Wednesday night. He asked me what I was doing and I told him that I was working up the energy to iron. He repeated what I had said as if that were crazy or weird. Other people might not have to work energy to iron, but I do. The labor and the heat takes it toll when I do. Then he asked why I had called him. I had wanted him to read what I was considering turning in as my self evaluation. When I told him that I already had to turn it in, he asked me how the review went. When I started to tell him, he cut me off saying that I was giving him too many details. He didn't know those people and never would.
I stopped short. Four people? That's too many to remember? This is my life. Work. Kashi and the birds. The house. My best friend and her husband and her daughter. Any time I try to talk about them both my mother and my brother tend to cut me off saying it was too much information. I find that so very hurtful. My world is not important to them.
When he cut me off, I grew quiet and then responded that my life obviously wasn't very important to him. My brother hung up on me.
My mother does the same.
It is hard not to be hurt, not to feel rejected, not to feel as if I do not matter.
Wiping away a few tears, I hacked on my hair for a while and then turned to the place I should have before picking up the shears. I was reading in Romans and came upon a reminder of where my hope should be...not in a family who is interested in my life...not in a job where I can make a difference...
"Therefore having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our instruction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we hope in the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation bring about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us."
~Romans 5:1-5
Friday, July 01, 2005
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