Mr. Lincoln...you're gonna do what?

Well, it is official.  He has been talking about it for some time.  He had to be sure that he was able.  So, today is the day to share the news...Mr. Lincoln is planning on running 60 miles in honor of his 60th birthday. 

You may be asking, when is this ridiculous...uh, momentous occasion going to take place.  Next Friday, December 23.  He did not give us a lot of notice.  Of course, I knew when he ran 27 miles one Saturday morning, 30 miles the next Saturday, and 35 miles this past Saturday that he was really serious. 

I am not sure why I questioned his determination.  He ran 50 miles for his 50th birthday.  There were a lot of factors surrounding that, the main one being that his parents said he couldn't.  There were any number of responses they could have had that might have led to a different result, but when they said he could not possibly run 50 miles at the age of 50, well, if was a foregone conclusion that he would.  Another reason, the man loves a challenge.   And, make no mistake, this is a challenge.

MP and Mr. Lincoln ~ at the finish of 50 mile run ~ 10 years ago

Perhaps, the most important reason he is running 60 miles for his 60th birthday is to raise money for The Living Water Project.  I have forgotten how much he raised 10 years ago, but it was enough to build a couple of wells.  There is really no way to tell how many lives have been saved by those wells. 

I must admit that I was rather surprised this morning when he told me that my part would be in getting people to run with him and setting up a schedule.  Has he met me?  There is so much wrong with my being given this assignment that I could not possibly name them all.  But, I will name a few. First of all, I plan on still being asleep when he leaves our house at 4:00 a.m. to start these shenanigans. Secondly, I don't really run (no pun intended) in running circles.  Perhaps, I have a few friends who run, but mainly we just like to have lunch out.  Thirdly, me set up a schedule?  I know nothing of schedules.  Fourthly, he knows I am never where I am supposed to be when he runs a race.  The worst time was in Boston when I was told to have my hand on the post where people whose last names begin with "S" are supposed to meet.  I was fairly close, but not actually touching the pole.  There was quite a bit of commotion taking place behind me, and when I turned I could tell that someone had passed out and was being helped into a wheelchair.  I waited and waited in that crowd, all 5 feet 3 inches of me beneath those towering masses.  Finally, Mr. Lincoln found me.  I began to regale him with all the excitement and the story of some poor soul having passed out.  He looked at me, very unhappily, and said, "that was me!!  While I was having to stand and wait for you I fainted."  I told him I knew we should have met at the "Q" post instead.  There are a lot of last names that begin with "S."  He was not amused.

A couple years ago, Mr. Lincoln was injured and could not run.  He decided, however, to go out and cheer on his friends in the Music City Marathon.  I went along so he would not have to miss out on my sparkling personality and riveting conversation.  As we stood, trying to spot particular people in the crowd he commented on how difficult that task is.  Yeah, no joke.  Tell me something I don't already know.  I have stood in crowds searching for him so I could cheer him on for the 2 seconds he was near me, more times than I can count.  Then, I would rush to the car, drive like a maniac trying to get to the next stop with Powerade, or Gu, or a dry shirt.  A poor unsuspecting pigeon was on the business end of my Honda one day when I was making haste to get to my next stop.  I felt pretty badly about that, but like George Costanza and the squirrels, I thought we had a deal with the pigeons...they're supposed to get out of the way! 

So, December 23, 2011 will mark, I pray, a successful 60 mile run for Mr. Lincoln.  I pray he raises lots of money.  I pray he meets my requirement for his having a successful run ~ coherency on his part at the end. Coherency on my part is probably a bit too much to ask.   I pray that I am able to be good and reliable help to him, unlike his first marathon in Washington, D.C. when he ran the 26.2 miles and I stress-fractured both of my feet.  Oh, the irony!  I pray he is able to run 70 for his 70th if he wants to. 

If you are interested in running a mile or two alongside the crazy man, let me know.  He would love your company.  And, you can pick what time you wish to run ~ 4:00 a.m. is neither required nor expected.  Most of the run will take place in Belle Meade.  If you want to know more about The Living Water Project, check it out at http://thelivingwaterproject.us/

So for today, I wish you determination, realized goals, and I wish you

blessings

Serendipity

Serendipity:  the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident

(Wikipedia online dictionary)

Serendipity: the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by divine appointment

(M. Switzer's definition)

Events yesterday, which I will get to in a minute, reminded me of another similar event that happened some time ago.  Because my travels with the M&M's sometimes run together, I am almost positive that the picture is from the trip I want to share.  If the waves do not suffice, then my wild and woolly hair will attest to the blowing in of tropical storm Isadore.  I believe it was after showing Mr. Lincoln this picture that he suggested we not take any more pictures of ourselves.  While I often take his advice, I have not heeded that piece.

Several years ago,  the M&M's were traveling to Gulf Shores, Alabama.  I do not remember why we left Nashville in the afternoon instead of the morning.  I simply know that as we were traveling around midnight, down a dark and winding backroad, with the gas gauge needle on E, looking for Gulf Shores (a fairly popular vacation destination that at least 3 of the 4 of us had driven to and visited before) we passed a sign that said "Welcome to Florida."  Somewhere, we had taken a wrong turn.  We really needed some gas, so we traveled a bit further into Florida until we came to a well-lit Circle K or 7 Eleven, or perhaps an off-brand of the genre.  Whatever, we knew it had gas, food, and a bathroom.

Working, alone, in the store was a very young woman.  The mother in each of us rose to the surface.  Who on earth would let their daughter work this late at night in such an establishment on such a dark road in the middle of nowhere?  Now, in all fairness we may have been just a block or two from a town square, I do not know.  Did I mention that it was dark?  As we talked to the girl, and of course 4 middle-aged women are going to chat up anyone we meet, especially under these circumstances, we learned that the girl was quite frightened.  She had within the past 10 minutes or so witnessed a drug deal in the parking lot of the market.  She had called the police, but they had not arrived.  So, being the fearless women we are, we decided that we would stay with the girl until the police arrived or until her shift was over.  We stayed, if my memory serves, about an hour. 

I am fairly certain that if the drug dealer and buyer returned to the store with mischief on their minds, we quite possibly would not have been as effective in repelling them as we imagined.  There may have been some quoting of scriptures, or some "now, dahlin' whatcha wanta use drugs for, precious," or "sweetheart, let me give you a hug and let's talk about it."  On second thought, maybe we would have been quite effective.  Neither the drug dealer nor the police showed up while we were there, but after an hour with the M&Ms' protection, the girl assured us that she felt much better and that we could go on our way.  Looking back, she may have just grown weary of our incessant chatter.  I don't know.  But, what I do know, is we were divinely placed there that night to comfort that young girl.  She shared her story, which, sadly, I do not really remember, got her mind off her fear, and was able to continue with her work.  It was a serendipity for us ~ a reminder that we have the opportunity to  "entertain angels unaware" if we just keep our eyes open and see.   I know we were blessed, and I believe we were a blessing.

Yesterday, a somewhat similar serendipity happened.  MP knew that I was spending the day with Carol and Sue.  The plan was to go to Springfield and knock around in antique stores as well as having lunch at 5 Chefs in Portland.  A perfect plan.  MP asked if she could go with us.  Of course, I knew that Sue and Carol would not mind her tagging along.  Actually, I knew they would enjoy her being with us.  What could be better?  A day with friends and my precious daughter.  One of the things I love about going with Sue and Carol is they can hang by the seat of their pants and veer from the plan.  We decided that Portland would be our first stop so we shopped a little there and had lunch.  We all really enjoyed our lunch, but that piece of Hummingbird cake just about pushed me over the edge.  I believe my body is wishing I would go on a fast, but it will remain disappointed.   As usual, I digress.

After lunch it was decided that we would go to Lebanon to hit the antique shops there, and save Springfield for another day.  Carol was fairly certain she knew how to get from Portland to Lebanon as she had seen a sign to Gallatin and figured we would go through it to get to our intended destination.  I rarely offer advice on directions as I am so pitifully challenged in that area.  Apparently, Carol misremembered where that sign to Gallatin was as we ended up on some road that was devoid of "Gallatin" or "Lebanon" signs.  She stopped and calculated her GPS with Sue's help, and we continued on.  You know the old adage, you can always get there from here...and, you can, oftentimes with much more enjoyment than if the "correct" route had been followed. 

We traveled through beautiful Middle Tennessee scenery.  We saw wonderful old barns, beautiful streams, charming houses and beatiful vistas.  As we were traveling through the Cottontown area (heard of it ~ first time to visit) I happened to see a sign that said "Salt Box Antiques."  It was a big, hand-painted sign with a huge arrow on it and a smaller part that said "7th house on the left."  I mentioned it, we decided to turn back and check it out.  Apparently, my challenge with directions also means I cannot tell in which direction an arrow is pointing as we turned in the wrong direction on Raymond Hodges Road.  Not only was there no 7th house on the left, there was no 1st house on the left, but the horse farm and lovely homes on the right made our wrong turn quite welcome.

We turned around and went down the proper side of the road.  Sure enough, as we childlike counted the houses "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, wait a minute.  That's a saltbox house but it is number 6.  Do you think they were counting that little house/barn like thing?  There's no sign in the yard.  But look at the building in the back.  That could have antiques.  Let's pull in."  MP is looking a little incredulous, and it is obvious that neither Carol nor Sue are going to go knock on the door.  Since I was the one who saw the sign, I felt that it was my responsibility to check things out.   This saltbox house is beautiful.  The grounds and deck...everything is just lovely.  So, I figure that surely nice people live here.  By the side door there was a sign that said, "The Browns," so I rang the doorbell, and as I waited for a response, I looked through the windows and observed a wonderful home. 

In a few minutes a gentleman came to the door.  I asked if he was the one who sold antiques and was he open.  He told me to hang on a minute, grabbed his key and coat as I went to inform my cohorts that we were at the right spot and Mr. Brown was going to let us in.  Oh, my goodness.  The antiques he had in that building were incredible.  He buys them in New England and then refinishes them. He reworks the drawers on chests so that they glide with ease.  The building was artfully arranged and wonderfully welcoming. 

Of course, we began to chat.  It turns out that Mr. Brown's wife, Judy, has stage 4 colon cancer.  She had her first chemo treatment the day before.  He was glad to say that she was doing well, and had not suffered many side-effects yet.  He described her surgery and shared the fact that she has about 50 tumors.  His statements were a bit paradoxical as he would comfort himself with assurances that medicines now are much better than years before and then say, "if we make it until April, we will celebrate our 53rd anniversary," indicating his fear that those medicines won't work for his beloved Judy. 

Did I see that sign accidentally?  No I did not.  We were supposed to meet Mr. Brown yesterday.  I have no idea why.  Carol did buy a copper kettle and an old colander for her antique booth.  I asked Mr. Brown if he would be comfortable with my putting his wife on the prayer list at church.  He assured me that he would greatly appreciate it.  Maybe knowing that people he will never know or meet will be praying for him and his wife brought him some comfort.  I assume he shared his visit with Judy, and perhaps, in the midst of a confusing and difficult time, she too will gain some comfort from those prayers.   Who "entertained angels unaware?"  I do not know.  I am just glad that the four of us took that turn off the main road to find that saltbox house that is filled with love in the midst of trial.  Our lives would have been a bit diminished had we not gone there, and we would have never known it. 

Serendipity ~ the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident or divine appointment?  You choose.  But for today, I wish you wonderful serendipitous events, and I wish you

blessings



More Christmas Ramblings

Gluttony and I are becoming well-acquainted.  The past few days have been centered on eating it seems.  I have eaten way too much peppermint bark, but, man is it ever good when made with Ghiradelli white chocolate.  Tuesday night, I had what I think is the best meal I have ever eaten in my life, the dessert being most definitely the food of the gods.  Mr. Lincoln even asked the caterer for extras for me to take home.  I ate one for breakfast yesterday, and the other just because.  Eating out with friends takes on a life of its own as well.  Lunch with Ginger yesterday turned into an almost 3 hour "executive" lunch.  I figured we laughed off any calories we consumed.  Tomorrow I head out with friends to 5 Chefs.  That will be a delicious, calorie-laden event.  Dinner out Friday night, guests for dinner Saturday, Mellow Mushroom on Sunday, Patti's in Grand Rivers next week, M&M's luncheon, and other lunches and dinners in between...then off to Minnesota where I snack every waking hour.  Yikes!!!  "Tis the season.

I have been thinking of past Christmases.  I think that is part of the beauty of holidays...the remembrances of both good and bad ones from the past.  I am very fortunate in that I have not really had any bad Christmases, but definitely some have been more carefree than others.  I want to remember both.  I want to be aware when others might be experiencing a difficult holiday.  Perhaps, I can speak a word of joy or encouragement into their season.  I can definitely pray for them. 

My thoughts carry me to those who are no longer part of our physical celebration of Christmas, like Daddy, and those who have been part of our tradition for a relatively brief time, like Sheri. I love these 2 pictures. Daddy and Sheri never met. I think they would have really liked each other. They would have appreciated each other's sense of the ridiculous. I look at these two pictures, and my heart is filled with love for these 2 people, and for Mr. Lincoln who painted those dark walls a beautiful shade of white when I was off in Florida with my M&M's. Trust me, the room is much more cheerful now.  MP says we live in The Cat in the Hat house.

And, now with 2 babies on the

way, my mind goes to future

holidays.  I do not know what

my children will choose to tell their

children about Santa Claus.  It may be

very different from what Mr. Lincoln

and I did with our two.  That is okay.

I will honor whatever they choose to do.

When I ran across this picture of MP, it

dawned on me that next Christmas she

will be caring for her very own real baby.

Perhaps, time spent with her dolls helped

her prepare for that.  Probably her days

as a nanny and a pediatric nurse will do

more, but maybe, a Christmas gift of a

baby doll was the beginning of her mothering

instincts.

 

Sometimes, Mr. Lincoln and I gave gifts

that might have been a bit too

practical.  I mean, serioiusly,

how many teen age boys want a toilet

as a Christmas present? 

Not many, and probably not this one, but

we figured he needed a

new toilet in his bathroom,

and it was Christmas, so why not? 

Now that I look back on it, I can think of a lot

of why nots. 

But, in typical Marshall fashion, he expressed his

gratitude for such a "thoughtful"

 gift, and posed in his usual interesting

fashion for the Christmas pictures. 

Well, a strange array of random ramblings. 

What I haven't included is the

incredible frustration I have

had with posting this blog.

Pictures just go wherever they want. 

Type does its own thing,

so this post may prove

to be more frustrating than enjoyable

for you as well.  If that is the case,

 I am sorry about that.

So for today, I wish you sweet memories of

Christmases past, hope for bright holidays

ahead and I wish you

blessings

When someone dies too young, it is difficult at times to
contemplate the hole left at family gatherings. That is the case with my brother, Charlie. So, memories of our times with him sustain us at the times we become somewhat overwhelmed by his absence. 

I love traditions.  A favorite of mine from my childhood was every year in my stocking I received bubble bath with soap in the shape of a woman's head.  Every year.  We did not have a fireplace so our stockings hung on our bedroom door knobs.  I would awaken and in the gloom before sunrise, with my myopic vision I would know that Santa had come when I saw that soap sticking above the top of my stocking. 





                           

Christmas

Against the teaching of all public communication teachers, I am beginning with an apology for this blog.  I am very aware that Jesus is the reason for this season in which we enter.  This season of Advent, as we crescendo to the celebration of God in human form breaking into this world.  I try to live everyday with Jesus as the reason (I fail a lot), but this blog is for the frivolity of Christmas.

I love Christmas.  I do.  I love the holiday foods...peppermint bark, asparagus roll ups, bread pudding, baby corns, pickled okra.  Certainly, I have not described a very well-balanced menu, but these are things I generally only have during the holidays. 

I love the music.  The "Christmas" playlist on my I-pod has an assortment of genres....pretty much the same songs in various arrangements.  I listen while I decorate and cook and clean...no, while I decorate and cook.  I do not clean much.

I love to decorate.  Last year I did not decorate much because I was recovering from surgery, and was actually out of town until about the 15th, so this year, I pulled everything out.  MP said it looked like Christmas had exploded in the den.   

Much to Mr. Lincoln's dismay, I love the Hallmark Christmas Movies and Fa La La La Lifetime season too.  Like my music, each movie is pretty much the same story, just set in different locations with the characters having different professions, but mainly they end very satisfactorily.  There was that one where the little girl died of leukemia, and I was mad at Hallmark for a couple days over that one.  But, then I decided to change the ending in my head, so now she is alive and well living happily with her formerly downtrodden mother and her new, gorgeous and wealthy father.  That is how Christmas movies are supposed to end.

I love giving gifts.  Generally, I do not shop at the mall for gifts.  Often, I make my gifts...perhaps a photograph of something important to the recipient, a gift of food, maybe a poorly, but lovingly hand knit scarf.  The children get the same thing every year.  Thanks to Mr. Lincoln, they get a week in Sanibel Island in January, and their stockings have gift cards to restaurants on the island.  Sometimes, there are some extras like a piece of jewelry for Sheri and exotic (or not so exotic) spices for Josh.  MP always receives a calendar.  (note to self...go get that calendar)  Their gift to Sanibel serves also as a gift Mr. Lincoln and I give to ourselves.  We dearly love the energy and fun they bring with them to the island.  It is the high point of the year for most of us.

Yesterday, Mr. Lincoln and I decided to go buy our Christmas tree.  In previous years, we have gotten our trees from a friend.  Marshall began working at Bob's tree lot when he was 13 years old.  In fact, he took most, if not all, the money he made that first year and bought Mr. Lincoln and me a microwave.  We are still using it.  I think it is losing power which would seem reasonable for a twenty year old  microwave.  I told Mr. Lincoln yesterday that when it dies, I will make a frame out of the door.  I am most sentimental about that microwave. But, as usual, I digress.

When we arrive at Home Depot to get our tree, we immediately become befuddled by the big tent in the parking lot.  Why does everything have to change?  I liked it better when the trees were in the garden center.  I feel more comfortable there.    Mr. Lincoln and I are both tired.  I was up late partying at my mother's on Friday night, and Mr. Lincoln ran 30 miles Saturday morning ~ before 9:15.  Don't ask.  So, we are not in the mood to spend a lot of time.  We go in the tent, and standing alone in the $39.97 bin is a tree.  Mr. Lincoln stands it up, shakes it out, and I say, "fine.  That one is perfect."  Now, we are not uneducated people, but we can not figure out where to pay for the tree. It is mass chaos.  There are 2 long lines, but those people are waiting to get the highly recommended "fresh cut" from the bottom of their trees.  We take ours and walk it over to the garden center. stand in line, finally pay, decide we do not want to spend the time to have the "fresh cut" done, so we leave.  Then, we spend the next hour and a half trying to find someone who has a saw so we can make our own fresh cut.  I seriously thought about using my new Cutco Chef's knife (they will cut through a penny and never get dull), until we found the Srygleys at home.  Mr. Lincoln hack sawed the end of our tree, and we promptly came home to deal with the CHRISTMAS TREE STAND, that most dreaded of holiday implements.

Amazingly, with only a little tugging and direction-giving, the tree is in the stand in a moderately straight position.  But, oh, my stars.  This is the skinniest tree in the world.  I wish I was so svelte.  It turns out, however, that the slimness of our tree will serve us well, as one of our back doors will not open without a lot of praying/cursing, so I use the other back door, which is where the tree is.  Now, the door will open just enough to make room for me to get into the house.  You may ask why we do not use the front door instead.  We cannot get it open without using a crowbar, which takes 2 people.  At times, we are a little "red" around here.

I love putting the ornaments on the tree  The paper towel rose Marshall made when he was about 10, the paper reindeer made of Jenny's feet and hands, the Mickey and Minnie Mouse ornament that Marshall and Sheri brought us from their Disney honeymoon, a handmade paper reindeer, wooden ornaments I made in my woodworking class before MP was born, the circus animals from the mobile over Marshall's crib and the fuzzy lambs that hung over the same crib when MP used it, reindeer made of clothes pins, the felt ornnaments I made our first Christmas as husband and wife, pictures of the kids, gifts from the Burkhart girls when there were only 2 of them, etc...   Each one is a story unto itself.  Each one brings back precious memories.  And so, my skinny tree looks exceptionally beautiful to me. 

And so for today, I wish you great joy in the frivolity of Christmas, and I wish you

blessings

Fun in the Cemetery

Yep, us "girls" sitting on a tombstone, posing for a picture.  It is our annual or semi-annual trip to Springhill Cemetery.  Nunny needs to have appropriate flowers on Gandy's, Mae's, Granddaddy's, and Aunt Mary's graves.  It is important to her.  Doree and I go along for the laughs.  Irreverent?  Perhaps. 

Gandy's grave is very easy to find.  He is at the front of the cemetery.  He is buried right beside Uncle Dick and Aunt Jo, also known as Mr. and Mrs. Kornmeyer.  It is good and right that they are buried next door to each other, for that is how they lived for over forty years.  So, as we speak to Daddy, we always offer a hello to the Kornmeyers.  Of course, I know they are not really there, but there is some comfort in feeling as though we are putting flowers somewhere other than where no one is.  The red roses in the somewhat over sized container on Daddy's bench, along with some leaves torn off the weathered white (now grey) roses we removed and some pine cones gathered from around a nearby grave site look lovely.  No, we do not take pine cones from the arrangement on another grave.  That particular monument is located beneath a pine tree dropping its cones.  We are pleased with our efforts.  We always imagine Daddy telling whoever is with him, that he wished Mom would not spend money on flowers for the grave, and that his girls do not need to be out in the cold weather...and, why exactly is Marilyn not wearing a coat.  So, we bid Dad a fond farewell, and go on the always anticipated trek of wrong turns and u-turns and failed efforts to find the other graves.  The only explanation for our consistent inability to find Mae and Granddaddy's graves is the well-documented family curse of being painfully directionally challenged.

We miss Channie and Cole on this trip.  They have always enjoyed running through the cemetery and reading tombstones.  The one and only time we have been successful in finding my paternal grandparents' grave site, Cole and Channie were with us.  I remember so well Channie proclaiming, "there is a good man buried over there" as we passed a tombstone with Goodman engraved on it.  Those two are always good for a laugh.

Finally, we locate Mae, Granddaddy, Anderson, and Aunt Mary.  Mae and Granddaddy died on the same day...both peacefully in their own beds in the nursing home in 1970.  He was born in 1884 and she in 1887  They were just short of celebrating their 52 wedding anniversary.  Anderson, their son, died in 1929, when my mother was 5 years old and he was 13 years old.  He died of leukemia.  His death brought with it changes in the lives of his baby sister, as well as his brother and parents.  Aunt Mary was Mae's (real name EuDora Bert) sister.  She looked the same when she was 30 as when she was 80...she looked 80 most of her life.  She always had orange slices in her purse, and often gave us money when she saw us.  The money was always coins.  She could not see well, so she would ask, "is that a quarter or a nickel?"  I felt sorry for her that she could not differentiate between the coins.  As a child, it also seemed somewhat ridiculous.  As an adult whose eyesight is changing, it just seems perfectly normal.  But, I digress.

Mom and Doree had bought a Styrofoam cone to fit down into the urn on the graves.  It is very much too large.  Doree takes a block of foam and begins to cram it into the urn.  She brings Mom's toolbox, which houses some unusual things, the oddest being a faucet.  We question as to how an unattached faucet will aide us in our efforts, and none of us can come up with anything.  Finally, the roses are placed in the urn.  Again, we rip leaves from the spent hydrangeas that have been on the grave since spring to fill in the blank places.  Mom and Dor' plop themselves down on Mae and Granddaddy's monument as I set my camera up on someone else's.  The ground is bumpy and damp and the tombstone/tripod that I am using is some distance away.  It takes the full 10 seconds I am allotted before the picture is taken for me to get situated.  Multiply tries are needed before we arrive at this semi-decent shot. Of course, it will go into my daily photo journal, for, sadly, this trip to the cemetery is the most exciting thing I do on this day. 

Some might find us a bit inappropriate enjoying our time in the cemetery.  One of Mom's fondest memories is when we picnicked there one day.  Actually, my little bit of knowledge about the history of cemeteries in the U.S. tells me that we were just enjoying a bit of what was normal in the 19th century....strolling through the graveyard and enjoying a little repast among the spirits.  What it really accomplishes, is another day for Daddy's "girls" to spend time together, Mom's mind and heart put at rest by having placed seasonal flowers on the graves, and moments of  reminiscing days passed.  Mom informed us that she wants to be creamated and placed by Daddy.  She felt that way we would not have to pay for a grave to be dug. I am not sure exactly how they bury ashes without digging at least a little bitty grave, but Doree and I assured her that we were not above a little night trip into the cemetery with our shovels to bury her ashes.  I thought better of that as I made several wrong turns and took a very circuitous route on my exit. For a moment I felt I might not ever get out of there.  That journey would be a bit more disconcerting in the dark.

So for today, I wish you silliness with people you love, fond memories of those with whom you can no longer be silly, and

blessings



Lessons...a stream of consciousness

Lessons I have learned or re-learned in the past few days...in no particular order:

1.  I can make a delicious batch of cream chicken without going to the store
2.  Eating white chocolate cheesecake with raspberry puree is really not a great idea after a stressful morning.
3.  My own health scares are not even on the same map as health scares of my children and future grandchildren.
4.  Grandmothers should never give grandbabies medicine without the parents' permission.
5.  Speaking truth in love into someone's life is kind.
6.  Things might get worse before they get better.
7.  Some people are just not trustworthy, and they will go behind your back in a heartbeat if it will benefit them.
8.  I am blessed not to know too many of the people in number 7.
9.  Some people just need to keep their mouths shut.
10.  Micro-managers make me want to scream!!  Enough already.  We're all adults here.
11.  I adore my niece, Maclellan.  She is one of the finest people I know.
12.  Some people need to mind their own business.
13.  Plantar fasciitis is the pits.
14.  I love family traditions, like decorating Nunny's tree on the day after Thanksgiving.
15.  My brother, Sam, cracks me up. 
16.  Working 3 days on a painting is 2 days too long.
17.  I am blessed with wonderful, encouraging friends.  Right now, I am especially grateful for my TOM.
18.  It is possible to lie on my face at the Father's feet in an agony of prayer while looking like I am calmly sitting in a doctor's waiting room.
19.  Nobody deserves to have anyone belittle them. 
20.  Grandparents who would take their grandchild to see Santa for the first time without including the child's parents are unaware and insensitive.
21.  I do not respond well to passive-aggressive behavior.  Just say it, please.
22.  I refuse to go on guilt trips.  That is not a way to manipulate me, or my children, or my husband.  Just does not work.  In fact usually the result is the opposite of the desired response. 
23.  Seven year old little girls should not have to be exposed to seven year old little boys talking about sex.  Can everyone say, "inappropriate?"  Come on world, quit destroying the innocence of our children!!
24.  We benefit ourselves and those around us when we discover that life is not about us. 
25.  I love my Otter Creek family.
26.  Sam Todd is the cutest little boy walking on the face of this earth.  His sisters are beyond adorable too.
27.  Mr. Lincoln is the loveliest man.  (He has a birthday coming up in the not-too-distant future, so more on him and his crazy exploits later).
28.  I often do not understand what peole are thinking, especially when they have loved ones in the hospital, but then, I figure I befuddle them at times too.
29.  Too many Santas on a mantel can end up looking like a display shelf at Goodwill. 
30.  Too many snowmen on a ladder in the den can just be confusing.
31.  I sewed a lot when my children were little, and I have a lot of the dresses to prove it thanks to Doree and her excellent care of them.
32.  People deserve to be protected by those who love them.
33.  I am happy that it is the Wednesday after Thanksgiving 2011 and not 2010.
34.  People who spend all their time telling others how much better stuff they have are pathetic.
34.  Someone is not listening in chapel :-)
35.  Clearly, I do not know how to count.
36.  I wonder how many lessons I missed in the past few days.

blessings

High Anxiety

A person cannot survive for very long in a state of high anxiety.  I was in that state for several days this past week.  It is exhausting.  Last Friday, I went to an ENT because of an earache I have had for about 7 weeks.  It is annoying, sometimes extraordinarily painful, but definitely not debilitating.  After rounds of antibiotics and steroids, still it lingers.  My internist thought, perhaps, that I would need a tube in my ear, a seemingly ridiculous thing for someone almost 60 years old. 

So, on Friday, I visited the ENT.  Prior to my visit I received a letter from his office.  They are very firm about being on time.  "Be here 15 minutes early, if you are late you may have to reschedule, if you do not have x-rays, MRI results, doctor's referral with you, you may have to reschedule, have all your papers filled out before arriving or you may have to reschedule, your appointment is from 3:00 until 3:30."  Wow!!  I was a nervous wreck that I would be late.  Of course, I remembered the 3:30 time and not the 3:00 time and was on the phone with my daughter-in-law as I left the house and, unthinkingly, took the absolutely worst route.  So, now, as I sit in construction traffic in the heart of Green Hills with only 13 minutes left to get there by 3:00 (I have since looked at the letter), I am developing a terrible headache.  For those who do not know me well, I never, ever go anywhere late unless there is a dire emergency.  My heart is pounding, I am certain my blood pressure is out the roof.  I arrive at 2:58, and am walking into the office apologizing profusely for not being 15 minutes early.  The receptionist, very nonchalantly, says, "no problem.  He's running a little late, himself." 

Seriously, this receptionist is the master of understatement.  I generally do not mind waiting for a doctor.  I understand they can get behind, and run into circumstances they were not anticipating.  But, when they send such a strict letter, I do not expect to wait very long.  At about 4: 20, I am finally called back...to the next waiting room.  The nurse is sweet, but quite giggly, and I am not in a giggly mood at this point.  In fact, I may have sent out a vibe of unfriendliness.  At 4:40, Dr. Doogie Houser walks in.  This man looks to be about 15 years old.  He does not apologize for being late.  He launches into some questions about my "condition," half-heartedly (in my opinion) tries to see my tonsils and the back of my tongue, pokes around my neck, and promptly says, "well, this could be several things...thyroid cancer, tongue cancer, tonsil cancer or TMJ."  Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?  I thought I needed a tube in my ear to drain it. 

Doogie continues to explain, seemingly with enthusiasm, about my potential situation.   Of course, all I am hearing is the word "cancer," and my mind races with all the horrors that conjures.  He suggests a contrast CT scan, and goes on to explain that tongue and tonsil cancer are mainly caused by smoking with HPV being the second highest cause of tonsil cancer.  I'm thinking doesn't he need to ask me a couple of questions, like, "do you smoke?  Do you sleep around?"  Something!!  He did finally ask about the smoking, and I inquired if  1/2 pack of cigarettes, 2 cigars, and a corncob pipe of hackberry leaves in 59 years constitutes being a smoker.  It does not.  He never asked about my potentially rampant promiscuity. Later I asked my daughter, the nurse, why he did not delve a little deeper into the HPV angle, and she said that medical professionals do not ask those questions anymore because people lie. 

Little Miss Giggles asked when I wanted to have the CT scan, and I said as soon as possible.  She said that she could not do anything at that point because the imaging center was closed.  Yeah, of course it is.  If he had seen me during my 3:00 - 3:30 appointed time it would not have been too late.  I do not say that outloud because even though the stress is about to get to me, I still have enough sense to know that my fate (at least for the CT appointment) is in her hands.  We set up an 11:30 appointment on Wednesday to follow a CT scan, hopefully to be scheduled at 10:45. So, I leave, call Mr. Lincoln, who does not answer his phone so I call him again, and again, until he answers then says, "I'm in a meeting at church," and hangs up.  I do talk to MP, and she is helpful.  I seriously need to talk to Mr. Lincoln.  He finally calls me back and I pour it all out on him.  Someone said something like, "joys shared are doubled and sorrows shared are halved."  That is a very true statement, and so, now that Mr. Lincoln knew, I could relax, a little.

All my growing up years, I was taught the scriptures.  Philippians 4: 6 ~ "Do not be anxious about anything..."  That was drilled into our heads, but the understanding I was left with was the same as a parent who says, "stop that crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!!"   I always felt it was God saying, "do not be anxious, or I'll give you something to be anxious about!!"  Fortunately, I have since learned that I do not have to feel guilty on top of my anxiety.  What a relief. 

On Monday, I called the doctor's office to see if an appointment had been made yet for my CT.  Nope, not yet.  They assured me that they would let me know.  I did not hear a word the rest of that day.  On Tuesday, I receive a call from the doctor's office, a formality, telling me that I have an appointment at 11:30 on Wednesday, to please arrive 15 minutes early, and if I'm late I may have to reschedule.  Really?  So I call, explain my situation, she tries to find Miss Giggles but she cannot.  She then assures me that she will talk to the nurse.  Terrific.  Finally, at 4:30 she calls and the appointment has been set.  My insurance company is balking over the test.  Can you blame them?  My back surgery alone last year was $125,000.   We had met our family deductible by 3:00 am on January 1, 2010.  I am starting to be a bad risk for them.

Mr. Lincoln agrees to go with me, because if I get any dire news, I need him to be there to tell Doogie that I want to see another doctor.  I am too big a wimp to do that on my own.  I am not stressed over the CT scan until the imaging center calls and says not to eat anything for four hours before the test.  Okay, don't eat?  This is serious.  I make a huge mistake.  I google "Contrast CT Scan."  Oh, the horror stories are unbelieveable.  So, now I am truly freaking out.  I figure I am going to have an allergic reaction to the dye, swell to 3 times my normal size and be vomiting and itching for the next 2 years. 

If only it weren't too late, I would make a long story short, but after the CT scan with no bad reactions, an endoscopy in the doctor's office, Miss Giggles being totally accommodating and professional, Doogie sounding knowledgeable and interested, I learned that mainly things are fine.  I still have yet to hear from the radiologist about a density on one tonsil, but chances are it is nothing serious.  I have a friend who said he hoped they just learned that the "denseness" was caused by blondeness.  I assured him that, like Dolly Parton, I am not really blonde.   

Well, I still have an earache.  I did ask Doogie if a CT scan could detect hypochondria because I am beginning to feel that must be my ailment.  Mr. Lincoln, jokingly, said that I was just looking for attention.  Next time, I will find something less expensive, less scary, and less time consuming.  So, still I wait for the final word, and will probably have to see yet another doctor if the pain does not go away.  But, I am so thankful to a God who says, "do not be anxious," not because he is going to zap me if I am, but rather because "he's got it, don't worry."  I am thankful for a husband who is kind and attentive, but who does not baby me.  I am thankful for friends who cared, inquired and prayed about my tests and the results, and who be there the next time I need them.  I am thankful for good test results. 

So for today, I wish you thanksgiving, good health, and

blessings