I had no idea...
In the days before I'm scheduled to lead worship, I've got the song list rattling around in my head, rolling it around on the soundtrack of my life. I get to hear things God might be saying in my life through those songs that week, and I get a picture of how I think the songs might sound on Sunday. Might, just might. Just a picture.
And then this morniing we start 'Unchanging' with electric guitar and bass. Such instruments in the sanctuary would have sent the congregation into a shocked pout ten or even five years ago. But something wonderful happened.
Ben and Lex began a spin for me to float on the likes of which could otherwise only have come from Adam Clayton and the Edge. And I just rose. Up to God.
And I got to be Bono.
Of course the congregation came right along with us. Further up and further in. I knew they would. It was a sight and sound to behold.
I'm still giddy about it at one o'clock in the next morning.
Thanks guys.
Thanks, God.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
ZOMBIE INSECTS INVADE A PARKING LOT NEAR YOU!
Mayflies. Gugh! If ever there were an insect perfectly made for a Hitchcock movie, "The Bugs," or a George Romero movie, "Night of the Mayfly," I've not yet met a more perfectly zombie-like bug.
I first encountered them by Lake St. Clair, Michigan, where my sister lives.
If it weren't that her Michigander husband is so nice and her children so adorable, I would never darken Michigan's door again because of those creepy floaty flappy things.Then, about five years ago, I found them swarming around the lights in the parking lot of our local shopping mall. EEEeeeeee, they followed me to Pittsburgh! It's more than the waving long tail-stinger looking thing they've got menacing on the hinter-end. It's the mindless stillness of the creatures as they cling to my windshield, or to my clothes, or to my arm. It's like they don't even know or care that they're about to be smeared by my windshield wiper - that's what they're here for. I would feel much better about sharing the world with them if I knew they were food for something noble or beautiful. Until that assurance is broadcast over the speakers in the plaza parking lot, I'm going to shudder every time I have to go pick up something at the store after 9 o'clock at night.
Friday, May 30, 2008
A little wisdom from Craig Ferguson and Eden Kennedy
Twelve minutes well spent. It's getting my day off to such a good start I had to post this now.
This is the first time I've linked to YouTube, so let me know if this did or didn't work.
Thanks to Mrs. Kennedy for the heads up. She's a wonderful writer and a wise soul.
So is Craig Ferguson!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=QJWlNPq0ftM
http://youtube.com/watch?v=tYhVnsCbCg0
one might consider this a twelfth step move on my part
This is the first time I've linked to YouTube, so let me know if this did or didn't work.
Thanks to Mrs. Kennedy for the heads up. She's a wonderful writer and a wise soul.
So is Craig Ferguson!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=QJWlNPq0ftM
http://youtube.com/watch?v=tYhVnsCbCg0
one might consider this a twelfth step move on my part
Friday, May 16, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
update
I've thrown the cheeseball away and written a letter to my father. If not the best things, the next right things.
Friday, May 02, 2008
I'm a bad, bad person
I don't know what to do. I'm actually processing this out in the blogosphere before I do something about it...
I forgot my father.
O my glory, I don't know what to do! I can't bring myself to call him and tell him I DID listen to his message that he'd be in town in a week or two and we should get together, but then forgot to answer him back.
I'm afraid I've hurt him. I'm afraid he'll yell at me (because, after all, I AM still eight years old)
I'm afraid he won't talk to me. I'm afraid he'll be mean. I'm afraid he'll say I'm a bad daughter, even though I think I'm a bad daughter, I always want my parents to tell me it's ok, they still love me.
And if I were the one who had been slighted, I would forgive, but I'm afraid.
I can't believe I did this! What's THAT about??
Thank you, anonymous internet people who may only be in my mind, thank you for listening.
Now what?
I have to do something.
I can't call him, I'm afraid.
If I write a letter, that's so lame.
Maybe I could pretend it never happened.
Yeah, "My answering machine is on the fritz."
"Oh, was that you? The sound was so crackly I didn't know WHO that was!"
I'm such an ass.
It's been burning on my conscience for a week now, and that PROVES what an ass I am. I woke up in the middle of the night last night, telling myself what a bad person I am.
It's like the longer I let this go, the worse it is, and that's exactly what an addict does, digs the hole deeper and deeper for fear of having to face the pain of cleaning up. And the cleanup is never as painful as living in the hole, but it's hard to get out of the hole.
Blah blah blah.
Help!
I've got to do it.
Lord, help!
I forgot my father.
O my glory, I don't know what to do! I can't bring myself to call him and tell him I DID listen to his message that he'd be in town in a week or two and we should get together, but then forgot to answer him back.
I'm afraid I've hurt him. I'm afraid he'll yell at me (because, after all, I AM still eight years old)
I'm afraid he won't talk to me. I'm afraid he'll be mean. I'm afraid he'll say I'm a bad daughter, even though I think I'm a bad daughter, I always want my parents to tell me it's ok, they still love me.
And if I were the one who had been slighted, I would forgive, but I'm afraid.
I can't believe I did this! What's THAT about??
Thank you, anonymous internet people who may only be in my mind, thank you for listening.
Now what?
I have to do something.
I can't call him, I'm afraid.
If I write a letter, that's so lame.
Maybe I could pretend it never happened.
Yeah, "My answering machine is on the fritz."
"Oh, was that you? The sound was so crackly I didn't know WHO that was!"
I'm such an ass.
It's been burning on my conscience for a week now, and that PROVES what an ass I am. I woke up in the middle of the night last night, telling myself what a bad person I am.
It's like the longer I let this go, the worse it is, and that's exactly what an addict does, digs the hole deeper and deeper for fear of having to face the pain of cleaning up. And the cleanup is never as painful as living in the hole, but it's hard to get out of the hole.
Blah blah blah.
Help!
I've got to do it.
Lord, help!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Earth Day is EVERY day.
On Sunday mornings, the 'burgh can listen to "Living on Earth," a little radio show produced and hosted by the Mr. Rodgers of the airwaves, Steve Kerwin. He's got a strong, softly lilting voice, and a sensibility that seems to speak to me from my hopeful, activist time of my life, and reminds me that change is possible. I remember when we heard his message all over the place in the seventies, and now it's relegated to a back corner of public radio. ~sigh~ I need to be reminded and encouraged EVERY day that change is possible, that just beginning to make a connection to my neighbors or my city around taking care of the place in which we live. I'm thinking of getting my backyard neighbors together to do an alley clean-up! Our block could get together for a front yard clean up. Ok...what would this take?
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Madness! Madness, I say!
You be the judge, friends in the ether; disgusting madness.........or genius?!?
I would invent a substance that bonds with sebacious material, something that would sink into one's pores and grab hold of dead skin and dirt and oil in the skin. The substance would need to be gentle enough to the skin that it could be applied in a treatment. It would also need to be strongly enough attracted to sebacious material that it would penetrate the pores. Finally, it would need to solidify enough in a reasonable amount of time that it could then be peeled from the skin, bringing all pore contents with it, so it would need considerable tensile strength, perhaps after being exposed to 'blue light' or something that would allow it to come off without leaving ANYTHING behind.
Here's how this magic treatment would go:
Without cleansing the skin beforehand, steam lightly, allowing the skin to relax and the pores to open. The substance would then be gently brushed or sprayed onto the skin evenly and generously. Time would be allowed for the penetrating action to take place, but before the first layer dries, a second layer would be applied. During the waiting time and the following bonding treatment, ethereal music could be played, and the hands and feet could be massaged. The bonding treatment would be exposure of the entire treated area to ultra-violet light, or "blue light" like the one that the dentist uses to harden the resin he puts on my teeth when he patches a cavity. (Is that little light gun fake, or does the blue light really do something? This is actually where I got the idea!) If that isn't possible, perhaps a third layer would be applied, but this one would be the bonding agent. Or maybe a temperature change would need to happen. Then, back to the steam, whether it's a whole steam room, or a localized treatment. After sufficient time for skin relaxation and for the pores to re-open and new oil to begin flowing from the oil glands, the mask would be slowly, gently, firmly peeled from the skin, starting at the lowest part and ending with the top. The tensile strength of the bonded material would make it elastic enough that it would stretch and not pop out of the pores in a way that would widen them any further, but it would pull slowly out of the pores, not breaking, but stretching out and slipping the nasty gunk out and away. Immediately upon removal, a mist or dabbing application of a gentle anti-bacterial toner would be applied to discourage new bacteria from beginning its process again, and to encourage the tightening of the pores. A calming and nourishing action would need to take place at this time, allowing the skin's own acid mantle to re-establish itself.
How tough would that be on the skin? How readily would it release from the live skin? How long would it take? Is there even such a thing? How often could or would such a treatment need to take place?
Is this just satisfying an obsessive-compulsive fantasy, or would it really be beneficial?
If this plan were analyzed, what would it reveal about my psyche? I have no idea what the result of writing this down will be, but it had been bugging me to get out for a while.
I can imagine being contacted by the Murad people or the ProActive company or some cosmetic chemist. They'd either be asking me for copyrights or patent rights or some such thing, or suing me for stealing their intellectual property. Honest, people, this is just the musings of a girl with nagging dreams of fastidiousness and overproductive oil glands.
What do you think?
I would invent a substance that bonds with sebacious material, something that would sink into one's pores and grab hold of dead skin and dirt and oil in the skin. The substance would need to be gentle enough to the skin that it could be applied in a treatment. It would also need to be strongly enough attracted to sebacious material that it would penetrate the pores. Finally, it would need to solidify enough in a reasonable amount of time that it could then be peeled from the skin, bringing all pore contents with it, so it would need considerable tensile strength, perhaps after being exposed to 'blue light' or something that would allow it to come off without leaving ANYTHING behind.
Here's how this magic treatment would go:
Without cleansing the skin beforehand, steam lightly, allowing the skin to relax and the pores to open. The substance would then be gently brushed or sprayed onto the skin evenly and generously. Time would be allowed for the penetrating action to take place, but before the first layer dries, a second layer would be applied. During the waiting time and the following bonding treatment, ethereal music could be played, and the hands and feet could be massaged. The bonding treatment would be exposure of the entire treated area to ultra-violet light, or "blue light" like the one that the dentist uses to harden the resin he puts on my teeth when he patches a cavity. (Is that little light gun fake, or does the blue light really do something? This is actually where I got the idea!) If that isn't possible, perhaps a third layer would be applied, but this one would be the bonding agent. Or maybe a temperature change would need to happen. Then, back to the steam, whether it's a whole steam room, or a localized treatment. After sufficient time for skin relaxation and for the pores to re-open and new oil to begin flowing from the oil glands, the mask would be slowly, gently, firmly peeled from the skin, starting at the lowest part and ending with the top. The tensile strength of the bonded material would make it elastic enough that it would stretch and not pop out of the pores in a way that would widen them any further, but it would pull slowly out of the pores, not breaking, but stretching out and slipping the nasty gunk out and away. Immediately upon removal, a mist or dabbing application of a gentle anti-bacterial toner would be applied to discourage new bacteria from beginning its process again, and to encourage the tightening of the pores. A calming and nourishing action would need to take place at this time, allowing the skin's own acid mantle to re-establish itself.
How tough would that be on the skin? How readily would it release from the live skin? How long would it take? Is there even such a thing? How often could or would such a treatment need to take place?
Is this just satisfying an obsessive-compulsive fantasy, or would it really be beneficial?
If this plan were analyzed, what would it reveal about my psyche? I have no idea what the result of writing this down will be, but it had been bugging me to get out for a while.
I can imagine being contacted by the Murad people or the ProActive company or some cosmetic chemist. They'd either be asking me for copyrights or patent rights or some such thing, or suing me for stealing their intellectual property. Honest, people, this is just the musings of a girl with nagging dreams of fastidiousness and overproductive oil glands.
What do you think?
Friday, March 21, 2008
Refrigerator regulars
These are some of the things that can always be found in my refrigerator(besides the box of rotting baby lettuce - a new box every week!)Liz gave me this one. Thanks AGAIN, Liz!
1. Silk Unsweetened Soy Milk. If that stuff ever gets discontinued, I'm up a crick. I can't handle anything but the stuff in the green carton, and I'm hooked! I've been a milk drinker all my life, and I'll never go back.
2. Stonyfield Farms Yogurt. Whole milk and lowfat. The whole milk stuff is incredibly sasitfying, I just need a little bit.
3. Parmigiano Reggiano. I scrape that stuff over everything.
4. Gruyere or Jarlsberg. Gotta have either to nibble or mix in the eggs or the rice or the salad, or....
5. Diet Coke. I'm really trying to cut down to one a day. Really.
6. Home made pesto. I'm just shy of dipping the spoon in and eating it straight out of the jar!
7. A three year old cheese ball. Someone brought it to a party at the house a long time ago, and it's in a blue glass bowl in the top back. I check on it every couple of months to see if there's any mold on it yet. It's not real food, surely. It's a peverse thing now, refusing to throw it away.
8. Market District Lemon Almond Chicken salad. I pick up a pound every Sunday night, and it's lunch at school until it's gone. I'm never tired of it!
9. San-J reduced salt Tamari. That and a couple of drops of sesame seed oil and we're off!
What's in your refrigerator?
1. Silk Unsweetened Soy Milk. If that stuff ever gets discontinued, I'm up a crick. I can't handle anything but the stuff in the green carton, and I'm hooked! I've been a milk drinker all my life, and I'll never go back.
2. Stonyfield Farms Yogurt. Whole milk and lowfat. The whole milk stuff is incredibly sasitfying, I just need a little bit.
3. Parmigiano Reggiano. I scrape that stuff over everything.
4. Gruyere or Jarlsberg. Gotta have either to nibble or mix in the eggs or the rice or the salad, or....
5. Diet Coke. I'm really trying to cut down to one a day. Really.
6. Home made pesto. I'm just shy of dipping the spoon in and eating it straight out of the jar!
7. A three year old cheese ball. Someone brought it to a party at the house a long time ago, and it's in a blue glass bowl in the top back. I check on it every couple of months to see if there's any mold on it yet. It's not real food, surely. It's a peverse thing now, refusing to throw it away.
8. Market District Lemon Almond Chicken salad. I pick up a pound every Sunday night, and it's lunch at school until it's gone. I'm never tired of it!
9. San-J reduced salt Tamari. That and a couple of drops of sesame seed oil and we're off!
What's in your refrigerator?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Someday my computer will come...
Ok, here's what I want to be able to do or have on my computer:
Watch movies
download movies, pictures, music
copy/create video and music and text discs
Email
Run a weblog
Read weblogs with imbedded video
Run my Promethean ActivBoard at home
Print text in black/white and color
Watch my deaf god-daughter sign to me
Let my deaf god-daughter see me sign to her
Did I forget anything?
So, now where's my computer?
Please help!
Watch movies
download movies, pictures, music
copy/create video and music and text discs
Run a weblog
Read weblogs with imbedded video
Run my Promethean ActivBoard at home
Print text in black/white and color
Watch my deaf god-daughter sign to me
Let my deaf god-daughter see me sign to her
Did I forget anything?
So, now where's my computer?
Please help!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Love/Hate
My new personal photo is me with The Prince as he soaks up the love. "Aaaah, yes, this is where I should be all day, every day. In the arms of the one I love, dozing, dreaming, watching the world go by."
I just had to Bogart this from smithical.com
It seems Liz and I have the same basic food loves & hates!
Love/ Hate Meme
I love to eat: Meat! I regularly need to 'rend flesh'!
I hate to eat: wet eggs - no runny whites, no French-style omelettes, cook those eggs, honey!
I love to go: out on my front porch at 6 in the morning, when all is quiet.
I hate to go: to bed with a headache, or to the grocery the day before a holiday.
I love it when: the morning is cool and breezy, and I have time to walk in Homewood cemetery
I hate it when: I'm in the house, deciding to do something constructive instead of watching an 'important' show because I've already got the VCR taping it....and later discover it was on the wrong channel!
I love to see: the ocean between 6 and 10am and 4 and 9pm, and then, of course, the moon rising over the ocean is the ultimate, night OR day!
I hate to see: garbage strewn all over the back yard after an animal raid in the alley
I love to hear: mourning doves, the 6pm chimes from the neighborhood church, "I love you!"
I hate to hear: the sound of a cat stomach retching loud enough to wake me in the middle of the night!
I just had to Bogart this from smithical.com
It seems Liz and I have the same basic food loves & hates!
Love/ Hate Meme
I love to eat: Meat! I regularly need to 'rend flesh'!
I hate to eat: wet eggs - no runny whites, no French-style omelettes, cook those eggs, honey!
I love to go: out on my front porch at 6 in the morning, when all is quiet.
I hate to go: to bed with a headache, or to the grocery the day before a holiday.
I love it when: the morning is cool and breezy, and I have time to walk in Homewood cemetery
I hate it when: I'm in the house, deciding to do something constructive instead of watching an 'important' show because I've already got the VCR taping it....and later discover it was on the wrong channel!
I love to see: the ocean between 6 and 10am and 4 and 9pm, and then, of course, the moon rising over the ocean is the ultimate, night OR day!
I hate to see: garbage strewn all over the back yard after an animal raid in the alley
I love to hear: mourning doves, the 6pm chimes from the neighborhood church, "I love you!"
I hate to hear: the sound of a cat stomach retching loud enough to wake me in the middle of the night!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Happy Saint Nicholas Day!
This is my favorite saint! He threw an apostate (or was it a heretic?) out of a window, he provided aid to young women who couldn't afford dowries, and of course, he was your all around strong but beneficent bishop, stylin' in those robes!
My fascination began at about the age of 8, when reading about him and admiring him and observing 'his day' was outside the bounds of my puritain upbringing. I felt like a subversive, imagining that I was making a connection along the centuries to this noble man I imagined.
more later
My fascination began at about the age of 8, when reading about him and admiring him and observing 'his day' was outside the bounds of my puritain upbringing. I felt like a subversive, imagining that I was making a connection along the centuries to this noble man I imagined.
more later
Sunday, November 18, 2007
It's ok, it's just life.
This was a happy day. Look at this and be happy. It's not that I'm not happy now, just tired. I need another day before I start tomorrow. Since I don't have that, I'll look at this picture and keep on going. What a guy, that Sawyer!
Monday, November 12, 2007
This is a good day
Usefulness. Peace. Connection. Joy. Breathing in soft air, looking at the firey colors and the quiet wet streets.
I love extra days. more later maybe
I love extra days. more later maybe
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Pajama Day!
I have the luxury of a three-day weekend, and I decided to spend today at home in my pjs! When I had surgery two years ago, Melissa gave me the greatest gift - the most useful, luxurious, practical things. I'm these wearing comfy pink plaid flannel bottoms she got me, a nice old stretchy top and a long, snuggly pink fleece robe, just like hers! It feels so good, and looks so catalogue-perfect pulled together, I want to go to the grocery store and the movies in this getup! A cooler head prevailed, and I napped, played on the computer, read, and watched an amazing film. Into Great Silence is a glimpse of life in the monastery in Chartreuse, France. The monks spend their days in silence, in prayer and solitude. They gather in the sanctuary for sung prayers throught the night and day, have dinner together every Sunday (silent but for one brother reading spiritual material to the group) and go for walks together in the woods and countryside once a week, where they do converse and and enjoy nature and one another's company. (The sequence of watching some of them sliding down part of the mountain above the monastery, laughing in the snow was touching, seeing them fool around like the houseful of college boys next door during half time on a Sunday.) The light is pure and the quiet of ancient stone echoing the birdsong outside is spare and other-worldly. Empty Moorish-looking passageways full of sunlight, individual monks in prayer ritual in their cells, views of the sanctuary from thirty feet above as the monks take their places for prayers, the one monk who cooks and maintains the kitchen gardens going about his celery chopping and spring snow clearing with vigor, care and serenity, the individual pools of golden light that wink on in the sanctuary in the pitch black of three a.m. prayers, and the voices lifting in plainsong chant, all are expected but nonetheless captivating, drawing me into this mixture of ancient and modern ways.
See it!
I can hear the television playing The Wizard of Oz downstairs... what a contrast!
See it!
I can hear the television playing The Wizard of Oz downstairs... what a contrast!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wishing just a little bit
Where I would rather be:
http://www.palace.ch/
http://www.bethanycam.com/
Only because it's been a long day.
http://www.palace.ch/
http://www.bethanycam.com/
Only because it's been a long day.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
One of the many services I offer
Today was picture day.
You remember picture day, the day you were sure was the worst ever because you could be sure you'd never look as cool as (insert name here) did in the yearbook last year, but you were bound and determined to try. You planned your outfit for a week before, and begged, begged your mother not to buy anything bigger than the wallet size to give out to the grandparents. "Oh, God, I don't want to see so much of MY FACE!" You agonized over whether to wash your hair the night before so it wouldn't be so flyaway, but opted to take no chances on bed-head problems, and got up early to do it just right. And of course, there is the mortifying memory of the third grade picture when you let your mother set your hair the night before and you went to school with a cloud of hair-like substance that stood straight out from your scalp. You look perfect in the bathroom mirror, and you try to muscle-memorize how it feels when you're doing your best look.
But the worst, the worst part of picture day is holding as still as possible after the last look in the mirror for all the time you have to walk to the auditorium, and stand in line and get up and down the steps. Hold still. Lick your lips. Stop licking your lips. Is (insert name here) watching me? make him stop watching me! That doesn't feel like the right smile. I look stupid. If that picture guy touches me on the shoulder one more time....
So I tried to have mercy on all the wall leaning and wiggling and hair smoothing and ponytail re-doing and auditorium seat thwanging while everyone went through the torture I remember so well.
Many a nervous face relaxed just a little when I would look over the hair, give it a tweak here or there, and say, "That's it, you look beautiful!"
You remember picture day, the day you were sure was the worst ever because you could be sure you'd never look as cool as (insert name here) did in the yearbook last year, but you were bound and determined to try. You planned your outfit for a week before, and begged, begged your mother not to buy anything bigger than the wallet size to give out to the grandparents. "Oh, God, I don't want to see so much of MY FACE!" You agonized over whether to wash your hair the night before so it wouldn't be so flyaway, but opted to take no chances on bed-head problems, and got up early to do it just right. And of course, there is the mortifying memory of the third grade picture when you let your mother set your hair the night before and you went to school with a cloud of hair-like substance that stood straight out from your scalp. You look perfect in the bathroom mirror, and you try to muscle-memorize how it feels when you're doing your best look.
But the worst, the worst part of picture day is holding as still as possible after the last look in the mirror for all the time you have to walk to the auditorium, and stand in line and get up and down the steps. Hold still. Lick your lips. Stop licking your lips. Is (insert name here) watching me? make him stop watching me! That doesn't feel like the right smile. I look stupid. If that picture guy touches me on the shoulder one more time....
So I tried to have mercy on all the wall leaning and wiggling and hair smoothing and ponytail re-doing and auditorium seat thwanging while everyone went through the torture I remember so well.
Many a nervous face relaxed just a little when I would look over the hair, give it a tweak here or there, and say, "That's it, you look beautiful!"
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Ok, am I disqualified?
I fell asleep, for Pete's sake!
I gues I'm out of the running for the fabulous prizes, but I'm not dropping out!
I had an epic day...
This of course is all in anticipation of my first-ever mammogram. The one I spent two whole therapy sessions even getting close to the idea of doing.
I exploded a whole travel mug of soy milk all over myself and the stove and in between the stove and the cabinet, and all over the floor, with 20 minutes to get to work. Of course, the leather and the wool needed immediate attention, and the stuff was so saturated and sticky that I had to actually SHOWER the stuff off. So I was late to work. Teaching actually went well - I moderated a discussion among hormone-struck twelve-year-olds with grand results. (Hormone fairy came early to this bunch!) I got a huge blop of neon pink marker ink on my sweater second period, and had to immediately take it off and rinse it out. For an hour and a half I wore my leather jacket, and the kids kept saying I looked cool. (mostly I looked like a women's prison guard) I was able to lay the thing on a hot radiator and get it dried out. By that time I had a splitting headache, one that pounded when I blinked my eyes. I'm so amazed that class went as well as it did the whole time I was trying to breathe through my eyelids.
When I left school and stopped by the local Starbucks before picking up a friend to go with me to the Hillman Center for the imaging, I discovered that I didn't have my license in my wallet, and they had told me to bring a photo ID with me. Oh no, now I can't even get this thing done, and I've suffered all day and I'll have to reschedule and go through this anxiety all over again! As my head pounds from leaning over to examine the contents of my purse on the back seat of the car, I'm trying to figure out if I actually did this on purpose, but that would be so bad, because I'm actually making this all worse, and the world is folding in on me like a little origami bug , should I take the next half hour to run home and tear up the house, or go back to work and get my school ID? should I call my friend and tell her to forget it, or do I make her jump in the car and go on the panic ride with me, or should I.... Thank you, Lord, but you stuck your finger through the clouds and touched my forehead and it occurred to me to call the office and see if I could still keep my appointment without the picture ID. Thank you! they said I should come on in! It was then I realized I really did want to get this thing done today - no putting off any more!
Picked up Linda, faithful friend indeed, and from then on in, it was a piece of cake.....
NOT
The valet parking was a bonus, but I got a cranky receptionist and then the most bullifying nurse I've ever met. My friend called her a 'cowboy nurse'. She scared the crap out of me with her big strident voice and her pushing (literally pushing!) me around, and her bossing and her refusing to let Linda come in. I couldn't answer her questions, I couldn't give her dates, my brain was frozen, and Linda finally had to tell her to stop, she was making me even more nervous. Lord, have mercy.
The nurse was great at the rest of her job, though, so when I got over the initial browbeating, things went well. The machine is beautiful; it practically talks to you as you stand there, and it wasn't even half as uncomfortable as everyone says it is! The exam was a breeze!
When I got home, I got ready for fifteen people in the living room, we had a lovely time, and I fell immediately into bed.
So that's my version of the dog ate my homework.
= )
I gues I'm out of the running for the fabulous prizes, but I'm not dropping out!
I had an epic day...
This of course is all in anticipation of my first-ever mammogram. The one I spent two whole therapy sessions even getting close to the idea of doing.
I exploded a whole travel mug of soy milk all over myself and the stove and in between the stove and the cabinet, and all over the floor, with 20 minutes to get to work. Of course, the leather and the wool needed immediate attention, and the stuff was so saturated and sticky that I had to actually SHOWER the stuff off. So I was late to work. Teaching actually went well - I moderated a discussion among hormone-struck twelve-year-olds with grand results. (Hormone fairy came early to this bunch!) I got a huge blop of neon pink marker ink on my sweater second period, and had to immediately take it off and rinse it out. For an hour and a half I wore my leather jacket, and the kids kept saying I looked cool. (mostly I looked like a women's prison guard) I was able to lay the thing on a hot radiator and get it dried out. By that time I had a splitting headache, one that pounded when I blinked my eyes. I'm so amazed that class went as well as it did the whole time I was trying to breathe through my eyelids.
When I left school and stopped by the local Starbucks before picking up a friend to go with me to the Hillman Center for the imaging, I discovered that I didn't have my license in my wallet, and they had told me to bring a photo ID with me. Oh no, now I can't even get this thing done, and I've suffered all day and I'll have to reschedule and go through this anxiety all over again! As my head pounds from leaning over to examine the contents of my purse on the back seat of the car, I'm trying to figure out if I actually did this on purpose, but that would be so bad, because I'm actually making this all worse, and the world is folding in on me like a little origami bug , should I take the next half hour to run home and tear up the house, or go back to work and get my school ID? should I call my friend and tell her to forget it, or do I make her jump in the car and go on the panic ride with me, or should I.... Thank you, Lord, but you stuck your finger through the clouds and touched my forehead and it occurred to me to call the office and see if I could still keep my appointment without the picture ID. Thank you! they said I should come on in! It was then I realized I really did want to get this thing done today - no putting off any more!
Picked up Linda, faithful friend indeed, and from then on in, it was a piece of cake.....
NOT
The valet parking was a bonus, but I got a cranky receptionist and then the most bullifying nurse I've ever met. My friend called her a 'cowboy nurse'. She scared the crap out of me with her big strident voice and her pushing (literally pushing!) me around, and her bossing and her refusing to let Linda come in. I couldn't answer her questions, I couldn't give her dates, my brain was frozen, and Linda finally had to tell her to stop, she was making me even more nervous. Lord, have mercy.
The nurse was great at the rest of her job, though, so when I got over the initial browbeating, things went well. The machine is beautiful; it practically talks to you as you stand there, and it wasn't even half as uncomfortable as everyone says it is! The exam was a breeze!
When I got home, I got ready for fifteen people in the living room, we had a lovely time, and I fell immediately into bed.
So that's my version of the dog ate my homework.
= )
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Quat Quandry
For all of you cat lovers out there who have any advice you'd be willing to give, lend me your ears.
My 13 year old lilac point siamese, Noi Singto, aka Lance, has been the prince of this household since he was carried in on the palm of my hand oh so long ago. From day one, he lorded it over my tabby, Chloe, even though she was five years his senior and five times his size. But when Chloe died, and I brought two little brothers in (I couldn't get just one!) those two have picked on Lance with slowly increasing boldness over the last four years. Now, the more aggressive one, Jeng Lei (Rocket!) is really, REALLY mugging my fine boned aging prince. What do I do? There's no way I'm going to give any one of them away, but there has to be something I can do. Help! I love my kitties, but Lance is getting plumb wore out!
My 13 year old lilac point siamese, Noi Singto, aka Lance, has been the prince of this household since he was carried in on the palm of my hand oh so long ago. From day one, he lorded it over my tabby, Chloe, even though she was five years his senior and five times his size. But when Chloe died, and I brought two little brothers in (I couldn't get just one!) those two have picked on Lance with slowly increasing boldness over the last four years. Now, the more aggressive one, Jeng Lei (Rocket!) is really, REALLY mugging my fine boned aging prince. What do I do? There's no way I'm going to give any one of them away, but there has to be something I can do. Help! I love my kitties, but Lance is getting plumb wore out!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
11 pm meeting
Recovery sucks pond scum. But it's better than no recovery.
Which would be better, being totally out of control, letting disease be in charge, or recognizing disease for what it is and getting one's ass kicked on a daily basis, trying to recover?
They're equally painful, it's just that there are these trade-offs.... Being a total asshole strung out on whatever, treating people like kleenex. Looking out at the world from the bottom of a cramped black hole with your fears and anger for company. And your "best friend". So there are these brief moments of bliss. Ya, briefer and briefer, and then all that's left is the memory of initial bliss that disappeared a long time ago, and one's just working toward getting back there for that one or two seconds that just aren't the same anymore.
OR......
having a one's eyes opened to the possibility of sanity. Finding out you're actually not alone, there are people who want you to be clean and sane just as much as you want it. Having hope to hang on to. Experiencing for longer and longer moments this peace, this calm that comes from having a clear conscience and a plan. Having some hope for a happy, useful, and bit by bit, healthier life than you ever EVER thought possible. But you have to go through times when you feel like you're scrubbing yourself with a wire brush and gasoline. Or you have to look at how lonely you really, really are. And you have to look at the shit you got coated in all your life. But when you do those things, they're truly being cleaned away. There's all this good stuff that comes after every excoriation, and it's not soft fluffies. It's strong muscle, clean air, clear eyes and cool water. It's strength and flexibility and calm.
You have to do this stuff every day. No, you have to do it ALL THE TIME! It's exhausting, it gets boring, and it's painful, no lie. But the good stuff lasts, and it's better than bliss. It's integrity and honesty and a purpose in life, and it's love. It's finding God. Ow. Ahh. Rrrrr. Hmmmmmm.
And with that, I'll pass.
Which would be better, being totally out of control, letting disease be in charge, or recognizing disease for what it is and getting one's ass kicked on a daily basis, trying to recover?
They're equally painful, it's just that there are these trade-offs.... Being a total asshole strung out on whatever, treating people like kleenex. Looking out at the world from the bottom of a cramped black hole with your fears and anger for company. And your "best friend". So there are these brief moments of bliss. Ya, briefer and briefer, and then all that's left is the memory of initial bliss that disappeared a long time ago, and one's just working toward getting back there for that one or two seconds that just aren't the same anymore.
OR......
having a one's eyes opened to the possibility of sanity. Finding out you're actually not alone, there are people who want you to be clean and sane just as much as you want it. Having hope to hang on to. Experiencing for longer and longer moments this peace, this calm that comes from having a clear conscience and a plan. Having some hope for a happy, useful, and bit by bit, healthier life than you ever EVER thought possible. But you have to go through times when you feel like you're scrubbing yourself with a wire brush and gasoline. Or you have to look at how lonely you really, really are. And you have to look at the shit you got coated in all your life. But when you do those things, they're truly being cleaned away. There's all this good stuff that comes after every excoriation, and it's not soft fluffies. It's strong muscle, clean air, clear eyes and cool water. It's strength and flexibility and calm.
You have to do this stuff every day. No, you have to do it ALL THE TIME! It's exhausting, it gets boring, and it's painful, no lie. But the good stuff lasts, and it's better than bliss. It's integrity and honesty and a purpose in life, and it's love. It's finding God. Ow. Ahh. Rrrrr. Hmmmmmm.
And with that, I'll pass.
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