It doesn’t last long but is all the more beautiful for it’s transitory nature. We drove slowly, turning down every beckoning lane that showed color. This is the north woods at it’s finest and our celebration of the first day of the Feast of Tabernacles. 
Fear Not
I am always, ALWAYS thankful for safe travel. Air travel especially is a marvel in this day and age. When you look at the statistics, which I don’t happen to have at hand, going somewhere by plane is many times safer than going by car on a road trip. Yet we all get in cars and travel without giving it too much thought. But many people have a phobia about getting on a plane.
Maybe it’s being strapped into something akin to an aluminum can, with dozens of strangers….
Maybe it’s knowing that one man’s alertness, judgment and skill determines whether your flight ends well or badly….
Maybe it’s wondering what you would think about for the last 120 seconds of your life should you be accidentally sucked out of the plane….
Maybe it’s walking down that aisle and discovering that your seat for the next three hours is next to… a baby.
A baby that’s already been on the plane for two hours.
A baby who is possibly putting on that look of “I’m done here.” and whose mother is nervously bouncing her up and down on her knee, hoping for the best, whatever that is.
Meet Eleanor.
Ellie’s carseat had the window place, she and her mom were in the middle seat and I was in the aisle seat. I always choose aisle seats. Somehow it lessens the claustrophobia.
The nice man across the aisle from me felt obligated to say what a good baby she was the whole flight from Ft. Lauderdale. “Smiled all the way.” he said. I know babies. Two hours of smiling at one stretch is about their limit.
Sure enough, as we sat endlessly watching people trying to put their way-too-big carryons in the over head bins, Ellie got tired of being bounced and cajoled and started to, well, cry. She got red, and angry. She let her mom know that she didn’t want to be stuck under a blanket to nurse, most definitely not that. She was hot, sweating, infinitely uncomfortable.
Honestly, at that point I was overcome with sympathy and compassion for mama, because everyone in the plane was turning around and holding her responsible. Her worst scenario was coming to pass and she had emptied her bag of tricks. (No really the worst scenario would have been trying to put oxygen masks on herself and the baby… I’m guessing.)
“You know, it can’t get much worse. Give me the baby. Maybe stranger shock will quiet her down.” Was that brave of me or what? And a second later, with no argument at all, it was me and Ellie. Seat mates.
She really was a good, sweet little child and this story turned out much better than I hoped. The change of perspective, someone else’s lap, and the air vent that we opened full blast in her face, quieted her down right away. Personally I think she didn’t want to be bounced any more so I held her quietly and sang in her ear. As the jet engines roared to life (and they were about six inches outside our windows on either side – love the back of the plane, not) and we took off on our journey, Ellie went back to her mom and fell asleep for all but the last few minutes of our flight. Nothing as peaceful as a sleeping baby. I got to look at her the whole trip which was sort of a blessing for my blood pressure.
.
I Don’t Care
I’m all cared out for today. The trouble is I’m going on a ten day trip in the morning. I should be packing, but I don’t care. I’m going to do it differently and just not pack anything. I’m going to get up in the morning, get dressed and go to the airport. I’ll take my computer and my night mouth guard. Maybe some underwear.
Will this have consequences in the following week? Maybe, maybe not. That’s why it will be a great experiment.
It will be nice not to have luggage while I’m traveling.
I can wear the same thing all week. I can go to the thrift shop. It will be fun. Maybe it won’t be fun.
I don’t care.
Giving Care
This week I have not called my mom. I have not called my daughters. I have not done any writing. I have not done the laundry or cleaned the house. I have hardly been at home. I started a new caregiver assignment that turned out to be quite challenging.
Even young people can have a hard time when they are weak and sick, but being that way when you are elderly is worse. It is a pit of helplessness. My friend Jack is in that pit. I don’t know if I can help him climb out but I know I can’t just leave him there either.
After spending seven months either in the hospital having surgery, or fighting infections, or getting his diabetes regulated, or in rehab trying to get his strength back – he is finally at home. He was giddy with excitement when they brought him out to evaluate his home for safety. It wasn’t that any of the institutions were bad places. He had just had enough of the routines, of professional friends, of hospital furniture, of TV on the ceiling. He dreamed of the peace and quiet of home.
In spite of having a nurse manager, an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, a home health aide and me, medical “girl Friday”, this week at home has made Jack realize that he had some very high expectations. Meals don’t appear magically at home. Messes don’t clean up by themselves. There are no helping hands at home every time you feel a little dizzy or off balance. Home can be a scary place when you are alone, when you fall and can’t get up, when your blood sugar is so low you can’t think straight or have the strength to get out of bed. Help comes and goes, but has often gone when you need it most.
Every day during my time with Jack, we would work on some of the problems he was having, we would have a meal together and then he would nap, pretty much worn out. My five hour stretches were the longest periods of time that anyone was able to be with him. Every time I left, I felt a bit guilty, almost afraid of what I’d find when I returned. I got the impression that he was anxious too, wondering how he would get by.
So, I’ve gotten a chance to watch Jack suffer, mentally and physically. He has had to give up every shred of dignity as we women do things for him that he would much rather do for himself. But I have yet to hear a word of complaint, or even of anger really, Somewhere along his life path, Jack has learned to suffer well. As I watch, I think how valuable an example that is. We all will suffer something, sometime, and have to decide how to view that suffering, how to act when we are in the middle of it. Can we learn and grow from it or is it a waste of time?
I found a caregiver who will stay the night with Jack, starting tonight. As he was meeting her he seemed more hopeful, stronger, more able to talk. Maybe he will work through this hard time and gain his independence once again. At the very least, I think he will get a good night’s rest. I will also rest better tonight.
Have you learned something valuable from a time of suffering in your life? or from watching someone else suffer well?
I’m Sorry, I Love Cake
In spite of having people who endorse me for my wellness and nutrition advice on LinkedIn, I love cake. Not healthy, nutritious cake (oh sure, like there’s healthy cake…) but ordinary white cake with blue and green frosting. Like this cake.
It’s not overwhelmingly sweet, it’s soft, easy to eat, not at all filling – pure fluff and nonsense. I’m away from home in a somewhat captive environment and am hoping I don’t eat the rest of this before the day is through. Help me.
Hospital!
Relax. I’m not announcing an accident or illness. Once again, up in Jacksonville, I’m checking in on the lady veterinarian who now has a new, additional workplace. She is still all about horses but doesn’t want to get out of touch with the smaller species either. Enter, the Oceanway Animal Hospital and it’s friendly staff.
I came on a quiet, Friday afternoon and was able to sign up for the afternoon tour with guide Stephen. He was manning the front desk, phone, delivery door, etc… and was able to do it all while giving me the tour. He is a biology major in his junior year and still relatively new to his job. I think this may have been his first tour. He seemed a little surprised.
Like many smaller animal hospitals, I thought this one could have been a house at one point. We walked through the various rooms and were back in the reception area in about five minutes, well… maybe three. But all the necessities were there – exam rooms, lab area, med room, kennel, surgery, x-ray, kitchen. Stephen and I had a little chat while waiting for Dr. Julia to finish with a patient. There seemed to be a lot of laughing and talk going on in the exam room so I assumed it was a happy visit.
Dr. Julia took a moment for my requested photo op before starting on her next client, a large orange, tiger-stripe cat who had arrived in the arms of his owner. People love their cats and dogs. I’m sure it will be an interesting place for Dr. J. to work, and it might come in handy at some point since she has her own dog and three cats.
What Is That Smell?
“The carpet is dirty.” she told me, wrinkling her nose. She was a prospective renter for a condo we manage.
“No, actually, that’s the color it is. Multi-color sand and dirt, and it looks pretty good. We’ll check it out when the furniture is off.” I was able to reassure her, but I could smell it too. Mild animal odor.
This carpet isn’t that old! I can’t stand the thought of replacing it again already…aaagghh!
I remember other times being assaulted with an odor as soon as I stepped into a house. Usually it was the house of an animal lover with indoor pets abounding, or an elderly couple whose days of cleaning up immaculately after kitty were past. This all makes me think of the power of smell to form our opinions, and rather quickly I might add. This is not good news. For one, the impression left on a prospective renter might mean I have to replace carpet in the condo I was showing. For two, it means I have to watch out as some people would describe the husband and I as an elderly couple whose days of cleaning up immaculately after kitty are past.
We aren’t that old!! I clean up after that cat all the time, cat hair, cat puke, cat litter, all of it…
One of these days I will start losing my sense of smell. It might actually be an old age blessing, I don’t know. but it’s not happening yet. Lately every time I walk into my closet from a certain direction (there are two doors) I smell something… something sour, old.and difficult to describe any more concretely. It’s only there for a few seconds and then it’s gone. I have done housecleaning professionally and following my training I have taken that closet apart, including inspection of all the shoe soles, behind the small dressers and washing the throw rug. There is nothing there. I have checked out the air vents. Nothing. I don’t know where else to check, but the smell is still there.
Did I just tell people that my house stinks?! I’m making it sound like I live in a barn – that’s just not right. I shouldn’t write that.
Lying in bed in the morning, I can tell if the timer on the coffee pot worked. I can walk toward my kitchen and tell immediately if the garbage should have been taken out the night before. I can tell what it is in the garbage that is announcing itself and almost to the hour how long it has been there. I can tell from the opposite end of the house that the pan cooking whatever on the stove is out of water and working on a burn. I can tell if the cat has used the litter box (oh, how I can tell!), I can tell if the shirt lying on the dryer is used and on its way to the wash or fresh and on its way to the closet. I can smell way too much sometimes.
I’m revealing my smell obsession. Stop it now.
Last night as a friend came to the house to bring me something, we stopped and talked by the dining room table. I was very nervous to linger there as it was the area of one of my latest mystery smells. Smelled like rotting chicken. Really. Fortunately she was bringing me some essential oils which smell really great. I will never know whether she decided to demonstrate the difuser out of self defense. She was too polite to say, and I kept hoping it was just happy coincidence that she chose a nice strong lavender.
Wow, maybe I do live in a barn! What kind of house cleaner am I?!
When the husband came home from band practice, he smelled it too, and said he had been smelling it for days. Funny thing, it was coming from his briefcase that he keeps on a chair at the end of the table. Yeah, the one he takes to work and sometimes he throws his lunch into the side pocket. Well, what do you know? There’s still a boiled egg hiding in there from two weeks ago. Nasty thing.
Gosh, it was rotting chicken. We are getting so old. But hey, we found it.
I ran the difuser all night, right by my bed. It was great. I love lavender.
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Please tell me this happens to you too. Maybe, just once in a while?
The Value of a Hard Day
Every hard day I go through becomes a part of me. I think back on the recent hours of physical pain and ask myself what is different about me now?
I am much more aware of my mortality. Reminded of how little control I have over the complexities of this body. How little it takes to bring on a crisis. I sat and wondered how much pain it takes to make a person pass out, not able to take any more. I thought of others who endure more pain over longer periods of time, in prison perhaps with no care at all to help them. But I thought more about my own pain and what I might possibly do to lessen it, make it go away. I mean, how could there not be anything?
I made some promises to my body. I realize pain is a message of sorts that my body gives me to tell me valuable things. I need to listen better. I need to keep times of pain in mind when I choose activities, work, play, eating. I haven’t been totally negligent all these years but I do wish that the awareness I have now in my 60’s had been with me in my 20’s and 30’s. I could have been listening back then too.
I have reviewed what I know about God’s view of my life and my pain. I know by now that I can’t expect the laws of the universe to be superceded to produce miracles for me. I believe that happens but I don’t understand why sometimes and not others. I know Jesus’ heart in the matter because he healed everyone who came to him. I think he has that same compassion for me. Sometimes my prayers for relief are answered quickly, other times not so quickly. When the answer has been “no” I can usually see that there is benefit for me. I know that my spiritual healing is the most important thing to God and the answer to that has never been “no”.
I have friends. When they know that I have a need, love is poured out so generously. I feel God is in that. It’s part of that body metaphor where other parts feel the pain when one part hurts. I was encouraged and blessed and I’m told lots of good brain chemicals are released in that. What a wonderful built-in response to love.
I learned that the husband can make really good sandwiches, and he is attentive and caring. I knew that before but it’s kind of rare that I need this kind of attention so I forget. He gave up most of his day carting me around to medical care and waiting, waiting…. going for my prescriptions, making me comfortable.
I learned once again how wonderful it is when pain stops. What relief. What rest. A new and joyful appreciation of pain free moments is mine. I’m flooded with gratitude – more good brain chemicals.
One more part of my body taking on a troublesome behavior could cause a bit of dread, fear, uncertainty. But today I was reminded in Proverbs 1:33 that listening to the Lord’s wisdom promises me that I will live in safety, be at ease and not have to dread disaster. Disaster might come, but I don’t have to dread it. My days are numbered by the Lord, not by circumstances of accident or disease. And thinking back, I wasn’t afraid. But gosh, the pain was awful.
And so it becomes part of my past and part of me. I’ve seen pain make some people more beautiful. Isn’t that kind of an exciting concept – that you can do something with pain and use it? That I might become more beautiful, even stronger, in character is growth. I love that kind of growth!
I don’t wish hard days on anyone but I’m just sayin’, if you have one, it can be valuable.
Today’s List
Today I made a list, which I almost never do anymore. There were some important things that I didn’t want to forget. I am never sure of my lists – are these the most important things? what am I forgetting? can I possibly do it all? But I did make the list and then prayed that if it mattered at all, I would be directed what to do.
And then I did other things, none of them on the list. I guess it didn’t matter?
But it was ok. I had made the decision someone else’s.
Today I helped my employer, somewhat longer than I had planned, but she needed it.
Today I returned a phone call and as a result, someone who needs a place to live, might have exactly what they wanted.
Today I fed someone who couldn’t feed herself. The food looked disgusting (pureed) but she ate it. She had no response except to swallow and look at me once or twice. I felt overwhelmed with compassion.
Today I called the above person’s husband and told him that his beloved wife with Alzheimers was clean, fed and safe for one more day.
Today I came alongside someone who was helping someone else and hopefully answered some of his questions and encouraged him. We made copies of his friend’s last will and testament. We went to a restaurant and I had a strawberry shake while I watched him eat his burger and fries.
Today I let my cat sit undisturbed on my lap for half an hour. It was the only time I was stationary at home and it did me good too.
None of these things were on my list, but they were on God’s list and ultimately I was very satisfied. I’m making a list again for tomorrow but I’m not going to worry about it. The God I believe in is also making a list which is far better than mine. Hopefully as I trust him, my list will match his more and more. That is really all he asks of me.
So This Is Canada: 12 Unguarded Observations of a Returning Canadian
Yes, I can imagine every one of these being true, and they are well said! Canadian friends, you will love. And Seattle daughter, #7 is for you to laugh about.
Reverse culture shock is an interesting beast. It’s been six weeks that I’ve been back in Canada after living in Japan for four years, and I am in a weird headspace. People ask how the adjustment is going; it is certainly bewildering. I feel that I have not actually adjusted a single bit, but that I have simply been plucked mid-step from one life, one world, and shoved straight into another.
I’ve always felt a certain affinity with the little green men.
Here are a few things I’ve noticed about this strange land since arriving/returning. I realize that some of these points might touch on sensitive subjects, so please take them for what they are: not criticisms or statements made to be inflammatory or offensive, but raw observations and unguarded thoughts of a person seeing their home country with fresh eyes.
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I Just Have to Say... 