Last fall a former co-worker of mine was killed in a traffic accident. He and I were not particularly friends, I found him to be quite odd and brash, but after my father's death, I believe no one should be alone in grief and every bit of comfort adds just a tiny speck of peace.
I attended the funeral along with a ton of people I had known through work. As friends and family got up to speak at the funeral, I found that I really had never known this man who I worked with for years. Many of my friends found him warm and funny, so maybe it was just a personality conflict I had.
I was told just before the service that his wife was a very devout atheist. I have a good friend who is an atheist and while I will never understand it, we can discuss and joke about our differences.
Tonight I happened upon a blog my former co-worker's widow is updating every few days since his death. Her grief is palpable and breaks my heart, especially when it's apparent that she can find no comfort from any faith whatsoever. Death is death, period, end of story.
The service, while pleasant because of the funny stories, was, at least to me, so adamantly not Christian. The last speaker was his nephew. He was eloquent. He stated that he was a Christian as was the surviving parents and that the widow was not. You could "feel" that the death was doubly hard on my co-worker's family as they were obviously devout Christians and I cannot imagine parents burying their son and not being able to have a simple prayer said at his funeral. The nephew respected the newly grieved widow's wishes, but did manage to say that the grieving father had stated that he had baptized his son in the River Jordan. I was so impressed with the nephew's ability to give some comfort to the grief stricken parents while not upsetting the non-believer family.
After reading the blog, I hurt for her loss. It's obvious they had dearly loved each other and were best friends. I cannot imagine (nor do I want to) her horrible horrible grief.
So although she most likely will not appreciate it, I will say a prayer that she finds a little bit of peace each day.
I simply don't know how you do that when you have no faith to hold on to. I pray she finds that in her journey.
I also pray for my atheist friend and all those who cannot or will not even open their hearts to a possibility that there is a God. I just feel so sad for them.
Nearly a year ago I was getting ready for work and walking through our bathroom. As I passed by the shower doors, I heard them rattling as if someone was pushing their hand on them. I know our house is not that flimsy that me simply walking past the shower causes the doors to rattle.
I'm looking at the doors as I pass and then I heard the large mirror over the double sinks begin to rattle loudly. I felt a little like I was in a Twilight Zone show. My head is swiveling between the doors and the mirror with an extremely puzzled look on my face. What in the world?
Bob had not gotten up yet and I had a fleeting idea that maybe this could be an earthquake. Now I realize that Indiana does lie on the New Madrid fault, but we so rarely ever have one that most of us simply do not recognize them when they happen. Just as the thought is forming in my head I hear Bob say, "What the hell is that?" He didn't hear the rattling but felt the shake HARD. I didn't feel the shaking, maybe because I was standing or maybe because I was so confused by the noise.
They said it was a 5.2 magnitude 40 miles north of Evansville. We lived well over 150 miles away. I quickly turned on the morning news and saw the crew from Channel 13 come back from a commercial wide-eyed and was talking about the studio shaking.
We had a few aftershocks later in the day while I was at work. I could feel those, not just hear them. The whole office was abuzz with earthquake stories.
I got a call from my "California" daughter who now lives in Texas. She wanted to make sure we were all okay. When I explained about the mirror rattling she had a slight panic in her voice, "Did you get under a doorway?" Uhhh, well no. I just stood there gaping at the mirror and shower doors. Having lived most of her life in California, she does not have the same reaction to earthquakes that we do.
Sadly, we who have not lived in a frequent quake zone area do not understand the seriousness of an earthquake. It's just something we hear about in California, or Bali or China. In Indiana, we ignorantly spend a "quake" day saying, "Did you FEEL that one?" We simply do not take them seriously, which one day, I fear will be a big mistake given the size of the fault we live on.
On Monday, 70 northeast of Rome there was a 6.3 quake, yesterday a 5.5 aftershock and only 9 hours ago a 5.3 aftershock. We pray for L'Aquila and all those affected in Italy and throughout the world. It is unfathomable for us Midwesterners to fully grasp what this must be like, but we do grieve along with you for your loss.
Well, that's been the plan for several months now anyway.
Actually one of the old ladies could actually also be called (at least once) an International Traveler. Her first, and to date only trip out of the country 5 years ago or so was with her son (the now International Traveler) to her "adopted" son, Saumil's wedding in India. I soooo wanted to go with them. I had so many reasons not too. First I wasn't invited, but I'm sure Saumil would have welcomed me anyway, then it was an expensive flight and finally I didn't have vacation left, although I bet I could have negotiated that too. By the time of the trip, I was just kicking myself for not just saying, "To hell with it, I'm going too." I was nervous for them, Brian had also not traveled outside of the country. I figured it was the safest travel, since Saumil had arranged everything and arranged for a cousin to meet them in Mumbai, before their final flight to Ahmedabad, India. From what I've been told there was considerable culture shock.
Since then Brian has met Saumil and his bride and a whole group of international travelers in Thailand, Cambodia and Argentina. I'm sure I'm missing something there and Brian will correct me. He's been wanting me to travel with them for some time now.
On April 16th, my sister, my nephew and I will be leaving for a trip to Italy. Well, at least (borrowing a well worn saying of my mother's) "God Willing and the Crick Don't Rise"
It started out as a family discussion of celebrating my 50th birthday almost a year ago. My ELDER siblings have all been surprised by a massive fun birthday party when they turned 50. For various reasons I did not want that to happen and we began discussing a trip. One thing led to another and it morphed into a 2 1/2 week to Italy.
So I worried some whether Helen and I would be dragging Brian down from visiting everywhere he wanted to go, but I knew that we could each do as much or as little as we liked.
I'm not sure when it started, but Brian began to have back problems. He's a 6'3" 34 year old who has climbed up cliffs, so the back issue was a surprise, at least to me. Recently the pain had become unbearable and he first started with a chiropractor. Several weeks ago, they did an MRI and suggested therapy after reading the MRI report. When therapy wasn't helping, the therapist looked at the actual MRI. Two bulging disks pressing against a nerve. The therapist called a surgeon immediately and got Brian an appointment that day. It was Friday, 4 weeks before our trip.
Interestingly enough, the surgeon had a picture in his office of he and his family in from of the Roman Coliseum. Brian pointed to the picture and told him he was going to be there in 4 weeks, The surgeon told him he would need back surgery and he would be in alot less pain with the surgery than without and he could do it the next Friday.
So, with just shy of three weeks from our trip, Brian had surgery. I saw him two days after the surgery and was worried. He looked "broken" and was "bent". He said he was ahead of schedule according to the doc, but it worried me. Sitting is the worst part and we have a 10 hour flight from New York to Venice.
But he was determined, been on a treadmill walking up to 3 miles. Today he told me that he was feeling so much better that if our trip was tomorrow, he could do it. The therapist told him he is way way ahead of schedule and tomorrow he's going to wear a backpack with weights during his session.
So he'll be in shape enough for the trip, but I doubt he'll be outrunning us by the time we go. I want to make sure us "old ladies" get his bags for him. We just can't take the chance that he messes up something on the trip over. Now, how will that look, some seemingly healthy man making a couple old ladies lifting his bag into the overhead and yanking it off the conveyer belt? I think Helen and I will deliberately make it look like he's just some spoiled kid who makes old ladies do the heavy lifting. ;)
But a few days ago I began to get a little sore. Today I felt like I did a couple weeks after my hysterectomy, which was NOT pleasant. By mid-day I was fearful I might be getting that dreaded kidney infection that left me with septic shock two years ago or something even worse. I rushed to my doc, who rushed through all kinds of tests. Doesn't look like it's anything to worry about and I'm hoping a couple of days from now I'll be "in the pink".
So, apart from some recent concerns that we may have to cancel our trip, for now it looks like a "go".
We'll fly into Venice and stay three nights in a "flat" where the gondolas float past the window. The owner will meet us at the Rialto bridge and walk us to the place. This is a pic from their website. We found this place when someone Brian works with said he had recently stayed there, so we know it's legit. It's between the Rialto Bridge and St. Mark's.
Then a few train hops and several hours later we'll head to Manarola. One of the "Cinque"s of Cinque Terre. This is where hiking and steps will come into play. We believe our hotel is one of the yellow buildings at the edge of the cliff. I learned about Cinque Terre from someone I met at the Indianapolis airport when I was looking over the Rosetta Stone stand. He and his wife had been to Italy and told me this was their favorite place. From Tripadvisor to Flickr research, we feel great about the place we picked. Arpaiu.
This is from the inn's website of the view from our room.
Three nights later, we make the obligatory stop in Pisa for a quick stop for a "holding up the leaning tower" pic and rent a car to drive to Volterra (Tuscany). We picked Volterra after Brian watched a Rick Steve's program from there. We've found an agriturismo, which is a working farm that by law has to make more money from the farm than the inn. Flickr'ing it we found someone who stayed there and loved it. They will even teach you how to make homemade pasta.
Three nights and back to Pisa to catch a train to Rome. A B&B at the top of the Spanish Steps was recommended by one of our Fort Myer's "neighbors".
Six nights in Rome with most likely a day trip to Pompeii. We're hoping to even take a hot air balloon ride while we're in Pompeii.
Hopefully this itinerary allows up enough time to take in the "feel" of Italy, not just rush from site to site.
One week from now, I'll be bidding, "Ciao" I'm excited, nervous, wishing Bob would have gone and hopeful we all stay healthy before and during our trip.
No more middle age. That is, unless I live to be a hundred.
I suppose that's a possibility, since my Granny lived to be 93. But I don't know if I have enough energy to make it another 50 years. Weird to be half a century old.
When I was little, we had only one 13 inch black and white TV with three channels. The remote control was when mom or dad would tell one of us kids to get up and change the channel.
We had party-line telephones, I'm sure most of the people I work with today would not know what that means. Whoever had the other line with us was not a very nice lady if I remember right.
We had no air conditioning. My parents finally had a window air they had in their room. When it was stiffling hot, we played outside in the creek or the hose or under the shade tree. At night, we tossed and turned trying to find a cool spot on our beds.
At school, tests were copied on memeograph machines that all the kids sniffed when they got the paper. It was a good smell, who knows why. We got milk at school in those funny little triangle cartons. On my birthday, I got to go pick up the milk with the best looking boy in school because his birthday was April 1st. I saw him at our 10 year reunion. He didn't age well in only 10 years.
There were no computers, at least none smaller than a 747, so kids invented games. We played Kick The Can, Crack the Whip and Spotlight at night. We played in the creek (we called it a crick) next to our house, we never worried about all the possible toxic substances floating in the water.
We ate the mulberries, even though we kept being told they were full of worms.
We caught lightning bugs and played mumbledy peg. I once threw a jart that landed squarely on my brother's head. I'm sure there would be a lawsuit over that nowdays. Hey, maybe that's what's wrong with him today.
We roamed through the neighborhood without a care only later did we find out there was a child molester on the corner and who knows what else.
My dad planted corn, which we picked the 5 acres following behind the truck late at night in October, freezing our toes.
We buried our cat, Fru Fru in the field, placed a Virgin Mary over the top, which dad ended up plowing up the next year.
We had chickens, which my dad popped their heads off between two boards and we kids would pluck the feathers before mom would fry it for supper.
Our house had a coal furnace when we moved in. I still remember my brothers shoveling the coal from the basement coal bin into the stove in the morning.
The basement flooded regularly and my mother had a wringer-washer down there and hung the clothes up to dry outside in the summer and in the basement in the winter. She ironed them by first wetting them down with a coke bottle plugged with a cork sprinkler.
We had bikes, mini-bikes, sleds, ducks, rabbits,go carts. Snoopy, our dog, got sick and couldn't be found. Afraid he might have had rabies, we and the neighbors scouted the area for a couple days hunting the sick dog. We narrowly escaped the dreaded rabies vaccine when our neighbor Hardin turned around from going to work to help us search to found the sick dog.
We had Silly Putty, Etch-a-Sketch, Slinkys, Transistor Radios (that always had such a good smell on Christmas morning). We listened to WIFE, the good good guys on the AM dial and watched Sammy Terry on Friday nights.
We knew and respected our teachers and bus drivers. Harry, our beloved driver, lived on the hill up from us and I still remember the day when I waited and waited for him to pick me up before elementary school. That day, Harry had taken the middle school kids to school and died while driving in the school parking lot. Those things imprint forever on your mind as a kid. You were a good man Harry Featherston.
The school playground was very dangerous but fun. I wish I could remember what that round thing was in the corner that you sat on and had to keep your hands and feet out from under it or you would end up with a tangled mess. Something like a maypole, except it had seats and I don't know how many injuries I saw on the thing, but we all loved it anyway.
It was back in the day, when I was walking backwards in first grade and fell against a desk and tore my ear. The school nurse bandaged the badly bleeding ear and sent me back to class. There was no emergency call to the parents back then.
I only wish I could go back now and tell that constantly worried little girl that life didn't need to be so hard.
I guess I'll just have to settle for reminding myself everyday from now on.
Don't you sometimes wonder why you are naturally drawn to some people and not to others. I have learned the hard way that I cannot always trust my first instinct on people. Most times, if I find I do not care for someone right away, I find that first impression is accurate, but I have way too many long term friends I thought I didn't like at first and yet they came to be lifelong dear friends, so I cannot tell you I am the best at assessing who will be my friend for life and those I do not care to spend 5 minutes with ever.
But I have seemed to be immediately drawn to a couple young women that I have over the years just adopted as my daughters. I apparently just have a natural need to be a mother and not getting that biological opportunity, I was fortunate enough to find that need met with some wonderful women that for whatever reason also must have a need in the opposite direction.
They are both alike and yet different from me and each other. Both are responsible, loving, sweet women, now both with babies of their own. Kyle's mother seemed naturally to understand that when she was pregnant I really needed to hear and understand exactly what she was going through. Typically we don't discuss all those "women" issues that many women feel they need to tell every stranger on the street, instead, we were private with "female" issues. But she instinctually knew that I needed to hear all the things that came along with pregnancy that I had missed out on. She understood that I did not have any jealousy, but rather an unfulfilled curiousity of actually feeling a baby move and grow inside of you. We never spoke about what subjects were off limits and what were okay, it was just a natural outcome of knowing each other so well. When she had Kyle, I got to experience, through her descriptions the joy of having a baby.
She and her husband had been married for quite a few years before she got pregnant and she had told me how many times people asked them when they were going to have a baby. I would never ask because I knew how painful hearing that question was when I was in my 20's. Several months after our grandson was born I felt I needed to finally have a serious discussion with her.
Being childless, I wanted to make sure that she wasn't deciding to not have a child of her own and then seriously regretting that decision when it was too late to reverse.
So I composed a carefully worded, motherlike advise email. The funny thing was that she finally confessed they had been "trying" for a few months. Not too many months later she told me she was pregnant.
My second "daughter" moved here from California to be closer to her then-boyfriend/later turned husband. Again, there was an immediate bond. Her family was far away and she appreciated having a motherly type looking out for her. We formed a natural bond that could have just been a normal "mentor" type relationship, but was somehow so much more. While Kyle's mom is a smart, very self-confident woman that can do everything and more. My California daughter is a smart and sometimes self-doubting woman that I can happily and honestly boost her ego. She's amazing, she just sometimes needs me to remind her of that.
A couple years ago, my California daughter had to move to Texas with her husband's job. I hated seeing her leave and she didn't want to go, but there wasn't alot of choice. Last year she was lucky enough to become pregnant with twins. She was nervous, of course. When she was a few months along she called me and told me she needed to have me pat her on her head. She's the worrier type and when we worked together, she would come stoop by my desk and I would pat her head and tell her everything would be alright.
During her call she was upset because they weren't saving enough. She was frantic that they hadn't met their savings budget for the month. She and her husband are very responsible, so I knew where this was heading.
I started off easy on her. I first asked if they were still contributing to their 401k's. Yes. Then I asked her, "So you don't have enough money to make your car payment??" No, they had enough money for the car. I faked a little more hysteria, "So you can't make your house payment?" No, of course they could make their house payment. Then I went on full attack, "Then you must mean you don't have enough money for groceries. You mean, you're pregnant and you can't feed those babies growing inside you????" By then she's laughing at me and herself. Of course she could buy groceries. I then said, "Ok, I don't understand, you wanna tell me what the problem is EXACTLY?"
A few weeks later she ended up having to stay in the hospital for weeks on end to keep "incubating" the girls until they were ready and healthy. During her stay, her husband lost his job. A few weeks after the girls were born, she lost her job. I was proud of her. I'm sure she panicked a little (who wouldn't?), she managed to maintain her sanity, it gave them both time to take care of two babies and she found a job a few weeks ago. She also said that now better understands that her previous concern of not meeting her self-imposed savings budget really wasn't much of an emergency after all.
When she first told me she was in the hospital, I called her husband and flew out to surprise her for a weekend visit. It was nice to spend time with her. I'll have to figure out when Mamaw Rita can come out to visit the two new grandbabies.
I'm proud of these two women. I love the relationships we have developed and know that they will last a lifetime.
Yesterday I was surprised by my family with a party for my upcoming BIG birthday. Last night we decided to watch a previously DVR'd The Bucket List. Kinda appropriate, don't you think?
So, maybe I should be thinking of my Bucket List. What haven't I done that I could possibly do between now and the time of the bucket?
The first is that on April 16th, I will be leaving for a trip to Italy with my sister and nephew. We've been planning the trip for months and now it's getting close and real. I've traveled a little, but anytime it's been out of the country, it was either a cruise or to Cancun, so very touristy and very safe.
We'll be flying into NY, then straight to Venice. Three nights there and some number of trains into Cinque Terre. I first heard of Cinque Terre several months ago from a guy at the airport who told me he and his wife loved it. Three nights and then to an agristurismo (working farm) in Volterra (Tuscany). Three nights there and onto Rome. Six nights, with hopefully a day trip to Pompeii. Then it'll be Rome to NY to Indy and back to reality.
So, about that bucket list. Where do I start, where would you start? Some considerations:
Be someone's hero. Live my faith, every day, every minute Take a hot air balloon ride See the Great Barrier Reef Go visit Saumil and Kruti in India Take Bob to Washington DC Go to Rapha House in Cambodia Take a missionary trip Spend more time with friends and family Retire Take a real white water rafting trip
Some days I feel inspired and some days I'm just incredibly sad. How is it possible that something like this can continue? There is something very very wrong with our family court systems that would have placed this precious baby back in the hands of these evil people.
I found this video a couple years back. It's amazingly inspiring. Recently I've seen a couple of billboards pop up regarding Team Hoyt. Watch the whole video, you'll feel wonderful about what can be accomplished.
Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father-and-son team from Massachusetts who together compete just about continuously in marathon races. And if they’re not in a marathon they are in a triathlon — that daunting, almost superhuman, combination of 26.2 miles of running, 112 miles of bicycling, and 2.4 miles of swimming. Together they have climbed mountains, and once trekked 3,735 miles across America.
It’s a remarkable record of exertion — all the more so when you consider that Rick can't walk or talk.
For the past twenty five years or more Dick, who is 65, has pushed and pulled his son across the country and over hundreds of finish lines. When Dick runs, Rick is in a wheelchair that Dick is pushing. When Dick cycles, Rick is in the seat-pod from his wheelchair, attached to the front of the bike. When Dick swims, Rick is in a small but heavy, firmly stabilized boat being pulled by Dick.
At Rick’s birth in 1962 the umbilical cord coiled around his neck and cut off oxygen to his brain. Dick and his wife, Judy, were told that there would be no hope for their child’s development. "It’s been a story of exclusion ever since he was born," Dick told me. "When he was eight months old the doctors told us we should just put him away — he’d be a vegetable all his life, that sort of thing. Well those doctors are not alive any more, but I would like them to be able to see Rick now."
The couple brought their son home determined to raise him as "normally" as possible. Within five years, Rick had two younger brothers, and the Hoyts were convinced Rick was just as intelligent as his siblings. Dick remembers the struggle to get the local school authorities to agree: "Because he couldn’t talk they thought he wouldn’t be able to understand, but that wasn’t true." The dedicated parents taught Rick the alphabet. "We always wanted Rick included in everything," Dick said. "That’s why we wanted to get him into public school."
A group of Tufts University engineers came to the rescue, once they had seen some clear, empirical evidence of Rick’s comprehension skills. "They told him a joke," said Dick. "Rick just cracked up. They knew then that he could communicate!" The engineers went on to build — using $5,000 the family managed to raise in 1972 - an interactive computer that would allow Rick to write out his thoughts using the slight head-movements that he could manage. Rick came to call it "my communicator." A cursor would move across a screen filled with rows of letters, and when the cursor highlighted a letter that Rick wanted, he would click a switch with the side of his head.
When the computer was originally brought home, Rick surprised his family with his first "spoken" words. They had expected perhaps "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad." But on the screen Rick wrote "Go Bruins." The Boston Bruins were in the Stanley Cup finals that season, and his family realized he had been following the hockey games along with everyone else. "So we learned then that Rick loved sports," said Dick.
In 1975, Rick was finally admitted into a public school. Two years later, he told his father he wanted to participate in a five-mile benefit run for a local lacrosse player who had been paralyzed in an accident. Dick, far from being a long-distance runner, agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair. They finished next to last, but they felt they had achieved a triumph. That night, Dick remembers, "Rick told us he just didn’t feel handicapped when we were competing." Rick’s realization turned into a whole new set of horizons that opened up for him and his family, as "Team Hoyt" began to compete in more and more events. Rick reflected on the transformation process for me, using his now-familiar but ever-painstaking technique of picking out letters of the alphabet:
" What I mean when I say I feel like I am not handicapped when competing is that I am just like the other athletes, and I think most of the athletes feel the same way. In the beginning nobody would come up to me. However, after a few races some athletes came around and they began to talk to me. During the early days one runner, Pete Wisnewski had a bet with me at every race on who would beat who. The loser had to hang the winner’s number in his bedroom until the next race. Now many athletes will come up to me before the race or triathlon to wish me luck." It is hard to imagine now the resistance which the Hoyts encountered early on, but attitudes did begin to change when they entered the Boston Marathon in 1981, and finished in the top quarter of the field. Dick recalls the earlier, less tolerant days with more sadness than anger: "Nobody wanted Rick in a road race. Everybody looked at us, nobody talked to us, nobody wanted to have anything to do with us. But you can’t really blame them - people often are not educated, and they’d never seen anyone like us. As time went on, though, they could see he was a person — he has a great sense of humor, for instance. That made a big difference." After 4 years of marathons, Team Hoyt attempted their first triathlon — and for this Dick had to learn to swim. "I sank like a stone at first" Dick recalled with a laugh "and I hadn’t been on a bike since I was six years old."
With a newly-built bike (adapted to carry Rick in front) and a boat tied to Dick’s waist as he swam, the Hoyts came in second-to-last in the competition held on Father’s Day 1985.
"We chuckle to think about that as my Father’s Day present from Rick, " said Dick.
They have been competing ever since, at home and increasingly abroad. Generally they manage to improve their finishing times. "Rick is the one who inspires and motivates me, the way he just loves sports and competing," Dick said.
And the business of inspiring evidently works as a two-way street. Rick typed out this testimony:
"Dad is one of my role models. Once he sets out to do something, Dad sticks to it whatever it is, until it is done. For example once we decided to really get into triathlons, dad worked out, up to five hours a day, five times a week, even when he was working." The Hoyts’ mutual inspiration for each other seems to embrace others too — many spectators and fellow-competitors have adopted Team Hoyt as a powerful example of determination. "It’s been funny," said Dick "Some people have turned out, some in good shape, some really out of shape, and they say ‘we want to thank you, because we’re here because of you’."
Rick too has taken full note of their effect on fellow-competitors while racing:
"Whenever we are passed (usually on the bike) the athlete will say "Go for it!" or "Rick, help your Dad!" When we pass people (usually on the run) they’ll say "Go Team Hoyt!" or "If not for you, we would not be out here doing this."
Most of all, perhaps, the Hoyts can see an impact from their efforts in the area of the handicapped, and on public attitudes toward the physically and mentally challenged.
"That’s the big thing," said Dick. "People just need to be educated. Rick is helping many other families coping with disabilities in their struggle to be included."
That is not to say that all obstacles are now overcome for the Hoyts. Dick is "still bothered," he says, by people who are discomforted because Rick cannot fully control his tongue while eating. "In restaurants - and it’s only older people mostly - they’ll see Rick’s food being pushed out of his mouth and they’ll leave, or change their table. But I have to say that kind of intolerance is gradually being defeated."
Rick’s own accomplishments, quite apart from the duo’s continuing athletic success, have included his moving on from high school to Boston University, where he graduated in 1993 with a degree in special education. That was followed a few weeks later by another entry in the Boston Marathon. As he fondly pictured it: "On the day of the marathon from Hopkinton to Boston people all over the course were wishing me luck, and they had signs up which read `congratulations on your graduation!’"
Rick now works at Boston College’s computer laboratory helping to develop a system codenamed "Eagle Eyes," through which mechanical aids (like for instance a powered wheelchair) could be controlled by a paralyzed person’s eye-movements, when linked-up to a computer.
Together the Hoyts don’t only compete athletically; they also go on motivational speaking tours, spreading the Hoyt brand of inspiration to all kinds of audiences, sporting and non-sporting, across the country.
Rick himself is confident that his visibility — and his father’s dedication — perform a forceful, valuable purpose in a world that is too often divisive and exclusionary. He typed a simple parting thought:
"The message of Team Hoyt is that everybody should be included in everyday life."
God Bless these people. I know I could never live up to their faith and courage.
You know what I mean, that women love to shop. It's the basis of nearly every male/female joke that you ever hear.
Ok, I'll admit it. I was born with a genetic shopping defect. I have had to spend my entire life living with the outcastedness of being shopping disabled. It's not that I don't love having new clothes, I do.
But. I absolutely HATE to shop. I swear, I'd rather go to the dentist (which I also hate) than to have to go to one of those dreadful malls. Nothing bores me more. I don't even understand those poor husbands who are forced to be dragged along and dutifully follow their shopping addicted wives around the stores carrying the bags. I still remember watching the evening news one night on Black Friday and there was my own brother, laden with shopping bags, the most prominent one a BIG Victoria Secret bag. I mean, how embarrassing is that? Ok, I don't think he was embarrassed, but I know a bunch of men watching were cringing and being glad they weren't spotted by the dreaded Channel 13 camera.
I literally have to start getting embarrassed about the clothes I wear before I force myself to go shopping. It's even worse now that most of corporate America has gone corporate casual and many places allowing jeans every day. Years ago, I wore the suits and the cutsey little bow ties women wore in the eighties. The heels and hose. I had to shop more to keep the business look that was expected. I don't think any offices wear that stuff anymore except maybe law offices.
For a while one of my shopping sisters-in-law became my personal shopper. I loved it. She would show up with a bag full of new clothes and I would try them on and give her a check. The first person I would hire if I won the lottery would be a personal shopper. My other sister-in-law who also loves to shop has a stash of new stuff in her closet. I make sure when I visit that I carry the "wrong" purse for the season. Every time, she gives me "that look", goes to her closet and pulls out a still price-tagged purse. Works everytime. I have a friend who has a map of every outlet mall in the US and her goal is to visit every single one, marking each one off as she goes.
Even my own husband likes to shop more than I do. A few years back we visited Key West along with my brother and his wife. Mark and I took a boat trip where he scuba dived and I snorkeled. You should have seen the look on the "captain's" face when I corrected him that we were not husband and wife, that Mark's wife and my husband were out shopping together.
Since I will be heading to Italy in just a few short weeks, I did force myself to spend an hour or so shopping last weekend for some clothes that wouldn't embarrass America while we are there. It was nice to wear something new to work, but I don't plan on repeating the process until these look ratty again, maybe in 3 or 4 years, I'm hoping.
One caveat. My shopping handicap does not extend to bookstores or kitchen supply stores. I can spend HOURS in either of those.
UPDATE: The picture below was added because someone who shall remain unnamed wanted to see the face of the woman in the above photo. Enjoy.
"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race”
I heard this quote today. I believe it. It's how I've lived my life. I've managed to make a decent living even though I chose to get my degree by taking classes at night. I used to laugh and say I would finish when I was forty thinking that was a lifetime away.
I started "my career" at the very bottom of the totem pole of the banking industry. I simply went to work every day. I never planned a career. I just showed up and did a little more than what was expected. In my 20's and 30's I suffered from severe migraine headaches 4 days out of 7. That was before the greatest invention ever, Imitrex (thank you Glaxo Wellcome). But I had no choice. If you suffer from migraines that often and you have to work, you work. There were days I walked into walls, but I went to work.
I showed up, day after day. I worked. I didn't make excuses, I didn't complain about making 15 cents above minimum wage and I took one or two classes a night. Slowly, slowly, I worked my way out of the floor-just-above-banking hell. By the time I was 25, I was starting to get somewhere.
I will not argue that if I had been smarter from a career perspective, I could have gone straight to college, gotten my accounting degree, CPA, gone to work at a Big 8 (now there are only 4) accounting firm and I could have walked easier into a career. But I wasn't born into that era and growing up I assumed I would get a job stocking shelves somewhere until I met my husband and had kids and stayed home. That was what was assumed of most girls that were raised in the 60's.
So, I joked I would get my degree at 40. I beat my joke only by a couple of years. In the meantime, I just showed up for work, I was promoted to positions that normally were held with people that had planned out their education and career and quite frankly, I did ok.
In 1991, I married someone who had the same work ethic. That makes for a much more compatible relationship, believe you me.
Today, I think there are too many people who underestimate the simple idea of just showing up for work day after day. Even if it's as menial as filing checks 40 hours a week.
When the company I worked for sold off our division, now nearly 13 years ago, I found myself working a temp job that was alot like how I had started out. It was a big adjustment for me to be back in the rank and file of banking, but I showed up every day. It was less than half the pay I had been making, but it helped to pay our bills until I found a permanent, higher paying job 6 weeks later. I found out I didn't die, we didn't go bankrupt, I could weather a career storm if I had to. I also learned that it would happen even more often to alot of good people in the banking industry.
I do not discount that I've been lucky, but I also didn't take the easiest career path, but I've managed beyond what I envisioned as a little girl, stocking shelves until the babies came along. So I no longer file checks for a living (I think no bank does that now). But I would if I needed to and I would show up with a migraine.
So, who's the first to be able to identify the author of the quoted passage at the start? Without googling it.
It's always been apparent that I have trouble with this concept as it relates to me. Logically I know all of us are mortal, but I guess I'm just too arrogant to believe that I am as mortal as all the rest of you mere mortals.
Two years ago today, I got a hard lesson on this concept.
I was one of the last 5 people at my company who was helping to close the doors. My job was officially ending March 31st. Whenever I've experience highly stessful situation, I lose my appetite, weight and all of the energy I normally have.
So I was obviously under stress, we were trying to close on some investment property and I had not yet found a new position. For weeks I had felt badly. I can remember driving home at night and hearing that tiny voice in my head repeat over and over, "I just don't feel good." I wasn't really conscience of it, but I can almost still hear that imaginary voice. I wasn't surprised because this was how I always felt when I was under stress, with one condition. My back hurt. Just a little, but I began to realize that I wasn't sleeping at night because it was keeping me awake.
At one point at work, I do remember researching it during those weeks in February and seeing something about a kidney infection. The symptoms described alot of pain in the back, more than what I had. I reached my hand to my back when I read that and pushed. Not much worse, but I noticed the skin back in the area hurt like it does when you have the flu.
Saturday I went to the gym and took my blood pressure. It was really nicely low. Good. High blood pressure under control. I get on the treadmill and before I even start my pulse was 125. Weird. Why so high? I don't know but I went ahead and spent 45 minutes on the treadmill making sure it didn't go off the charts.
After not sleeping much Saturday night, I told Bob that I would need to go see my doctor the next day. I had just felt too bad for too long and I was tired of not sleeping. I remember mentioning that I wondered if I might have a slight kidney infection.
At the beginning of church we were standing for the songs and I was noticing that the band lighting was getting lighter and lighter. Let's not make a big deal, I just lowered my head a bit to get a little blood flowing back in my lightheaded brain. OK, good to go, raise it up and...nope, lighter and lighter, lower it again. Finally Bob was getting irritated and said, "Would you just sit down." That helped a little.
At about 2 p.m. the chills started. These weren't the chills like the flu, these were racking bone shaking chills. I ran upstairs and got under the heating blanket and was out for a couple of hours. I rallied some by about 6 and came downstairs and had a bite to eat. Knowing that I wouldn't sleep much that night, I told Bob I would sleep on the couch. Early morning they hit again and I cannot describe how cold I was or how violent the chills were. Bob was trying to take my temperature, but I couldn't hardly keep the thermometer in my mouth I was shaking so hard. 103.
Knowing my doctor's office wouldn't open for a couple of hours, I ran upstairs again and got beneath the heating blanket again. Bob is telling me I shouldn't do that, but I didn't care. I was bitterly cold. Two hours later I crawled out of bed. Temp 105, of my own making.
We get to my doctor at 9:30. I have to make clear how much I love my doctor. He's been my doc since I was in my early 20's and he was a young man. We've grown old together and he knows all my history. When he first walked in, he gives me a startled look. Over the previous few weeks, I had developed severely dark areas under my eyes. I tell him my symptoms and Bob is joking with the doc. Up on the table and he takes my blood pressure.
I see the big dial on the wall while the blood pumps through the cuff. OK, I'm not good at reading blood pressure with those things, but something didn't look right. Doc's head spins around from joking with Bob and said to me, "Did you see that?" I said I thought it looked pretty low. He told me to stand up. Even worse, blood pressure 60/40. In over 20 years, I have never seen that look on my doc's face before. Bob quits joking when he realizes something is very wrong. Doc says to go the the emergency room NOW. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. He hesitates because he knows we live on the other side of town and he wonders if we wanted to go to a hospital there. Not those hospitals, thank you very much. We tell him we'll go to the one 5 minutes away, a great hospital. He said he would call the emergency room and tell them we're coming. He asked me, "Can you walk to the car?" I said, "Well I walked IN." He said, "I KNOW YOU DID." sounding a bit frustrated with me.
Bob dropped me at the ER door and parked the car. My doc had called and talked to the physician's assistant. She was no where to be found and the desk told me to wait. Five minutes later I go back into a room and tell the emergency doc what was going on, that my doc had called, blood pressure 60/40. I don't think he believed me. They do all the normal non-emergency stuff and my doc tells me later that the ER doc called him and asked him what was going on., since he hadn't talked with his assistant. My doc was more than irritated telling him exactly what my condition was.
We were not aware of what was really going on. I knew there was one ER doc and then there was an Internist. I saw them hook up an IV and I realized they changed the first bag which emptied in what seemed like half a second. They were slamming the fluids in me. New bag, quickly emptied. Three, four, I lost count. It seemed like there were suddenly a ton of people in my little ER space. While they were slamming fluids into me, they were taking it out filling blood cultures. The internist asked me how long I had had the "rash". I looked at where he was pointing and saw weird patchy red places that hadn't been there before.
A couple hours later they tell me they are admitting me, but there are no empty rooms, so I wait in the emergency room 8 hours. I was fully conscious, but the passage of time was really odd as it seemed like only an hour or so. When they finally wheeled me up to the room, I'm thinking they are taking a short cut through the Critical Care Unit.
By the time I got there, my brothers and their wives were there and my niece and her husband. I'm still joking around and feeling a bit silly about all the commotion. One of the nurses came in and began to talk about being "septic". I finally said, "Is that like Sepsis?" She confirmed it. My family laughed when I told them I saw that in the obituaries all the time.
When the internist visited the next morning he said the blood culture also revealed bacteremia. In essence, my blood had also become a feeding tube for the bacteria invading my body. He said they would have more test results the next morning. I said, "So I'm not getting released today?" He looked at me like I was nuts. "Uh, NO." I was confused. Where is the "the hospitals rush you out because of insurance" I had always heard about?
Tuesday, Bob did not go to work, said he was up until 1 on Monday. I knew something was up. My brother and sister in law was back. She needed to get a Mountain Dew, Bob said he would go with her. The nurse was acting weird. When everyone went home Tuesday evening, I called Bob on his way home and said, "OK I'm not that sick and I'm not that stupid. What is going on?" He had told me my sister in law had looked up septic shock mortality rate Monday night and then called him. The nurse had told them out of the room that I didn't realize how sick I was, so they shouldn't tell me I'm sick. Did I look like an idiot? I knew sepsis was serious, but I was alert and.....I can't die, remember, I'm too arrogant.
My doc called me late Tuesday night in the hospital and was livid over the emergency room doc. He told the ER doc when he called, "For God's Sake man, she's in septic shock, get an internist, get IV, get her on antibiotics now." That was why the sudden onslaught in the ER room.
Early hours of Wednesday morning I am not feeling especially immortal any longer. I was in alot of pain, my heart monitor was jumping all over the place and I am passing very large blood clots. I was SCARED. Very scared. I read later that with sepsis, your blood vessels can become so thin that the blood actually "leaches" out of them. Glad I didn't know that then. They had been pumping all kinds of fluids in my for days and when I looked in the mirror I was horrified. I looked like Will Smith in Hitch when he had an allergic reaction. A deathly pale Will Smith.
I finally tell the nurse that I am used to a doc that tells me everything, good or bad, what he thinks, what's possible, what's likely. I am not used to one that walks in the room and stands back 4 feet and gives me minimal information. She must have relayed that information back to the internist because he stands at my bedside the next time and explains things.
Well, he doesn't tell me the mortality rate of septic shock is somewhere between 50% and 60%, but he does explain things a little better.
Wednesday they get things a little more stablized enough that by Thursday the internist said that technically I could get released, but he would prefer I wait until Friday. After the scary night I had had, I tell him I'm fine with waiting until Friday.
Every year now at about this time, I get the shivers thinking about how scary all of it was. Oh, I'm back to thinking I'm invincible, but February and March now give me a small dose of reality.
And I never hestitate to go to my favorite doc if I feel like I might be getting a bladder or kidney infection. They are not something to be ignored, even with the "slight" symptoms I was ignoring for weeks.
It was Christmas 1977. I'm pretty sure that it was a Christmas present someone gave to my parents. I can't remember who, if it was indeed a present then it had to have been from someone in our family.
A short three months later, it turned out to be a gift of life.
I still lived at home and my parents had guests that night that stayed very late. I think we went to bed around 1. Again, the exact details are a bit fuzzy.
At around 3 a.m. the Christmas gift screamed into the night, awakening me and my parents immediately. The precious gift, a simple lone smoke alarm was blasting away in the hall between the bedrooms. I can remember being jolted awake and running for the hallway. And I remember turning back to get my glasses as I was extremely nearsighted.
My father came running out of the bedroom in his not very tighty whities. My mother was rummaging around their bedroom. It was obvious immediately that the smoke alarm was not yelping in vain. There was smoke clearly visable at the top of the ceiling in the hall. My dad and I ran to the kitchen where the smoke got worse and I looked into the "new room" that my dad had added to our house several months before.
There, licking at the ceiling, were flames just above the wood burning stove. I remember standing there for a few seconds in a deer-in-the-headlights moment thinking, "This doesn't happen in my home, FIRE cannot happen in MY home."
Dad was running back and forth near the kitchen phone saying, "I can't see, I can't see." Only later did I realize he meant that being farsighted he could not see to dial the telephone. This was long before there was a 911.
I grabbed the phone and hit 0. Nothing, nada, zip. I realized later that was because dialing the operator did not immediately give you a ringing tone. All I could think of was that the fire must have burned through the phone lines.
In the meantime, Dad started to run the water in the kitchen and grabbed a coffee cup. He began to run back and forth between the kitchen and the new room throwing a cup of water one at a time on the flames. To be clear, while the flames looked like hell had erupted in the new room to me, they really were limited to just the ceiling and upper wall maybe 4 feet in either directly.
My mother, hearing the fire alarm and not thinking clearly (not that any of us were at this point), proceeded to hunt through their closet for her new robe. She's was notorious for "saving" Christmas presents like her new robe, one time saving one so long that she no longer fit into it. But in the panicked state we all were in, she logically thought she didn't want the firemen to see her in her old robe, so she's grabbing her new one and putting it on. She tossed her hair scarf that women wore to bed back then to keep their hairdo in place and never ever found it again. When she emerged from the bedroom, she did have enough wits about her to get dad a pan rather than a coffee cup.
My brother and his first wife lived in a trailer in our backyard at the time and I ran out of the house barefoot in an early Indiana March morning to try to use their phone since ours was obviously "burnt". I remember my toes squishing in several slightly frozen mud puddles in our driveway to bang on the trailer door.
It's hard to wrap your arms around a true emergency. Your mind does stupid things like saying, "OK, let's not scream and panic these people." I knocked semi-loud. No response. Louder. Louder. OK WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??? Wake these people UP. This is no time to be polite. I began to pound and yell FIRE!
His wife got up and let me in. Mark, being in the dazed state of sleep I had just been in, hears me and then goes to relieve himself first. OK, maybe you should have waited and aimed that toward the flames instead of wasting it in your bathroom.
I run to their phone and dial 0. Again, no response. I waited just a half a second longer and I hear, "Operator." I said, "I need the fire department." In the meantime, I see Mark finally realizing there is an emergency and he runs out of the trailer toward the house.
Just a couple seconds later and I hear someone on the phone say, "Greenwood Police Department." It was THEN that I nearly panicked. 'I NEED THE FIRE DEPARTMENT." What the heck was the police department doing on the phone?
The dispatcher c a l m l y says, "This IS the Fire Department." I told her our address and I can honestly say that I wasn't yet panicked all the way.
But.
Then I can hear my mother screaming from the house. The words and tone of my voice still rings in my ears even today. Upon hearing the screaming I said, "Hurry, PLEASE." I was begging. I hang up the phone and I run toward the house. I can see two people carrying someone out of the house. My first thought was that Dad had a heart attack and Mom and Mark were carrying him out of the house.
Nope. Apparently Mark had become fully awake by the time he reached the house and he saw the smoke that was beginning to billow in the kitchen ceiling. Mom and Dad were running around standing upright, not realizing how bad the smoke had gotten.
Upon seeing Mark bent down, the realization finally struck Mom. In a normal tone she said, "Mark, this house is on fire." "This house is on fire." "THIS HOUSE IS ON FIRE." She lost it. Began screaming it over and over. That was the screaming I heard when I was on the phone with the Police/Fire Department.
By the time I reached the back door, I saw Mark and Dad carrying Mom out. I held the door open while they carried her out and laid her down, still screaming in the gravel, dirty driveway. But she sure looked nice without the head scarf and in her yet-unused robe.
Mark and Dad were in a hurry to get back in the house and try to put out the fire, as stupid as that was. They go back into the house. Mom's still laying in the driveway. I go back in and I hear Dad, realizing the smoke is too thick yelling at Mark. "Let's go, get out of here." Mark was trying to throw more water on the fire. When he didn't move quickly enough, Dad used the voice that we were well familiar with as kids. "Mark, NOW, get out of here." We all turn to run out of the house, I'm sure well past the time it's smart to just get the hell out.
I remember Mom saying that Rebel, our dog was still in the basement.
Priorities.
This is the moment you put all your priorities in proper order. We are all out of the house. Does anything else matter? As much as I loved Rebel, I can clearly remember saying, "It doesn't matter, let it all burn"
Since I didn't see hear any emergency vehicles, I ran back to the trailer and called the operator again. She said they were on the way and I could hear them in the distant.
White River Township at that time had an all volunteer fire department. God Bless those guys. One of the guys knew my dad and where we lived. He said the minute he heard our address, he couldn't manage to get his belt fastened while being awakened out of a deep sleep and realizing his friends house was on fire.
I cannot imagine that someone volunteers or even gets paid to be slapped out of sleep and rushed into danger. It's a noble, noble career/calling. Thank God for people like that.
When we were sitting around my brother's kitchen table while the firemen entered our house, one of them walked into the trailer, gingerly carrying my purse, which I knew was in the same room as the fire. Rebel came running out unharmed, the firemen had let him out of the basement.
It was beginning to dawn on all of us that the fire had not destroyed our entire house, it had only burnt one wall of the new room. Of course the smoke damage was more extensive, but outside of the room that caught fire, the rest just needed a good cleaning. It wasn't until late that night when I happened to cross my legs that I saw the dirt was still caked on my feet from stepping into cold mud puddles.
We were lucky.
We were blessed.
Imagine what would have happened that very night if they had not gotten a smoke detector for that Christmas three months earlier. With all the smoke, I have no doubt we would have just died from smoke inhalation, not the fire.
Now that smoke detectors are virtually in every house, please remember to check the batteries. No one wants to regret something so simple that can be so important.
How many times do we feel the need to help someone, but know there are just too many people that need help, so we simply do nothing? Alone, we cannot change the world, but we CAN change ONE life. One life.
If you knew that you might be able to save one single life, and if we ALL decided to do that, imagine what we could accomplish. That's all, not the whole world, just one life. And YOU can do that and it's not as complicated, or as expensive, or as painful as you might think. PLEASE, make a decision today to save ONE life. If we all do that, we just might actually save two or three, or a hundred.
I wrote this email last year to everyone I know. Read the email and then check out the update at the end.
April 23, 2008
Hi Everyone:
Those of you who know me well, know I do not send out chain email, so let me assure you, this is not one of those.
I need to tell you about kevin, Just a couple months ago, Kevin was doing what every 15-year-old boy was doing. He was on the football team, enjoyed playing drums, spending time with his friends.
Today he is fighting for his life. He was diagnosed with an extremely rare genetic disorder called XLP. Most boys are diagnosed very early and rarely (without a bone marrow match) live past the age of 10. Unfortunately for Kevin, no immediate family member was a match, so they have had to turn to the national bone marrow registry.
OK, quit making that face at your computer. I know what you're thinking.....".Please, PLEASE don't ask me to donate bone marrow.....it will........................HURT".
Here's the truth.
To get your name in the bone marrow registry does not even come close to hurting. It's simply a swab inside your cheek at the time of registration. That's it, to get registered you will not be stuck with a needle of any kind, you will simply have your cheek swabbed with something that resembles a long Q-Tip.
And IF you do match someone, the majority of donations do not involve surgery. The patient's doctor most commonly requests a peripheral blood stem cell (PBSC) donation, which is non-surgical and outpatient. And even in the "worst case" scenario, general or regional anesthesia is always used. Donors feel no needle injections and no pain during marrow donation. And you are sore for a few days.
I know. You'd prefer that I was asking you for money. But, I'm not asking for your money.
I'm asking you to imagine for a split second you are Linda.
Your son is 15, he was seemingly very healthy a couple months ago, now you are pleading for his life.
And imagine that I look you in the eyes and say, "I'm really sorry that your son may not live long enough to for you to dance with him at his wedding, or go to the prom or maybe even get his driver's license in a few months, but.....I.......really......don't want to be sore for a few days."
I know Linda. I know her husband Ron, Kevin's dad. Ron is my sister's nephew who lived with my sister Helen and her family when he was 17. Last fall my family had a mini-reunion in Nashville with our cousins. Since they live now in a Nashville suburb, Linda and Ron joined us for most of the weekend. At that time they had no clue that their world would be completely turned upside down a few short months later.
I do not want to look either of them in the eye and tell them I can't help their son because I don't want to be sore for a couple of days. Can you tell me you could say that to someone, anyone you know or have heard of? I wish this WAS just another internet story that you get everyday. It's not to me. It's personal. It's family.
And, it's possible you might not be a match, but you might help another Linda or Ron or Kevin. Or someone's daughter, or your own someday.
Please consider becoming a registered donor today. If you are already registered, I'd love to hear back from you so I can pass the information along to the family to keep their spirits up. And please make sure the registry has your current contact information.
I'd also like to hear from you if you decide to become a registered donor. Certain conditions may prevent you from becoming a donor, but you can help in other ways, sponsor a drive, forward this email to people you KNOW will help, just email us your well wishes.
For me, I found out that I cannot donate, therefore I have decided to organize a bone marrow drive/health fair at my church.
If you are unable to register, please consider sponsoring a drive, organizing one at your company or church or civic organization or even just sponsoring one person and send this on to someone you know could make a difference.
And remember Kevin and his family in your prayers tonight.
Thank you so much.
UPDATE: Kevin was so fortunate. They found a healthy match and the bone marrow was recieved several months ago all the way from Singapore. Although the chemo preparing for the marrow was not pleasant, for the most part Colton has only a few setbacks.
In January he was allowed to go back to school and actually play with the football team again. He's a happy, healthy nearly 17 year old now. Obviously he still must take caution, but given his condition a little over a year ago, it's gone remarkably well.
Now it's time for you to step up. If you are under 60, please consider registering to become a donor.
The health fair that I organized at my church last year will become an annual event. July 25th, Brandywine Community Church from 9 to 1. And this year, WFMS will broadcast from there. Please come. Please help. Please allow me an opportunity to tell Linda and Ron that Kevin's plight will help other people too.
Acrophobia and gephyrophobia. This is my diagnosis of my brother Mike. And it is not within my means of comprehension
My first awareness of his fear was when I was probably 5 or younger. My Aunt Rita took Helen, Mark and me up a small old-time fire watch tower. I can still remember looking down at Mike and Mom (who also doesn't like heights) and I could not understand why they wouldn't come up with us.
Over the years either I've become more aware of Mike's fears or they have gotten worse.
Never heard of gephyrophobia? It's simply just a fear of bridges. Mike has always been known in the family as being a very good driver and could drive around the world, if only he does not have to cross a bridge. So, assuming they ever build a road between here and oh say, Europe, I'm pretty certain there would need to be a bridge. Forget it. He's told tales before of having to cross the "dreaded" bridge between here and Kentucky and practically closing his eyes while driving.
I just don't get it. I love going over that bridge, there is so much to see.
Mike's fears don't bother me, it's just part of who he is and to a much lesser degree of who my mother is. But a few years back I could have throttled him over his fears.
Both Helen and Mike were born in San Francisco. My father was stationed there right after they were married and they drove back home for good when Mike was 6 weeks old and Helen was almost a year and a half. So San Francisco has always held a special place in my family.
Sadly we, as a family never got back there until after dad's death in 1992. Several years ago, Mom, Helen's family and Mike and his wife decided to travel out west by car and go through San Francisco. I, being the smart one of the family, decided I would fly out to San Fran when they got there and fly back when they left. I saw no point in spending over 2 weeks riding in a car wasting precious time, especially between Indiana and Texas. Not a whole heck of a lot to see. A 3 or so hour flight and I arrived in San Francisco airport on a Friday where they all met me.
We all spent the weekend seeing how beautiful San Francisco is. I honestly have never seen such a beautiful city. It was gorgeous. My mom had talked for years about how foggy and gloomy it was. Once there I told her that Indiana has fog, San Francisco has VERY low clouds. I will never forget standing at the edge of the bay where Presidio base used to be and being totally in awe, especially when the fog horns blasted.
On Saturday we finally got to see the famous Golden Gate Bridge. I was determined I wanted to walk all the way across the 2 1/2 mile span. Mike drove the van to take us to the edge. We all started across and Mike started to walk behind us. I'm looking at him like he's nuts. What is he doing?
Heights and bridges. OK, what about this makes him think he wants to follow us?
This is Mike doing his Fred Sanford imitation.
Now Mom has a slight fear of heights and she only has bad dreams of bridges, not a real fear of them. So she's along with us.
I cannot tell you how absolutely gorgeous the view walking along the bridge is. It's a very close second to being at the edge of the Grand Canyon. We are walking along and Mike keeps coming. But he's walking a bit more slowly and not exactly in a straight line.
I told him, "Mike, go back. We're going across." He kept saying, "I'm ok." No. He really wasn't. We were not hurrying, walking in and out of the support beams that were massive, gawking at the beautiful sailboats all along San Francisco Bay. It was breathtaking.
Knowing that my immediate family was started in the great city, I even peeled off some of the Golden Gate paint. By the way, the color is not gold, it's more of a burnt orange.
Michael would not stop following us, but I watched as it seemed the farther we got (which wasn't far), the shorter he became. Literally, you could almost see his legs wobble back and forth like a cartoon character. And he would NOT go back as long as we were walking. I repeated a thousand times, "MIKE, go back, we will go across and come back." He simply wouldn't do it. I suppose he might have been been afraid that WE would fall off the side. I don't know. He said later he was afraid we would get to the other side and not get back. This was before everyone had a cell phone, but STILL, would we not be competent enough to grab a cab and take us back should someone not be able to walk back?
I finally could not stand it anymore. Not even 1/4 of the way across I just gave up. We all turned around and walked back. By then Mike was probably 5 feet tall because his knees had all but buckled.
I so regretted not getting to walk all the way across.
Luck was with me though. The very next year, my company sent me back to San Francisco for training. Because Bob could not go, I asked Mom if she wanted to go with me.
After walking our legs off one day through Fisherman's Wharf, we walked our way to the Golden Gate (not within walking distance) and then we started across.
It was worth the wait. Unbelievable. Beautiful, Breathtaking. There aren't enough words.
If you are lucky enough to visit San Fran. Walk the 5 miles roundtrip over the Golden Gate. You won't ever regret it.
I'm always amazed at the difference between boys and girls.
Our grandson turned 7 today. Yesterday they had his party at one of those "Bounce" places. This was the first year that he asked friends to be at a party. Normally it's a big enough event with just family.
There were probably about 20 kids that attended. Maybe 5 of those were girls, including our granddaughter, who's a rough and tumble 2 1/2 year old.
The mass of squiggly, punching, throwing, jumping boys was something to behold, and give you a migraine. We delighted in watching our grandson play with his friends, but I had to bite my lip as I watched the ever moving wormlike jumble of boys throw each other down, jump all in a pile and look like someone was going to break an arm.
How anyone ever thinks the difference in boys and girls is not inbred in them is beyond me. None of the little girls were of a prissy type, they enjoyed playing too, but they were quieter and not nearly as physical.
At the birthday cake table, the boys immediately proceeded to make fun of each other. "Jacob loves Dora." , "Kyle loves Barney" And the best, "Hey mom, Jason poops the alphabet."
Ah yes, viva la difference. And I do remember a time when our grandson loved watching Dora, thankfully he was never a Barney fan.
It's almost here. These little green guys prove it. I took this picture yesterday. It was 74 degrees here. The first sign of Spring.
And today, there were also other tell-tale signs. Those nasty tornadoes. I called my friend as the storms were heading her way. Let's not panic, but please take the kids to play in the basement.
When we were growing up, our dad loved country music. Back in the day when it was twangy and corny. None of us kids liked it, but there were rare exceptions.
Like this guy.
You can't get any better than Roger Miller.
Classic.
Roger Miller - King of the road
Today, my radio is nearly always turned to 95.5 on the dial. Yep, it's country music. Kenny, Carrie, Brad. I love it. But then again, it's not the Loretta Lynn stuff dad listened to.
But give me a Roger Miller song any day. Other old favorites: Wreck of 'ol 97, Running Bear, Your Cheatin Heart, Poor Ol Kaliga . I'm sure I'll think of others. Guess there was a little country music that was good back then.
I've been reading various blogs for some time now. When my sister started hers, it just drove me crazy because I kept wanting to write hers for her. She doesn't need my help, but I just kept wanting to say things that were more than just comments.
So I decided to do this one.
From what I've seen, blogs are fleeting. If you post regularly, only the most recent blog gets any attention. I guess it's kinda like picking up a week old newspaper. Except, unless you are blogging about recent new events, that doesn't make sense, but it's still true.
So, my question is this. When do I pull the trigger?
I've told very very few people that I have a blog. It feels weird telling people I started a blog. I told my friend today, the one that I wrote about in the very first blog. Her response, "Good Lord, I can't read this at work, it makes me cry." She was complimentary, which didn't exactly surprise me since we've been "e-pal'ing" for years. As she said, she has her own private blog and that's her emails to me. I told her I would never give out any personal information on her, but there were just too many funny stories that I have enjoyed from her emails over the years not to share.
So, since today's blog is yesterday's news, it makes me feel like I need to tell more people about it, but it still makes me nervous.
I've always been very careful not to ever give out information online, but isn't that the whole point of blogging?
In a perverse way, it has felt like my destiny. I was named after my mother's twin when it was discovered that she could not have children. While I did not live my life thinking it was destiny, somehow it did seem to be. And no, I don't blame my mother for naming me after my aunt. It was a name I was proud of for many years since she was our favorite aunt. I have always wanted to live up to the Aunt Rita title that she held while we were growing up because we were so delighted when she would come visit.
My first nephew was born when I was only 15. He was the only grandkid of my parents for 3 years. Although they lived nearly 2 hours away, we saw them often and would take Brian for long weekends or sometimes for a whole week. It was soooo much fun. I loved being around him and just decided he was mine.
Three years later Brian had a new sister and cousin. Suddenly we had three babies in the house when they visited. By then I was eighteen and felt like they were all my own. I'm sure in their eyes I acted a little too much like they were mine, dishing out punishment if I felt they needed it. Eventually there were three more. All of them were partially mine. That was the destiny of being Aunt Rita. Aunt Rita's weren't supposed to have their own kids, they just adopted their nephews and nieces.
I'll save the story of the notorious stomping on kitty cat paws for another time.
As I have said, our family is close. That closeness extends even down into the next generation. We all love to get together, joke, jab and just have a good time. I've never felt a "distant aunt" connection with my nieces and nephews. It has always been a close friendship with all of them.
Nearly seven years ago, my husband's daughter had her first child. She made his first name our last name.
This new title of Mamaw was unbelievable. Because I was working 4 day weeks, I began to watch him all day on Friday's. Bob would be at work and I would get hours with this precious little baby all to myself.
I can remember one specific day when he was just over a year old and he didn't want to take a nap. I held him and rocked him in a chair until he finally went to sleep. After several minutes of sweet soft breathing, I stood up getting ready to take him up to his crib. Halfway through the great room I stopped.
It was one of those rare moments in life where you stop worrying about the next minutes and you just decide to live in the moment. Here I was, holding this precious little boy who calls me Mamaw, resting against my chest and breathing softly. I can remember literally bending my head down to his and simply breathing him in. It was a long slow intake of breath.
It was then that I felt it.
I had spent all of my adult life living in a desert with no water. Physically I felt like I had finally gotten that wonderful lifegiving drink of water that I had needed for years.
I don't know why God gives babies to some people and not to others. I believe I would have been a good mother. That question plagued me for the first few years of my grandson's life and sometimes it still does. I did not realize when my nieces and nephews were little that I would never have a child of my own. Finally having a grandson made me realize how very much I had missed out on.
I live for my grandson and granddaughter now. There is nothing any better than to hear them call me Mamaw. I delight in their antics and words. Life with grandbabies is good. There are always stories to tell and I no longer have to wander years through the desert searching for that sweet drink of water. All it takes is an out-of-the-blue comment, "Mamaw? I love you." Wow, that's better than winning the lottery.
A free trip to Hollywood. We won the trip right after we were first married. I had thought it was a hoax at first, but it wasn't. Three nights at a nice hotel, two airline tickets, $300 cash for spending and a visit to Paramount Studios, not a public tour, but a private one with 5 other couples. The trip was sponsored by the movie "Soap" and the show "All My Children".
It was at the height of Cheers' popularity and we were allowed to tour the set while the stand-ins practiced the camera shots. Lillith was sitting in a corner booth studying her lines. We saw Kirstie Alley in an alley (hah). She tried to duck as she could see some gawking tourists. As did Frazier. He's a big guy and that was just a few weeks after he was out of rehab.
Unfortunately Bob had developed a cold right before we left. He wasn't feeling well, but was a trooper all day. He was still his silly self, saying he would see some celebrity or another if they at all resembled anyone, even when he knew it wasn't true. We were sitting on the curb towards the end of the day and I went to the restroom. When I came back he said, "I just saw Sam Malone." OK, sure you did. Again, he was doing this all day. He said, "No, I really saw him, he walked right past me while you were gone." "Sure Bob." Then he said, " I really saw him. He's bald in the back." THEN I believed him. I had heard that Ted Danson was balding in back and that he wore a rug on the set and I knew Bob would not have known that without actually seeing him.
Towards the end of the day, Bob just really wanted to go back to the hotel and rest. He hadn't eaten much all day. But the tour guide said, "Well, if you guys want to, you can go see the Tonight Show. Johnny's on vacation right now, so Jay Leno's filling in for him." I had been to a Johnny Carson show in high school and I just didn't find Leno that funny, so we were thinking we wouldn't go. Then he said that Randy Travis was a guest. Randy? Oh yeah, we're in.
All of the couples decided to go. They loaded us in a bus and drove us up to the studio where a big long line was waiting to get in. It's free to see, but you have to stand in line and hope they don't run out of room before they get to you.
The guide gets us off the bus, waves a badge at someone and walks us into the studio saying, "Tape and Hold Section". Whatever that means. The crowd standing outside wasn't happy as we could hear an audible groan. Hey, whaddya groaning about? We're VIP, We're Tape and Hold Section. Couldn't they see how important we were?
We found out what the Tape and Hold Section was. It was literally masking tape over the seat arms, held in the front of the studio. One rip of the masking tape and we got front row seats. SWEET!
Jay was funny, Randy was great. Fresh Prince had just started and Will Smith was just becoming well known and was also a guest. Again, very funny. We had a great time.
By the time we get back to the hotel, Bob is really not feeling good. We found a drug store and he got something for a cold, don't remember what it was, probably Sudafed. Back in the room, without reading the package, he pops two of the tablets. His body isn't used to medication, he avoids most pills at all cost, so I was especially worried when he turned over the package and said that the prescribed dose was ONE tablet.
Great, I now have a medicinal-lightweight sick husband who hadn't eaten all day, double-dosed.
There was a restaurant just a short uphill walk from the hotel. I told him that we needed to go eat. He hesitated, said he just wanted to rest at the hotel for a few minutes. All I can think about is getting something in his stomach to counteract the medicine.
Thirty minutes later I finally convinced him to go to the restaurant. By then the pills are kicking in and he was a little goofy. Well I mean goofier than he normally is.
It was a nice place, nothing fancy, if I remember right, it was a BBQ place. And it was early yet for dinner, 6 or so. The place wasn't crowded. They bring us the menus and begin to tell us about the specials.
It's obvious by now, that Bob is really out of it. He tells the waitress what he wants and then she asks him the hardest question ever.
"Would you like baked beans with that?"
Bob's glazed eyes looked at me and then he says, "Baked beans? What are baked beans?"
I know my mouth dropped open. The waitress looked at him like he was mentally unstable.
April 23, 2008 
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