Remember This

I was cleaning out some boxes today. And naturally I was stopped in my cleaning by something I found to read...It was a binder my son had made of letters I'd written to him while he was in Argentina on his mission. It was hilarious and awesome to read them because it was 13-14 years ago and so many things are so different now. Duh. But I'm writing this whole post to quote myself from so long ago:

I told about going to stake conference and listening to a talk by a man who said,

"Many people say what a lucky person I am. But I would prefer to think of it as being "blessed" rather than lucky, because you don't know where your next luck will come from, but you always know where blessings come from. God is dependable."

That is all. Just remember it and be thankful for blessings.

Discretion is the Better Part of Valor

As you know, I am a member of the self-appointed International Grammar Police. And I have occasionally actually corrected signs that I have come across in stores, and places. However, I've had two experiences lately that I think will show that, not only do I have good grammar skills, but I also have common sense.


There is a property I pass on my way up to the temple near my house. I say property because it is a large lot surrounded by a wall that contains a house, several outbuildings, pieces of construction machinery and a travel trailer. It is a typical of other lots in this part of town, in that it was here a long time before this area became heavily populated and is still zoned for horses and so is larger than a common house plat. But, the wall has three signs posted along its perimeter, all saying the same thing:

Your on video, stupid.

Beneath the words is a drawing of a large pistol, pointed out toward the reader. It is meant as a deterrent to one who might be considering climbing over the wall and burglarizing the home. It is all I can do to resist returning to this block with a large Sharpie marker and correcting the "your" to a "you're". But I do resist. Because I am on video, duh. And I do not wish to be shot.

Yesterday, I drove for several blocks next to a pickup truck that had something posted on the rear window, using those vinyl letters and cutouts you can get made. There was Tinkerbell with her little fairy wings taking up one side of the window and these words on the other side: (big words)

If your going to ride my a$$,

at least pull my hair.

She also had her driver's side window down, so she could hang her cigarette out and tap off the ash. And I pulled up along side of her at three different lights. But, I did not suggest a correction of the misused "your" because I didn't wish to be told where to put my correction and how far.

So, even though I am an official language enforcement officer, I understand the limits of my voluntary service and so I live to correct on another day.

Rituals

I hope you don't get tired of hearing about KittyCat. It ought to be boring, because--hey--she's a kittycat and there isn't much variety in her life. However, today, I thought of an interesting concept.

In the summer, she really likes to stay out all night. But, when the sun comes back up, she is peering in through the french doors with an anxious expression because now it time for The Ceremony.

On our bed we have a patchwork corduroy comforter. This is just the best thing, if you are KittyCat. She loves to pump her paws on the corduroy, as long as there is a person under it to be the extra bit of fluffiness. So, when she comes in on a summer morning, she must have someone in the bed. If there isn't someone in the bed, she will follow you around the house meowing urgently. Or if you are working on the computer, eating breakfast, whatever, she will not cease until someone gets back under the comforter (it doesn't matter if you're dressed...) and lay there so that Her Majesty can stand on you and push her paws against the corduroy.

She gets a faraway look in her eyes, sometimes she starts to drool a bit. But the paw pumping ceremony MUST occur every morning. She will sometimes curl up next to you and sleep, or, lately, I've had her curl up next to me and start washing. Or, if she gets her corduroy fix, then she will jump off the bed and curl up on CoolGuy's office floor and sleep. Or wash first.

But--here's what I thought about today, after getting back into bed with my clothes on to satisfy The Craving. What is she washing off? I mean how dirty can one get when one spends the day in this fashion:

Patio:

Office:

Kitchen.

So, when one's entire day consists of moving from one spot to the next, flopping down, sleeping, and then perhaps stopping off for a little snack at the food bowl, how does any part of you get dirty? And yet, everyday, thorough washing--all the legs, using paws on the face, entire tail---the whole cat. Hmmmm....

Reject!

I had an interesting experience with the foot this week. Every bit of it has been healing nicely, (slowly) but nicely. Just as the doctor indicated, right on the schedule he'd predicted.

But then, it started to be sore and look red along the right side of my foot, below the big toe. This was the site of an incision where he'd removed a little section of tendon so that it wouldn't be pulling my big toe outward any longer. He said he'd put in dissolving stitches, so that as my foot healed, the stitches would just go away.

But now this incision site was red, and very sore when I put on my shoe because the shoe rubbed it directly. There was a small, pointy thing sticking out from the top end of the incision, so I wondered if one of the stitches wasn't dissolving properly.

I finally sat down on Thursday evening, with tweezers, and pulled on the white pointy thing, but is turned out just to be a bit of dry skin. However, when I plucked this piece of skin off, it opened a teeny hole, and pus pushed its way out. Hmm...this can't be good. I probed around a bit, got some more icky looking white stuff to ooze forth, and then I put a hot poultice on it for about 30 minutes. That drew out a little more goo, so then I rubbed some antibiotic cream into it and applied a band aid. The next morning, it looked so much better, and most of the redness was gone.

Now, you may be thinking, "Why didn't you go to the doctor the next day? " Because I wanted to go to my family reunion instead. And I had to drive all the way to northern Utah before 6:00 P.M. on Friday afternoon from Las Vegas. Plus, my foot looked a whole lot better.

So, I spent Friday, Saturday and half of Sunday visiting relatives and enjoying myself. Then I got back on the road and returned to Las Vegas, in time to host my son's family overnight on their way to San Diego for a little vacation. They left Monday morning around 10:00 and I did laundry and fixed lunch and then CoolGuy and I went to the movies (Despicable Me---very entertaining!) to get out of the heat.

Then, as we were sitting around watching Jeopardy that evening, I was examining my foot. CoolGuy, aka Attilla the Nurse, asked what I was checking for. I told him the entire story of the redness, the pus, etc. Why, yes, he did have a cow, how did you know? Actually, he pointed out that I've done all this arduous healing and everything is going so well, and I'd put in all this time doing everything else right, why would I mess around with this problem? (!!??)

Really, I'd planned to go to the doctor on Monday if I wasn't completely healed, and then I'd gotten distracted with the visitors, and the movie and stuff. So, that night when I finally sat down and probed around a bit, I realized that it wasn't all better. It was still a little red and sore. None of the other incision sites felt like that, so I should go to the doctor.

And I did today. And he pointed out that sometimes one's body is unhappy with the dissolving stitches and treats it as a foreign body and sends a platoon of white blood cells there to repel the invader. So, the pus wasn't really an infection, exactly, that could be cultured, but it was just a pile of dead white blood cells trying in vain to reject the perceived enemy. He numbed it up, sliced into it with a scalpel and plucked out the offending stitch remains. Then he cleaned it all up with germ killers, and put a band aid on it and told me to stay out of the pool for 24 hours.

So I'm canning peaches I got from my daughter's food co-op in Utah and all is well. Sometimes, the white blood cells get called out on a bogus mission. But I appreciate their heroic efforts. Semper fi.

Process VS Purpose

I'm only writing this post because I still feel annoyed.

You know how some hymns have extra verses written under the music? And how some of those extra verses are not specifically vital, but maybe traditional, so they included them? But some of the extra verses include the entire point of the song? Such as certain Sacrament hymns in which the ordinance isn't mentioned until verse 5? Or perhaps the three verses written within the staff of the music only tell the story of the Savior's death and the two verses written below go on to include the Resurrection---the point of the story?

I have always chaffed at the concept that we're singing the songs in church to kill time while something else is happening. I am particularly irked when that is done with the Sacrament song. The music director is watching the priests and as soon as they look done, she'll stop the song, but at least we normally sing all the verses with the words written inside the music. Occasionally, I'll point out before church that the song we're scheduled to sing has two more verses that include the message, or complete the thought of the song. I'll say, "We ought to sing all the verses of this song as a result." She'll agree, but then she stops me if the boys sit down. Once, as a rebellious organist, I just kept playing as though I didn't see her, because she attempted to stop me after singing ONE of the extra verses, but not BOTH! (Completely ridiculous...) Of course the congregation assumed that since we'd begun the extra verses, we would sing them both. So they kept singing with me as I continued to play the organ, and she caught up. I pretended to apologize later and said I didn't see her.

But, on Sunday, July 4th, there was an incident that has really, really annoyed me. So, of course, we scheduled The Star Spangled Banner as the closing song. We sang America, The Beautiful for the opening song. I had gone over to the church to practice the national anthem because, not only it is challenging to sing, but it is difficult to play. I like that we can occasionally sing it in church because three verses are included, and God is mentioned, and it has a religious overtone.

It was Fast Sunday, which includes people bearing testimony, and a number of people included their thoughts about our nation having religious freedom and that this enabled the whole restoration of the gospel and the founding of the church, etc. etc. So, singing about the "heaven rescued land prais [ing] the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation" is a fitting close to the meeting.

However, there was an outpouring of people who wished to express their feelings. The clock approached the time the bishop's counselor had named as the end of testimony time, and two more people came up off their benches and walked up to the stand. Finally, everyone was finished, and people stood with their hymnbooks and I played the introduction. With great enthusiasm people began to sing. I'd fiddled around and found some really stirring settings for the organ and we were all really into it. As we got to "...o'er the la-and of the free, and the home of the brave..." I looked back at the beginning of the song and readied my fingers to switch to those notes for verse two. I could feel people inhale for the next words, and suddenly the conductor was hissing at me, "Stop, stop---we're not singing any more of it," and she waved her hands into the conclusion gesture.

I was so startled, that I hesitated and so that let her sit down and, of course, I had to stop playing. The congregation stood there for a heartbeat, with their books poised--they were stunned too. It took a noticeable moment for everyone to sit down. The person who was to give the closing prayer took a little extra time to walk up to the podium. I'm sure she thought she'd have time to do that during the second half of the third verse.

When the prayer concluded, I started to play something for postlude, I don't know what. I was exclaiming in a loud whisper to my conductor, "What was that???" She said she'd gotten the stop sign (finger across the throat) from the stake presidency counselor who was seated on the stand and she didn't dare not obey him. "We could have done that at a ball game!" I whisper-yelled at her. I was so furious I couldn't even play the right notes. After one and half songs, I just stopped playing. I don't even know if anyone noticed. I intended to go over and ask that guy why he'd stopped us.

But he'd left immediately after the prayer. Maybe he had a meeting at some other ward, I don't know. But the ward following us still had 40 minutes before they needed to start their meeting. We couldn't have spend 3 more minutes singing the rest of the national anthem on July 4th????

I explained to our bishop's counselor what I felt so upset about (actually I was still spitting mad and I apologized for frothing at him). But he concurred. He was as puzzled as I was at the decision. I asked him to pass on my unhappiness and the reasons for it; he said he would. I probably won't ever say anything about it to the man. It's probably not appropriate. But, come on....JULY 4th???

I realize that I have a special relationship with the national anthem, having taken school children to Fort McHenry for field trips. And I realize that many people do not like the song especially because it is difficult to sing and the words are all about war. But when you've studied the history, and you know the story, and you've stood on the actual ramparts and seen the banner streaming so gallantly, and listened to your fellow teacher sing the song right at the base of the historic flag pole, then this song is special. CoolGuy told me once about singing it with the Marines, after they'd hoisted the flag up a pole at their primitive campsite in the desert of a foreign country, and how moved he felt.

So, my point is: when you're in charge at church, please consider the purpose of the hymns, not just the process of the meeting. Or to quote the Authority from the forward to the official hymn book:

"For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads" (Doc. and Cov. 25:12).

I Want to Have a Dog Again

Yesterday, I stopped at a light and next to me was the picture of happiness. It was a dog, maybe a Lab/retriever mix, sitting in the backseat of a car, with his head thrust out the opened window. He'd sniff a bit, then open his mouth in that retriever smile and loll out his tongue in joy. Then, he'd pull his head back in and sit for a minute, then stick his head back out for another sniff.

I miss having a pet dog.

We've had dogs ever since we were married. Well, I guess, we had to wait till we'd moved out of the apartment world into a house, so we got our first dog when we'd been married a little less than two years. We've had a series of really awesome dogs, too. Rocky, Casper, Rimsky, Annie, King, Jed...all terrific, all loyal, and noble. After Jed died, and I began to work fulltime, we didn't get another dog because it would have cruel to leave a dog home alone all day. Cats can take it, but dogs need their people. We should still have gotten another dog while the boys were living at home, though. He would have been okay home alone for part of the day. Sorry boys.

But, I've found a solution! Today I read that the Roy Roger's Museum (which used to be in Southern California, but moved to Branson, Missouri years ago) is now closed. They are auctioning off all the stuff at Christie's in NYC.

They're selling everything. I COULD OWN TRIGGER!

(Excerpt from an interview with the son of the Rogers.)

We have to talk about Roy and Trigger, possibly the most famous horse in show business. Was the Roy-Trigger relationship as close as the media made it out to be?It really was. Dad and Trigger were both young when they started—Trigger was only four years old, and Dad was 26—and on some level I think they both felt this was the start of something special. Over their 30+ years together, they established a bond of trust and mutual respect. Once, when the show was passing through New York, the truck took a sharp corner, and the trailer carrying Trigger overturned, trapping him inside. Most horses would get so panicked in this situation that you’d have to put them down on the spot. But Trigger was different. Dad managed to reach in through the door of the trailer, through the broken glass, and put his hand on Trigger’s neck. He said, “It’s ok, old man, it’ll be ok.” The fire department came, and they were eventually able to slide Trigger out using the fire hose. He came out with just a few knocks and bruises—that’s all. That shows you the kind of trust they had.
When Trigger passed, my dad was so distraught he didn’t tell the family for over a year (we didn’t know, because he was kept in another stable off our ranch). I think to him it was like losing a child. He told my mom, “I can’t just put him in the ground.” He had Trigger beautifully mounted and installed in the museum. A lot of people were upset about that, but I think he made the right choice. Trigger was one of the most popular attractions at the museum.





But more realistically: I could own Bullet, their German Shepherd:



Those of you other fans of the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Show will recognize Buttermilk, Dale's horse, there in the background.


But Bullet would be an ideal dog for our family right now. He's about as active as Kitty Cat, and would require almost the same amount of attention and care. What should I bid???

Convalescing

My toes and the ball of my foot are still very tender and swollen, so I must spend a good part of each day reclined with it propped up. I've found an excellent way to do that.

Going Wireless

I went to the foot surgeon today. I left without wires or the Storm Trooper boot. (!!) However, it will be a while before I'm jumping up and down. My foot is much less swollen and bruised looking, and the doctor was very pleased with my healing. He said that I'd done an excellent job as a patient, and by lying around so well these four weeks, I should have a good outcome.

My toes are very tender still. My ankle, having not been permitted to bend while I walked for an extended period of time, was quite annoyed at having to do so now. It also was disorienting and odd for my brain to have my legs the same length again, just after successfully reprograming itself to accomodate my uneven status. I was unsure how to walk straight. My hips are very pleased to no longer be cockeyed from each other. Just sitting here typing, they feel better.

The toes on this foot will no longer be able to grasp or curl up in that position. That was the price to pay in order to to get them straight on my foot again. Right now, they are still extremely tender and I walk gingerly and a little slowly still. It hurt quite a bit as he pulled out the wires and there was a tiny bit of bleeding. But he said that after twenty four hours, I was cleared for the pool! Yeah! I think, too, that it will be good for my toes and foot to flex around in the pool without the weight of my body on them.

Here's a couple of photos:

The bandaids are to cover up the holes which bled a little.

Well, it still looks really swollen here, but, honest, it is much better. Now, I need to get a scythe to shave my leg--wow! Quite furry, I'm telling ya. So, I'll spend more time on the couch tonight, propping it and icing it, and then I'll have to get out the nail polish, huh?

It's Your Birthday!

Do you know that the United States of America is 234 years old this year? I know, not because I teach elementary school, or that I am such a crack math wizard that I can figure it in my head. The reason I know --- just like that --- is because the year of the Big Bicentennial, I became a mom for the very first time.

Today is my son's birthday and we celebrate him. He has always been such a great son -- I mean, he was born on his due date. How many kids are that considerate of their mothers? And he was a such a charming baby. He didn't cry all night, most of the time. He nursed like a pro, he gained weight like he should. He smiled on time, he crawled and walked and talked on schedule. He's just been like that his whole life.

When we were describing him recently to someone, we realized that he is the guy who has always been the peacemaker, the includer, the friend, the helper, the kind one. You think of a Christ-like quality, and he has it. Seriously.

So here are a few photos from his life just to enjoy and celebrate and to indulge his parents who have to shake their heads when they realize that their little first-born son is waaaay older than they were when they created him. How does that happen so quicky?? (I know, I know -- I'm always saying that.)

Guards

Here's a photo of the wall around our pool---or rather, our bird drinking fountain. Count and you'll see five pigeons and one owl.

The owl is plastic. We bought him several years ago because the packaging alleged that he would be a deterent to "pests" like pigeons that drink from the pool.

The pigeons seem to really enjoy his company. They also don't mind the large rubber snake we tried next.

We don't mind sharing the water. It's the poo they leave behind that is the problem.

We were thinking that maybe we ought to get some type of living guard animal to frighten the pigeons away. Like a cat, maybe.

Biblio-biography, Chapter 6

One of the books that had an impact on my life was Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Millions of people know all about Laura and her family from the television show "Little House on the Prairie" that was broadcast from 1974-1982. I didn't own a T.V. during most of that time, but I have seen a few of the shows as reruns; it was a lovely show and did justice to the books. I read the whole series from Little House in the Big Woods to The First Four Years. There were ten books, ultimately, and, Little House on the Prairie wasn't the first one. I loved these books. I read, and re-read them. I read the entire series to all of my children.

My sister and I have contemplated traveling to the Midwest and doing the Wilder Circuit, in which you travel to the sites of the books in Wisconsin, Missouri, Minnesota, South Dakota and Kansas. In Mansfield, MN, there is a big festival each year to celebrate her life and the books. I imagine the town is filled with middle-aged women and nine-year old girls, kinda like Pony Penning Day in Virginia.

But, the one book in the series that really caught me was the story of her husband, Almanzo Wilder, as a child on a farm in upstate New York during the 1860's. I was taken by this book because so much of his life was similar to mine.

He lived on a farm.
He had to milk cows.
The weather was really cold.
He attended a one-room school.
His mother was an amazing cook.
He had pesky big sisters.
He craved a horse of his own.
In the summer they had to haul hay.
He had chores every day.
The family attended church every Sunday.
The similarities went on and on.

Of course, he was a boy, and I didn't have to cut ice blocks (but lots of winters we did haul water...) and I didn't have to sit and do nothing all day on Sunday, and we didn't use a horse and buggy for our transportation. Oh, and we had electricity and all that. But...There were just so many things in his life that resonated with my life, that I felt like we must have known one another.

In my previous school in Maryland, we had a yearly field trip to visit a county history site: a restored one-room school used in the 1880's. It is run by a group of retired teachers who were born and raised in that county, and so have a serious interest in teaching modern children about the history of our area. It was simultaneously foreign and familiar to the students when we visited. It was small, the rules so strict and the tools they used (quill pens and inkwells) are unusual, but the flag ceremony is the same, and the maps and pictures of presidents on the wall are so today.

Before or after our trips there, I would read the first chapter of Farmer Boy to the students. It told of Almanzo's experience at his one-room school with some mean, older boys who made a sport of beating up and driving out each school teacher who came to their village. The current teacher is determined to avenge his predecessor---his good friend--and so, unknown to Almanzo, has learned a few good skills from Mr. Wilder. As usual, when I started out the chapter, there were yawns and murmuring. It was just so removed from modern kids' existence that they had a hard time finding any reason to care. But as the chapter progressed, and then got to the exciting conclusion, they were hooked and insisted that I read more the next day.

You don't have to have grown up as a Farmer Girl to appreciate Farmer Boy, but it is one of my favorite books because it revealed to me that everyone can tell a good story, even if you grew up milking cows.

Why We Celebrate Father

Today is the day to celebrate fathers. In our family we celebrate our dad for a variety of reasons. Here are some of them.

We celebrate Dad because he has always loved and cared for us. Even when the kids were infants, he never hesitated to be a hands-on dad. Diapers? Vomit? Bleeding? Chicken pox? Pshaw---nothing gave him pause.

We celebrate our Dad because he is a very handy guy. He can fix just about everything. And he used helpers. Once I read a column about "helpers" and it explained that the when you wanted to make a job take twice as long as it should, and to have your tools mysteriously disappear, and to need to improvise repairs that were made worse by your assistant, then by all means, utilize your five year old. Who wouldn't?

We celebrate our Dad because he loved his dad and knew that grandpas are important.

We celebrate our Dad because he liked to chronicle our lives in photos. He knew that we'd all appreciate these vignettes someday, even if the current moment was not one of joy every time.

We celebrate our Dad because he went places with us so we could learn about new things and see historical sites. Again...not every moment of every trip was a pleasure for everyone, but hey...that's life. (Santa Barbara Mission, at the end of a few too many "historical sites.")

We celebrate our Dad because he taught by example that reading was a great pleasure and privilege of life. He read for fun and he read fun stories for the rest of us.

We celebrate our Dad because he came to special events and recognized achievement that was worthy of accolades. He promoted education and learning and encouraged all the family members to improve.

We celebrate Dad because he he knew that church was good, he insisted we always pray before meals, he taught us to follow Jesus and he believes in God.

We celebrate our Dad because he loves us and always shows it. No one in our family has to wonder if they are beloved. They know.


Happy Father's Day to our Dad--a man worth celebrating.

Bumblebees Love Us

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, "Bumblebees love our plant." The Dr. Seuss-like plant tower that errupted in our back yard a couple of weeks ago is now covered with itty-bitty flowers. I guess I was hoping for big, showy flowers, but these teeny ones are a big hit with The Pollinators. Here's a video.



The sound at the end is CoolGuy attempting to start his chainsaw. Because, of course, it's yardwork time at our house--it's summer. We're slow learners....when the temperature is close to 100 we think, "Oh, we ought to trim that palm tree." Actually, it's only 95 today and if you work slowly, and take lots of drink breaks, and periodically jump in the pool, yardwork is fine in the summer heat. (At our age, work slowly is SOP anyway...) (And when you live in a year-round growth environment, it actually is yardwork time any time.)

And by "we" I mean "him" because I'm just sitting in the shade saying, "Yes, that looks great!" while I keep The Foot propped up. Yesterday I was a little optimistic about my healing status, and after a dermatologist appointment, I went to the grocery store. I stumped around on my boot for a couple of hours. Tsk, tsk, tsk...today, I am lying down and propping--all day! My hips hurt, my knees hurt, and my sore foot is aching.

FrankenFeet

We went to the foot surgeon today for the first post-op visit. They took X-rays and we could see the wires that go into my toes about two inches, and then they removed the bandages. I took photos because I wanted to share, but you may not want to look. It's quite graphic. They'll be at the end.

He ended up removing the wire from alongside my big toe. Its purpose was to hold the toe straight up and down and keep it pushed over toward the other toes. He said he "released" [cut] the tissue that was grown over my joint that kept my big toe pointing the wrong direction, and, when I asked, replied that it should now remain straight because he also severed the tendon along the instep of my foot that pulled the toe outward. He removed a piece of it so it won't grow back. The second and third toes also have wires coming from them to keep them straight while their tendons and joint tissues regrow. The tendons were cut and shortened to pull them back into alignment.

He pointed out that he has never had a patient's foot return to the messed up condition after this procedure has been performed....so don't be the first. (He's an amusing doctor...really--very sweet.) I go back on July 5th and I will be in the foot cast until then. Blah. At that time he will remove the other wires from the two toes. I should be back in the pool about a week after that.

It still hurts quite a bit. We went to lunch after the doctor and I propped up my foot in the booth. But the effort of walking the amount that I did, and having my foot down while we drove, made it ache. One amusing discovery is that now I walk slowly enough for CoolGuy. For years we've had this disparity between my longer legs' natural stride and my impatient "teacher walk" and his slightly shorter stride and current foot pain caused by pinched back nerves. We'd be out somewhere, and very quickly I'd realize that I was steps ahead of him. Well, that's not a problem now. Also, I got a hang-tag from the DMV, so I can choose handicapped parking spaces for the next two months.

Patience is not one of my best qualities. It's in my DNA to hurry. This foot/cast does not hurry. It isn't hurrying to heal and I can't hurry when I move about. So, I am glad that I don't have big plans for the next month, because they wouldn't be happening anyway. I will take slow, deep breaths, and saunter carefully from room to room. I'll go over to the church on Thursday to see if I can figure out how to use the organ with this cast thing in the way (I'm not proficient on pedals, so I just prop my feet on the bench edge...hmmm...maybe, maybe not with the storm trooper boot.) I ought to be able to play. I hope so. Again, breath in, breath out. Stop and smell the flowers. Sit and rest. Heal, heal, heal.

The yellow knobs are just cushions on the end of the wires. One came off when the bandage came off. He's put it back on before re-bandaging it. The wires are the diameter of coat hangers.

My little toe had a bone spur removed. You can see where he wrote "yes" preoperatively to assure that the surgery was on the correct foot. It is very bruised and swollen, yes.





He removed the wire that is protuding from the side of my foot, alongside my big toe. Then he wrapped up the toe in a soft splint to the rest of my toes. This should help the healing. It only stung a little to have him pull out the wire (about two inches) but it was a creepy feeling knowing he was doing it.

So, there you go: FrankenFeet. BWWWAAAAHHHAAA.

Over Achieving

One of the reasons we were attracted to this house was the backyard. For one, it has a backyard. There is a section with grass and a nice, mature tree. Then, fenced off for safety, there is the section with the pool. At first there were only a couple of small desert plants by the pool, and one stand of ornamental grass. Mostly, there were landscaping rocks. We really didn't like it so barren, plus, we could help cool our house by planting things along the wall to create shade.

So, we added drip lines to plants already there, and planted more things, and after five years, our pool surround is really pleasant and green, with a lush, flowering bush climbing up a trellis and shading our living room. There is a palm-like tree growing near it, and some Mojave yucca. Which brings me to this post...

About a week ago, Cool Guy called me outside to look at something. I was astounded. Instead of this pointy, sword-leafed yucca, shaped like a ball, that had responded to the regular watering of the drip lines to grow slightly in diameter....

We had this bizarre development:

That is a shaft that has grown out of the center of this round, spiky yucca and on it are growing little pod-like tufts.

I have looked it up on-line and I believe that each of these pods will become a flower. In the meantime, it continues to grow taller each day. The speed with which it got from a round ball-shaped plant to this bizarre Seussian object is the astonishing part. It seemed to sprout almost within days and become a towering pole overnight. Here is a shot with a human in it to give it more perspective.

One of the reasons we are so impressed is that it is a native Mojave desert plant, and it is so outlandish in contrast to the usual features of desert plants. Generally, the flora here is subtle and subdued, carefully hoarding life force through small flowers and tiny, waxy leaf structures. One doesn't usually see a display of natural extravagance in Las Vegas. I can hardly wait to see what happens next!

Time Goes By

I can't believe it's only Friday. Blah. This is incredibly boring. However, enforced laying about is needed because even a little bit of walking soon results in searing pain. I'm going to need to get a different routine, though. Today I watched eight episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress"--about brides looking for their perfect gown. I can't do that anymore. I do spend a lot of time sleeping, however, because of the drugs. I am taking fewer and fewer of them, though.

It was only 80 degrees about 7:30 P.M. It was so balmy and beautiful, I went outside and sat on the patio for a bit. I watched CoolGuy water my geraniums and then I thought I'd totter over to my garden and see if there were some ripe tomatoes. The storm trooper boot does not do grass. I almost fell over. Bad idea. I'll just sit on the chairs and leave the picking to him. It was cloudy and windy here all day. These swooping weather changes are so bizarre. On Tuesday, it was 109 and today it is 80. It's amazing the barometers don't just implode.

My Left Foot

Here it is. The storm trooper boot is affixed to my leg. Cool Guy keeps a steady supply of ice on it. I keep it propped up above my heart. Hurray for modern narcotic pharmaceuticals. Last night, about 3:00 A.M. all of the anesthesia wore off---woowwweee. Bring on the drugs. But the pain killers are effective when they're consumed in a timely way, so I'll be fine. It is already boring to lie around. But, I will obey the doctor, and just lie around for the next five days, because I want to heal up nicely for the rest of the summer. I go back in on Monday for a check up and perhaps then I'll have a cool photo of the pins sticking out of my toes (I'm told they are there.) In the meantime, I'm reading, sleeping, being massaged by Kitty Cat, and fed by Cool Guy. He's a good nurse--stern, but caring. I've got several books to read to help me step up the writing curriculum next fall and I'm excited to get to them. Thanks for all your prayers and good messages.

Endless Summer

Isn't it weird how a small difference can have a big effect? Yesterday, the high was only 101 degrees. But because the temperature had reached 108 for the previous three or four days, suddenly, 101 seemed moderate, not so bad.

I got almost everything finished that I'd written on my to-do list. One thing about summer vacation that I really missed while teaching at a year-round school was the opportunity to tackle big projects. Yes, there were the three-week breaks, and that would seem enough time to accomplish many things. But, the difference with that schedule and summer break, is that with only three weeks, there remains the sense of a finite time.

Perhaps I suffer from "little kid-itis"--that sense that summer is here now, and it will never end, and we have endless free time looming ahead. The next school term is far, far away--too far to even worry about now. At any rate, the reality of having those weeks of time, that aren't obligated to the daily go to work routine, enables me to look at the piles of papers built up on the kitchen counter and this time, clean up and file, or toss, every last one of them. I don't have to interrupt the job with thoughts of "I should be in bed" or "I need to correct those essays" or "I've got to spend time on my homework for the graduate class." Instead, I know that I can devote the hour or two to a specific--but not vital--task, and it will not be deducted from a more pressing concern that the clock imposes on me. The piled up kitchen counter can be re-shuffled, and made neat in five minutes, but really, truly looking at each and every item, and making a decision about where it can be put away for good (or thrown away for good) takes time. (If for no other reason than the inevitable old-lady ADD that inflicts me when I take something to another room and get distracted there. When I finally get back to the kitchen, I still have time to resume the archeological dig that I'd started previously.)

So, here it is, the first week of summer, and I've got a checked off list. There are many tidy places in my house, and several more that aren't. But in about 20 minutes, I'm headed out the door to the foot surgery, so those other untidy parts will just have to wait. For the next four weeks, I'll be lying down a lot. But, never fear---I have chores assigned during that period, too. I'm going to change up my teaching for writing next fall, and I have books to read and ideas to write down to facilitate that. Unlike my students, I really do know that summer will end--sooner than we can all imagine. In the meantime, you go swimming, eat some popcicles, lay around, waste a little time. It's good for you.

It's Vegas, Baby

The entire month of May we had very lovely weather here. In fact, a couple of days, it was a little chilly. (By that I mean it got down into the low 50's at night.) (But in May, that is chilly here.) I got back from Portland, Oregon, at 11:00 P.M. Tuesday, and walked out of the airport into a real Las Vegas night. It was warm. The next day was the last day of school (!!!) and it was hot. It has been hot every day since, too. What a nice thing it was to simply put all my things away into a closet instead of packing it into boxes. In five of the last six "last day of school" I have packed it all into boxes. (I moved to a new state, had to change classrooms, and then I changed schools, and finally we were remodeling at my current school.)

Yesterday I went into the pool. My plan was to scrub a little algae off the sides that had grown while we were out of town. The water didn't even make me gasp. Summer is here! I also discovered that all that exercise I haven't been doing takes a toll. I could barely kick across the pool twice...So, today, after I spend the super hot hours indoors, vacuuming and dusting, I'll go back out in the late afternoon and do some more swimming.

However...it has been two days now since I last took any ibuprofen products, at the request of my surgeon, so I won't have blood thinners in my system on Wednesday. Oh. Who knew that so many parts of me depended on that anti-inflammatory coursing through my bloodstream? Actually, the internist I saw on Thursday, after checking my pulse by clasping her hand around the wrist that hurts so much from the arthritis, exclaimed that my swollen thumb joint was hot. "That doesn't sound like arthritis to me. Gout creates swelling and heat." She added a gout blood test to the list of things the surgeon wanted checked out before the surgery. So...we'll see.

Whatever it is, it likes to be medicated with NSAI products. So, I'll just keep powering through the vacuuming and dusting, because no one else is going to do it and it will bug me to look at it while I lie around convalescing. I'm not taking classes or going on a long trip this summer. It will be actually pretty nice to stay home. Even if I have to prop up my foot for three weeks.

Post Graduate

The graduation has occurred and the ceremony was very classy. We were in an elegant theater in downtown Portland. The processional and recessional were played by a brass quintet. The faculty and presenters were all professional, with an excellent balance of humor and dignity.

The graduates were an interesting mix because it was the nursing school and many people who were earning graduate degrees and even the bachelor degrees had been in the profession working. Some were clearly long-time nurses, and some looked like they'd powered through to this stage in one burst.

Here's the evidence:

Nurses get a Florence Nightingale pin in honor of the First Lady of Nursing. Nurse Treat had her initials engraved on back of her pin. It was cool at the graduation. About eight faculty members came forward and each graduate went up on stage, handed over the name card to be pronounced by the person at the mic. Then the graduate walked over to a faculty person, handed the ribbon to her, and the ribbon was put around the neck of the graduate. It mimicked the hooding ceremony of the master's degree candidates. Nice touch.

So, I'm off to the airport now. I've had a pleasant, relaxed weekend. I slept until my body woke up (without the blaring assistance of an alarm) for three straight days. I feel invigorated and capable of surviving the next three days of madness till school is out!