Thank You for Making Them Bigger

Thank you bags are

not twice as big as

other grocery bags, but

large enough that

they are a perfect size for

our bathroom waste baskets. 

Yesterday morning Roland

decided he would collect

the garbage all throughout

the house. 

He removed the

“Thank you” bag and

replaced it with a Wal-Mart – which

sinks down into the can each

 time I have tossed in waste. 

I like THANK YOU bags.

Dash ES#3 elementary teachers

How many of your elementary school teachers do you remember?  Did you have a favorite?  Least favorite?

        I had three different teachers in kindergarten alone.  The names in order were Mrs. Cannon (I don’t remember her at all but had recorded her name in this post) Miss Nelson (I have no idea what the correct spelling was) and Ms. Wambsley.  I may have liked the first two okay, but hated Ms. Wambsley (I can’t remember for certain if she was a Miss or a Mrs.  I would imagine a Miss as I can’t visualize anyone would purposely pursue a marital relationship with the witch)  I must have mentioned somewhere that she was so horrible that even the parents didn’t care for her or unique methods of teaching – or attempting to rather.

        My first-grade teacher was Mrs. Godown I believe.  There were four first grade instructors – each new to the district the year I was in first grade.  They had never worked together before.  And as the program in our school was unique compared to other schools (here) it created more of a challenge for each of them.     

     

        Second grade.  Mrs. Bryce, Miss Brian?  Something like that.  I remember having liked her last name and associating with her appearance for I thought she was pretty.  That is all I remember.  But wait a minute . . . I remember a teacher named Mrs. Shurtleff.  I remember making nametags.  We were supposed to draw pictures to represent parts of our name.  For example, she had drawn a “shirt” and a “leaf” to represent her name.  I don’t think I had her for homeroom however.  I don’t know what I had her for.

          My third-grade teacher was Mrs. Taran.  Interestingly enough she had transferred schools and taught my cousin in second grade just a few years later.

          I think I remember Mr. West the best of any of my instructors.  He was fourth grade and I really liked him.  His wife had a baby that year.  I’m thinking he was their first.

          I used to know my 5th-grade teacher by her maiden name before she got married, but am now uncertain if she was Miss Tolman or Mrs. Tolman as I have forgotten the other name.  She had asked all the girls in her homeroom class to serve at her wedding.  There were 16 of us and so we served in shifts 8 girls at a time.  Miss Morrison, I think and then Mrs. Tolman.

          I don’t know if Mr. Hadfield, my sixth-grade teacher, had been a drill sergeant. He seemed to wear an authority badge that spelled FEAR.  He wasn’t directly mean to those who minded but did have a reputation.  There was a rumor that he had tossed a student across the room by his ears.  Whether the rumor was accurate or not, I don’t know.  But I could totally see it happening.  Not only did Mr. Hadfield seem capable of it, but the student was a delinquent who probably ended (or is ending) his life in prison. 

          I wish I could find the school pictures that I scanned.  Perhaps I would see some other triggers – like what instructors I had for math, science and reading.  I also might be able to figure out if my answers are correct.  Ms. Bryce/Bryan for instance.  Perhaps she had really been a first-grade instructor the same year as Mrs. Godown.  And I remember a Mrs. Preece (sp) as the shortest instructor as she would often appear lost in a sea of students often taller than she.  I might have had her for reading.

        I am grateful for the opportunity I had to be part of a "pod" system rotating among various instructors in each grade.  I think all schools should teach that way.  I also thought it cool to have a picture of the entire grade rather than just a specific class.

Word: Service

Roland has always told the boys that all businesses consist of product, knowledge or service. Services might include daycare, mowing lawns, yard work, and hotels working as maids, in reservations, waiters, chefs, bellhops, etc. There are also cleaning services and service providers like phone and internet.  Just about every product business has customer service.

Service: the action of helping or doing work for someone.

      We give service through the church or community.  Some of the service projects we have done through the Church include babysitting, painting, cleaning, and weeding to name a few.  We have also had community service projects that involve sprucing up the park and cleaning up Main Street.  There are community services sponsored by businesses that allow seniors to go to the movies once a month.  There is community service in which hygiene and medicine are taught to the poor.  There is also service given like the many who volunteer at the fire department or the library. The library offers Wi-Fi service.

Service: a ceremony of religious worship according to a prescribed form; the prescribed form for such a ceremony.

I know several man and woman who have dedicated their service by being in the military.  Another word for the military is the service.  I know many more who have given 2 years of service to fulfill a mission usually for the church, but I know someone who will be serving in the Peace Corp.

     We also have services such as funerals, baptisms, or sermons. These types of services are to show honor.

Service: a periodic routine inspection and maintenance of a vehicle or other machine.

      There is road service, car service, and service stations. Public transportation provides a service for those who wish to commute but do not wish to drive.  It is discouraging when a bus passes me because it is out of service.  It is discouraging to reroute my commute because the road is closed due to service.  It is also discouraging when my cell phone has no service. 

Service: a system supplying a public need such as transport, communications, or utilities such as electricity and water.

I remember being impressed with the service we received from Rocky Mountain Power.  We now use her sister company Pacific Power.  I also remember the service provided in both West Valley and Kearns with plumbing and controlling water flow.  I am grateful to have services such as utilities and the internet.

I am grateful to those who give of themselves willingly to serve others.  My mom, my dad, a pharmacist, Roland, Jenna, this community.  I made a mistake in this post saying I had “scratched the service” it should have said “surface” instead of service.  Or was it really a play on words?

Final Assignment Turned in

Whenever I have watched the Food Network series “Chopped” I think how challenging it would be to make food that is going to please all three judges as they have different opinions about why something is good or bad.  It’s pretty much the same thing with turning in assignments to different instructors.  Some are sticklers for the APA.  Some won’t accept anything written in first person.  Fortunately, I have had many, like me, who prefer the first person to boring textbook narration.

          In each class I have had, the instructor has encouraged the students to use the writing center.  Again, there is a huge array of people that have their opinions on what makes for a good assignment and what doesn’t.  Granted, I realize two days work is NOT a lot of time for a proper paper, but I cannot wait until the end of the week for the writing center gets more backed up.  I want to have my paper now.

          I have friends and a brother who are familiar with my writing style and understand what improvements can be made.  I would rather go through them than the writing center first of all because there is instant gratification on my part, but also because I can communicate with them better than I can an unknown voice.

          I think for the most part I have used the writing center when it is required.  I have learned that I can just submit my assignment and not have to make an appointment to talk with the person who is checking my paper.  I don’t have a voice for it right now anyway.

          So I submitted my initial paper on the 28^th knowing fully well that there was a need for improvement (there will always be room for improvement) and the first person to correct my paper suggested I make transitions and lose my beginning quote.  Hey, I had a class with the dean of English who is the one who had suggested the quote idea.  

          But I went ahead and changed the quote and added transitions and ended up taking out a paragraph.  I resubmitted it.  The second person to check my paper was a stickler for APA references and suggested I add more resources.  I ended up deleting two more paragraphs.  

          I’ve been told that the writing center will still be available to me even after I graduate.  How does that work?  In order to submit my paper, I have to provide the name of my class.  There isn’t a space for comment or explanation.  It’s your class, an option of eight reasons why it is being submitted, and submit your paper.  It’s not as though I can say, “Oh, this is for my blog.  Some of my readers seem to be bored with my style – not to mention all the spelling and grammatical errors.”

          I realize that it may be easier for a third party to critique my assignment as she has no investment in me personally.  It can also be constructive and useful to me if I will accept it.  It’s my last class.  It’s my last assignment.  I know I need to improve.  But I doubt it will be through the writing center anymore.

State Street Flood and Olympic Run

Someone posted this link to facebook yesterday. 

Wow.

I remember filling sandbags. 

I remember standing on state street and

looking at the river.  

I remember standing there the

following year as the

Olympic Torch was being passed. 

I believe it was Senator Orrin Hatch  

running on State Street. 

I remember thinking how surreal that was

as the path he was on was

under water the year prior. 

I couldn’t find a picture of the

torch being passed on state street, but

here is an article that maps out the run.

There Goes Our Disneyland Fund

Our biggest reason for moving to Oregon was so that I could breathe.  I didn’t wish for my family members have to listen to me hack out my lungs or gasp for air – and yet this month has seemed to defeat the purpose.  Yesterday I spent the majority of the day in the emergency room – first the waiting room and then a small section in another room divided by curtains.  I thought Dial-up AOL was the slowest thing ever.  They are speed demons next to Urgent Care.  And Urgent was five times faster than Emergency.  Granted, it was Memorial Day and there was nowhere else to go.  Most of the patients there didn’t seem in bad enough shape to require emergency care.  I heard three or four of them just chatting away as if they were there to socialize.  I clung onto my head so that it wouldn’t roll off or explode.  I suspect I was dehydrated as I had left large evidences of my DNS at different Urgent cares that Google had said were open, but were not.  I didn’t realize that it was possible for me to throw up that much when I really hadn’t sent that much down.  Half a yogurt.  Perhaps a third a bottle of water.  My stomach hurt more than my head.

At first, the cool air coming from the ceiling felt really nice.  Throwing up really wears me out.  I was hot.  I was panting.  However, I did eventually get cold.  Roland offered to go out to the car and get a coat for me.  A coat?  I don’t have a coat in the car.  He brought a jacket that I had never seen before.  I asked if it was an early birthday gift.  He just smiled.  Someone in the ward had given it to him to give to me.  I still don’t know if it’s a birthday present or not.

Funny how I was cold and the woman on the other side of the curtain was complaining about how hot she was.  It sounded as though she had many of the symptoms I had experienced on Mothers’ Day.  I was sweating then.  I am usually always hot.  It is rare that I get cold.  I have been blessed with cool weather to suffer through.  Wish I could enjoy it more.  It has been the perfect temperature overall.  But this month has been extremely painful for me physically.  I am starting to get better again.  Let’s just hope it sticks this time and doesn’t resort back to something else.

I feel bad that my emergency bill is going to be costly.  I think they charge by the hour.  I’ve been wanting to take Jenna back to Disneyland for a while now.  She would also like to visit Universal.  We would also like to take someone who would be willing to go on rides with her as there are many that I can no longer do comfortably.

Should get busy on my discussion and assignment for my class as I have to make the Writing Center part of this week’s assignment.  I will need proof.  I hate that.  So I will write the thing and turn it in ASAP.  I’ll submit the assignment but I won’t make an appointment for a live session.  Those have been painful experiences.  Like I need more pain to deal with right now.

I found a message on my phone from Tony and Ester.  They had called to sing “Happy Birthday” – Ester echoed a little “Cha-cha-cha”  It made me smile.  I shared with Roland and Jenna and they smiled too.  

Dash #28 George Bird

                George Bird passed away the first week of March.  All of his biological children were with him in addition to most of his grandchildren.  I use the word “biological” to set apart those that he physically raised and the countless many who thought of him as a dad or a grandfather as he influenced many and made such a positive impact.

          A couple up the street had named their youngest son after him.  The couple’s granddaughter (who lived next door to Birds) refused to believe that George was not her real grandpa.  He had a special bond with many of the neighborhood children.  I, myself, had come to think of him as a second dad.

          He and his wife, Peggy (who I will be writing another dash post about) lived across the street from my mom.  They have always been great friends.  George learned that our families had bonds even before their connection in Midvale.  Turns out George’s dad and my Uncle Faye were good friends.  He had more information on my biological grandmother’s side than I did (see here) 

          George kept busy.  His hobbies included carpentry, quilting (though I don’t recall his taking it up until after he had retired) and service – not necessarily in that order as I imagine service would be first.  I just remember his carpentry assistance when he installed some shelving units in our bathroom and repaired a false drawer that my nephew Kimball had pulled off.  The quilt he made for Roland and me for our wedding still covers our bed (see here).

          George told a lot of corny jokes.  One of my favorite memories is when he would ask my brother, “What is your name, Corey?” and Corey would report to my mom, “He (George) is a nice guy, but he can never seem to remember my name.”

          I wish I could have attended his final service and paid my respect.  He evidently had Alzheimer’s in his final stages of life.  That would have been difficult to witness and I’m grateful that I do not share memories for those final stages as I had already had to deal with something similar with my own mom.

          George and Peggy had gone to the assisted living on a regular basis before my mom passed.  I have always valued their friendship and feel so honored having the opportunities with them that I’ve had.

Day 14 That is a Long Time

          It’s been two weeks since I went to the doctor.  I had worked three hours on Thursday which maybe I shouldn’t have.  On Friday I developed a headache that just seemed to get worse with each day of the weekend.  I have never had a hangover before, but I have had brain freeze – which is how I felt when the headache started.  Progressively it got worse and I imagined that is what a hangover must feel like.  Especially yesterday when a sensitive stomach decided to contribute to the pain.

          While Roland was delivering his talk in church, I was on our bathroom floor experiencing dry heaves.  Perhaps I was dehydrated.  I gulped some water.  Of course, I threw that up.  I wore myself out throwing up and holding my head and crying because I hurt.  I did manage to make it back to my bed and listen to my deep breathing get softer until I eventually fell asleep.

          The process repeated itself during the night when I wanted to sleep.  I was sweating with each spew.  Roland asked if I wanted him to drive me to the hospital, but at that point, I couldn’t sit upright and would have destroyed myself along with the car.

          Once I finally drifted off, I did sleep.  I decided perhaps this is not part of the healing process after all – that somewhere between the bronchitis and after the z-pack, I must have developed a sinus infection. My head is still throbbing, but not like it was.  I think I may have strained my throat last night trying to get the stuff out.  Today is Memorial Day.  I would just assume forget this one.

Day 11 slowly recovering still

After two weeks of not working, I returned to work yesterday – though it was for only half a day.  I prayed that I would be able to get through the day.  My cough had died down.  Still, I had to change my pants before I had even left the house. 

       I left the house early to stop by a thrift store as there is a game I would like to get for Jenna – a specific game that I still have not seen and may have to order online.  While there, I looked at dresses and found a light jumper that I thought I could wear. 

       I had planned on putting keys in my pocket and hooking the walkie-talkie through one of the belt loops but while at the thrift store, I realized that the pants I had changed into did not have pockets.  Frustrating.  I returned home for a lanyard in which I could hang the keys and the walkie-talkie.  Only by the time I returned home, I decided it was warm enough that I could change into my brand new dress (which I hadn’t realized was on discount and spent only 2.25) and so had changed for a third time.

       Once again I prayed that I would make it for the next three hours without prior problems that I’ve experienced for over a week.  I’m happy to say that I was able to make it through the rest of the day without much inconvenience.  I was needed to help with lunch, but think I could have returned home right after recess as I really did not feel useful for the most part.  I do prefer mornings to afternoons.

       I was supposed to meet up with some friends at 4:00 but my mind got loopy and I know I wouldn’t have been pleasant company.  As I think about it, it was a good idea not to have put myself on the road in my condition.  I am bummed that I didn’t get to see my friends. But I did end up spending just a bit of quality time with Roland - whose mind has seemed elsewhere lately also.

       Tried a new sleep routine.  I have failed miserably. I just haven’t been able to get comfortable.  In addition to my soar rear and legs, I also have a major headache – well, major for me.  It may be minimal for those who experience headaches more routinely than I.  I suppose I’ll be napping later on today.  I really am sleepy.  I hope this crazy weather didn't push me back to where I started. Dang it all!

Too Much or Not Enough

I find it interesting that the topic of my last class focused on Medicare and social security.  The topic of my current class has been the brain, stress and this week’s topic on sleep disorders – which I have had my entire life.  Thus I’m making discoveries.  I am also getting the feeling that I need to put my affairs in order and start throwing away mountains of stuff so that Roland and Jenna won’t have to do it in the event I leave this earth.

          I’m not saying that death is around the corner.  It just feels like it in some ways.  Perhaps it’s just the side effects of still trying to heal from bronchitis and still coughing and not breathing right.  I was told at the doctor’s office that my breathing was off.  I don’t think it’s the bronchitis that’s to blame.  My breathing has always been off.  I think more off as I age.  My pipes are small and seem to shrink with each passing year.  No, I don’t have anything to back that up.  Just theory.

          I’ve been reading past memories of mom and dad and their good health somehow shattered.  Dad’s was physical and mom’s was mental.  I think I have a little bit of each going for me right now.  My sleep patterns are horrible.  But they have always been horrible.  Mom said after she gave birth to me, I was always asleep when I was in the hospital.  She said she never saw me awake until she got me home.  I was her first child.  She didn’t know what to expect but thought I ought to be sleeping more than I did.  She said it was as though I had slept in the hospital enough to get me through the next five years. 

          Patrick was the opposite.  He slept the normal hours a baby should.  Mom said he had weird breathing patterns though – or maybe it was just paranoia on her part.  After all, she had dealt with a non-sleeping child for two years before Patrick came along and slept beautifully, but she would have a hard time falling asleep because she wasn’t used to a sleeping baby and would place her hand on top of him to make sure he was still breathing.

         

          I don’t know when I started sleeping in an upright position.  I do sleep better than when I am trying to lay flat.  I still snore though, but perhaps not as loudly.  I don’t know if anyone else in my family snores.  It’s a wonder that any of my family were able to sleep with me in the house.  Though I’ve never heard myself, I understand that I am loud.

          For the most part, whenever I have drifted off in a recliner, I will wake up in the same position in which I fell asleep.  If I try sleeping in bed, I am all over the place along with the sheets and whatever other bedding started out near me.  I rarely ever have blankets on.  Sometimes I may use just one.  But I am usually too hot.

          My feet and ears get cold and I will wear slippers and sometimes a hat or headband.  I usually remove the headwear long before I wake up. 

          This week, as part of my assignment, I am supposed to turn in a sleep schedule which I have yet to create and stick with.  Especially since the bronchitis and antibiotics and cough and phlegm.  I get worn out so easily.  A trip to the mailbox does me in.  I have taken more naps in the last two weeks than I have ever taken in my entire life.  Perhaps it’s wrong to call them naps as I often sleep longer than I do through the night.

          I think the weather may upset my sleeping also.  And I don’t think it would matter where in the country or probably even the entire planet right now.  The weather has been experiencing some violent mood swings.  I like the weather right now.  I want to be a part of it.  I want it to stay where it is.  I don’t want it to warm up again.

Dash # 10: hobbies

       I loved creating things.  I would often get kits for gifts and I would go to town making latch punch rugs, polished rocks, turntable paintings, and potholders to name a few.  One of my favorite things was designing bands from really small beads. 

       I don’t know how old I was when I joined a handcraft club that would send out kits of parts and instructions on how to piece them together.  Usually, I would give them away as gifts.

       Now it’s Jenna who likes to keep her hands busy.  She enjoys crafts as I once did.

New Phobia Word I Learned

 

Last week I sat with my instructor for the final discussion.  I have been the only student turn out for each live lecture.  I learned a new word I thought I would share this week.   The word is Thanatophobia.  I don’t have it, but I know some people do.  It’s death anxiety.  My instructor said that the older a person is, the less likely he/she will have thanatophobia. I also believe that is true.

As I have mentioned before, I hang with a group of friends once a month or so.  Two are in their 70’s.  One is 65 and I am the baby of the group.  Death has been a topic as we have all seen friends pass.  The 65-year-old has a hard time dealing with the idea of death.  She may have thanatophobia.  I will mention it to her the next time we converse about the death subject.