Vegetating with Veggie Tales

          There are multiple Sunday School teachers in my current ward – team teaching the same classes – including the youth class.  I find it odd in a way – though I understand the need for variety.  I don’t think the two instructors who face the youth currently are the greatest choice. 

          When Wade taught the youth, I believe they fully related to him – as they really are not that many years apart – or so it appears.  I know that Wade is actually older than fresh out of high school – he just has that youthful look.  He was released to take on another call.  And so it was Lori and I who’d been called to teach.

          Lori’s husband attended the class along with Wade and each would contribute to the lesson with such force and such power it was no surprise that they had all been called to serve or work with the youth.  Except me.  I mean, I didn’t fully relate to the youth when I was one of them.  I had already felt like the “grandma” of the group when I had served in young women’s almost twenty years ago. So given the circumstances, I feel even further removed than I had then.

          Lori was put in the primary and the one who has newly been called seems just as distant from the youth as I am – though her husband currently serves in young men’s and has some character with the youth – a lot more than Kim and I anyway.

          I have gone to Sunday School the last two weeks, but have left right after class.  Last week Kim’s husband contributed quite a bit to my lesson as well as Jack, the only youth present last week.  But the fact that he allowed himself to be a part of the class was such a great thing.  And I was grateful for Mike’s comments as well.

          Kim has taught only one lesson and had told Roland that she and Mike would be out of town this week.  He told me that on Friday.  And so Saturday I tried to scrape up some more material and ended up getting Wade to substitute my class yesterday.  I still have a cough I’d rather not share, and Jenna is in far worse shape than I am.

          So yesterday morning we watched videos – well, she did anyway.  I hadn’t put in “Veggie Tales” to keep with a Sunday theme.  I wasn’t even thinking about that.

          She thanked me, especially when “Dave and the Giant Pickle” came on.  I think “Rack, Shack and Benny” is actually her favorite – but I had not recorded that one.  She wasn’t big on Veggie Tales when we had daily access.  Now that we don’t have access anymore, that’s what she would like to watch.

          I used to record snips of music and play songs for her all day.  I had three tapes.  I’ve since given one to Kayla to play for my two year old niece, but have also kept one for myself.  When Jenna is at school and Anna is in dire need of taking a nap, I’ll whip out the music tape for her to watch while she lies down.  She especially likes the songs in which Elmo takes part.

          After Veggie Tales Jenna watched a few tales from “Happily Ever After”

Trading Earrings for Marbles

          Jenna has worn earrings almost everyday since collecting them “from grandma” but I think the novelty has worn off.

          There are girls at school who see her earrings and wish they had earrings too – even if they are the ear-pinching clip-ons or twists.  Parting with her earrings has not been a big problem – especially when there is one who is trading her for marbles – well, that’s what Jenna calls them.  To me, they look like the shiny rocks that go into bottles or vases or line the bottom of the fish tank.  But Jenna loves them.  She sorts them in the same manner that she has always done with rocks. 

          Yesterday Roland called to see how we were both doing.  I informed him that Jenna had gone to school.  He asked why and I told him I thought it was mostly for the earring/marble exchange.  He laughed.  Yes, now there’s an important reason to go to school. 

I seem to identify with Emily Owens

          I could have never become a doctor.  I especially couldn’t have been a surgeon.  For one thing I’m really not smart enough.  Even moreso, I am squeamish.  Major squeamish.  Finding myself nauseated by special effects shown in medical shows and even commercials.  I am a whimp. There really is no denying it.  I can’t pretend that I’m not.  Anybody who knows me knows that I can act my way out of a lot of situations, but not when it comes to my extremely weak guts.  I don’t have nerves of steel.  They’re more like silly putty.

          So except for the given profession, I just seem to relate a lot to the Emily Owens character on CW’s Emily Owen, MD.

          She has compassion for her patients – perhaps too much compassion.  She feels things and allows emotions to get in the way.  Sometimes what she says doesn’t match what she thinks.  Often it does as she scolds herself for saying the words. 

         

          She understands hurt feelings.  She understands feeling left out.  She understands certain emotions expressed by others.  She would like to be there for everybody and spread comfort and joy and has been told by her colleagues and supervisors NOT to get involved. 

          She’s attempted friendships with the friendless, has hurt feelings when “profession” gets in the way of others whom she’d like to be close to.  And has a rival who continues to insult her no matter how hard Emily tries to reverse it.

          It’s also given me a better understanding of doctors who seem to be inhumane with emotion – they have to be.  Otherwise they would be basket cases.  Tearing up during surgery is not a cool thing for the surgeon or any of the assistants.  They are actually better to do their jobs by not getting emotionally involved.  Perhaps that’s with any profession.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTgwBWdYvNQ includes lyrics

I wish the lyrics were included in the actual video.  I’m big on KNOWING what’s being sung.

Getting Old Sucks Big Time

          There are some who age gracefully – some whose minds and bodies appear to be so much younger that many are surprised to learn that they are actually older than they appear.  And then there are those who seemed robbed of their minds and or bodies long before their prime and often give the illusion that they are much older.  And then there are those who don’t appear to be that old but their minds seem younger than their bodies – much younger.  How did Corey put it?  Elderly children.

  Leon Goodman described Alzheimer’s in this way:   Her life is being chomped away from present to past by a voracious PacMan which cannot be stopped. My mom does not have Alzheimer’s, but I think the comparison here is just as accurate.  Only it’s not so much from present to past as it is just a very different time frame.  A time frame real to her but in an imaginary zone from the average view.

          As we age there are many among us who lose strength that perhaps many of us have taken for granted.  For example, having the ability to stand up and move from the bed to the toilet without losing our balance or the cold that seems to last longer with each passing year because somewhere along the line our bodies have slowed down and don’t seem to have the same ability for fighting off infection.

          I’m only 50.  I think I will die young.  Sometimes it feels that way.  Some days when my head is clouded and I’m burdened with physical pain, I would just assume die.  When my body and spirit separate, I won’t have to experience the physical pain anymore.  But I'm told I’ll be taking my emotions with me.  Hope that umberellas are provided.

        On January 31st I wrote this post about my desire to ease into another routine – or attempting to rather.  I posted entirely too soon.  I have not made a routine for myself.  I have not put in any volunteer hours at either the cannery or the school.  I haven’t been to the temple.  Nor have I been out to see my mom.

          I’ve been nursing my cold and now Jenna.  She would rather be in school.  So would I.  I’d like to be able to sleep through the night again.  I would love to feel good again.  I would love for all of my household and other family and friends to all feel better and stay better.  I would love to get back on schedule – like I was when Jenna was in first grade.

          Actually, we are both feeling better.  But I am still in a fog.  Returned to the doctors for an ear flushing.  And there was a lot that came out.  But not all of it.  My hearing is exactly where it was two weeks ago.  I am so sick of being sick!

Ode to David Smith

We all know a

David Smith such a

common name 

In my case you were

the boy next door

middle child

your mom and

my mom showed

pregnant bellies

three times the

same time – well maybe

just two and a half.

Tow headed blonds

we both were

neighborhood games

and school

Your family had

the only trampoline

there for a while

chain linked fence

separated our back yards

we grew

neither of us married

until our late thirtys

you had two daughters

I have one.  Wish we could

have gotten them together

before you passed on

a year ago last month

Your final act of

service happened when

you were only 49.  You

were in the basement of

your parents up 
on the ladder I believe 
and you lost your balance 
or your footing

and you fell and left this

earth life. 

Your family will keep your

memory alive and I

hope that your girls may

visit often and learn more about

who you were and

who you are now.

I Would Like to See Someone Murder Germs - Permanently

Crime doesn’t seem to take a rest.  Rarely takes a holiday.  Germs at least seem to take breaks.  Maybe not.  There is always somebody who’s been invaded by germs. So often they can make us miserable. 

I haven’t blogged for a while for that very reason.  Icky, ugly germs – that hadn’t been detected in my own personal body until I went to the doctors to have my ears flushed.

It doesn’t set well with me that I feel worse leaving the doctor.  It doesn’t set well with me that I would feel even more miserable after starting the antibiotic treatment.  I’ve had pressure in my ear, in my eye, in my head, and in my throat.  I’ve had a cough and am now experiencing a runny nose – which is a good thing.  A runny nose indicates it’s finally coming out.

Unfortunately I forgot to turn on the humidifier on Saturday night and woke up with a dry throat on Sunday morning.  I took the last antibiotic.  And now I’m probably experiencing strep.  I hope not.  I return to the doctor’s on Thursday.  I can’t take anything stronger.  Not like last year.  Don’t want to be nauseated in addition.

So I was actually feeling better this afternoon.  Roland had given me a blessing.  And I felt well from about 11:30 to 3:00 – when I had to meet with my sibs and an attorney.  Kayla and I left the office first and bam -  I’m sick again.  Miserable sick.

At least I’m hydrated.  Jenna checked out of school early.  Dehydrated and throwing up.  I thought she was sharing my cold – our cold (Roland had it, too) as she was coughing this morning and crying – she does not deal well with being sick.

I’ve been catering to her needs – puppy sitting a few hours and rolling my eyes at Trume who wants to play with Jenna and doesn’t believe she is sick.  Reminding her that I had been sick and I’m sorry she had to get sick herself to understand the pain I experienced when she would barge into my room and ask, “Mom, do you want to play a game?”

I didn’t want to play a game.  But I didn’t want to neglect her either.  I wanted her to understand my position – but not necessarily my pain.  Damn those germs!

Being Grateful for Fleas

          On February 28, 1944 Corrie ten Boom was arrested along the rest of her family  for having broken the law. They had not turned in all of their bikes or radios.  They had not kept curfew.  They hid Jewish people.

          The entire family had been taken to Scheveningen prison in Holland.  Each member of the family was put into his or her own cell.  There was no contact between them – or even with the other prisoners. The cells were concrete with steel doors with a tiny slot in which food was inserted.  Their only contact was the voice of the gruff guards.

          And one day the guards didn’t come. In June 1944 Corrie and her sister Betsie were taken to Vught Concentration camp in Southern Netherlands.  For their uniforms, they were given paper thin dresses marked with X’s.  They were expected to perform heavy labor.  There was no communication among the prisoners and the guards were abusive. While at Vught, Betsie spent the majority of time in the infirmary due to failing health.

          As the war progressed, many prison camps were closed due to lack of funds.  In September of 1944 the ten Boom sisters ended up in their final prison camp.  Ravensbrück, located in northern Germany, was one of the last prisons to remain open. 

          Because so many other camps had closed, Ravensbrück was overcrowded with prisoners.  It was infested with lice and fleas.  The barracks reeked of urine.  But it was there they seemed to experience more freedoms had been deprived in the first two prisons.  That is, they were able to have face to face communication with the other prisoners and the guards didn’t seem to disturb them as much – especially in the barracks.

With their first night at Ravensbrück, Bestie offered a prayer of gratitude.  One of the things she said they ought to be thankful for was the fleas.  Corrie (as I, the reader) thought Betsie to be out of her mind.  And Corrie was certain that even God could not make her grateful for a flea. 

It isn’t until later in her biography that we learn that the guards didn’t bother the prisoners in the barracks because they didn’t want to be where the fleas were.

I have compared my trials to fleas.  I don’t enjoy having trials.  I love trials like I love fleas and poverty and hate and crime. I know that trials are necessary for growth, but you know, there are some times I would just like to take my hat off, toss it in the air and say, “Okay, enough already.  Please let me lay back long enough to understand what a breather really is.”

I try to express gratitude for things that I really am grateful for – my daughter, a stranger stopping to help change a flat, an answer to a question that has been on my mind, the unexpected chocolate chip cookies that my mouth so enjoys.  Little things.  Big things.  But not trials.

Yet how much better would my experience be if I could honestly say, “Thank you for the fleas” “Thank you for allowing the car to break down” “Thank you for yet another reminder from the IRS – this time a threat.  How joyful”

I realize that it is not the fault of God that my car would break down or run out of gas or what have you.  Actually, I’m very grateful that I have transportation and often thank my Heavenly Father for allowing me to get to and from destinations without having broken down.

            I recall teaching a primary lesson.  A boy in my class had lived in Oklahoma in April of 1995.  He related the following story about his primary teacher:

          She was on her way to work and was running late as it was.  Having to pull over on the freeway because of a bad car situation did not help matters.  One might not think of it as a blessing when it initially happened.  It was on April 19, 1995 when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was bombed – the very building where she worked.  She was still stranded on the freeway when the bomb went off.

          I’d like to be more gracious in thanking God for trials – for my own personal set of fleas.  Unfortunately there seems to be little humility on my end.  My pathetic attempts to show gratitude come out more sarcastically.  I suppose there has been a very good reason for having my ears clogged and hurtful sinus infections.  I don’t know the reasons right now.  Perhaps I’ll never know.  But I can still offer gratitude for the current “fleas” in my life.  I think it would help me become closer to God.  I know it would.