Thanksgiving morning I went to the porch swing with my OJ and sausage, and ended up whistling with my fingers in my ears. Truth is I could've sat there like Rusty, the Beagle, taking in the temperate weather all day and not missed a thing. I had a friend tell me she doesn't "do well" with holidays. I was afraid it was some sad memory from the past; but if what she tells me is true, then I too can "live without" the chaos. The idea of just forgetting the hoopla and grilling the burgers intended for Sunday crossed my mind.
I'm ashamed to admit that my kids have their own sense of entitlement ...on Thanksgiving, no less ...nearly having a knock down drag out over the front seat of the car, just to go to the gas station with Mike. They'd tell each other what to clean and bark at whomever got in front of the TV. Maybe we haven't "fallen" far enough for them to be sweet spirited and thankful for the simple things we still have. No matter how close to the edge we've been, Mike has always provided a spacious home in good condition and a reliable vehicle. With no savings and no matter how tight it's gotten, we've found deals so as not to dress homely ...(humbly is well meaning, but does not necessitate "homely"). And by the looks of us, you know we've never gone hungry.
All "entitlement" is selfish sin. Romans 3:10, "As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one:” All unrest is because someone is trying to usurp something from someone else, trying to level the playing field. Let's all shoot for our personal best and in so doing, SERVE our fellow man at God's personalized beckoning, the highest known calling. If my life's work, to raise up the cream of the crop, isn't panning out gold; then the ones giving their children secondary status, to anything less than their spouse and God, mean the world is surely in trouble.
A problem with big families is that there are more people to blame and to play victim to for issues that arise. The problem with being married to a traveling man is that most of the time there is no one to pass the baton to. On the other hand, Mike and I differ on timing and execution, so him in the kitchen trying to command an already bad situation is another reason I kept on swinging. I hate to keep reiterating it, but I can see why people drink ...and at the holidays ...but I finally went in and only had a shot of "Yoder's Good Health Recipe/cider vinegar and tinctures". Cooking with the kids didn't resume until lunchtime and that was okay because we had a mighty fine supper.
Megan and the older kids have gone Black Friday shopping a couple of times and I was expected to go this year. Like any new experience, it was fun, even if we did get up at 3:30 am. The first place we had to be was Bass Pro Shop ...no, not for the boys, but for the girls. The first thing they noticed was how many cute guys were there ...smart place for all kinds of shopping ;) ...but coats and boots were waiting for the picking. That's where the girls redeemed themselves. Instead of spending their Christmas money from grandparents on passing trends, they bought their own outdoor gear (high end, I might add). I consider that a sign of maturity and humility, as well as Michael's babysitting at home for us. We shopped for 8 hours, never encountering any bad behaviour.
Mike's parents were up from Georgia and waiting for us when we arrived home. They'd brought us a dining room table and chairs, which I regret that we never served them a decent meal on before they left. But, the next day was cousin Veronica's wedding, which I got so aggravated before that I made the kids go ahead and I drove separately. Then, we woke Sunday morning to 2 very sick calves. 1 of them had spent 3 weeks in recovery from the last bout of sickness, which made it all the worse because it was on the mend, getting up by itself for the first time in 3 weeks. The other was Michael's first calf to go down with something. It looked like our only resort was "putting" the down to end suffering. The Vet on call was entirely generous in suggesting that we come to his house to get medicine, although the outcome looked grim regardless of treatment. He was right. They both died an hour after we injected them.
It makes me question my decision to help the kids on their endeavor. I know my motives were pure, but was my timing right? It wasn't for lack of experience because we've done this twice before, but not with these numbers and the outbreaks of disease. After reading all that can go wrong, it makes me highly reverence the position that veterinarians put themselves in. Unlike people, animals can't communicate their ailments and are limited to the rations that we provide them, that may not always be suitable or balanced. I thought cows were hardy; "just put 'em out to pasture and they'll thrive". Even variations in temperature can set off a landmine of ill conditions for them. McKala is down to 1 cow, which is also exhibiting signs of respiratory problems, along with another 1 of Michael's.
Day after day of activity has maxxed out my stress level, and Mike is concerned that I have no interest, even in conversation, for him; but I feel a detachment from everybody and everything. I'm thankful for today, Monday, a chance to reroute my energy to basic function ...a chance to breathe and rediscover the priorities God has placed in me. I have a bzillion things we should do, but letting the kids run around in the swirling leaves before the rain sets in for a couple of days is refreshing. Letting the older ones wind down to regroup seems reasonable.
I'm thankful, too, that we have a new "used" table, that we attended a wedding and not a funeral, that cows and not children are sick, that Michael didn't have to brutally destroy the calves because they died naturally, and that December has only 2 trips and 1 appointment on the calendar. If we're to make plans, they'll be cheap and "on the fly" ...because each of us knows our boiling point and no matter the expectations placed on us, that's no place to stay. Even Jesus had His limits, knew when enough was enough, and went away from the crowds to recuperate and be with God.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
A Pumpkin for a Pig
It's 1:29 am and I just shaved my legs. Since I never show the deformity of my legs in public, I've gotten into the habit of not shaving unless I know Mike is on his way home from a trip. Lately, to survive the monthly bills, he's taking every one within reason he's offered. The problem that it creates is a disconnect between us with his increasingly erratic schedule. The problem tonight is that I was "asleep" before I was awakened and decided to bathe and shave. I've been gone all day and hadn't heard from him, so I had little notice that he'd be in at 10 pm tonight. I was already in bed propping up my ankles and fooling with the pictures from today, when he got under the covers and tried to go straight to sleep with the kids trolling about the room still. I had in mind that he'd be home tomorrow morning, so I didn't get the clue until I asked when his next departure would be. "Oh, 4 am?! Okay, kids, brush your teeth and get in bed."
I laid myself back to relax from the fullness of the day and fell fast asleep. When he practically jumped out of bed and dressed to leave 4 hours early, all I could gather is that he'd made an advance that in my drowsiness I'd dismissed. I went to the door to see why he hadn't even said goodbye and got back in the bed just in time to hear Madalynn crying. She was bent over in a familiar posture and I knew she had to pee, so I picked her up and she wet me and the floor all the way to the bathroom. That's not happened since she was much younger, so now I'm awake and clean and I have some things to say, since his phone isn't on.
Even though there was already an "event" squeezed into the busyness of the morning, I'm guessing he was back for more and when I didn't reciprocate, he got frustrated. He IS busting his can but I denounce an ugly turn back to presumption. I readily admit, and did to him in an e-mail yesterday, that I feel bad for him since I am rarely to the point yet of taking the initiative. We've come a long way in less than 2 years though. I also feel bad that the road is giving him a beating.
On my own behalf, I remind myself that the more than 4 times he's taken a step to "get out of the truck", I supported him. He wanted a partnership with a friend in a restaurant, so I backed him. "Friend" stepped out of it when booming business was too much for him. Mike wanted to join The Service when it all went belly up and I went with the flow for that too. He enlisted and soon after was hit by another car, requiring knee surgery, making the contracts null and void. The details are a blur now with childbirths and transitions but he got involved in an endeavor with another partner and was soon running 7 trucks. He, as well as his partner, made some horrendous decisions and the end came quickly. Years later, after a bad head on wreck and with 6 children, he enrolled in school (the same one Megan eventually graduated from). We didn't know how we'd survive it but were determined to take the dive. Within weeks, he had the aortic bypass and nerve damage to his hand, and it still plagues him. Needless to say, he never saw his first day of auto tech class, but I know he could just about teach it.
I believe it's time for him to take heart, to make the move out of the truck again. The days and miles and fast food and stress and age and pain have taken their toll. He knows virtually everything there is to know about trucking and with the right timing, the right financial moves, and the right support; it can be done. The economy and new government regulations are our present barriers to overcome and only God knows the direction we should move in.
He just called and says that I'm the presumptuous one and he only left because I was snoring. I'm not convinced but I don't feel as much a need to drive home my next point now. I do think the last day and a half are worthy of description though. I stood to make the case that a lot of inconvenient things have taken place but when put in the right light, they become positives. The putting in "the right light" is pivotal and is the difference between a pessimist and an optimist. I stand to say it might appear that I'm just fluttering about here and there with the kids, enjoying all life has to offer; when in reality, I'm "spinning" the difficulties into lessons.
Friday was so busy that by 1 o'clock I still hadn't washed my face. A lady showed up to say for her friend that our potbellied pig was hanging out at her dairy. I rushed in the house to throw on some jeans and yell at Michael to "come on". After speaking with our 92 year old neighbor at some length, we drove around to search. The fella working said the older man who works there had seen it and screamed in panic for them both to run to the truck because he saw "a wild boar". Now ...she's black, hairy, big, and ugly ...but she wouldn't pass for a wild boar. The image was leg slappin' funny though. We found her way out by a fenceline basking in the sun after her morning root. Michael grabbed a limb and with the help of a "heeler" dog, persuaded her to leave the pasture. He had to direct her almost a mile home and halfway she found a bush to take cover and stood in it growling so long that I decided we'd need a cattle prod. I took off to another neighbors for one and after a while saw Michael following "Rochelle" down the hill and up the driveway. The little excursion ate 3 hours of our afternoon, a slot I had big plans for.
Before long, the phone rang with the little lady saying that she hoped she hadn't been hateful. I laughed and said, "On the contrary, 'I' might've been if someone's pig had hung around my place for 5 days". She and I talked for quite a while and who knows, maybe I have a new friend? What I'm getting at is that I could've moaned and groaned about wasted time, but was it really wasted?
Saturday morning was the beginning of an anticipated day. McKala had softball practice and as I ran out to pick her and her friend up, I took Miranda's coffee cup with me forgetting she was sick. I had also forgotten that I had mounds of clothes strewn out over the car to give away. We finally got everybody uniformed up with their coats, hats, scarves and every seat filled to go back to Ashe County, our mountain home, and watch the Christmas parade. The closer we got the warmer our sentiment was, but we timed it so closely that we had to park a mile away. The big kids started out on the trek as I did everything I could to coerse Madalynn to walk faster but there really was no hope, since the sock boots she had on were sliding to and fro. We missed most of the parade trying to get to a particular vantage point, but we bumped into many different old friends on the way. Standing still, we caught the last few entries and there Macklynn stood with empty pockets, no candy to show for his visit to the parade.
We have a few favorite stores that the kids were ready to raid but first we had to get curds from the cheese factory. I didn't have enough cash for drinks; so about midway through Sallie's Emporium, I got hot with Miranda's fluffy white coat on and I volunteered to walk the mile back and get the car. Macklynn commandeered, taking in the ambience of the place as we went along. As soon as I hit the seat, my stomach was growling. Megan worked at Pizza Hut there for 2 years, so it's we feel at ease in. Apparently so did everyone else that day. I shouldn't have stayed but we had it in our minds to do so and you know how that works. Our waiter was in his own little universe and I finally gave up on stressing after he finally brought us our 2 liters. It was then I knew I would at the very least be late to the gala my very close friend had so graciously invited me to that evening, but the kids were having such a good time playing the jukebox and clowning around with Jaycie, the girl we took, that I just decided to roll with it.
Earlier in the week, I'd called Mrs. Poe, the elderly lady who lived at the bottom of our driveway, and told her we'd be up, so I couldn't go home without seeing her. Because our old house had been empty for almost 4 years since the investor took the bait for our desperate sale, we drive to see it and roam the property every chance we get. What we found was a work truck, then a man meeting us at the door. He was a Costa Rican native with a fantastic sense of humor and was glad to show us the renovation work he'd been hired to do, but walking through the rooms was bittersweet. The kids pointed out things that distinctly proved we were there. In one room, artwork was already being accumulated and it just so happened there was the print like the one I'd sold to help make the last of our house payments. I met the owner as we were leaving and was interested that he did for a living what my brother does and his wife's maiden name is Harper. "He" was interested to hear the stories of the treacherous driveway (and the Wormy Chesnut that lies beneath it).
Alas, our visit with Mrs. Poe began in her small cozy living room. After niceties were met, I had to acknowledge that I knew her son in his 40s was very recently diagnosed with Leukemia. She's 74 and still going strong, cleaning the local bank and minding herself. It's hardly fair that her baby boy could pass before she does. We left in a somber mood but as we passed the fields of Christmas trees and played some of Miranda's favorite songs by Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby, we knew the day was fine despite the setbacks. And THAT is exactly what I meant earlier. Overscheduled, sick, late, broke, uncomfortable, impatient, worried, or sad could describe any given moment of that day. However, content and grateful, pleased and polite, are options we have and will never be "happy" without choosing them. So, I could've said that Saturday stunk; but for every mishap, I was mindful of moments of cheer. Anyway, I might as well smile because if I don't, my jowls will succumb to a little more gravity.
Today is 2 days past the onslaught of this writing and Mike and I have gotten past our bump in the road. He hasn't read this yet, so I may be getting a call when he does. BUT, people respond better when I've told the entire story: good, bad, ugly, and beautiful. There is no richness or texture otherwise. I hope that God finds His intended glory in my ramblings. I hope someone out there can plug in and find a place of kinsmanship with me. The kids will have these chronicles, embarrassing as some may be. I don't know if I have anything to offer the masses, but maybe, just maybe, our story has a niche somewhere. I never have wanted much materially. There's not really anything that matches the freedom of admiring and using the majesty of God's creation. To relieve Mike of life on the road would be ...well, I believe it could "save" his life ...and allow him to relish these years before the children take flight.
I just got a call from the little old neighbor. She wants to know if we want a pumpkin to cook and we surely do, so I'll be readying to stop over :) Moments like these make it all make sense.
I laid myself back to relax from the fullness of the day and fell fast asleep. When he practically jumped out of bed and dressed to leave 4 hours early, all I could gather is that he'd made an advance that in my drowsiness I'd dismissed. I went to the door to see why he hadn't even said goodbye and got back in the bed just in time to hear Madalynn crying. She was bent over in a familiar posture and I knew she had to pee, so I picked her up and she wet me and the floor all the way to the bathroom. That's not happened since she was much younger, so now I'm awake and clean and I have some things to say, since his phone isn't on.
Even though there was already an "event" squeezed into the busyness of the morning, I'm guessing he was back for more and when I didn't reciprocate, he got frustrated. He IS busting his can but I denounce an ugly turn back to presumption. I readily admit, and did to him in an e-mail yesterday, that I feel bad for him since I am rarely to the point yet of taking the initiative. We've come a long way in less than 2 years though. I also feel bad that the road is giving him a beating.
On my own behalf, I remind myself that the more than 4 times he's taken a step to "get out of the truck", I supported him. He wanted a partnership with a friend in a restaurant, so I backed him. "Friend" stepped out of it when booming business was too much for him. Mike wanted to join The Service when it all went belly up and I went with the flow for that too. He enlisted and soon after was hit by another car, requiring knee surgery, making the contracts null and void. The details are a blur now with childbirths and transitions but he got involved in an endeavor with another partner and was soon running 7 trucks. He, as well as his partner, made some horrendous decisions and the end came quickly. Years later, after a bad head on wreck and with 6 children, he enrolled in school (the same one Megan eventually graduated from). We didn't know how we'd survive it but were determined to take the dive. Within weeks, he had the aortic bypass and nerve damage to his hand, and it still plagues him. Needless to say, he never saw his first day of auto tech class, but I know he could just about teach it.
I believe it's time for him to take heart, to make the move out of the truck again. The days and miles and fast food and stress and age and pain have taken their toll. He knows virtually everything there is to know about trucking and with the right timing, the right financial moves, and the right support; it can be done. The economy and new government regulations are our present barriers to overcome and only God knows the direction we should move in.
He just called and says that I'm the presumptuous one and he only left because I was snoring. I'm not convinced but I don't feel as much a need to drive home my next point now. I do think the last day and a half are worthy of description though. I stood to make the case that a lot of inconvenient things have taken place but when put in the right light, they become positives. The putting in "the right light" is pivotal and is the difference between a pessimist and an optimist. I stand to say it might appear that I'm just fluttering about here and there with the kids, enjoying all life has to offer; when in reality, I'm "spinning" the difficulties into lessons.
Friday was so busy that by 1 o'clock I still hadn't washed my face. A lady showed up to say for her friend that our potbellied pig was hanging out at her dairy. I rushed in the house to throw on some jeans and yell at Michael to "come on". After speaking with our 92 year old neighbor at some length, we drove around to search. The fella working said the older man who works there had seen it and screamed in panic for them both to run to the truck because he saw "a wild boar". Now ...she's black, hairy, big, and ugly ...but she wouldn't pass for a wild boar. The image was leg slappin' funny though. We found her way out by a fenceline basking in the sun after her morning root. Michael grabbed a limb and with the help of a "heeler" dog, persuaded her to leave the pasture. He had to direct her almost a mile home and halfway she found a bush to take cover and stood in it growling so long that I decided we'd need a cattle prod. I took off to another neighbors for one and after a while saw Michael following "Rochelle" down the hill and up the driveway. The little excursion ate 3 hours of our afternoon, a slot I had big plans for.
Before long, the phone rang with the little lady saying that she hoped she hadn't been hateful. I laughed and said, "On the contrary, 'I' might've been if someone's pig had hung around my place for 5 days". She and I talked for quite a while and who knows, maybe I have a new friend? What I'm getting at is that I could've moaned and groaned about wasted time, but was it really wasted?
Saturday morning was the beginning of an anticipated day. McKala had softball practice and as I ran out to pick her and her friend up, I took Miranda's coffee cup with me forgetting she was sick. I had also forgotten that I had mounds of clothes strewn out over the car to give away. We finally got everybody uniformed up with their coats, hats, scarves and every seat filled to go back to Ashe County, our mountain home, and watch the Christmas parade. The closer we got the warmer our sentiment was, but we timed it so closely that we had to park a mile away. The big kids started out on the trek as I did everything I could to coerse Madalynn to walk faster but there really was no hope, since the sock boots she had on were sliding to and fro. We missed most of the parade trying to get to a particular vantage point, but we bumped into many different old friends on the way. Standing still, we caught the last few entries and there Macklynn stood with empty pockets, no candy to show for his visit to the parade.
We have a few favorite stores that the kids were ready to raid but first we had to get curds from the cheese factory. I didn't have enough cash for drinks; so about midway through Sallie's Emporium, I got hot with Miranda's fluffy white coat on and I volunteered to walk the mile back and get the car. Macklynn commandeered, taking in the ambience of the place as we went along. As soon as I hit the seat, my stomach was growling. Megan worked at Pizza Hut there for 2 years, so it's we feel at ease in. Apparently so did everyone else that day. I shouldn't have stayed but we had it in our minds to do so and you know how that works. Our waiter was in his own little universe and I finally gave up on stressing after he finally brought us our 2 liters. It was then I knew I would at the very least be late to the gala my very close friend had so graciously invited me to that evening, but the kids were having such a good time playing the jukebox and clowning around with Jaycie, the girl we took, that I just decided to roll with it.
Earlier in the week, I'd called Mrs. Poe, the elderly lady who lived at the bottom of our driveway, and told her we'd be up, so I couldn't go home without seeing her. Because our old house had been empty for almost 4 years since the investor took the bait for our desperate sale, we drive to see it and roam the property every chance we get. What we found was a work truck, then a man meeting us at the door. He was a Costa Rican native with a fantastic sense of humor and was glad to show us the renovation work he'd been hired to do, but walking through the rooms was bittersweet. The kids pointed out things that distinctly proved we were there. In one room, artwork was already being accumulated and it just so happened there was the print like the one I'd sold to help make the last of our house payments. I met the owner as we were leaving and was interested that he did for a living what my brother does and his wife's maiden name is Harper. "He" was interested to hear the stories of the treacherous driveway (and the Wormy Chesnut that lies beneath it).
Alas, our visit with Mrs. Poe began in her small cozy living room. After niceties were met, I had to acknowledge that I knew her son in his 40s was very recently diagnosed with Leukemia. She's 74 and still going strong, cleaning the local bank and minding herself. It's hardly fair that her baby boy could pass before she does. We left in a somber mood but as we passed the fields of Christmas trees and played some of Miranda's favorite songs by Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby, we knew the day was fine despite the setbacks. And THAT is exactly what I meant earlier. Overscheduled, sick, late, broke, uncomfortable, impatient, worried, or sad could describe any given moment of that day. However, content and grateful, pleased and polite, are options we have and will never be "happy" without choosing them. So, I could've said that Saturday stunk; but for every mishap, I was mindful of moments of cheer. Anyway, I might as well smile because if I don't, my jowls will succumb to a little more gravity.
Today is 2 days past the onslaught of this writing and Mike and I have gotten past our bump in the road. He hasn't read this yet, so I may be getting a call when he does. BUT, people respond better when I've told the entire story: good, bad, ugly, and beautiful. There is no richness or texture otherwise. I hope that God finds His intended glory in my ramblings. I hope someone out there can plug in and find a place of kinsmanship with me. The kids will have these chronicles, embarrassing as some may be. I don't know if I have anything to offer the masses, but maybe, just maybe, our story has a niche somewhere. I never have wanted much materially. There's not really anything that matches the freedom of admiring and using the majesty of God's creation. To relieve Mike of life on the road would be ...well, I believe it could "save" his life ...and allow him to relish these years before the children take flight.
I just got a call from the little old neighbor. She wants to know if we want a pumpkin to cook and we surely do, so I'll be readying to stop over :) Moments like these make it all make sense.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
No New York for Us
I wonder how many people like us won't revisit New York City for Christmas because of the chaos, aka Occupy Wallstreet. Since we harldy put emphasis on gift getting at Christmas, we planned to spend a couple of days in the city ice skating, rummaging in and out of stores, and gazing at landmarks, much like we did 6 years ago. Now that things are increasingly violent, Mike says there is no chance for us the enjoy a trip there. I am as sorely displeased as the children.
I "get" that big money is highly likely to be corrupt and in bed with the government and "that" very point is the thing. Clean up the government, our supposed representatives, setting terms limits and requiring financial transparencies. Mike heard of a book out now that exposes the way officials legally get around "gifts" and briberies. It details what particular public officials were worth before they were voted in and what they are worth now, still in office. It sickens me, but what disturbs me worse that these protestors in New York (and around the country) are barking up the wrong trees. They are preventing regular Americans from getting to work, from enjoying the park, and from using the public services they paid for. These demoralized people are hurting the very ones that claim to represent. The law is being broken now and they believe they are above it. Watch what you will on TV, MSNBC or FOX, but until you dig deeper for independent interviews, you won't see the truth.
I am wise enough to know the movement has attracted all kinds of scavengers, people who don't care about the message at all. I am also wise enough to hear words of those who do have opinions and I still find them unfounded. They are not searching the right source. Condemning capitalism is ignorant. Condemning greed is worthy of inspection. Downsize the government. We have enough of a socialist system already. A generation is almost lost because of a reliance on working America to support it, unless of course Mom and Dad have put education above all else in carrrying their children to adulthood. Studying does NOT shape a worker.
I went in to answer a call and lost the receipt, I had jotted notes on, to the wind ...so now I'm on my own. Yesterday, I had a questioned posed to me that if I believed in a "3rd Party's" stand, wouldn't I vote for it. Ideally, yes, but we all understand the realities that it would take away from the Republican numbers. I hate that it could be the lesser of two evils with the ruling parties, but I will do whatever it takes to vote Progressives/L:iberals out of office. Are the majority on both sides corrupt? I'm afraid so, and that's where grass roots mean something. One voice still means everything in America. Contrary to that idea was a group of "millionaires", who happen to be lawyers and lobbyists, interviewed saying they are for higher taxes for the 1%. The female interviewer gave them access to the IRS where a person really can offer more taxes. Each refused, scoffing it off that one person couldn't make the difference.
Ah! Now, we have the makings of Socialism. I regret that I did not pay close attention in history classes (not that text books aren't slanted anyway), so when I have the time and interest, I have to dig for understanding or hear it from Mike, my source on the road :) Socialism inevitably involves genocide, and I don't just mean Hitler. If you aren't with the masses, then you're as good as dead. Socialism really only benefits the leadership of it, who do not take part in the actuality of it.
In a perfect world, God would step in and create "peace", so I get a bit of a twitch and feel dishonor is brought on our forces when I see "peace signs" on all matter of clothing. (If people only cared to read of its originations, they might think twice before dawning this fad.) No fear, that perfect world is coming but for us to selfishly sit back and quicken its coming is a shame, for our children and children's children will suffer from our apathy. America was founded on Christian values. They were indeed imperfect men, but the Constitution's ideals were and still are upstanding and honorable. I have an ongoing converstation with a couple of "men", from opposing sides, who don't see the benefit of the mention God in schools. I see value in parts of their arguments but God has placed something in my mind that it will not release and that is: "43When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. 44Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. 45Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation." Matthew 12:43-45. You may not care for the conclusions I draw but a vessel does not stand empty in the world of unseeable principalities. When you rid one thing, another comes along and in the case of education, the standard disintegrates, in lieu of God's preeminence being trashed.
"Revelationists", ones who think government belabors the coming of our Lord, take for granted that America IS exceptional - meaning it is different than anything else in history. However, I do agree that if God's words were posted on our doorways and we still, as the majority, followed his lead; Christians alone might satisfy the hunger and needs of a confused and scared world. Sadly, so many of us are blindly and fearfully fighting our own demons that we don't step out and make any obvious impact for the lost.
I have a group of thoughts I'd named, "Question Everything", but I'll put it out here instead. Why do we do what we do? Why don't we even stop to ask why we do what we do? Status quo is nothing to be settled with. In no way do I esteem my family above another, but I hope that "average" is something our children don't aspire to be. (Sometimes it involves losing friends or opportunities.) When we drop the ball for a length of time, average comes quickly. Let's pick it up because the world may be around a lot longer than you think and for those of you who think there is no end to it, how will militantly forcing people to be charitable solve your problems, which are contradictory in and of themselves?
I "get" that big money is highly likely to be corrupt and in bed with the government and "that" very point is the thing. Clean up the government, our supposed representatives, setting terms limits and requiring financial transparencies. Mike heard of a book out now that exposes the way officials legally get around "gifts" and briberies. It details what particular public officials were worth before they were voted in and what they are worth now, still in office. It sickens me, but what disturbs me worse that these protestors in New York (and around the country) are barking up the wrong trees. They are preventing regular Americans from getting to work, from enjoying the park, and from using the public services they paid for. These demoralized people are hurting the very ones that claim to represent. The law is being broken now and they believe they are above it. Watch what you will on TV, MSNBC or FOX, but until you dig deeper for independent interviews, you won't see the truth.
I am wise enough to know the movement has attracted all kinds of scavengers, people who don't care about the message at all. I am also wise enough to hear words of those who do have opinions and I still find them unfounded. They are not searching the right source. Condemning capitalism is ignorant. Condemning greed is worthy of inspection. Downsize the government. We have enough of a socialist system already. A generation is almost lost because of a reliance on working America to support it, unless of course Mom and Dad have put education above all else in carrrying their children to adulthood. Studying does NOT shape a worker.
I went in to answer a call and lost the receipt, I had jotted notes on, to the wind ...so now I'm on my own. Yesterday, I had a questioned posed to me that if I believed in a "3rd Party's" stand, wouldn't I vote for it. Ideally, yes, but we all understand the realities that it would take away from the Republican numbers. I hate that it could be the lesser of two evils with the ruling parties, but I will do whatever it takes to vote Progressives/L:iberals out of office. Are the majority on both sides corrupt? I'm afraid so, and that's where grass roots mean something. One voice still means everything in America. Contrary to that idea was a group of "millionaires", who happen to be lawyers and lobbyists, interviewed saying they are for higher taxes for the 1%. The female interviewer gave them access to the IRS where a person really can offer more taxes. Each refused, scoffing it off that one person couldn't make the difference.
Ah! Now, we have the makings of Socialism. I regret that I did not pay close attention in history classes (not that text books aren't slanted anyway), so when I have the time and interest, I have to dig for understanding or hear it from Mike, my source on the road :) Socialism inevitably involves genocide, and I don't just mean Hitler. If you aren't with the masses, then you're as good as dead. Socialism really only benefits the leadership of it, who do not take part in the actuality of it.
In a perfect world, God would step in and create "peace", so I get a bit of a twitch and feel dishonor is brought on our forces when I see "peace signs" on all matter of clothing. (If people only cared to read of its originations, they might think twice before dawning this fad.) No fear, that perfect world is coming but for us to selfishly sit back and quicken its coming is a shame, for our children and children's children will suffer from our apathy. America was founded on Christian values. They were indeed imperfect men, but the Constitution's ideals were and still are upstanding and honorable. I have an ongoing converstation with a couple of "men", from opposing sides, who don't see the benefit of the mention God in schools. I see value in parts of their arguments but God has placed something in my mind that it will not release and that is: "43When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. 44Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. 45Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation." Matthew 12:43-45. You may not care for the conclusions I draw but a vessel does not stand empty in the world of unseeable principalities. When you rid one thing, another comes along and in the case of education, the standard disintegrates, in lieu of God's preeminence being trashed.
"Revelationists", ones who think government belabors the coming of our Lord, take for granted that America IS exceptional - meaning it is different than anything else in history. However, I do agree that if God's words were posted on our doorways and we still, as the majority, followed his lead; Christians alone might satisfy the hunger and needs of a confused and scared world. Sadly, so many of us are blindly and fearfully fighting our own demons that we don't step out and make any obvious impact for the lost.
I have a group of thoughts I'd named, "Question Everything", but I'll put it out here instead. Why do we do what we do? Why don't we even stop to ask why we do what we do? Status quo is nothing to be settled with. In no way do I esteem my family above another, but I hope that "average" is something our children don't aspire to be. (Sometimes it involves losing friends or opportunities.) When we drop the ball for a length of time, average comes quickly. Let's pick it up because the world may be around a lot longer than you think and for those of you who think there is no end to it, how will militantly forcing people to be charitable solve your problems, which are contradictory in and of themselves?
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Delight and Difficulty with Dad
My Mom and Dad were up from Georgia this weekend. It's been several months, so we had plenty to talk over and I was especially jovial since the kids had poured me a generous glass of wine because I was so tense. My Dad seems tense around our boys and has little to no patience with them, so as Macklynn was running in circles around the living room, I asked Dad, "Don't you remember being a 6 year old boy?" He said, "No," then corrected that he was in an orphanage when he was 6 and he could remember the older boys stealing his supper. He doesn't talk much about it ...and I was silenced, 'til I found a few questions to ask.
Dad is the oldest of 2 brothers and 1 baby sister. One day their mother went out to the yard and never came back. (Years later it was discovered that she started another family of 5 more children, then committed suicide.) His father was a serviceman and didn't find in himself to raise 4 small children, so the family stepped in, but they too gave up on them. They entered the foster care system and sadly Dad remembers being beaten with a power cord and eating cold food straight out of a can. I'm not certain of the order of events and ages at which they occurred, but the sister was adopted separately and the youngest brother, Jerry, found a home also. His adoptive mother, Cleo, said he was so lonesome for his brothers that she went back and adopted them - for him ...and never made any qualms about why. Jerry was always given preferential treatment. My Dad and the middle brother were even instructed to share their earnings with Jerry when they were old enough to work. It was really something of a Cinderella story, the bad and the good ...good only because Cleo was rather well-to-do, always keeping a maid and a second home.
The "good" soon reared its own ugly head in the form of aristocracy. Although it was a smalltime town, Dad was the student council president and star of the basketball team that was headed to state. Cleo disapproved of my mother's lack of pedigree. Mom's parents were farmers, sharecroppers at that, but they made an honest living and raised one child: a reputable, intelligent, hard working daughter. Cleo banned my father from the championships because of his relationship with my mother.
They are the high school sweetheart story: marrying young, making it on their own, Mom staying home while Dad went to technical school, having a girl and boy of their own and a little brick house out on family land, next to where her father worked the fields. When I was 4, my grandfather was shot and killed. I remember Mom wrapping me up in a quilt that night and putting me in our LTD. (Her mother passed away unexpectedly when our Megan was not much younger than I. I firmly believe that Mom's tiny nuclear family is why she clings so hard to civility for fear of losing just one member.) I do remember some other things about that life, from time to time, as well as having to move away from it when I was 10. It was the beginning of several moves and the downward spiral of Mom and Dad's relationship. For years I blamed it all on him, that he should've stood taller. Mom must've seen her part in things, though, because she remarried him after he divorced her in the mid 1980's.
In the midst of all the change and turmoil he created, Dad always worked hard, taking on as many as 3 jobs at a time ...and even so, was playful . Perhaps, we were protected from arguments, but I don't recall many divisive days. He was fun-loving: teaching me how to shoot a basketball out on the driveway, making school projects with (and for ;) me, horsing around, running off with us to the theater, and other things I'd like to remember but probably have shut away for fear of reawakening old wounds.
He has reached well deserved status at his occupation and is flown for consulting at factories in other states and even overseas. His work ethic is old school, but his visionary entrepreneurship has landed him a second source of income that he gladly shares when he sees a need. He affords his love of offshore fishing and all that goes along with it. He also revels in finding unique gifts for us and is quick to pass out big bills for things like traveling expenses. It's a family joke that his generosity usually comes with "words of advice". That's due in part to his "boss" mentality ...but mostly his desire for our success. I've never heard him say it but I know he works so hard and expects the same from us because he never wants to revisit any semblance of his childhood poverty. It's pretty interesting that my Mom works in Social Services to prevent and halt the very things my Dad suffered. (Also worthy of note is that my Dad's favorite thing to do, fishing, is my mother's least because she can't swim ...hmmm ;)
Dad and I have had some serious disagreements and misunderstandings. It goes unsaid between us, but I've known that the distance between our homes has been our saving grace. Yesterday though, he dressed with enthusiasm to go to Melody's volleyball game (filled up Miranda's tank), came back to dole out candy to all the kids, held a stick for a long time for the little ones to jump over on the trampoline, and watched the Alabama game sitting elbow to elbow, all the while joking and teasing. Truth is I like him, in spite of some awful choices he's made. When I get perturbed by his judgement or snide remarks, I choose to see him as that little orphan boy. And at the same time, I see a man who just turned 60 with an ailing back from constant busyness and building and full blown diabetes that would take him from me if it got the chance. I had the same kind of thoughts about aging when my mother hugged me to leave and, as an unusual gesture, held my hand for a few seconds. They were so soft ...and I felt like a girl instantaneously. Those high school sweethearts both turned 60 this year and finding ways to stay intertwined with them, in the midst of our opposing sides on my brother's new life, seems all the more important. My friends who have already lost a parent don't need any convincing about how brief our time together really is.
Dad never talks about God and that worries me. I know people who are damaged as children and never fully recover. I'm thankful that my parents protected me from the "elements" and that I never endured violent personal injury at the hands of another, nor the neglect of having physical needs go unmet. My hope is that hearing the searing words about an orphanage roll off the tongue of my father will reinforce to me that impressing somebody or being somebody, having things or getting things done, and mourning lost chances and chasing new ones are secondary to seeking lives that need rescuing. There's a "home for children" not far from us. Melody got involved in the life of a girl there 2 years ago. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about when I boldly question why we celebrate holidays the way we do. Do you think a child there benefits more from a fantasy figure named Santa Claus or another little girl who makes that wish list happen because Jesus led her to?
Dad is the oldest of 2 brothers and 1 baby sister. One day their mother went out to the yard and never came back. (Years later it was discovered that she started another family of 5 more children, then committed suicide.) His father was a serviceman and didn't find in himself to raise 4 small children, so the family stepped in, but they too gave up on them. They entered the foster care system and sadly Dad remembers being beaten with a power cord and eating cold food straight out of a can. I'm not certain of the order of events and ages at which they occurred, but the sister was adopted separately and the youngest brother, Jerry, found a home also. His adoptive mother, Cleo, said he was so lonesome for his brothers that she went back and adopted them - for him ...and never made any qualms about why. Jerry was always given preferential treatment. My Dad and the middle brother were even instructed to share their earnings with Jerry when they were old enough to work. It was really something of a Cinderella story, the bad and the good ...good only because Cleo was rather well-to-do, always keeping a maid and a second home.
The "good" soon reared its own ugly head in the form of aristocracy. Although it was a smalltime town, Dad was the student council president and star of the basketball team that was headed to state. Cleo disapproved of my mother's lack of pedigree. Mom's parents were farmers, sharecroppers at that, but they made an honest living and raised one child: a reputable, intelligent, hard working daughter. Cleo banned my father from the championships because of his relationship with my mother.
They are the high school sweetheart story: marrying young, making it on their own, Mom staying home while Dad went to technical school, having a girl and boy of their own and a little brick house out on family land, next to where her father worked the fields. When I was 4, my grandfather was shot and killed. I remember Mom wrapping me up in a quilt that night and putting me in our LTD. (Her mother passed away unexpectedly when our Megan was not much younger than I. I firmly believe that Mom's tiny nuclear family is why she clings so hard to civility for fear of losing just one member.) I do remember some other things about that life, from time to time, as well as having to move away from it when I was 10. It was the beginning of several moves and the downward spiral of Mom and Dad's relationship. For years I blamed it all on him, that he should've stood taller. Mom must've seen her part in things, though, because she remarried him after he divorced her in the mid 1980's.
In the midst of all the change and turmoil he created, Dad always worked hard, taking on as many as 3 jobs at a time ...and even so, was playful . Perhaps, we were protected from arguments, but I don't recall many divisive days. He was fun-loving: teaching me how to shoot a basketball out on the driveway, making school projects with (and for ;) me, horsing around, running off with us to the theater, and other things I'd like to remember but probably have shut away for fear of reawakening old wounds.
He has reached well deserved status at his occupation and is flown for consulting at factories in other states and even overseas. His work ethic is old school, but his visionary entrepreneurship has landed him a second source of income that he gladly shares when he sees a need. He affords his love of offshore fishing and all that goes along with it. He also revels in finding unique gifts for us and is quick to pass out big bills for things like traveling expenses. It's a family joke that his generosity usually comes with "words of advice". That's due in part to his "boss" mentality ...but mostly his desire for our success. I've never heard him say it but I know he works so hard and expects the same from us because he never wants to revisit any semblance of his childhood poverty. It's pretty interesting that my Mom works in Social Services to prevent and halt the very things my Dad suffered. (Also worthy of note is that my Dad's favorite thing to do, fishing, is my mother's least because she can't swim ...hmmm ;)
Dad and I have had some serious disagreements and misunderstandings. It goes unsaid between us, but I've known that the distance between our homes has been our saving grace. Yesterday though, he dressed with enthusiasm to go to Melody's volleyball game (filled up Miranda's tank), came back to dole out candy to all the kids, held a stick for a long time for the little ones to jump over on the trampoline, and watched the Alabama game sitting elbow to elbow, all the while joking and teasing. Truth is I like him, in spite of some awful choices he's made. When I get perturbed by his judgement or snide remarks, I choose to see him as that little orphan boy. And at the same time, I see a man who just turned 60 with an ailing back from constant busyness and building and full blown diabetes that would take him from me if it got the chance. I had the same kind of thoughts about aging when my mother hugged me to leave and, as an unusual gesture, held my hand for a few seconds. They were so soft ...and I felt like a girl instantaneously. Those high school sweethearts both turned 60 this year and finding ways to stay intertwined with them, in the midst of our opposing sides on my brother's new life, seems all the more important. My friends who have already lost a parent don't need any convincing about how brief our time together really is.
Dad never talks about God and that worries me. I know people who are damaged as children and never fully recover. I'm thankful that my parents protected me from the "elements" and that I never endured violent personal injury at the hands of another, nor the neglect of having physical needs go unmet. My hope is that hearing the searing words about an orphanage roll off the tongue of my father will reinforce to me that impressing somebody or being somebody, having things or getting things done, and mourning lost chances and chasing new ones are secondary to seeking lives that need rescuing. There's a "home for children" not far from us. Melody got involved in the life of a girl there 2 years ago. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about when I boldly question why we celebrate holidays the way we do. Do you think a child there benefits more from a fantasy figure named Santa Claus or another little girl who makes that wish list happen because Jesus led her to?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Loss
In the mildness of a picture perfect morning with towels and blankets drying under the sun, in theory it seemed that I had a theme coming on of loss: a tooth, an SEC game (in actuality nonconsequental for me), and all 4 kittens (1 given away, 1 killed in an engine, and 2 vanished). But the loss of a calf that we pulled so hard for, practically willing it to live, is another ballgame. After finally hitting on good advice from a Vet, we were confident for a good outcome. Keeping them on their feet and hydrated is crucial to recovery regardless of the condition they're suffering from. For her sister's calf, Miranda created a sling under the porch. We learned how to make homemade Gatorade to bottlefeed them, even using syringes to force feed. We used all sorts of homeopathic and pharmaceutical medicines I've listed on Facebook statuses. After tucking it into bed with other sick calves to each side and covered with a blanket of hay; she got up Tuesday morning, made it a bottle, and slid on her boots, only to find it cold and lifeless.
Pray that McKala sees whatever she's meant to "see" in all this. Michael has 4 calves of his own, but McKala's are the only ones to have been burdened with the 3 sicknesses, even though they're housed together. No one in this family could hold a light to Job, but in its own small way, I can't help but find comparison. She's lost half of her calves and his have harldy come down with anything. In her heart of hearts, there must be questions. It's particularly wrenching because she is a born nurturer. (Incidentally, I read an article from a century ago that said farm "wives" generally have better success with calves.) Again, pray that humility, strength, and faith are gained in this trial and that she is not brought to her knees in weakness for anything other than to seek the ways of the Lord.
Practically speaking, since every expense for the calves is theirs, she now only has prospects for half her earnings. And of course, her profit margin is moved because of her endeavors to save them. I'm well aware that these complications beg questions about purposefully removing a baby from its healthy mother. Well, if you're drinking cows' milk off the shelves of a store, it's necessitated. Our county has the hightest number of dairy cows in the state. Michael may have come up with his own solution to use his auction makings to purchase a young heifer, even though her price comes at 10 times what her male counterpart does. Then, a natural course can be taken with them.
I'm sure the Vet, whose number I have burned in my memory now, wishes people like us were more informed. We thought we were, "seeing how" we raised other ones, but with little difficulty. One thing we "have" learned is that "oldtime" remedies don't always get you "out of the woods". Remember, there are was a lot of death in olden times - survival of the fittest and fortunate, if you will. Too, never forget, disease is most evil in its ever mutating presence, lurking around every corner.
Although I think I'd make an awfully good "poop consultant" now because what goes into a cow and comes out is the lifeblood, she had 2 other calves looking hardy "yester"morning (as one of the kids used to say; then again, I guess it was "to"morning Michael would say :) and we called DVM Pendergrass out to insure we had all the bases covered.
So listen, it's never right to try and be the exception to every rule, but it surely is refreshing to find someone who knows when to make one, someone who loves what he does and doesn't bind himself to red tape. I had to leave to dispose of the carcass properly (yes, there are places for that) and get Michael to basketball practice on time. The young bovine/equine doctor came and gave McKala loads of information and in writing answered every question I'd listed. The kids report that he was completely open and friendly with all of them, just casually enjoying the environment and the dogs underfoot. He administered 7 shots and gave her a bill for only $95. At no charge, he gave her a big tube of vitamin paste and I know what his regular fees are. So yeah, another thank you note is in the works.
There are several morals to this story but I'll pose this one to you. All right, McKala tried everything and spent days to salvage the lives of her calves. Those profits would've gone to more business and a commendable cause. Should Michael get his expected price, would you have him give some to McKala since hers will likely be half, although she gave it every effort? If you think this is an absurd question, do not misunderstand me when I tell you I've met people of late who live by a new world philosophy. It is their answer to philanthropy. They have absolutely no feel for reality and the discouragement that will come upon Michael when he realizes his own success little more than averaged out. I wouldn't even encourage him to share. If God laid it on his heart, it'd be a different story, but no "entity" should require such goings on. In fact, McKala offered to him a weekly doing of his kitchen duty and a cleaning of his bathroom for all the help he gave her in literally getting the calves to their feet and giving injections until she got up the nerve to do them herself. (He also cared for them so she could go to a game ...and so she could regain composure after the deaths ...and then there was the morning she had thrown up in the night.) Loss does not entitle anyone to anything. Ideally, it makes us more reliant on the persuasions of God, not on government.
Not convinced? That 3 1/2 years ago, when we lost all equity in everything we had, I had no dillusions that government should save our home and property. No doubt that we got through it by the graciousness of family, friends, and even strangers we'd never laid eyes on. Social Services covered insurance and groceries for a year and although we aren't completely on our feet, I don't expect them to insure me, house me, or feed me. "Progressive" people with their heads in the clouds totally lack understanding, claiming that it's our human obligation to provide for the less endowed, BUT there's a mighty good chance that a lot of them are negligibly responsible for their own demise, too lazy or proud to take any given job ...much less whether the people are legal to start with. Don't doubt me on this; remember, I was in the system. Mike banked lots last month and even with borrowing and only splurging with one meal out with the family and a motorcycle rental, there was less than $1K after all self employment and family expenses. He's taxed at every level and contributing heavily to a spectrum of jobs by simply running up and down the roads of America. We should "share the wealth"? What wealth? We need to put every last idea into real life situations before we decide the future of this United States.
Pray that McKala sees whatever she's meant to "see" in all this. Michael has 4 calves of his own, but McKala's are the only ones to have been burdened with the 3 sicknesses, even though they're housed together. No one in this family could hold a light to Job, but in its own small way, I can't help but find comparison. She's lost half of her calves and his have harldy come down with anything. In her heart of hearts, there must be questions. It's particularly wrenching because she is a born nurturer. (Incidentally, I read an article from a century ago that said farm "wives" generally have better success with calves.) Again, pray that humility, strength, and faith are gained in this trial and that she is not brought to her knees in weakness for anything other than to seek the ways of the Lord.
Practically speaking, since every expense for the calves is theirs, she now only has prospects for half her earnings. And of course, her profit margin is moved because of her endeavors to save them. I'm well aware that these complications beg questions about purposefully removing a baby from its healthy mother. Well, if you're drinking cows' milk off the shelves of a store, it's necessitated. Our county has the hightest number of dairy cows in the state. Michael may have come up with his own solution to use his auction makings to purchase a young heifer, even though her price comes at 10 times what her male counterpart does. Then, a natural course can be taken with them.
I'm sure the Vet, whose number I have burned in my memory now, wishes people like us were more informed. We thought we were, "seeing how" we raised other ones, but with little difficulty. One thing we "have" learned is that "oldtime" remedies don't always get you "out of the woods". Remember, there are was a lot of death in olden times - survival of the fittest and fortunate, if you will. Too, never forget, disease is most evil in its ever mutating presence, lurking around every corner.
Although I think I'd make an awfully good "poop consultant" now because what goes into a cow and comes out is the lifeblood, she had 2 other calves looking hardy "yester"morning (as one of the kids used to say; then again, I guess it was "to"morning Michael would say :) and we called DVM Pendergrass out to insure we had all the bases covered.
So listen, it's never right to try and be the exception to every rule, but it surely is refreshing to find someone who knows when to make one, someone who loves what he does and doesn't bind himself to red tape. I had to leave to dispose of the carcass properly (yes, there are places for that) and get Michael to basketball practice on time. The young bovine/equine doctor came and gave McKala loads of information and in writing answered every question I'd listed. The kids report that he was completely open and friendly with all of them, just casually enjoying the environment and the dogs underfoot. He administered 7 shots and gave her a bill for only $95. At no charge, he gave her a big tube of vitamin paste and I know what his regular fees are. So yeah, another thank you note is in the works.
There are several morals to this story but I'll pose this one to you. All right, McKala tried everything and spent days to salvage the lives of her calves. Those profits would've gone to more business and a commendable cause. Should Michael get his expected price, would you have him give some to McKala since hers will likely be half, although she gave it every effort? If you think this is an absurd question, do not misunderstand me when I tell you I've met people of late who live by a new world philosophy. It is their answer to philanthropy. They have absolutely no feel for reality and the discouragement that will come upon Michael when he realizes his own success little more than averaged out. I wouldn't even encourage him to share. If God laid it on his heart, it'd be a different story, but no "entity" should require such goings on. In fact, McKala offered to him a weekly doing of his kitchen duty and a cleaning of his bathroom for all the help he gave her in literally getting the calves to their feet and giving injections until she got up the nerve to do them herself. (He also cared for them so she could go to a game ...and so she could regain composure after the deaths ...and then there was the morning she had thrown up in the night.) Loss does not entitle anyone to anything. Ideally, it makes us more reliant on the persuasions of God, not on government.
Not convinced? That 3 1/2 years ago, when we lost all equity in everything we had, I had no dillusions that government should save our home and property. No doubt that we got through it by the graciousness of family, friends, and even strangers we'd never laid eyes on. Social Services covered insurance and groceries for a year and although we aren't completely on our feet, I don't expect them to insure me, house me, or feed me. "Progressive" people with their heads in the clouds totally lack understanding, claiming that it's our human obligation to provide for the less endowed, BUT there's a mighty good chance that a lot of them are negligibly responsible for their own demise, too lazy or proud to take any given job ...much less whether the people are legal to start with. Don't doubt me on this; remember, I was in the system. Mike banked lots last month and even with borrowing and only splurging with one meal out with the family and a motorcycle rental, there was less than $1K after all self employment and family expenses. He's taxed at every level and contributing heavily to a spectrum of jobs by simply running up and down the roads of America. We should "share the wealth"? What wealth? We need to put every last idea into real life situations before we decide the future of this United States.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Toothless but Painless
It began a week ago while I was drinking a great big Coke from Subway. I only have one once or twice a month, but I'm glad I did. The sugar created a sensation that indicated what was the beginning of the end of a tooth. I cleaned, swished, and took it easy on that area for days; but 3 days ago, there was no denying that something bigger than hygiene was amiss. Between the mystery of the calves' lameness, vehicle repairs, and other appointments; I just self medicated and "sucked" it up. Besides, I don't have insurance. I've actually not needed any in almost 4 years and wouldn't have purchased dental insurance anyway because of its high cost.
Several of you know that I'm under the supervision of a resident student at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. We have a plan of treatment for my severe Gingivitis. I'm told it began many years back when under the stress of pregnancies, moves, and in a span of 4 years not receiving regular cleanings. Once it starts, it doesn't matter how consistent you are with cleaning if the underlying problem isn't resolved. As an adult, the few cavities I've had all (but one due to my bite) stemmed from gum deficiencies. I haven't had one that I knew of in 6 or 7 years. This is getting a little boring, I'm sure, but if one person can understand the intricacies of the disease before it's too late for them, I'll be satisfied.
So, I had a lull of about 18 hours the day before last and thought my problem was subsiding. In retrospect, it was probably an accumulation of all the ibuprofen I'd taken ...because that evening the pain returned but with a vengeance, set off again by sugar ...but even the x-rays from July hadn't shown a cavity. It was so bad that the shooting pain was referring to my lower jaw all the way to my front teeth. I took more 800 mg ibuprofen, then Hydrocodone, then Tylenol #3s, then Benadryl (praying it would make me sleep since NOTHING even touched the agony) ...until I got down the mason jar of shine (which is more likely Everclear with cider). I had been crying so much that my "sipping" nature went away and I drank it until I guess I passed out, around 4 am. Why didn't I go to the ER? What ...and pay a fee with no real solution? Not my style; I'd set the clock for the opening hours of the clinic. When I got them on the line, they were less than agreeable about getting me into their ER program. They sent me to my "resident's" line. I got his voicemail and was told he was in class. I was desperate, calling back and sobbing like a baby, pleading really, for them to do something, anything.
Within 30 minutes, my call was returned and the "come on in" reply was honey to my ears. Miranda got ready to drive me because there was no way I was giving up the relief I'd found in the liquor. She's 17 and hasn't driven a lot in heavy traffic, much less in a downpour, but she persevered. I was in and out of consciousness, not sure if it was drowsiness or drunkenness ...and I really didn't care. We finally arrived after 2 and a half hours. They got me right in. I knew he wasn't scheduling procedures that day, so I thanked him profusely. They went straight into sensitivity testing to determine the problem tooth by "knocking" on them, putting liquid ice to them, and probing them. There really wasn't a decisive tooth, which I was afraid made me look like an over reactor. Since they don't know me well, it wouldn't mean much to tell them that I'm not a "crier"; so I told them I'd had a pint of Everclear. His eyes widened with surprise and a twinge of humor.
X-rays followed and the tooth that was killing me showed no indications of damage. They brought in the overseeing doctor for consult and extraction was mentioned right off the bat. I almost starting crying at the thought because the tooth presenting pain was third from the back and its absence would definitely be noticed in a smile. Then, I felt really guitly at such vanity; afterall, it's only a tooth, not a limb. They decided to start the scaling that was planned for next month and see if they could uncover something. And uncover they did. While cleaning my top left, last molar, their tools found a cavity about one third of an inch above the gumline. It was that big in circumference and approaching that in depth. It had been there so long that it'd finally reached the nerve.
He said, "We have your culprit." I was thoroughly glad to be legitimized and overjoyed that it was so far back in my mouth. My mood swung again, though, when they came back in the room from another conference with the final suggestion to pull it out. I loaded them with questions. "Why not a root canal?" They replied that there was such significant bone loss in the root of the tooth from the gingivitis that it was loose and would be useless before long anyway. Bone grafting was one alternative but would involve thousands of dollars. It didn't take me long to give the go ahead to just get it over with.
I've written "they" several times and by that I mean that "my" resident is graduating in May, so he's brought in a female resident to take over my care. She was the one to do the deed and I didn't hesitate to ask her how many teeth she'd pulled. He leaned over close and said, "She's the queen of tooth pulling." She said she'd explain during the procedure. As they reassured me that all the tugging and cracking was customary, she told me of her mission trip to Madagascar in June and the lines of people needing care. She said she'd extracted 300 teeth and was only outdone there by her husband. Suddenly my one tooth seemed so unimportant. There they were, a couple, living outloud: giving help to the helpless. Now, I know that I'm in good hands over these next months.
The procedure was painless. We're only out $85, some gas money, and $25 for prescriptions. I haven't needed a prescription since I was pregnant with Madalynn. I'm hoping the amoxicillin will help my skin a little, too. I won't wish for too much though. I know from experience that a sore mouth is no guarantee for weight loss. I had an expander, the metal devise in the pallet that expands it with the daily turn of a "key", when I had braces (again) as an adult. I thought my limited menu would be a surefire shedding of pounds. NOT! An eater will always find a way ;) So, I'm sitting here now after my cool cup of coffee in no pain whatsoever, WITHOUT the prescibed painkillers. Thank God for technology.
Two things I take from this experience are the insight I get about a person who is suffering and turns to alcohol for the numbness it produces and the thankfulness that goes unexpressed to "professionals". I'm glad I don't have an alcohol dependence and it's easy to judge someone who does for the "selfishness" of addiction. The only way to help them though is to dive into the cause, instead of shunning them ...unless it becomes the last straw. Secondly, the appreciation factor shouldn't end with a handshake. I used to be really into thank you notes but as much for etiquette as anything. I've slacked off but this week I'll make it a point to thank the "people" who took excellent and sympathetic care of me. Nevermind that they get practice from or credit for it. They fit me into their schedules, heard me out, searched for an unseen problem, shared their own stories with me, and even specially prescribed pills I could swallow instead of crush. I hope a note will mean to them what they did for me means. When is the last time you sent an unexpected handwritten thanks to someone? It doesn't have to be beautiful, clever, or even store bought; it just needs to be done and sent.
Several of you know that I'm under the supervision of a resident student at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. We have a plan of treatment for my severe Gingivitis. I'm told it began many years back when under the stress of pregnancies, moves, and in a span of 4 years not receiving regular cleanings. Once it starts, it doesn't matter how consistent you are with cleaning if the underlying problem isn't resolved. As an adult, the few cavities I've had all (but one due to my bite) stemmed from gum deficiencies. I haven't had one that I knew of in 6 or 7 years. This is getting a little boring, I'm sure, but if one person can understand the intricacies of the disease before it's too late for them, I'll be satisfied.
So, I had a lull of about 18 hours the day before last and thought my problem was subsiding. In retrospect, it was probably an accumulation of all the ibuprofen I'd taken ...because that evening the pain returned but with a vengeance, set off again by sugar ...but even the x-rays from July hadn't shown a cavity. It was so bad that the shooting pain was referring to my lower jaw all the way to my front teeth. I took more 800 mg ibuprofen, then Hydrocodone, then Tylenol #3s, then Benadryl (praying it would make me sleep since NOTHING even touched the agony) ...until I got down the mason jar of shine (which is more likely Everclear with cider). I had been crying so much that my "sipping" nature went away and I drank it until I guess I passed out, around 4 am. Why didn't I go to the ER? What ...and pay a fee with no real solution? Not my style; I'd set the clock for the opening hours of the clinic. When I got them on the line, they were less than agreeable about getting me into their ER program. They sent me to my "resident's" line. I got his voicemail and was told he was in class. I was desperate, calling back and sobbing like a baby, pleading really, for them to do something, anything.
Within 30 minutes, my call was returned and the "come on in" reply was honey to my ears. Miranda got ready to drive me because there was no way I was giving up the relief I'd found in the liquor. She's 17 and hasn't driven a lot in heavy traffic, much less in a downpour, but she persevered. I was in and out of consciousness, not sure if it was drowsiness or drunkenness ...and I really didn't care. We finally arrived after 2 and a half hours. They got me right in. I knew he wasn't scheduling procedures that day, so I thanked him profusely. They went straight into sensitivity testing to determine the problem tooth by "knocking" on them, putting liquid ice to them, and probing them. There really wasn't a decisive tooth, which I was afraid made me look like an over reactor. Since they don't know me well, it wouldn't mean much to tell them that I'm not a "crier"; so I told them I'd had a pint of Everclear. His eyes widened with surprise and a twinge of humor.
X-rays followed and the tooth that was killing me showed no indications of damage. They brought in the overseeing doctor for consult and extraction was mentioned right off the bat. I almost starting crying at the thought because the tooth presenting pain was third from the back and its absence would definitely be noticed in a smile. Then, I felt really guitly at such vanity; afterall, it's only a tooth, not a limb. They decided to start the scaling that was planned for next month and see if they could uncover something. And uncover they did. While cleaning my top left, last molar, their tools found a cavity about one third of an inch above the gumline. It was that big in circumference and approaching that in depth. It had been there so long that it'd finally reached the nerve.
He said, "We have your culprit." I was thoroughly glad to be legitimized and overjoyed that it was so far back in my mouth. My mood swung again, though, when they came back in the room from another conference with the final suggestion to pull it out. I loaded them with questions. "Why not a root canal?" They replied that there was such significant bone loss in the root of the tooth from the gingivitis that it was loose and would be useless before long anyway. Bone grafting was one alternative but would involve thousands of dollars. It didn't take me long to give the go ahead to just get it over with.
I've written "they" several times and by that I mean that "my" resident is graduating in May, so he's brought in a female resident to take over my care. She was the one to do the deed and I didn't hesitate to ask her how many teeth she'd pulled. He leaned over close and said, "She's the queen of tooth pulling." She said she'd explain during the procedure. As they reassured me that all the tugging and cracking was customary, she told me of her mission trip to Madagascar in June and the lines of people needing care. She said she'd extracted 300 teeth and was only outdone there by her husband. Suddenly my one tooth seemed so unimportant. There they were, a couple, living outloud: giving help to the helpless. Now, I know that I'm in good hands over these next months.
The procedure was painless. We're only out $85, some gas money, and $25 for prescriptions. I haven't needed a prescription since I was pregnant with Madalynn. I'm hoping the amoxicillin will help my skin a little, too. I won't wish for too much though. I know from experience that a sore mouth is no guarantee for weight loss. I had an expander, the metal devise in the pallet that expands it with the daily turn of a "key", when I had braces (again) as an adult. I thought my limited menu would be a surefire shedding of pounds. NOT! An eater will always find a way ;) So, I'm sitting here now after my cool cup of coffee in no pain whatsoever, WITHOUT the prescibed painkillers. Thank God for technology.
Two things I take from this experience are the insight I get about a person who is suffering and turns to alcohol for the numbness it produces and the thankfulness that goes unexpressed to "professionals". I'm glad I don't have an alcohol dependence and it's easy to judge someone who does for the "selfishness" of addiction. The only way to help them though is to dive into the cause, instead of shunning them ...unless it becomes the last straw. Secondly, the appreciation factor shouldn't end with a handshake. I used to be really into thank you notes but as much for etiquette as anything. I've slacked off but this week I'll make it a point to thank the "people" who took excellent and sympathetic care of me. Nevermind that they get practice from or credit for it. They fit me into their schedules, heard me out, searched for an unseen problem, shared their own stories with me, and even specially prescribed pills I could swallow instead of crush. I hope a note will mean to them what they did for me means. When is the last time you sent an unexpected handwritten thanks to someone? It doesn't have to be beautiful, clever, or even store bought; it just needs to be done and sent.
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