I had intended to blog tonight about our family tradition of burning candles on Christmas Eve, and reading Lil Sis' blog served only to strengthen my resolve.
If I remember correctly the tradition began when I was quite young, so Lil Sis wasn't even a gleam in the old man's eye. Mom and Daddy had their own tradition of going out on Christmas Eve to visit friends, leaving the children at home. It sounds harsh and neglectful, but those were different times. We lived in the country where there was evidently no crime, never mind the fact that we lived next to Daddy's parents, so we could not have gotten into any trouble if we had wanted to. And don't get the wrong picture about our parents going out . . . it was very informal, no mink stoles and tuxes like you see in the movies. We were simple (poor) people. I think it might have just been an excuse for Daddy to get tipsy.
It is still incredible to me that we were able to pull off the candle burning thing. I have no idea where we got the money, how we got to the store to buy the candles, or how we had the nerve to actually burn the damn things. I can't remember ever in my life getting by with anything, so it is all unbelievable to me even now. The candles were usually in the shapes of animals or Christmas icons, and here again I am relying on my memory. It seems I had one in the shape of a grey cat one year. Nurse, Bo and I would wait until our parents left, then gather around some sort of low table and light our candles. Nurse (being the oldest) would read the Christmas story from the Bible, we would sing "Silent Night", blow out the candles, kiss each other good night and go to bed to wait for Santa Claus. This is my memory. Nurse might have a different one.
I'm not sure why we chose "Silent Night". Possibly because it was a song we could all sing at that stage in our lives. Like Lil Sis, sometimes I have a hard time getting through the whole song. On Christmas Eve this year I bought candles in the shapes of snowmen, Santa Claus and penguins dressed in their holiday best. I bought six: one for myself, one each for my son and his wife, one each for my granddaughter and grandson, and one for Bo. After we finished the ceremony, we all blew out our candles. My grandson thought it best that I blow out Bo's candle since he did not know him! My eyes were teary the whole time.
When we were still going to the cemetery to burn candles at Bo's grave, I remember one bitterly cold windy night when we had to re-light the candles many times. As we drove away, we looked back to see that all the candles had been blown out by the wind--all except three. It seemed to signify the original three of us burning candles alone on Christmas Eve all those years ago.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
I Thought There Would Be Time
Twenty-five years ago I met two of the most wonderful people in the world. Terry and Darlene were an inspiration to me. I never saw either of them angry--at each other or anyone else in the world. We met through our children who were playing sports. Terry was one of the coaches of the T-ball team where my son landed completely by accident, as I did not know anyone associated with his school or with the booster club. I didn't know to request to have my son placed on this team of star players coached by the world's most wonderful coach. Terry's wife Darlene was the scorekeeper for the team and also the unofficial team mom, just because everyone loved her so much. There was always a steady stream of kids in and out of their house, and my son became one of them. I remember the first time he spent the night there. When I went to collect him the next day I sheepishly apologized to Darlene that I had forgotten to send a toothbrush with him. She smiled and replied, "I don't think he missed it."
Darlene and I became the best of friends and at some point began coaching the youth soccer team on which our sons played. We were very successful, and I like to think at least some of it was our coaching style. But our boys were completely loaded with talent and were serious about winning while having fun. I remember those years as some of the best of my life.
But time moved on. The boys grew up. I divorced my (second) husband and did not feel comfortable in the circle of our friends who were married couples (totally unfounded). So we grew apart and no longer kept in touch. Over the years I have thought of Terry and Darlene many times and wanted to visit with them. I just thought there would be plenty of time.
I saw Darlene last night at family visitation at the funeral home where Terry will be laid to rest. I have not asked anyone how he died. (I had heard that he had been ill and using an oxygen tank and assumed he had emphysema or cancer from many years of smoking.) It took Darlene a minute to realize I was there, not because she didn't recognize me but because it has been so long since we have seen each other. It was like seeing something familiar in an unfamiliar place. She hugged me and we both cried. I told her I had thought Terry was a great man, that I had always been jealous of their relationship and wished that I had been so blessed. They were married for 37 years and were still in love, still doing everything together. I know she is going to be lonely in spite of her two loving (adoring) sons and their wives. Hopefully I can be of some comfort to her when she needs me.
Hopefully I will learn one day not to take precious time for granted.
Darlene and I became the best of friends and at some point began coaching the youth soccer team on which our sons played. We were very successful, and I like to think at least some of it was our coaching style. But our boys were completely loaded with talent and were serious about winning while having fun. I remember those years as some of the best of my life.
But time moved on. The boys grew up. I divorced my (second) husband and did not feel comfortable in the circle of our friends who were married couples (totally unfounded). So we grew apart and no longer kept in touch. Over the years I have thought of Terry and Darlene many times and wanted to visit with them. I just thought there would be plenty of time.
I saw Darlene last night at family visitation at the funeral home where Terry will be laid to rest. I have not asked anyone how he died. (I had heard that he had been ill and using an oxygen tank and assumed he had emphysema or cancer from many years of smoking.) It took Darlene a minute to realize I was there, not because she didn't recognize me but because it has been so long since we have seen each other. It was like seeing something familiar in an unfamiliar place. She hugged me and we both cried. I told her I had thought Terry was a great man, that I had always been jealous of their relationship and wished that I had been so blessed. They were married for 37 years and were still in love, still doing everything together. I know she is going to be lonely in spite of her two loving (adoring) sons and their wives. Hopefully I can be of some comfort to her when she needs me.
Hopefully I will learn one day not to take precious time for granted.
Friday, November 14, 2008
If I'd known I was going to live this long . . .
Old and worn-out line, but still true. I think our Creator got it all wrong anyway. I think when we are young and our hormones are raging and we are going to do all in our power to follow His will and procreate anyway, why do we have to be slim with bright eyes and taut skin? Why can't we have that when we're old and know how to make the most of it?
Well, anyway . . . For some reasons I will not enumerate here (mostly because for the life of me they don't make sense now) I did not see a dentist for 10 years. So when I recently went on this kick of "Ohmygosh, here I am old as dirt and falling apart and what am I going to do about it" I decided I really should have my teeth checked out and cleaned. I actually had a tooth which had been broken since 2001, but it wasn't causing me any pain or trouble so I did nothing about it. Let me just say right here that I was extremely fortunate considering the amount of time that had passed with no professional care for my teeth. The broken tooth was repaired in very little time, requiring a crown for which my dental insurance paid half. The cleaning was a different story. They had to do something called root planing and scaling, which actually sounds worse than it was. It took about and hour and a half this morning (and a lot of scraping by the hygienist, who is an absolute angel) to get the plaque off my teeth at the gum line. It was mildly uncomfortable (I was told by a MALE co-worker that it was just horrible), and my gums are a little sore. All in all I feel lucky. The hygienist said they weren't bad for being neglected as long as they were, and there was no significant bone loss and no indication that I was in danger of losing any teeth.
So in addition to my new diet (which eliminates almost everything I like to eat) and the exercises given to me by my physical therapist (who just released me from my weekly visits), I must now get into the habit of flossing my teeth. Oh, woe is me! How will I ever work that into my already full life? It is just possible that I will be forced to floss instead of watching Frasier on TV each morning. Oh no, wait . . . I can do both at once! Problem solved. I will just have to force myself to floss before working on my latest crochet project.
I guess it's never too late to start taking better care of myself.
Well, anyway . . . For some reasons I will not enumerate here (mostly because for the life of me they don't make sense now) I did not see a dentist for 10 years. So when I recently went on this kick of "Ohmygosh, here I am old as dirt and falling apart and what am I going to do about it" I decided I really should have my teeth checked out and cleaned. I actually had a tooth which had been broken since 2001, but it wasn't causing me any pain or trouble so I did nothing about it. Let me just say right here that I was extremely fortunate considering the amount of time that had passed with no professional care for my teeth. The broken tooth was repaired in very little time, requiring a crown for which my dental insurance paid half. The cleaning was a different story. They had to do something called root planing and scaling, which actually sounds worse than it was. It took about and hour and a half this morning (and a lot of scraping by the hygienist, who is an absolute angel) to get the plaque off my teeth at the gum line. It was mildly uncomfortable (I was told by a MALE co-worker that it was just horrible), and my gums are a little sore. All in all I feel lucky. The hygienist said they weren't bad for being neglected as long as they were, and there was no significant bone loss and no indication that I was in danger of losing any teeth.
So in addition to my new diet (which eliminates almost everything I like to eat) and the exercises given to me by my physical therapist (who just released me from my weekly visits), I must now get into the habit of flossing my teeth. Oh, woe is me! How will I ever work that into my already full life? It is just possible that I will be forced to floss instead of watching Frasier on TV each morning. Oh no, wait . . . I can do both at once! Problem solved. I will just have to force myself to floss before working on my latest crochet project.
I guess it's never too late to start taking better care of myself.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch Changes
While driving I normally listen to either country music or classic rock, sometimes oldies. My commute to work is 33 miles one way (actually 32.7 as my mother would say), so I have a little time to listen to music or whatever catches my fancy. Sometime during the presidential campaign I became more civic-minded than I usually am and actually wanted to know what the candidates stood for. When I left for work one night one of the debates was about to begin, so I started searching the radio stations for a news station that might be broadcasting it. I came across a station which was coming in clearly and was carrying the debate, and the time passed very quickly on my way to work that night.
I was either too lazy to change the station . . . or could it be my mind was actually open to trying a radio station that had more to offer than just the same old music? Anyway, I kept the radio tuned to this public broadcasting station and found that I was enjoying not only the news programs but the music--sometimes classical, sometimes jazz, and I swear I think I heard some downright hillbilly music one night. On Sunday nights there is a program called "The Infinite Mind" which can be about anything from insanity to telling lies to brilliance in music. I hardly ever change the station anymore.
Then today I was in a mood which I cannot describe. I needed to do some shopping at one of those well-known super stores that are open 24/7. There are several of them within short distances of my house, but for some reason I wound up on the east side of Athens. On the way there my public broadcasting station started to get a little fuzzy, so I searched for something else. What I found was the college radio station. It happened to be Alumni Weekend at the station, which meant former students who had worked at the station came back and were allowed to play anything they pleased. It was great! There was music I had never heard but enjoyed very much, and artists I had mostly never heard of but will seek out now. I found myself even laughing at some of the songs--so bold and raucous. I had forgotten how different the programming is on college stations.
The drive home turned into somewhat of an adventure. (Lil Sis will know what I mean.) At times I decide to take a different route from one point to the other. There is no rhyme or reason. It is just a decision I make on the spur of the moment. It could be from boredom, I'm not sure. At any rate, today was one of those times. I went in search of a certain drugstore (which I found and shopped successfully) and decided it was just too much trouble to take the "regular" route home. So off I go on a road I don't think I've ever traveled but somehow I knew it would take me home. And this time I didn't even get lost or turned around. Never had to turn around and go back. Oh, I saw a couple of roads that I recognized which would have shortened the journey a little--but what was the hurry? It was a truly magificent fall day, and I started looking at the beautiful colors of the leaves. (Is it my imagination, or are the leaves more vibrant this year than in years past?) At some point I passed a man on a bicycle and thought for a fleeting moment how I wished I were riding today. Like I said, it was fleeting. I knew I had to get home and get some sleep before time to come to work tonight.
(Reminder to self: Check those lottery numbers.)
Gotta go now. Need to see if I can find some of those artists from the college station today.
I was either too lazy to change the station . . . or could it be my mind was actually open to trying a radio station that had more to offer than just the same old music? Anyway, I kept the radio tuned to this public broadcasting station and found that I was enjoying not only the news programs but the music--sometimes classical, sometimes jazz, and I swear I think I heard some downright hillbilly music one night. On Sunday nights there is a program called "The Infinite Mind" which can be about anything from insanity to telling lies to brilliance in music. I hardly ever change the station anymore.
Then today I was in a mood which I cannot describe. I needed to do some shopping at one of those well-known super stores that are open 24/7. There are several of them within short distances of my house, but for some reason I wound up on the east side of Athens. On the way there my public broadcasting station started to get a little fuzzy, so I searched for something else. What I found was the college radio station. It happened to be Alumni Weekend at the station, which meant former students who had worked at the station came back and were allowed to play anything they pleased. It was great! There was music I had never heard but enjoyed very much, and artists I had mostly never heard of but will seek out now. I found myself even laughing at some of the songs--so bold and raucous. I had forgotten how different the programming is on college stations.
The drive home turned into somewhat of an adventure. (Lil Sis will know what I mean.) At times I decide to take a different route from one point to the other. There is no rhyme or reason. It is just a decision I make on the spur of the moment. It could be from boredom, I'm not sure. At any rate, today was one of those times. I went in search of a certain drugstore (which I found and shopped successfully) and decided it was just too much trouble to take the "regular" route home. So off I go on a road I don't think I've ever traveled but somehow I knew it would take me home. And this time I didn't even get lost or turned around. Never had to turn around and go back. Oh, I saw a couple of roads that I recognized which would have shortened the journey a little--but what was the hurry? It was a truly magificent fall day, and I started looking at the beautiful colors of the leaves. (Is it my imagination, or are the leaves more vibrant this year than in years past?) At some point I passed a man on a bicycle and thought for a fleeting moment how I wished I were riding today. Like I said, it was fleeting. I knew I had to get home and get some sleep before time to come to work tonight.
(Reminder to self: Check those lottery numbers.)
Gotta go now. Need to see if I can find some of those artists from the college station today.
Friday, October 31, 2008
I Might Not Be Employed Tomorrow
If I'm not, it won't be my fault. I am all about fairness and what's right. I try to be fair, I try not to lie (even a white lie to keep from hurting someone's feelings), and I have no patience for anyone without the same convictions.
One of my "supervisors" is such a person. I'll call him La-Z-Boy--anyone who knows him will know to whom I am referring. He lies about the most inconsequential things. So much so that when his wife became pregnant with twins, we kept waiting for him to come in and tell us she had unfortunately had a miscarriage. Ouch! But seriously, some people can lie so much that it makes other people feel that strongly. When the twins were born, La-Z-Boy had these two nannies (named Heather and some other name I forget) who were living with them and caring for the babies. Turns out they were totally fictitious. He tells outlandish lies. He went into great detail about two years ago telling everybody how they were digging a hole in their back yard to build a swimming pool. Every day came a new installment of the trials and tribulations of putting in a pool. I guess there was no way he could have known his wife would want to have a surprise birthday party for him and invite all his co-workers. I didn't go to the party, but I was told by several people that there was a pretty nice hot tub--no swimming pool. And nobody ever called him out on it!
So now La-Z-Boy has ruffled my feathers. Last week as my hours were approaching 40 and I still had one more shift to work, he called and told me not to come to work. I guess the wardens we work for in this prison have some sort of policy against overtime. Okay . . . it is a 45-minute drive and not worth it with the price of gas and I could certainly use the time off. Then I found out the other two people who work the same shift each got five hours of overtime. Never mind, just forget it, it's not worth the fight. It's only a few hours. Don't worry about it.
Tonight I came to work as usual, started to work as usual, and La-Z-Boy called me and said since I had 37.75 hours before this shift I need to go home at 2:00 a.m. We had a short heated discussion about how unfair that was to me since the other two people had gotten overtime last week when I didn't. He responded to me that the other two people would not get overtime because he had somehow adjusted their time sheets. (We clock in and out on our computers on the company website, but certain people can go in and change things.) Hmmm . . . I'm thinking there is something not only basically wrong with this but also illegal.
So I'm clocking out at 2:00 a.m.
But I'm waiting right here for the Human Resources Director to arrive.
One of my "supervisors" is such a person. I'll call him La-Z-Boy--anyone who knows him will know to whom I am referring. He lies about the most inconsequential things. So much so that when his wife became pregnant with twins, we kept waiting for him to come in and tell us she had unfortunately had a miscarriage. Ouch! But seriously, some people can lie so much that it makes other people feel that strongly. When the twins were born, La-Z-Boy had these two nannies (named Heather and some other name I forget) who were living with them and caring for the babies. Turns out they were totally fictitious. He tells outlandish lies. He went into great detail about two years ago telling everybody how they were digging a hole in their back yard to build a swimming pool. Every day came a new installment of the trials and tribulations of putting in a pool. I guess there was no way he could have known his wife would want to have a surprise birthday party for him and invite all his co-workers. I didn't go to the party, but I was told by several people that there was a pretty nice hot tub--no swimming pool. And nobody ever called him out on it!
So now La-Z-Boy has ruffled my feathers. Last week as my hours were approaching 40 and I still had one more shift to work, he called and told me not to come to work. I guess the wardens we work for in this prison have some sort of policy against overtime. Okay . . . it is a 45-minute drive and not worth it with the price of gas and I could certainly use the time off. Then I found out the other two people who work the same shift each got five hours of overtime. Never mind, just forget it, it's not worth the fight. It's only a few hours. Don't worry about it.
Tonight I came to work as usual, started to work as usual, and La-Z-Boy called me and said since I had 37.75 hours before this shift I need to go home at 2:00 a.m. We had a short heated discussion about how unfair that was to me since the other two people had gotten overtime last week when I didn't. He responded to me that the other two people would not get overtime because he had somehow adjusted their time sheets. (We clock in and out on our computers on the company website, but certain people can go in and change things.) Hmmm . . . I'm thinking there is something not only basically wrong with this but also illegal.
So I'm clocking out at 2:00 a.m.
But I'm waiting right here for the Human Resources Director to arrive.
Monday, October 27, 2008
When I Have the Time
As previously stated, I catch up on all my Internet stuff at work whenever time permits. Time permits tonight because I just don't feel like working, so my two co-workers are taking up the slack for me. We do that for each other, and fortunately we don't all usually have a case of the I-don't-give-a-craps at the same time. So tonight it's my turn.
While reading Lil Sis' blog about OCD tonight I was reminded of the dishes I have which are exactly like her square ones. I don't recall whether it was an accident that we purchased the exact same pattern of dishes or if one of us copied the other. No matter. They are beautiful dishes, and I am hoping one day to actually use mine. Either that or I will leave them to Lil Sis so she will have LOTS of them. That's if I ever get back to Ohio to rescue them along with all the other "stuff" I left there.
I loved Ohio . . . really. I loved everything about it--even the snow--everything except (in the end) The Man who took me there. Actually it was my idea to move there. We had just endured a terrible ordeal in Georgia and needed a change of scenery, and besides The Man had grown up there and his family were all there. I loved it immediately and desperately wanted to stay, but when the time came I knew I needed to be with my family again. I had been estranged from them for three years, only seeing Lil Sis a time or two and my son and his family every chance I got. I did not see or speak to Lil Bro or Mom for the whole time I was in Ohio. When I came home my family all called me one by one, and they all cried--even Lil Bro.
The area in Ohio where we lived was farm land and not much else, yet I was never more than 10 miles from whatever I needed--three miles if I didn't mind paying a little more. The terrain was flat, and how I loved that for bicycle riding! There was an old railroad bed which had been transformed into a biking/hiking path, and I never lived more than 5 miles from an entrance to it. The trail was well used by bikers and walkers, old folks, children and dogs. Never did I feel threatened or in danger riding on this path which was 11.5 miles long. There was only one time when I rode the entire trail from end to end and back. And I never rode the trail that I did not wish Lil Sis could be there to ride with me.
I worked a seasonal job in a hardware store which was part of a grain elevator where the farmers took their wheat, corn and beans. For most of the time I lived there I was close enough to ride my bicycle to work, and I thought that was heaven. The locals thought I was insane. I guess new folks didn't move into town very often because I was certainly the talk of the town. Of course there was my Southern accent which stuck out like a sore thumb.
I also "worked" in my sister-in-law's greenhouse which she opened shortly after we got there. I say "worked" because it was more fun than work. I guess I miss her and the greenhouse most of all. She became my best friend and confidante. Since I left she and her husband have bought a larger greenhouse, and I have wished many times I could be there to help.
Here is a story that underscored for me how small the town was. A man called the hardware store one day to ask if we had peepholes for doors. I checked for him and told him that indeed we had one. (One only.) He asked me to hold it for him, and then as an afterthought he asked if I would charge it to his account and bring it out to the car for him. He said, "I don't feel like putting my leg on."
There seemed to be an inordinate number of people in that area with missing arms, legs, fingers, maybe toes. It took me quite some time to figure out that most of it was probably due to farming and getting things caught in machinery. There were also factories in the area--small though it was--and I had heard one especially gruesome story about how a very nice man named Bob had lost his arm. He mostly used a mechanical arm but sometimes came in without it attached. It took some time to get used to it.
I was amazed at how young the old farmers looked. One of the told me he was 73 years old, and I just refused to believe it. I wanted to stay there until I looked younger, too!
In this small town there was a very busy railroad. On my way to the hardware store one morning--on my bicycle--I noticed a plaque in the ground near the railroad crossing. This was something I might never have seen in my car. The train happened to be on the tracks this particular morning as I approached, and I stopped beside this plaque. It has the name of a night policeman who was killed there in June of 1896. While I lived there I asked every person I could think of who might know how he was killed. I even asked the computer guy at the library and he didn't know. Several people told me it was a bank or train robbery, and one even told me he was shot by the John Dillinger gang. I've done my research, and Dillinger wasn't born then. I have tried every way I know (and have had time for) to find out how this policeman died. Even on the website for the Ohio Fallen Officers, it lists his cause of death as "unidentified." They thought enough of him to put a plaque (marker, monument) in the ground, so I'm thinking he didn't just die of natural causes on that spot near the railroad. I never got around to taking a picture of the marker.
When I have the time (and the money?) I will go back there to collect my things. Maybe I will remember to take some pictures. I really miss that little old town.
While reading Lil Sis' blog about OCD tonight I was reminded of the dishes I have which are exactly like her square ones. I don't recall whether it was an accident that we purchased the exact same pattern of dishes or if one of us copied the other. No matter. They are beautiful dishes, and I am hoping one day to actually use mine. Either that or I will leave them to Lil Sis so she will have LOTS of them. That's if I ever get back to Ohio to rescue them along with all the other "stuff" I left there.
I loved Ohio . . . really. I loved everything about it--even the snow--everything except (in the end) The Man who took me there. Actually it was my idea to move there. We had just endured a terrible ordeal in Georgia and needed a change of scenery, and besides The Man had grown up there and his family were all there. I loved it immediately and desperately wanted to stay, but when the time came I knew I needed to be with my family again. I had been estranged from them for three years, only seeing Lil Sis a time or two and my son and his family every chance I got. I did not see or speak to Lil Bro or Mom for the whole time I was in Ohio. When I came home my family all called me one by one, and they all cried--even Lil Bro.
The area in Ohio where we lived was farm land and not much else, yet I was never more than 10 miles from whatever I needed--three miles if I didn't mind paying a little more. The terrain was flat, and how I loved that for bicycle riding! There was an old railroad bed which had been transformed into a biking/hiking path, and I never lived more than 5 miles from an entrance to it. The trail was well used by bikers and walkers, old folks, children and dogs. Never did I feel threatened or in danger riding on this path which was 11.5 miles long. There was only one time when I rode the entire trail from end to end and back. And I never rode the trail that I did not wish Lil Sis could be there to ride with me.
I worked a seasonal job in a hardware store which was part of a grain elevator where the farmers took their wheat, corn and beans. For most of the time I lived there I was close enough to ride my bicycle to work, and I thought that was heaven. The locals thought I was insane. I guess new folks didn't move into town very often because I was certainly the talk of the town. Of course there was my Southern accent which stuck out like a sore thumb.
I also "worked" in my sister-in-law's greenhouse which she opened shortly after we got there. I say "worked" because it was more fun than work. I guess I miss her and the greenhouse most of all. She became my best friend and confidante. Since I left she and her husband have bought a larger greenhouse, and I have wished many times I could be there to help.
Here is a story that underscored for me how small the town was. A man called the hardware store one day to ask if we had peepholes for doors. I checked for him and told him that indeed we had one. (One only.) He asked me to hold it for him, and then as an afterthought he asked if I would charge it to his account and bring it out to the car for him. He said, "I don't feel like putting my leg on."
There seemed to be an inordinate number of people in that area with missing arms, legs, fingers, maybe toes. It took me quite some time to figure out that most of it was probably due to farming and getting things caught in machinery. There were also factories in the area--small though it was--and I had heard one especially gruesome story about how a very nice man named Bob had lost his arm. He mostly used a mechanical arm but sometimes came in without it attached. It took some time to get used to it.
I was amazed at how young the old farmers looked. One of the told me he was 73 years old, and I just refused to believe it. I wanted to stay there until I looked younger, too!
In this small town there was a very busy railroad. On my way to the hardware store one morning--on my bicycle--I noticed a plaque in the ground near the railroad crossing. This was something I might never have seen in my car. The train happened to be on the tracks this particular morning as I approached, and I stopped beside this plaque. It has the name of a night policeman who was killed there in June of 1896. While I lived there I asked every person I could think of who might know how he was killed. I even asked the computer guy at the library and he didn't know. Several people told me it was a bank or train robbery, and one even told me he was shot by the John Dillinger gang. I've done my research, and Dillinger wasn't born then. I have tried every way I know (and have had time for) to find out how this policeman died. Even on the website for the Ohio Fallen Officers, it lists his cause of death as "unidentified." They thought enough of him to put a plaque (marker, monument) in the ground, so I'm thinking he didn't just die of natural causes on that spot near the railroad. I never got around to taking a picture of the marker.
When I have the time (and the money?) I will go back there to collect my things. Maybe I will remember to take some pictures. I really miss that little old town.
Friday, October 17, 2008
What a Difference a Day Makes
Now and then a situation arises which changes you. That was profound! As if no one else had ever had that happen. I can't even count how many times over the course of my life I have had these occurrences.
But recently I had an experience that was so life-changing that it has me looking at things through completely different glasses. I have struggled most of my life with nicotine addiction. I started smoking in the first place to be "cool", as it was cool in those days to be a smoker. We had no idea the harm smoking would do. Had we known, though, I still don't think we would have given up the coolness of it. Just like the hip-hugger bell-bottom pants, the peasant blouses, the platform shoes, the long stringy straight hair and going without a bra, it was a part of us. It defined us. It proved how grown-up we were!
Fast forward to adulthood with its pressures, responsibilities and challenges . . . and its excuses for not giving up cigarettes. Over the years I have quit and started back more times than I can count, never giving serious consideration to my family history and how these things can be handed down from generation to generation.
In August of this year I decided I needed to have a complete physical. It had been five years since I had had one. Oh, I had seen a doctor at some point when I was so deathly ill with a sinus infection that I could not go on another minute without a Z-Pak. But at that time my life was such that I just could not make time for a visit to the doctor. (At this point I was in Ohio, my favorite doctor was in Georgia, and I just wasn't ready for a change.)
My doctor is part of a diagnostic clinic, and when I say complete physical I mean complete. He obviously heard something in my chest he didn't like, so off to the X-ray department I went. The next morning I was awakened from a sound sleep by my cell phone playing "River of Dreams" (one of my favorite Billy Joel songs). It was my doctor's nurse telling me in rather unemotional tones (but I guess they have to do that) that the X-rays showed a "spot" on my right lung and I would need to come in for a CT scan. Somehow I managed to go back to sleep and when I woke up later I wasn't even sure if the call had really happened. But I checked my cell phone, and there it was . . . a call from my doctor's office.
I sat in my bed with my laptop typing out a pitiful poor-me-this-is-so-unfair account of the day. Oh, what would I do? I started compiling the DVD to be viewed at my memorial (I would, after all, be cremated). I could not decide whether to tell anyone; I didn't want to worry my family. But on the day I was to go for the CT scan I happened to be with my son and his wife. I did not want to tell them what was going on, but somehow I just felt compelled to. They were both visibly shaken but optimistic that the outcome would be a good one.
But how could it be? Had I not known for years that smoking was very bad for anyone but certainly worse for me because of my family history? How could I even expect to have a good outcome even though I had, once again, quit smoking? So I was planning my memorial, picking out the music and the photos (need to get some more photos out of storage and I don't have "At My Funeral" by the Crash Test Dummies on my computer). What to do first? There was so much I had not told my only child, my 31-year-old not-so-grown-up overprotected son. There was so much to do. Most of my "stuff" was still in Ohio even after two years of being back home in Georgia. What to do about that? And the "stuff" I do have will have to be disposed of. What about my two cats? They love each other, and I would like to keep them together. Oh, who will take them and love them?
So on Friday before Labor Day I tremble as I prepare to go for my CT scan. I can barely breathe, but I shower and dress and put on makeup as if it would matter at all, and drive the 20 or so miles to the diagnostic clinic. I wait only a short time before I am called into the room where the very imposing machine sits. The technician explains to me that I need not undress as she is only interested in a limited area and the machine is very precise. I didn't even need to take off my shoes, she told me, but it just felt more comfortable to leave them beside the chair where my purse was now sitting.
The CT scan took very little time, and the technician tells me that my doctor will call me with the results. Later that day my doctor's nurse called to set up an appointment to see the doctor for the verdict. Since it was Labor Day weekend, it would be Tuesday before I could see him. It was absolutely the longest weekend of my life. I could not force myself to see or talk to anyone at all. I don't think I even left my house again until Monday night when it was time to go to work. And then I went to work early because I just could not stand to be alone with myself any longer.
My appointment was for 1:15 p.m. on Tuesday, and I'm not sure how I managed to keep quiet until then. I waited for what seemed an eternity for the doctor to come into the room. When he did, he barely got one foot in the door before looking me squarely in the eye and saying, "You're fine." He obviously knew how worried I had been by the haggard look on my face. As it turns out, the "spot" was some sort of scar tissue, possibly from slight pneumonia or another ailment I had either forgotten or not felt sick enough to count. I will see him again at the end of November to have it re-checked, but the doctor saw no need for concern. Before CT scans and the vast strides made in medicine and technology, I imagine I would have had a biopsy to determine the nature of the "spot."
To say I felt relieved is more than an understatement. I was not even in my car when I was on the phone with my son, telling him the good news. "I'm fine," I said, echoing the doctor's words exactly, and burst into tears. I came into work that night practically floating on air, prompting one of my co-workers to ask if I'd had a sexual encounter, though he used other words. I told them all what I had just endured and how very grateful I was to be alive.
It wears off, of course. One cannot go around all the time in a grateful mood, floating on air. It just isn't practical. There are days I'm sure I don't even give it a thought. But on the days I do, I am more than exceptionally grateful for every day of life I have. By no means do I think I am completely safe . . . there is that family history, after all . . . but I do not believe I will ever even think of smoking again.
When I was so sure I was dying, another thought that entered my mind was, "Who will ride the tandem with Lil Sis?" Seriously. I'm doubly glad we don't have to answer that question.
But recently I had an experience that was so life-changing that it has me looking at things through completely different glasses. I have struggled most of my life with nicotine addiction. I started smoking in the first place to be "cool", as it was cool in those days to be a smoker. We had no idea the harm smoking would do. Had we known, though, I still don't think we would have given up the coolness of it. Just like the hip-hugger bell-bottom pants, the peasant blouses, the platform shoes, the long stringy straight hair and going without a bra, it was a part of us. It defined us. It proved how grown-up we were!
Fast forward to adulthood with its pressures, responsibilities and challenges . . . and its excuses for not giving up cigarettes. Over the years I have quit and started back more times than I can count, never giving serious consideration to my family history and how these things can be handed down from generation to generation.
In August of this year I decided I needed to have a complete physical. It had been five years since I had had one. Oh, I had seen a doctor at some point when I was so deathly ill with a sinus infection that I could not go on another minute without a Z-Pak. But at that time my life was such that I just could not make time for a visit to the doctor. (At this point I was in Ohio, my favorite doctor was in Georgia, and I just wasn't ready for a change.)
My doctor is part of a diagnostic clinic, and when I say complete physical I mean complete. He obviously heard something in my chest he didn't like, so off to the X-ray department I went. The next morning I was awakened from a sound sleep by my cell phone playing "River of Dreams" (one of my favorite Billy Joel songs). It was my doctor's nurse telling me in rather unemotional tones (but I guess they have to do that) that the X-rays showed a "spot" on my right lung and I would need to come in for a CT scan. Somehow I managed to go back to sleep and when I woke up later I wasn't even sure if the call had really happened. But I checked my cell phone, and there it was . . . a call from my doctor's office.
I sat in my bed with my laptop typing out a pitiful poor-me-this-is-so-unfair account of the day. Oh, what would I do? I started compiling the DVD to be viewed at my memorial (I would, after all, be cremated). I could not decide whether to tell anyone; I didn't want to worry my family. But on the day I was to go for the CT scan I happened to be with my son and his wife. I did not want to tell them what was going on, but somehow I just felt compelled to. They were both visibly shaken but optimistic that the outcome would be a good one.
But how could it be? Had I not known for years that smoking was very bad for anyone but certainly worse for me because of my family history? How could I even expect to have a good outcome even though I had, once again, quit smoking? So I was planning my memorial, picking out the music and the photos (need to get some more photos out of storage and I don't have "At My Funeral" by the Crash Test Dummies on my computer). What to do first? There was so much I had not told my only child, my 31-year-old not-so-grown-up overprotected son. There was so much to do. Most of my "stuff" was still in Ohio even after two years of being back home in Georgia. What to do about that? And the "stuff" I do have will have to be disposed of. What about my two cats? They love each other, and I would like to keep them together. Oh, who will take them and love them?
So on Friday before Labor Day I tremble as I prepare to go for my CT scan. I can barely breathe, but I shower and dress and put on makeup as if it would matter at all, and drive the 20 or so miles to the diagnostic clinic. I wait only a short time before I am called into the room where the very imposing machine sits. The technician explains to me that I need not undress as she is only interested in a limited area and the machine is very precise. I didn't even need to take off my shoes, she told me, but it just felt more comfortable to leave them beside the chair where my purse was now sitting.
The CT scan took very little time, and the technician tells me that my doctor will call me with the results. Later that day my doctor's nurse called to set up an appointment to see the doctor for the verdict. Since it was Labor Day weekend, it would be Tuesday before I could see him. It was absolutely the longest weekend of my life. I could not force myself to see or talk to anyone at all. I don't think I even left my house again until Monday night when it was time to go to work. And then I went to work early because I just could not stand to be alone with myself any longer.
My appointment was for 1:15 p.m. on Tuesday, and I'm not sure how I managed to keep quiet until then. I waited for what seemed an eternity for the doctor to come into the room. When he did, he barely got one foot in the door before looking me squarely in the eye and saying, "You're fine." He obviously knew how worried I had been by the haggard look on my face. As it turns out, the "spot" was some sort of scar tissue, possibly from slight pneumonia or another ailment I had either forgotten or not felt sick enough to count. I will see him again at the end of November to have it re-checked, but the doctor saw no need for concern. Before CT scans and the vast strides made in medicine and technology, I imagine I would have had a biopsy to determine the nature of the "spot."
To say I felt relieved is more than an understatement. I was not even in my car when I was on the phone with my son, telling him the good news. "I'm fine," I said, echoing the doctor's words exactly, and burst into tears. I came into work that night practically floating on air, prompting one of my co-workers to ask if I'd had a sexual encounter, though he used other words. I told them all what I had just endured and how very grateful I was to be alive.
It wears off, of course. One cannot go around all the time in a grateful mood, floating on air. It just isn't practical. There are days I'm sure I don't even give it a thought. But on the days I do, I am more than exceptionally grateful for every day of life I have. By no means do I think I am completely safe . . . there is that family history, after all . . . but I do not believe I will ever even think of smoking again.
When I was so sure I was dying, another thought that entered my mind was, "Who will ride the tandem with Lil Sis?" Seriously. I'm doubly glad we don't have to answer that question.
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