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Challenger

January 28, 2011 By

The bell rang. We lined up, waiting for our teacher to collect us after our lunch and recess.

My sixth grade teacher was the kind of person who always had a smile on her face and tried to make class fun. She was a big believer in field trips, so instead of the traditional one field trip per school year, she did one per month. I had a lot of fun and learned a lot in her class.

Today, however, she wasn’t smiling. This was a huge change from just 30 minutes ago when we were dismissed to lunch. Everyone was quiet, trying to figure out this new situation with her.

“The space shuttle exploded. We’re going to the library to watch the news,” she said. It was the most subdued statement we’d ever heard from her and ever would.

We filed up the stairs, but instead of our third floor classroom, we went down the hall in the other direction to the library. The room was packed, and a single TV was at the front of the room, showing the news. I don’t remember much what they were saying, but we watched footage of the space shuttle lift off and explode over and over and over again.

I suddenly knew why it was so important – there was a teacher on the shuttle. A woman just like the one standing with us, watching the same footage. An educator from a town just an hour away from ours. A person with a love of teaching just like the 5th grade teacher I had the previous year who applied to be the Teacher in Space.

Once I remembered that my 5th grade teacher applied, it was all getting to be too much for me. The endless footage of the disaster being shown on an infinite loop was a lot to wrap my young mind around, and I was having a hard time understanding why I was getting so upset about everything and needed to get out of there. Such grown-up emotions for someone who was only 11 1/2 years old.

Fifteen years later, I would recall that day vividly as I watched two buildings fall down, over and over and over again. The same feelings would come up, and even though I was older, I would still have a hard time processing it all.

January 28, 1986 was the first “Where Were You” moment of my life, and unfortunately, not the last.

I was in sixth grade at Tenney Middle School, coming in from recess when I found out. I don’t remember how cold it was, what I was wearing, what I ate for lunch just moments before, or who teased me on the playground that day. But I’ll never forget the seriousness of the normally fun-loving teacher who broke the news to us.

Filed Under: Deep Thoughts

Bedtime Stories – East of Eden

January 24, 2011 By

We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil.

Though this quote appears more than two-thirds of the way through the book, it sums up pretty much every critique of East of Eden .

I first read this book as part of a contemporary lit class in high school – a class that I was doing as little as humanly possible to pass, since I took it during the second semester of my senior year, and senioritis was in full swing. We had a student teacher that semester, and she spent some time observing until it was time to read East of Eden. She did all the teaching for this book, and brought a vitality to it that I haven’t seen before or since in literature instruction. In this young teacher’s hands, this book came alive, and we were able to see bits of ourselves in each and every character. To this day it remains one of my favorite books.

I recently read East of Eden again. I tend to pick it up every few years, and it never fails to disappoint. Every time I read it, I’m struck by the parts I don’t remember or the parts that stand out so much more. In this reading, I realized exactly how sensitive and innocent Aron is, even as he grows into an adult.

I have so much love and admiration for the greatness of this book, that it’s difficult to explain exactly why I like it. It’s an epic story, spanning three generations. It makes many biblical references, focusing on the story of Cain and Abel. But the most amazing thing to me is the characters, and how we can find a piece of each and every one of them in ourselves – even Cathy/Kate.

Perhaps we can’t understand Cathy, but on the other hand we are capable of many things in all directions, of great virtues and great sins. And who in his mind has not probed the black water?

Read this book, and think about that quote. This is not just a generational story, but the story of ourselves.

Filed Under: Reading and Writing

Encyclopedia of Me – U is for Undecided

January 22, 2011 By

I’m getting toward the end of the alphabet now, and the letters are getting harder and harder to work with. I looked through my dictionary, at every U word in there, and nothing fit. Since I can’t decide what word to use, due to them all being unsuitable (see how I threw in a U word there?), I’m going with undecided. Here are some other things I’m undecided on:

  • I can’t decide what I want to concentrate on when I’m online. I bounce back and forth between reading blogs, writing blog posts, Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, and clicking on all sorts of links.
  • I can’t decide if I want to push myself to the point of collapse while staying up way to late to be an internet addict, or do the sensible thing and go to bed.
  • I can’t decide how to approach my blog category cleanup and what to do with any posts that might be left uncategorized.
  • When buying myself a treat, I can’t decide what to get myself, so often I get nothing.
  • When eating at Italian restaurants, I can’t decide whether to try something new or go for a dish I know I enjoy, so I usually end up getting Fettuccine Alfredo.
  • Sometimes, when I can’t decide, I end up doing nothing, and stay there for way too long.
  • When my mom visits in two weeks, I can’t decide how to keep us sufficiently busy but without wearing us out so that she’s not tempted to take over my TV watching SoapNet and OWN. If I can’t decide on activities, I won’t be able to decide whether or not to cancel cable for the weekend (can I do that?).
  • I can never decide what to make for dinner. When I was single, this resulted in a lot of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and other close cousins.Still does, when I can get away with it.
  • I can’t decide what words to choose to finish out this series.
  • I can’t decide how to neatly wrap up this post, so I’ll just end it here.
Filed Under: Encyclopedia of Me

Sleep Is For The Weak

January 13, 2011 By

We’ve had Greta for about three months now. In that time, she’s transformed from a super skittish rescue dog to a super clingy Mama’s dog, and charms both Mister and myself on a daily basis with her big brown eyes. We’ve dealt with house training, health issues, and all the other fun stuff that comes with adopting a rescue dog. Once we seemed to have things settled down a bit, another problem pops up.

One night as I was getting ready for bed, Greta excitedly jumped in bed as she always does. She seems to think that when I get into bed, it’s time to jump on top of Mommy and lick her face. I don’t know what happened this particular night, but I was walking in and out of the bedroom, and when I walked back in, I smelled the unmistakable odor of urine.

I started looking around, not happy that I would be cleaning up a mess before going to bed – especially since this particular night was one in which I stayed up way too late, unable or unwilling to tear myself away from the internet. I looked and looked, and did not see wet carpet anywhere. That’s when it dawned on me. Greta didn’t pee on the floor.

She peed in our bed. The one I was just about to get into.

Mister helped me change the sheets, and I got out the mini carpet steamer that we have (one of the best purchases ever). I used it to suck up as much urine as I could. We turned the mattress so that the wet spot was at our feet instead of our heads, and I sprayed it with Febreze before putting a towel down on it to soak up any additional damp. New sheet, old crappy comforter, and I was ready for bed.

Since then, we’ve had a few more bedwetting incidents. Greta would either pee in our bed when I was getting ready for bed, or in the middle of the night when she was sleeping. Once I got up at 2am to take her out, where she did #2 before coming back in and peeing all over my side of the bed. Mister said he thought I was going to drop kick her that night. I was NOT a happy camper.

I didn’t think a vet visit was necessary since I had brought her in just a couple weeks before this all began for the issue of not finding any evidence of her having peed at all. He took a urine sample, which left me feeling broke and my poor dog feeling violated, and prescribed a new dog food and antibiotics for the crystals he found. She hasn’t had much issue going since then, so I’m not about to repeat that adventure. I’m sure Greta is in full agreement with me on that one.

Anyway, I asked my trusty friend Google what was going on with my dog. And believe it or not, since we ruled out medical, this isn’t a training issue. It’s more of a development issue. Greta’s a rescue dog, remember, so even though she’s about 4 years old, there are some developmental things that were missed, like trust and socialization. I found this post on why dogs pee in our beds. It confirmed my theory that this was not a training issue, and I came up with some ideas.

After going through the change the sheets in the middle of the night routine one too many times, I decided that enough was enough. I bought a waterproof mattress pad. I bought doggie diapers that I put on Greta right before bed. The mattress pad is not hot and not uncomfortable to sleep on, which is a plus for the humans who sleep in the bed. The diapers look silly, and Greta seems to think she’s an invalid when she’s wearing them, but our bed has stayed dry.

The first night we had the diapers, I woke up when Greta got a case of the wild in the middle of the night. I heard her jump off the bed, and instinctively sat up. She got all excited because woo hoo! Mommy’s up! Time to play! I just laid back down without acknowledging her. She got over herself pretty quick, and instead of jumping back in bed, decided to bed down in the pile of dirty clothes on the floor next to me. It gave me an idea.

I decided to see if I could transition her to sleeping in her own bed. She has 2, one in the office where we spend most of our waking hours, and one in the living room, where we currently spend as little time as possible because it’s too cold, thanks to our state-of-the-art, builder basic unbalanced heating and cooling system. I took her downstairs bed and put it on the floor next to my side of the bed, and went to bed as usual. Greta had her diaper on, did her usual jumping on me routine, and I finally fell asleep after I was able to nudge her off me. When I woke up the next morning, Greta was asleep in her bed, and I was cuddling with Mister.

(That’s another issue – Greta likes to wedge herself between us at night so we can’t cuddle. Mister was getting more and more displeased with this habit of her not letting anyone near her Mom.)

It’s only been one night as of this writing, but so far it shows promise. I want my dog to feel secure with her humans and her new home, and I want to feel secure knowing that I will get a full night’s sleep on the same sheets I started with. We’ll see how it goes. As much as Greta might not think so, I really do need my sleep.

Filed Under: Dog, Sleepy

Outbreak

January 7, 2011 By

It happened 14 years ago, when I was 22.

On December 22, the Friday before Christmas, I went to my Dad’s Christmas Party. He always threw a big party at his office that was attended by family, friends, business associates, and half the town (or so it seemed). I had fun eating, talking with friends and family, and playing with the kids.

My cousin Alex was 4 1/2 at the time. I remember him playing in a stack of tires (my Dad’s office is a garage) and I had fun with him and the other kids, because kids are always entertaining.

The next morning, I got a call from my uncle. He said that Alex had the chicken pox. This was worrisome because I had never had them before. I even survived 3rd grade without getting them – nearly every classmate had the chicken pox that year, and I remember one week when a full 1/3 of the class out at the same time. The only day I was absent that year is when I broke my arm roller-skating.

Anyway, my uncle had the chicken pox when he was in his early 20s, and knew how serious it could be for an adult. He wanted to warn me of what was coming.

I had a decision to make. Christmas was in a few days, and I had plans to assemble with the family at my aunt and uncle’s house. Do I stay home and miss out to avoid getting it?

I decided that I was going to Christmas. I’d already been exposed, since I was playing with my cousin the night before, so I’d just avoid hugging him or sitting near him at Christmas to minimize any further exposure.

About two weeks later, I was watching TV one night and scratching an itch on my forehead. I figured I was getting a zit, since those sometimes itch when they break out, but thought it was weird that I’d get a zit on my forehead. Still, I scratched away.

The next morning, I woke up scratching my arm. When I opened my eyes and focused on the spot I’d been scratching, the light bulb went off. I had the chicken pox. I called into work, letting them know I’d be out for at least the next week, then dragged myself to the doctor since I’d need a note for work, and also to keep an eye on things since it could get so much worse than just being itchy.

I talked to someone in my family (Gram, aunt, uncle – can’t remember who at this point) and was informed that since Alex and my younger cousin Kris had the chicken pox, my uncle took them to my Gram’s house because my aunt, who was 7 months pregnant, had never had them. She got them anyway, and was miserable.

Not only did me, my aunt, and 2 cousins get the pox, my nephew had them. He was at my mom’s and kept requesting that I come over to play with him so we could “be itchy and scratchy together.” Since all other options for entertainment were out, and there was only so much TV I could watch, I went. As a result of exposure to me and taking care of Bubba, my sister and my mom got the pox as well. It was the Great Chicken Pox Outbreak of 1996/1997.

I ended up not getting them that bad. The doctor gave me something to keep the outbreak to a minimum, so I didn’t have any of the annoying sores in my mouth, nose, or more private areas. I still have a pockmark above my right eyebrow – the same spot I was scratching that night before I realized what was going on. I had cabin fever more than anything.

My mom and sister were a little sicker than I was, but by then I was feeling fine and didn’t really visit, since I was making up for lost time.

My cousins were fine, as kids usually are when they get chicken pox. My aunt had a fever, and took the only thing a pregnant woman could take. She was told by her doctor after she got better that he’d lost a pregnant patient to chicken pox, so he was really worried for her. My youngest cousin was born just fine in the middle of February, right on schedule. Though I do have to wonder how many people I infected before I realized I had it – I was working at a supermarket at the time, and it was the busy holiday season!

I’m sure most of you have had the chicken pox – how old were you when you got it?

Filed Under: Family, Health