Things that make me squeak

You watch the beginnings of attraction form between a best friend and an upstanding man of God. You encourage your friend to explore the possibility--that he's more than a "nice guy" to her--that deep down, there's something miraculous there.

You listen with excitement as she carefully details the story of their first date, confident that this is the one for her.

You watch them together, amazed at the simplicity with which God brings two people together--so much alike, it's like they were always waiting to meet.

You sit shocked with awe and joy when they announce their engagement--then get up and run around your apartment, eager to tell the rest of your roommates the happy news.

You drive cross-country, away from your friend, away from your family (yet again) with tears in your eyes...but a smile on your face as your friend's voice comes through the patchy reception: "We want you in the bridal party."

You stay up half the night before her wedding, not sleeping even though she is, nervous even though she isn't--praying that nothing ruins their perfect day.

You watch her holy eyes and his holy smile at the altar before God, as they receive the Most Blessed Sacrament together as man and wife.

Nothing could be better.

Then, the phone call today.

"We have some news to tell you..."

Things just got better! You jump all over the house, even though she's miles away, across many state lines, trying to laugh but only being able to squeak.

... Squeeeaak! ... squeeeaak! ... squeeeaak! ...

Things that make me grrrr-owl

You try your best to accommodate the various and sundry needs of 4 people plus yourself. It comes to a point where you don't care what happens, as long as everyone is happy.
Frustration swells, as those causing conflict are unwilling to compromise, and you begin to feel a sense of betrayal because all your work to make things happen smoothly has been patronizingly recognized, but finally, completely ignored.
When urged To cOnfide iN a partiallY-involved friend, you hear the admonition, "As a friend, you should want what is best for THEM..."

Ggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrr - - oooooooowwwwwwwwwwll.

Gratitude

I have learned many things in the past three weeks on my clinical rotation--not only book knowledge, but also clinical truths. The clinical realizations that I have had are perhaps more powerfully remembered than the techniques I've practiced.

One thing that has struck me is a sense of gratitude. Being around many people everyday who, for one reason or another, are not able to make their bodies move like me, has really affected my perspective.

I take so much for granted--even the action of crawling out the side of the parallel bars in the PT gym to get on the other side of my patient, while he stands there, holding on for safety, trying with all of his concentration to hold the position I placed him in.

There are people that come to physical therapy who used to have very active lives. After dealing with many of them, I am now truly inspired by the ones who haven't fallen into depression. I wonder if I would be able to embrace my new, slower-paced life if I were to wake up one day, unable to move.

Because of prolonged immobility, people lose muscle strength, sometimes even muscle itself, and weight gain can occur. If they cannot move, they cannot get very much exercise.
Some people with heart conditions or respiratory problems cannot take more than 2 minutes of exercise at a time. Their bodies won't let them.
What are my excuses, again, for not getting up earlier to run?
I want to sleep??!!
I "can't stand" the humidity??!!

I think to myself,
"You already have a wonderful life, because you can move. Now, ...get a grip!!"

"She don't know she's beautiful..."

"...though time and time I've told her so."


I recently received some nice shots from a (new!) friend who actually had a camera at the wedding.
Alissa was a stunning bride; her grace and charm were magnified that day.

Accomplished...

planned several treatment sessions of current patients

visited Cincinnatti

went grocery shopping after 2 weeks

responded to all email in my Inbox

acquired 4 roommates for the upcoming year, including Ruth!! (yay, Ruth!) And her sister Becky!! (yay, Becky!)

found an apartment to hold 5 women in the upcoming year, and organized application plan for all involved.

wrote a case study and posted it for classmates and professors

applied for another student loan

found a safe, pretty place in Lexington to run

emailed my latest update to all on my "update" list

...that's why I haven't been blogging.

From the Latin...

I had been confused about why Physical Therapy on horseback was called Hippotherapy. It was sort of a reverse-confusion. "Hippo" means "horse" in Latin. Ok, so why is a "horse" a "horse" and a "hippo" a "hippo?"

Tony's response: "A horse is a horse, of course, of course."
Tony's dweebish-ness sometimes gets to me....

Someone--let's give her the credit: Belita--gave me a valuable piece of information: "hippopotamus" really means "water horse." Ok, I get it. Why some genius thought the hippopotamus in any way resembled a horse, I have no idea. But that clears up the translation problem. At least the first part.

The second half of the word puzzles me. "Potamus" has something to do with water. We call good drinking water "potable." So there's a connection, but I doubt "potable" really means "able to be water."

So my question, for all of you who have access to an OED or some other relevant piece of reference material, is this: what exactly is the translation for the root word, "pot-"?

New experiences...

...are usually good. Today, I will have the new experience of bringing my laundry to a laundromat!

(ooh, yay.)

=) =) =) =)

He emailed! (...finally)

Road Trip Music

After traveling between Washington, D.C. and Lexington, KY twice in two weeks, I feel like quite an expert on road trip music. Not only does it have to be up-beat, it has to be within the range of the driver's voice, particularly if the driver is traveling alone.
Country music is a great staple, Johnny Cash and Phil Vasser being among the top contenders, but as a metzo-soprano, a lot more fits into the "Ideal Road Trip Music" category. (Thanks, Mom, for the lovely Celtic CD, which gives me the opportunity for me to practice the higher end of my range!)
Sister Hazel is a nice break from the Country category, as can be Blues Traveler. It's better when you know the words, so you can sing along loudly:

You were the one who taught me what I don't need
And I thank you, I thank you for that.
You were the one who brought me to my senses
And I thank you, now just leave me alone...

Tony and I mentioned the possibility of him coming out to drive back to Connecticut with me at the end of 8 weeks, but I'm having second thoughts.

I'm kind of getting used to this "driving alone" thing. I'm kind of liking it. I might even prefer it, given a choice.

I don't know how much I would "sing out loud dramatically" with Tony as a passenger!

Happy 4th!

I spent the weekend with friends in D.C. I spent the actual 4th of July driving back to Kentucky.

No fireworks for me this year--I have to plan a few treatment sessions for tomorrow, because I used up all my time in D.C. relaxing, talking to old friends, hanging out with new friends, ....

We also had our share of adventures, keeping a quasi-European schedule of staying up until 4 or 5 in the morning, eating breakfast for lunch, and lounging about during the afternoons.

Actually, the evenings were the most adventurous part of the weekend. Friday night when I arrived, one roommate didn't come home as planned, prompting other-roommate and I to file a "missing person" report with the police! (She came home later...)
The second night I was there, Tony called to say that, although he was driving down from Connecticut, somehow he had ended up in central Pennsylvania (when in doubt, blame Mapquest!). So we waited up for him, and then stayed awake for a while after his arrival!
The third and final night I was there, Ruth, Tony, and I stayed up watching a very good, classic film which I had never seen (!!!), then telling jokes and singing songs.

So glad I went and spent time with friends this weekend! On the way back to Kentucky, I was in such a good mood. I kept my speed up and made it in 7 hours instead of 8. When I hit Kentucky, I put my car radio on "scan" and listened to all the patriotic country songs being played, praying for everyone I know in the military.

God bless America, and God bless these next 7 weeks. May they fly by... =]

Same Page, Different State

Isn't it funny how my blog entries look quite the same, even though I'm writing from Kentucky?

Let's see.... This state is very beautiful and green and muggy. The tops of the trees look like fingers sticking up out of the hilly foliage, which is different from other hilly places I've seen. There are fireflies, which is a big highlight that almost compensates for the humidity. From what I saw today, it looks like there are a bunch of rolling green hills and white picket fences extending out beyond the road where I'll be doing my clinical rotation. I mean to explore that a bit tomorrow after work.

My apartment would be beautiful--2-story, 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath, huge kitchen, huge living room, small back deck looking out over a pond--if only it were cleaner. But I'm working diligently to fix that! So, in fact, my apartment will be beautiful.

My roommates are "nice" (from the Latin, ... etc.) Oh, well. It's only 8 weeks.

Kentucky has country stations!! Southwestern Connecticut doesn't do that so much.

My blogging will decrease somewhat over the next few weeks, as I will not only be posting "relevant clinical experiences" on my course discussion board for school, but I will also be sending mass emails to those who have asked for regular updates. If you are not currently receiving those emails , but would like to, email me your address and I will add you to my list. (check your Inbox to find out if you're receiving them; I already sent one)

It seems like I should give a money-back guarentee at this point in the advertisement, but I won't. If you send me money, I'm going to keep it!

Since my known regular readers do receive my emails, I will be using this blog to post other little tidbits and small pieces of information, when I post at all. Like my Europe trip updates, I feel certain that the email updates are something only my mother could read in their entirety. They tend to be rather complete--almost minute-by-minute accounts. Actually, Mike Austin assured me recently that he himself read every single "documentary" I emailed while I was in Europe... Maybe he needed a break from Lady Philosophy's ramblings at the time!

Homesick already

Took a walk by the sea
I'd forgotten what it meant to me
Yesterday was a long long time ago...

~Sister Hazel, Look to the Children

me??

This evening I tried to get Tony interested in the NYC Marathon idea. He laughed and told me that Fr. C. had already warned him about me trying to talk people into training with me. "I'm a sprinter," he said. And then later, "I only like running after a soccer ball." I guess that won't work.

Then the tables turned.
It started out with innocent questions.
Tony: "Do you do any other sports besides running?"
Me: "No."

Then it turned to flattery.
Tony: "I hear you're very athletic."
Me: "Hah! Whoever told you that is either delusional, or greatly exaggerating."
Belita: "What do you mean? You're amazing in Knock-Out."
Me: "What??"
Belita: "Weren't you always winning when we played Knock-Out?"
Me: "No, my friend. I was the designated loser. I could run fine, back and forth; the problem was getting the ball through the hoop."

Later, the questions were more pointed.
Tony: "What is your class schedule next year."
Me: "Ahh... um..."
Tony: "Don't worry, I'm not trying to recruit you."

Finally, the whole truth.
Tony: "Ok, I am trying to recruit you. I want you to teach Phys.Ed."
Me: "What??!! umm...Why don't you teach Phys.Ed?"
Tony: "Well, I am--to the boys. I need someone to do Phys.Ed. for the girls."
Me: "Tony. I have not only school, but also a GA position, a part-time job, and the Maria Goretti Society."
Tony: "Wow. Ok..."

But, hey. I'm already getting a few ideas that are prompting second thoughts...

There's always something to pray about!

Parade of Cities

Ruth and Belita will arrive at 4am from D.C.

8am Mass is in Stamford--south of here (ie, on the morning commute-route to the City)--which means that we'll have to leave the house around 7:15am to make it in time.

Good thing Fr. Check makes strong coffee at this rectory, because the meeting with him and Tony at 8:30am will find 3 of us with drooping eyelids, no doubt!

Since I work at 10am, Tony will be the NYC tour guide for the rest of the day. =)

Frank and Tony have a meeting at 7pm, so it'll just be "the girls" for dinner at Sharon's house Tuesday evening.

Ruth leaves on Wednesday, but Belita's staying longer!

Wednesday evening is my last dinner in Connecticut for a while; John Paul, Angela, Tony, and Belita (and Frank and Sharon, of course!) will be here for that.

Thursday Belita and I will visit my grandparents and relatives on Long Island.

Friday we leave from Long Island to drive to D.C. where Belita lives.

Friday night will be spent either in D.C. with the D.C. girls, or in West Virginia at Camille's house.

Saturday I'll be driving to and arriving in Lexington, Kentucky!

yikes. getting nervous....

what was that?

I took the two younger children to the pool today while Henry, the eldest, stayed home with mom to greet the cousins when they arrived. We had a fantastic time, and came home later than expected because the time just flew by!

Kris told me when we got back that it was a good thing I had taken both of the younger ones. "It gave Henry and I the chance to have quite a serious talk," she told me. "He came up to me and said, 'Hey, Mom! What's abortion?' I said, 'Oh, you saw the back of Shannon's car?' ....I'm glad the other kids weren't around, because I would have had to ignore them completely in order to concentrate on this talk with Henry. It was very good... Thank you."

I have two bumper stickers on the back of my car: a quotation from Mother Teresa, and a quotation from John Paul II. Then my license frame says "Choose Life" across the top and "Pray to end Abortion" across the bottom.

I understand the aversion that some people have to bumper stickers. I personally don't like them when they are making a statement about who the driver is, or their political gripes. But I've read a few stories where pro-life bumper stickers have touched mothers of unborn babies, and saved lives. When I first bought my little (2001 black SC2 Saturn 3-door) coupe and put the bumper stickers on, I remember someone I worked with at the time saying, "Well, no one will ever wonder what your views are on abortion!" I was somewhat annoyed that anyone would assume I wanted to parade my "views," just for the rest of the world to see what I thought.
Because that's not why I have the bumper stickers.
I have them with the hope that they might facilitate some good.

Maybe today they did.

Taking New England

Another step toward victory was made this weekend in the Church's ongoing battle for recovery and renewal in the wake of confusion left by the Second Vatican Council.

That is, Tony moved into the Rectory. He met Dr. Alice von Hildebrand on Saturday, and according to Father Check, "she loved him." I talked to him today; he's so excited to be here, and ready to get to work!

But that's not all, folks! More "steps" are in the works:
Mike Austin might move up here next year.
Another UD/Catholic U couple want to come up after they get married this year.
Ruth is coming Tuesday with Belita to meet Father Check and Tony. If all goes really well, she might consider moving up here.
Blaha will be "up the road" in Massachusetts this coming year.
Who knows Gordon's plans, but a carpentry shop in the great state of New Hampshire has not yet been ruled out.

The famous "Catholic community" in Washington, D.C is less than a 5-hour drive from here, with busfare specials from NYC, which is less than a 1-hour drive. Boston (in the fall) is about a 3-hour drive. All these young Catholics are moving in; ...this Connecticut location is suddenly becoming a prime spot!

And --of course-- I'm OFF TO KENTUCKY for the summer!!!

Check it Out

Right in my (sort-of) backyard...

"The mission of the Augustine Institute is to provide graduate students a coherent and unified instruction in Scripture, Catholic doctrine and history, as well as the pedagogical and leadership skills to impart the same to others. Under the patronage of St. Augustine of Hippo and in imitation of St. Thomas Aquinas, the patron of teachers and common doctors, the instructors and students of the Institute endeavor to place themselves under God's grace for the purpose of being formed in memory, intellect and will, into effective instruments for the renewal of Catholic culture by a union of faith and life in the New Evangelization. The whole of this task is undertaken in a spirit of filial obedience to the pastors of the Church and in full submission to the Magisterium."

Plus, the advantage of being in the most beautiful state ever, within one of the best Archdioceses in the country....

Why am I in Connnecticut, again, Lord?

Strong Coffee

"Do you think you know how to make coffee in this? I have to take care of a few things."
Fr. Check was referring to the industrial-sized coffee maker in the rectory's pantry at 8:45am.

My over-enthusiastic reply: "YES!"

I had babysat until 2am, gotten home at 2:30am, and gone to sleep at 3:30am. Then I had woken up at 6am, put my bike rack and bike on my car by 7am, driven to the auto shop by 7:30am, and rode my bike to 8am Mass.
After a rigorous examination of conscience and Confession, I was ready for some coffee!

"I hope he doesn't mind..." I thought as I scooped and scooped and scooped the blessed black grounds into the filter.

I had nothing to fear.

"Is that coffee ready yet?" Fr. Check returned after a while.

"Yes, here it is," I said, preparing to pour him a cup.

"I hope you made it strong. Is it strong?" He pulled out the basket and inspected the contents of the filter. "Yeah, that's pretty good," he concluded. "We like our coffee strong at this rectory."

Whew! Thank goodness, because that coffee almost definitely saved my life today.

Unimportant Phone Calls

"Your phone is ringing," Sharon tells me. We're at her in-laws' house, Father Check has just arrived, Frank's brother Mike is making drinks, and his sister Rosa is trying to herd everyone from the kitchen to the living room.

"Oh, I should turn that off," I say. I usually leave my phone in the car, but Frank's mom was wondering whether (his brother) John Paul's fiancee, Angela, was coming, so she asked me to go get my phone and call her. I didn't used to have service at their house, either, but with my new phone, ... =)

I look to see who it was. My Uncle Frank. (!!!) Why is he calling? He was home yesterday, so he's probably not driving through Connecticut on his way home from somewhere. Would he leave NYC to go somewhere north of Connecticut at 7pm on a Wednesday night? I was just there. Did something happen since I left? He didn't leave a message? Is it unimportant? Or too important to leave on voicemail? Uncle Frank hardly ever calls me.

Sharon sees my face. "Call back. See what it is. It's ok. It'll only take a minute. No one will notice."

I call back. Unlce Frank picks up.

Shaaa-non.

Hi, Uncle Frank, what's going on?

I got my answer. I called your dad.

???

I'm in a restaurant here, and I just met some people from Colorado. I wanted to impress them with everywhere I've been besides Pikes Peak, and I couldn't remember the name of the place where I went on business a few years back. It's Durango.

Oh, really. I didn't even know that.

Oh, well your dad helped me out. I'm telling these people how much I love Colorado.

Oh, yeah? Do they believe you?

Yeah, I'm telling them how I really wish I could move out there.

(I'm laughing at this point, all worries diffused. Uncle Frank is the man who told me last year he doesn't drive outside of the City: "I don't DO fog, deer, or snow," he told me. "Will there be snow at Erin's wedding?" After almost everyone in the family assured him of the unlikeliness of snow that particular weekend in November, he was greeted by a White Christmas-type snowfall, and fog that covered the mountains all weekend.)

...yeah, meanwhile, I'm just praying there won't ever be another wedding out there.

We exchange a few words about the unlikeliness of any Colorado weddings in the near future, and then hang up.

Need Digital

I lost my camera. It was in my booth at the April wedding I went to, next to my purse. My purse was there at the end of the night, but not my camera. I asked a few of the staff members who were cleaning up. Nope, I finally lost my camera. My trusty, black Canon that I had become so used to, so adept at taking good pictures on.

I was the picture-taker in my class this past year. Then they heard I lost my weapon at the "California wedding" (my classmates keep track of all my weddings by which state I travel to). My 4-foot roommate, Jess, gets up on a table, "Ok, everyone, bring in $2 tomorrow, and we'll buy her another camera."

Unfortunately, it didn't happen.

So I bought a disposable one for the "Colorado wedding" trip. What a pain. I knew the pictures wouldn't be great. So I didn't take a lot. Still, I wanted to see what I DID get!

11:35am:
You do one-hour developing?
Yes.
Do you do pictures on CD, too?
Not one hour.
How much longer will it take?
3 to 4 days.
3 to 4 DAYS?
Yes.
Ummm, thanks anyway. I'll take this somewhere else.

12:57pm
I need one-hour developing, and pictures on CD, too.
No problem. Fill this out. Come back at 2pm.
They'll be all ready at 2pm?
Yes.
Excellent.

2:04pm
My pictures..."G"...I dropped them off at one...
Was it the little guy who told you they'd be done?
Yes.
Sorry. He didn't tell you the machine was broken. We're trying to fix it. We dunno how long it's going to take.
Did you already pull the camera apart?
Yes. It went through the first machine, but not the second one. The second one is broken.
When should I come back?
We're just going to call everybody.
You'll call me?
Yes.
Will it be before 5, do you think?
It shouldn't take more than 2 hours.
Ok.

5:10pm
I'm here to see if my pictures are ready.
Yes, here they are. I'll give you a discount--I'll only charge you for the pictures.
I thought someone was going to call me.
Yes, we would call you when it's finished.
You mean, they're not finished?
The machine was not finished being fixed.
So, ...are my pictures ok?
Yes, but he only got finished with the machine a few minutes ago.
???

(I had given them my cell phone number, and thought it was clear that I was interested in when my pictures would be ready, not when the machine would be fully repaired.)

Moral of the Story: I need a digital camera.

Monsignor

Tuesday I decide to take advantage of an unexpected day off and visit my grandparents. Since they only live about an hour and a half drive away, I plan to head down after the "noon Mass."

Father Check has the 8 o'clock Mass on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Which means that Monsignor DiGiovanni, the pastor, has the "noon Mass" on those days. The "noon Mass" begins at 12:10pm, but we still refer to it as the "Noon." Everyone knows, though, that if Monsignor is saying Mass, you CANNOT BE LATE. Because if you're late, you'll miss it.

Seriously. The famed Borden Express at TAC is nothing compared with Monsignor's daily Mass. It's beautiful, it's reverent, and boy is it over quickly!

So Tuesday. Noon Mass. It's Monsignor. I can't be late. And I plan well. I won't be late. Drop off my stuff at the dry-cleaners, fill the tank with gas, save the bank for later because I don't want to be late.

Then the I-95 nightmare: traffic. Ugghh. So I creep along for about two miles, then decide on an alternate route. But someone must have programmed all the red lights for me on these back roads. I go 70mph between lights when I can--Monsignor himself told me that I should only worry about the imperfection of breaking the speed limit if I am endangering lives, so I make sure it is a safe 70mph. Besides, I am trying to get to Mass.

The lefthand turn arrow flashes green. I forgo leaning on my horn as the car in front of me sits absolutely still, the driver obviously rendered temporarily colorblind. Finally he sees it. Yellow...I screech into the intersection--I should remember to tell Joe to look at those tires when he does my trip-check on Friday.

I jog/speed walk toward the entrance. I check my watch: 12:11pm. Not bad. It will be 12:13 by the time this old man ahead of me gets up the steps, though. He graciously opens the door for me, and I glide in, catching up some holy water on the way.

Monsignor is just finishing up the First Reading. I re-check my watch. Yup, only 12:13. I silently chuckle as I slip into the pew, trying to catch the last few phrases.

Uncharacteristically, there is no homily. Maybe it's the heat--it's sweltering in the church, especially with the humidity. But this means that the poor old lady who wanders in "7 minutes late" is just in time for Consecration. The distribution of holy communion starts at 12:23pm. "Thanks be to God" and the Saint Michael prayer all finish before 12:35. Monsignor sprints off, altar-left, and my Thanksgiving almost doubles the amount of time I spend in the church.

This evening Father Check came to Frank's parents' house for dinner, so the whole "family" was there (including me).

Frank to Father Check: "Father Check, if you're running late and you get to Mass after the Gospel reading, can you still receive communion? I'm talking about daily Mass, not Sunday."

Father Check: "ummm, WEeelll..."

Frank: "--you really try to get there, but you know, unforeseen circumstances--"
Me: "...or it's Monsignor...".

Father Check chuckles and shakes his head: "I don't know how he does it," he marvels. "As long as you don't make a habit of it," he concludes.

Sharon and I try to aim for noon, especially when we know it will be Monsignor.


Maybe that's why they call it the Noon Mass.

yessss!

First, I got my plane ticket! August 22nd-31st. Pray that Sharon doesn't have the baby early, because I won't know about it. I'll be canoeing through Stillwater Canyon with Erin-Roommate for much of the time, out of range and therefore, out of touch! Yes, that's pretty much all settled, as well. Wow, we're so organized--planning a full 10 weeks in advance!

Second, I was unexpectedly invited to a picnic at the Villa Maria Guadalupe, which is the convent of the Sisters of Life. A beautiful religious order, they also have a beautiful piece of property. Plans are being stirred up now to hold our next Maria Goretti Society retreat there in the fall...

Third, while at the picnic, one of the women honored for her support of the Sisters' pro-life efforts has a brother running in the upcoming NYC Marathon. Mother Agnes says he's "Running for Life," and needs a team! At first, I had the excitement and willingness of 4 other people at my table, including Fr. C. It quicky dwindled to maybe-one, when they realized how serious I was. But I'm still going to check it out. Maybe that means the whole disappointing lottery step can be skipped!

Fourth, dearest Bean somehow managed to teach me a few computer tricks via email, and I finally got my sidebar links up! Now if I could only learn the profile-picture maneuver, ... =]

And there was much rejoicing.

Quest

While I wait for the children's bus to bring them home, I am on a mission to find an airline ticket during the last few weeks of August from NY to CO for less than $200.

The closest I've come is $203 (American Airlines, special deal on travelocity)

...

and looking...

Today was muggy, muggy, hot, humid, icky.

But I ran before the sun pierced the fog, so although I was drenched from the sticky humidity, the breeze off the Sound was unhindered by yellow rays from above.

Then Sharon and I spent the entire day inside the air-conditioned kitchen, listening to a large fraction of my limited CD collection, and unpacking dishes. Yes, almost two years after being married, Sharon is unpacking her dishes. It's a project still in progress. The trick is to take her dishes out of the wrapping and fit similar species of Uncle Mike's dishes back into it. She's been using his kitchen stuff for so long, she barely remembers what she herself has stowed away! Today was like Christmas, looking at her dinner plates, admiring all the different beautiful platters and crystal bowls she's received, and discovering that she owns two basters!

"I didn't know I had a baster! I just bought one a while ago because I needed it. Do you need a baster?"

of all things...

Hopefully, Uncle Mike won't suddenly return from and demand that we switch everything back. Meanwhile, the wine glasses and barware (my favorites!) are next on the list.

Digits

This afternoon, while Kris was doing some grocery shopping, I did some PROM (passive range of motion) exercises with Andrew on his bed. At one point, he wanted to "take a break" and "stand up."
When Andrew "stands up," that means he has his feet on the surface while I hold the rest of his [dead] weight upright under his arms. This time, the surface was his bed, because he wanted to "stand" looking at the framed Elton John poster right next to it. The poster has Elton John in the middle, and pictures of albums containing all of his greatest hits all around the border. ...In other words, a lot to look at! I kept encouraging him to "push up with your feet" in order to give my arms a little help (not to mention therapeutic exercise for him!) But he was so engrossed by all of it, he couldn't concentrate enough to help out much. Finally, I made a bargain that if we did a few more stretches, he could "stand up" again.

As we continued the PROM, 5 year-old Ellen walked in. Usually I would describe this girl as 5-going-on-15, but every once in a while, I'm reminded of her little-ness.
She gazed up at the poster.
"That's Elton John," she told me.
"Yes, I know. Andrew and I were just inspecting it."
"Is that his phone number?" she asked me.
"Whaaa..? Where are you looking, honey?"
"That! On the poster! Is that his phone number: one-nine-seven-zero-two..."

I looked up to see "Greatest Hits 1970-2002"

Precisely:

"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin."
~Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Hacking-Up-a-Lung

"Do you have a six-pack?" my high school sisters asked me the last time I was home.

They weren't talking about beer. They were lying back on my parents' bed, hands folded behind their heads, watching some nonsense sitcom when I wandered into the room.

I think my amazingly imposing physique prompted them to ask. (take note of uncharacteristically thick sarcasm)

So, my highly intelligent reply was, "Girls can only have four-packs." I had heard this from a classmate of mine, when we were talking about the difference in body fat content of healthy male and female bodies.

"Well, I have a six-pack!" my youngest sister--16 in two weeks--immediately lifted up her shirt and raised her head off the bed. She played her right fingers backhanded down her abdomen, proud of the two little rows of indentations.

"Wow. I guess you do!" I said, thinking to myself, "no wonder the doctor says she's underweight."

Well, my coughing fits since I landed back in New York have put me in the running for a six-pack, as well. Or at least, they are making me feel like I should be, anyway!

On Monday, I was doubled over on the back porch of Frank's brother's house, incessantly throwing forth dry, dog-sneezing-sounding coughs. Another of his brothers, Antonio, turned to me and made the keen observation: "Are you in pain?"
I patted my abdomen just below my ribs (that is, my diaphragm) and responded, "It's --cough, grimace-- sore --cough-- here --grimace-- from the coughing."

Tonight, after I picked up Frank and Sharon from the airport, we stopped by the restaurant that Antonio manages, so Frank could pick up his car. Antonio was just outside.

He patted his abdomen, "How do you feel? Any better?"

"It's not sore anymore," I told him. "I think I'm getting buff."

Frank's Mom is convinced I've developed allergies.
"You know, your body's system changes every seven years."
But...26 isn't a multiple of 7....

And ...I checked. No six-pack yet.

Family Work

The family I'm working with is so great; I love the children already.

#1: Henry is a 10 1/2 year-old, very obedient, very mature-for-his-age kid. At the Memorial Day pool-party on Monday, he got his little brother Andrew all set up at the karaoke microphone and told him how to announce that "the brothers" were going to sing a song. Then he proceeded to play air guitar while he and Andrew did a duet. At dinner this evening, he wanted to compare whether his or Ellen's feet were dirtier. A slight look from me in his direction prompted him to modify his plan to "when we're away from the dinner table."

#2: Andrew is a 9 year-old, very physically handicapped child with cerebral palsy, spastic quadriplegia. He is fully functioning cognitively, though, which is a great blessing for him and his family. He gets around in a power wheelchair that he controls with a joystick. He loves music, especially Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra. His newest "kick," though, is the soundtrack from the SpongeBob Squarepants movie (which his mother does NOT love!). He is a sweetheart, always wanting to show me something or tell me a story or sing me a song.

#3: Ellen is a 5 year-old pistol; picture Shirley Temple without the curls. And twice the script! The things that come out of her mouth...are all hilarious. I love the fact that no matter what she's saying, though, her mother responds in all seriousness. I gave her a bath this evening. I had to lean pretty far over the edge of the tub to scrub her hair with shampoo.
"I can see your bra," she informed me.
"Oh, sorry!" I said, adjusting my shirt with wet hands, so that now I had wet shoulder seams and a wet spot on the back of my shirt.
Later on in the bath, she said, "I can see your bra again!" At this point, I was holding her under the shoulders with one hand as she lay on her back, and rinsing shampoo out of her hair with my other hand.
"Well, ...don't look, ok?!" I told her.
"I'm LOOOOK-inggg!" she sang.
"Huuuh!" I said, again getting my shirt wet with the adjusting technique, one hand at a time.
"That's good," she said.

These kids' parents are great. They're from Ohio, and John works both from the house and on the road for Cingular. Their mother, Kris, stays at home, and just adores her children. The house has had so much work put into it in the 3 years they've been in Connecticut, to accommodate Andrew. The discipline is straighforward and hardfast. "1--2---3! Ok, sorry, no dessert!" And love is expressed without bounds among all members: "Ellen! That is an awesome birthday card. You are the BEST. Poppy is going to love it when he gets it in the mail on Saturday." They don't let their kids watch the Simpsons, which says a lot for this day and age.
"Why not? Does it have bad words in it?" Ellen asked. "Do they say stupid ?"
I love it!!

They're a very "open family" to term it sociologically. I can't give a purely sociological explanation for that, though. Partly because they're from the mid-west, partly because they've had to explore so many resources for Andrew, partly because they're just like that?

"We don't have first impressions in this house," Henry told me matter-of-factly at dinner. "We'll just keep on surprising you."

"Can I just say 'poop'?" Kris asked me during our verbal run-through of Andrew's toilet routine, after she had used the word "defecate" with a look of mock propriety.

I was able to watch Andrew have his OT (Occupational Therapy) session today. Rob, his OT, came to the house when I did, and I just asked him to tell me what he was doing. I've already learned quite a bit from that one hour.

After only yesterday and today with this family, Andrew asked if I could lie in bed with him for a while before he fell asleep. I couldn't believe the innocent trust he gave me so immediately and completely, just because I'm the new care-giver that Mom brought into the house. Kris told him that since I have a cold, we'll wait on that. But I felt so accepted into the family, just by his asking her. I went in and gave him a kiss goodnight, though, and he asked me if I was coming again tomorrow.

And they're paying me to do this?

Memorial Day Weekend of an Ex-Waitress

It's great, you know?

I actually get to go to backyard barbeques! So I'm getting my fill.

Saturday night, there was a barbeque in South Boston. My first time to Boston, even though I didn't actually see much of it. Mike Austin came up with me, so we enjoyed the big Irish-Catholic family gathering together. Lots of blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked kids (not to mention their blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked Guiness-drinking parents!)
As we were leaving, I thanked the host, but realized I hadn't actually talked to him all evening.
"Yeah, I haven't talked much to anyone here," he replied. "You'll have to come up when there aren't all these people here, so we can actually hang out."
So the gist is, I've now been to Boston, but I haven't really done Boston yet!

Sunday, after a beautiful Mass and Corpus Christi procession at St. John's, I received many "welcome back" greetings from people I hadn't seen in several weeks. Walking down the church steps, I suddenly felt the clenching sinews of thin muscles around my waist, and looking down, saw a blonde head framed by pink dress ruffles. The oldest child of the family for whom I am the Saturday babysitter was overjoyed to see me home! And frankly, I was overjoyed, simple that she was overjoyed! Her father nodded emphatically, "You have been very much missed at our house; will we see you this Saturday?" ...It's so nice to be able to feel at home, even away from home....

Mike caught the train back to the Big Apple, and I went to another barbeque! Sharon's sister-in-law hosted "the family" at her place today. Since Frank and Sharon are away, I found myself promising various extended family members to "give Sharon a kiss" for them! Somehow, that makes me feel officially adopted into the network! That and being the last one to leave the house after the dishes are finished....

Monday, Memorial Day itself, will be my first year in the past three that I won't be running the Bolder Boulder with my lovely Colorado ex-roommates. Sad. But I also won't be rushing back home to start my Memorial Day bartending shift at 4pm! Instead, I will be getting paid to hang out with a family in Stamford, on their boat, on Long Island Sound, all afternoon! One of their children has cerebral palsy, and I'll be helping them out a bit this summer and then next schoolyear, but Monday is a hang-out-with-the-family and let-us-get-to-know-each-other kind of day!

I'm liking this "normal person with a normal schedule" kind of thing....

Alumni Gatherings and Greek Sweat

First, there was the wedding.
Then, there was Sunday morning breakfast after Mass.
Both of these gathered together the alumni in town as well as those visiting from out of town--even the token Denver extension: little Betsy Gerrity!
Then I came "home" to Connecticut. Next thing I know, I'm picking up Mike Austin from the train station two blocks from my parish. Later that afternoon, he and Kristen Coster and I are peering at little Greek vessels in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Wild...

There are these little containers made out of shells that the Greek athletes would carry olive oil in to "wash themselves" with after exercise.
First of all, these containers are no bigger than my fist. Weren't the Greek athletes rather intimidatingly large fellows? By the looks of their drawings, the Greeks seemed to think they were big guys.
Second of all, olive oil? "Here, wash yourself off with this! It'll make you even shinier!
I wonder how the historians know all this stuff, or better yet, IF they know all this stuff.
Maybe their just making it all up.

Honeymooning

And now they're enjoying one of our favorite cities from when Alissa and I went on our Europe tour: Prague! For two weeks!
Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Remstad.

A well-matched pair; God bless them.

May 21st, 2005: The beautiful bride marches down the aisle of a gorgeous church in downtown Denver, to the melody of Ode to Joy played by bagpipes.

The week of Celebration, Part III

I think it's quite charming how, whenever a friend gets married, they are so happy, they think everyone else should get married, too. It's the same with those who answer the call to the priesthood or religious life. It is the fulfillment of their vocation--the way in which God is calling them to give their heartscompletely in love. I've had numerous experiences with friends who, once they are engaged, set about trying to find ways to "fix me up" with various people. After all, they're so happy, and so they should help me find the same happiness. I also have a friend in the seminary; he loves it so much, all his letters and enclosures are encouragements for me to look into different orders of the religious life.
I think it's a wonderful expression of love to one's friends that you want to see them as happy as yourself. After all, being single is not a vocation, unless it's the consecrated single life. Which I have not taken vows for. So let's all help this poor girl find her vocation. Oooh! There's this guy....
Sometimes I feel like the "set-ups" that come to people's minds contain no regard for personality or compatibility. It's the "warm body" technique. He's single; you're single; there you go!
I have large suspicions when names are mentioned because "he's Catholic." Hmmm. I went to college with a whole lot of Catholics, and I can tell you, although essential, there's more than that involved. In fact, I told Alissa this weekend about one of Andy's friends who rode in my car at one point: "[He]'s a really nice guy, but GOSH! He prays the rosary WAY too slow!"
Then there's my loving sister: "I think [So-and-So] would make a great addition to our family. What do you think about him?" Uh-huh. How about this: it doesn't work that way.
I remember something our dear former chaplain, Fr. Bart, once said: "Every loving relationship is a miracle." It's true; everyone is so different. How do people ever live with one another and grow in love for each other their entire lives, except by grace?
There is the possibility of human instrumentation, of course. These people met through mutual friends. This person introduced me to that one. But the course of events is then in the hands of Providence.

The week of Celebration, Part II

Funky jewelry-making Tuesday night turned out to be the most creative bridesmaids' gift I've ever experienced or heard of. One advantage to being a later marriage vocation is all the great ideas you accumulate from others.
The only other non-family member who was a bridesmaid was a really sweet co-worker of Alissa's from Lithuania. She reminded me so much of my former co-worker and friend from Hungary. And she informed me that I reminded her of one of her very best friends from high school: "Yoor eesty-eel, yoor mah-noor, ay-vrything." So it was a fun bridal party.

That made the whole week TONS of fun! Just imagine 5 Dalley sisters, 1 Dalley cousin, 2 Dalley adopted-friend-daughters, plus Mrs. Dalley herself, who happens to be a favorite among our graduating class from "that-anon." When Molly-O, C-Boyer, and E-Hurley showed up, the girl-fun only escalated! I haven't laughed so much for that many consecutive days since my senior year of college.

So the girl-time aspect of this week was unforgettable--a good way to leave off from one's life as a single woman, I should think. If I can have half the "last week" that Alissa had, I shall be a happy woman.

The week of Celebration, Part I

It started out Monday evening, when my wonderful (big) little brother drove me up to Erin's (roommater, not sister) apartment in Denver. It was late, we went to bed almost immediately, and she had to work Tuesday morning. But she told me to be ready with my book after 12 noon, because she wanted to go study at a coffee shop. Yay!
She picked me up and prefaced our afternoon with, "I think this might be the coffee shop you were telling me about...it's the only one that I know of in the Cherry Creek area. You can let me know..."
Yes, yes it was. Two years ago, the man I was dating drove by it with me and told me all his plans about how he was going to improve business there when he closed on it in a few weeks. I remember him visiting me one weekend and talking to my boss at the awesomest coffee shop ever, in order to get some advice. My very successful boss, Jeff, echoed my reservations when I expressed doubt about this business venture: "Yeah, I'm not sure he's fully aware of what he's getting into..." However, Jeff had more hope than I: "...but then again, neither did I!" I never knew what happened, though. We separated soon after that drive-by, and he has been the only person before or since that I have blocked email from. Needless to say, we haven't kept in touch!
So here we are, early Tuesday afternoon, ordering our lunch salad and iced chai tea, and I look around for any sign to tell me whether success has been his (or someone else's). Not knowing what exactly to look for, I finally ask the tall skinny barista with the peasant shirt: "Excuse me, who is the owner of this place?"
Barista: "[First name of ex-boyfriend]"
Myself: "What's his last name?"
Barista: "[Last name of ex-boyfriend]. Why do you ask?"
Myself: "Oh, you know. I haven't been here in a while..."
Erin (roommate, not sister) eyes me warily with a slight smirk. "We'll be out front," she tells the girl.

A flood of questions rush through my mind as we sit there.
Does he ever come by to check up on the place?
Is he even in the country?
Has he exchanged his black beret for a green one yet?
Does he still drive the silver Passat?
Will my sunglasses disguise me?

Erin starts laughing: "Calm down! Stop looking over your shoulder every 5 minutes. What does he look like again? ...ok, I've never seen anyone of that description here. Although I've only ever come here in the evening,.... Hey, relax. A little drama might be good for you. Did you hear me? Hello! Turn around and read your book!"
The most restless reading session of Katherine Lavransdatter I've experienced yet!

Not to be anti-climactic or anything, he never showed up. Later, while Erin was using the restroom, I recognized some of the beautiful photos he took in Afghanistan hanging on the wall. Unfortunately, my favorite photo of him standing in a hot spring in Greenland wasn't there. But then I saw the jar with the sign: "Help raise $2000 for Leukemia: [Ex-boyfriend's first name] getting ready for Leukemia triathlon" Yep. Definitely him. Must be in town. Can we go now?

And so began my week...

Resting...

This pretty much sums up the first part of my vacation. Then more of that: run...sleep...go out for breakfast with the soon-to-be-married A-team...enjoy Brazilian drinks and South American foods with Erin (roommate, not sister)...watch (big) little brother's baseball team get clobbered in the regionals by last year's national champions -- not so much fun, especially when he was pitching -- and etc! Restful, yes!
I feel kind of liberated, not having access to internet, not having cell-phone reception in these mountainous hills of home. Maybe this will be my last entry.... Oh, shoot. School will get me back into the technology of life soon enough.
But for now, maybe I'm signing off to the world for two weeks. Maybe. Of course, my phone will be on for the wedding festivities this week. So maybe not.

I Know I Said...

...I would never be caught dead doing office work again, but I was offered a GA position:

Administrative Research Assistant.

My interest both in what's happening behind the scenes and in being able to afford rent and food next year compel me to accept this offer with exceptional gratitude to God.

MGS Retreat a Success

The beautiful convent retreat house in Darien, CT, housed between 11 and 13 girls this past weekend. Plus 4 adults, 2 of whom spent the night--Angela and me. It went so well, it was unbelievable. Only the Holy Spirit could have run that smooth of a retreat.
Of course, the girls themselves are such good girls. Sharon and I both thought we would more than dislike leading a group of junior high to high school girls. But they're great.
Dr. Alice von Hildebrand's talk was definitely a highlight: The Privelege of Being a Woman. I've heard her before, but this was different. This was in a little room, with 13 girls scattered around her, either in chairs or on the floor, as she sat with her hands folded in her lap, without a microphone, sending a rhythmic trickling of wisdom forth from her lips.
The Missionaries of Charity who came in the afternoon were so beautiful. Their life is so amazing in its simplicity and poverty. A friend of mine in the seminary has mentioned the MC's to me time and again as something I should "look at;" I don't know what delusions he has of my capabilities to accept that kind of call to holiness. Wow. They completely blow my mind.
And then our own pastor, Father Paul Check, the best priest I've ever known, came Saturday evening to give a talk, Benediction, and confessions. His comfort and encouragement are things I don't deserve, but soak up like a child seeks her father's embrace.

"...I'm very proud of you," he says. "This is exactly what I had in mind when I asked you and Sharon to take this group. You're doing well. Do not let your heart be troubled. Be at peace. The confessions these girls made this evening were very good..."

I wish I could be at peace, Father. I don't know what is wrong. I wish I knew so I could straighten it out.

"...Go home. Rest. Come back in two weeks. See if you feel better. You have had a lot on your mind these past months. Go home to your family..."

Can he read my mind? Father, school is over. I should already be at peace.

"...It takes a little time to wind down. You've been tense and anxious for a while now; I've noticed. When you come back, we can dig that deep and see what it is. But for now, go home and rest. You've done a beautiful job with this retreat. Remember, you're not on retreat; you're giving the retreat..."

So I'm going home. Tomorrow. After Father Check's morning Mass at St. John's, Sharon will bring me to the airport. And I will feast my eyes on the huge, clear, blue sky and drink in the de-oxygenated air and rejoice in the friends I will see, both from home and elsewhere, coming together for Alissa's wedding.

All moved Away

I don't know anyone in Kentucky anymore.
Not that it would matter, anyway. I need to find housing close to where I'll be doing my clinical rotation.
I have a choice between two sublease agreements. The first is a 4-bedroom house shared with an 19 year-old "serious student" (according to who? her mother), her 20 year-old brother, and a 25 year-old woman from South Africa. I'm only excited about the safe neighborhood and the woman from South Africa. The last roommate I had from South Africa was my favorite part of working at Ojai Valley School summer camp for spoiled nitwits. I don't know if all women from South Africa read their Bible everyday and have a knack for disciplining junior high school girls, though. Anyway, I told "mother" that I don't know if I want to live with her son for the summer. This one's closer.

The other option is a 3-bedroom townhouse shared with Ashley, a recent college graduate who works 2 jobs to pay off her student loans and when she's not working is staying at her boyfriends' place, and Sarah, a pre-med student. Sarah's boyfriend only stays over about one night per week. This one's cheaper.

Any thoughts, folks?

YAY!!

Done with my first year!
Thanks for all the prayers.

...leading a retreat for some great high school girls from my parish, St. John the Evangelist.

The theme is "lifted" from Pilgrim's name (with permission!), adapted before that from Jn 17:14-16, Not of this World.

Dr. Alice von Hildebrand is coming tomorrow morning, a few Missionaries of Charity are coming in the afternoon, Fr. Check is coming in the evening, and not the least of all, Sharon's baking cookies!

Saint Maria Goretti, pray for us.

Can't - Work - Not - Motivated

I need


Sharon


across


the table


reading


Little Women.


and it's 9:11pm, folks...

Beginning to End

My final exam is a practical clinical exam.
Today I present (to one of my professors) how I would examine a 10 year-old boy with cerebral palsy, spastic quadriplegia (which means he has spasticity in both arms, both legs, and the muscles of his trunk).
Then I receive some "findings" from my pretend examination, and create a plan of care to treat him, which I present (to another professor) on Thursday.
Meanwhile, we have our last written exam on Wednesday.
Then on Friday the first professor chooses 2 pieces from the examination and 2 pieces from the treatment and watches me actually perform them on one of my classmates.
Then, ...I'M DONE with my first year of graduate school!!!!
And I proceed immediately to the Maria Goretti Society Retreat that I'm still planning for this weekend....

Not Coming Home Tonight

My roommate, Jess, and I have to tell one another when we won't be home at night. And when we will, eventually. And when we'll be home early in the morning. This is because we have a little gold chain that connects the front door to the adjacent wall. It's for security, but it's also so that when I come home at dawn on a Saturday morning, I can scare the beegies out of Jess by ringing the doorbell.
On Thursday, I said to Jess, "I won't be home tonight."
"Oh, ok. Staying with Frank and Sharon?"
"Yes. Actually, just Sharon. Frank's out of town until the end of the semester. Which is when I leave. Wow. Jess, I won't be spending the night in this house ever again!"
That's when we started waxing nastalgic about how little time has passed since I moved in, but what a full semester it's been. That's also when I decided that Saturday would be a good day to start packing up my room, and pulling my bed into its individual component parts. Jess walked into my bedroom Saturday afternoon and looked around. The bed frame was in different pieces around the room, the shelves in the closet were almost bare, and my mattress and boxspring stood propped against the wall.
"It feels like you just moved in," she started in again.
"I'm slowly bringing all my stuff over to Frank and Sharon's house, and the rest of this I'll just put in storage."

And so every day, I take a few more items out of my bedroom and deposit them in Frank and Sharon's guest room.

As it turns out, Sharon will be going to New Jersey tomorrow to visit her family for a few days. "Feel free to stay here, though," Sharon told me.

"I think that would be easiest, since it's finals week, and all my stuff is here now," I replied with gratitude. "I'd have to pack an overnight bag to stay up at my place! But I'm going to miss you."

I mentioned it to Jess this afternoon as I was leaving with some more of my books and a laundry basket full of shoes.
"Aww, you can stay here if you want," she said.
"I don't have anywhere to sleep!" I reminded her.
"The couch! Want me to pull out the couch?" she asked.

What will I mean each day this week when I say I'm going "home"?

Laura

I spent the night at my grandparents' house last night on Long Island. I try to do that as often as I can, since they only live about an hour or so drive from me. My grandmother is in the beginning to mid stages of Alzheimer's Disease, which is something we've been studying a bit this semester. Last night my grandfather told me she was taking Aricept, which I recognized to be a medication developed specifically to address the effects of Alzheimer's. As we were sitting at the kitchen table, snacking on Entemann's donuts (a trademark of Grandma and Grandpa's house), he told her, "You still have to take your Aricept before you go to bed."
Later on, I asked her, "Grandma, did you take your medicine?"
She yelled in to my Grandfather, who was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, "Did I take those pills?"
My grandfather yelled back that she still needed to take the Aricept. Shortly thereafter, we all went to bed. I don't know if she ever took them.

But this morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table with the latest Reader's Digest when my grandmother emerged from her room.
"Laura?" she said, surprised, as she pulled her bathrobe tighter around her nightgown. "What are you doing here, honey?"
Laura is one of my younger cousins; I thought maybe Grandma couldn't see very well from her bedroom door, so I just said "Good morning!" and waited for her to come into the kitchen.
"When did you get here, dear?"
"Last night, Grandma. I spent the night upstairs. Did I wake you?"
"No, no! Don't be silly. I'm so confused. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, I did. I was very comfortable."
"Well that's good. Sometimes it's cold up there because we keep the doors closed and the heat doesn't go up," now Grandma is looking at me quizzically, "...You remind me of...wow, I'm trying to think here...you look so much like...Erin... no... I'm trying to think of Eddie's...."
At this point, I realize that she still really thinks I'm Laura. But before I say anything, she continues, "I'm so confused. Where did you come from last night?"
"From Connecticut, Grandma," I hope she'll be able to figure it out soon.
"Connecticut? What were you doing there?"
"I'm going to school there, Grandma."(Laura is a junior in high school)
"Going to school... I'm so confused. Where's Mom and Dad?"
"They're in Colorado, Grandma. My mom and dad are Eddie and Donna. I'm Shannon. I just came from Connecticut last night because I'm going to school there."
"Oh... ! You're Shannon. And I called you Laura! Oh, dear. Look at me, dear. I'm so out of it..."
We talked for a bit, repeated a few things, established the fact that Grandma had seen me last night when I arrived. I felt so bad for her. There was no way I could ease her frustration. Even though she handled it admirably, I could see she was a bit distressed that she could not recall what I was telling her. I reminded her that she had just woken up, and that usually, there isn't anyone sitting in her kitchen when she walks out in the morning. So the surprise was understandable. She told me there was a resemblance between me and Laura. I told her that was a compliment to me; but I didn't know what else to say.
When Grandpa woke up, I knew, because Grandma came back into the kitchen and reported, "Grandpa remembers that you came last night," as if to verify my report.
He was wonderful. When Grandma kept mentioning the fact that she had called me the wrong name, Grandpa said, "Well, that's alright, Mommy. I heard her say she wanted to be named 'Laura' anyway." And he even continued to call me Laura for the rest of the morning, making Grandma laugh every time!

I thought about the Aricept then. I wonder if she took it last night. I wonder whether that matters. How scary to be in her situation! Thank God she has Grandpa. I cannot imagine how frustrating it must be to know that there are things you should be able to remember, but you just can't. What a cross.

I love my grandparents so much. I am so blessed to live so close to them for these few years. I just can't get over the helplessness I felt this morning, not knowing how to completely reassure and comfort my grandmother. I understand that it is not her fault; my understanding of her condition, though, only makes me realize how distressing it must be to experience the disease's progression firsthand.
Saint Dymphna, patronness of those with mental disorders ... Pray for us.

Alone in the Dark

I'm not afraid of the dark anymore. I used to be, but now I kind of like it; there's a certain stillness that accompanies darkness. It can be a great help in re-centering and entering into peacefulness.

But there's still a scary side to the dark. I can still work myself into a panic where I need all the lights in the house on--particularly when my roommate, Jess, isn't home. That's when every creak, every move of the man downstairs or the couple next door, sounds like someone breaking in or someone wandering around inside my apartment. I can't say I look forward to being alone all night long.

So I understand why Sharon asked me to spend this next week with her; Frank left today with his dad to take care of some business in Italy (the poor men). I wouldn't want to be alone in the house, either. And plus, Sharon is now about 5 months pregnant; somehow, that makes the idea of being alone even less attractive. "I would appreciate it... and Frank would appreciate it..." she said. Well, hey, you don't have to twist this arm! I love staying here! In fact, I look forward to spending most of June here before leaving for Kentucky!

One of my classmates, Hope, met Frank and Sharon briefly right before I left for California. She stood inside their house for about five minutes, but raved about them afterward.
"They just seem so at home--with each other, in their house,--they seem like such lovely people: the picture of a happy married couple."
It's so true. They live their vocation with their whole hearts. Just being around them has given me a model to look up to. They give a whole new meaning to the command of Our Lord to "strive for perfection."

Even if it weren't such a treat for me to have "sleepovers" in the home of my dear friends, I don't think there is any request they could make that I could turn down. They are such giving people; I feel as though I could never possibly give as much to them as they give to me. So the giving continues. And so does the friendship.

And so here we are, Sharon in her room, and I in "mine," as we've all started to term the guestroom! And both of us feel strange that Frank isn't around, but both of us also feel safer and happier, knowing the other is under the same roof. Tonight neither of us will be alone in the dark.

grrr...

Vent session...
Depression and sadness aren't the same thing.
Just because someone has Alzheimer's Disease does not mean they are also automatically depressed.
If someone is sad because of a loss, the answer is NOT to put them on anti-depressants.

For our clinical activity a few weeks ago, we had to go to facilities where older adults with cognitive deficits were in long-term care. We interviewed them, and posted some of our experiences on an open discussion board for our class. So many people commented that "maybe this person couldn't answer the questions because he was depressed," or "maybe her sense of humor was really just a mask for depression." Good grief! Age doesn't mean depression--Alzheimer's doesn't mean their humor is fake! By the way, how can you "fake" not being depressed? Wouldn't that just be "good coping skills," in which case clinical depression would not be the diagnosis?

As my ABD in School Psychology friend says frequently, "As the confessionals empty out, the psychiatrists' offices fill up."
She's really got a point. We've come to a place where we think anything can be fixed with a pill, and everyone is expected to be on something. If a widower with Alzheimer's disease isn't taking medication for depression, let's suspect he's masking it with a sense of humor.

HUH???!!!

Andrew's curls, Megan's fashion sense!

Mom warned me I would laugh out loud when I saw this picture. But I forgot. I decided to check my email during a "slow point" in class. My friend Katie, who was sitting next to me, and I both had to muffle our sudden nasal air-releases when Bethie popped up on my screen. oops!

Off Topic

As we're settling in for the big exam today, our professor, Michelle, picks up a large zip-lock bag from the front table.
"Are these somebody's brownies?"

Questioning murmurs and a few hesitant "Shannon's?" are heard before I give the final, "Yes--those are everybody's. Help yourself. I hear they're delicious."

"Oooh! Are they 'special' brownies?" says my Classmate Who Never Will Pass my Mother Test ("would you allow him to treat your mother?")

When questions like this are put to me, I pretend I have no clue what's being referenced. I don't know why. Maybe because, for much of my life, I didn't know what people were talking about. Even though I have vague ideas now, it's still simpler to stick with the "innocent and clueless" ploy. Maybe I pretend because I don't find humor in people suggesting the presence of sedatives or hallucinogens in my best friend's yummy chocolate desserts. For whatever reason, I answered (quite honestly, in fact):
"Yes! They're very special brownies! They're Pope brownies!"

"Huh? Did you say Pope brownies? What the ..."

"My friend Sharon baked them for the Pope party we had last night. Do you know we have a new Pope? These are in honor of him."

"Umm, did you study last night?" that came from someone who would pass the Mother Test.

"No; but you know, I don't think we're going to have a new pope very many times in my lifetime. It's just so exciting. I had to celebrate with everyone at the rectory."

These people look at me funny, but they still associate with me. They even call me "friend." Marvelous, isn't it, that we can have so many different levels of "friends?" These are my friends I study with, that I play softball with, that I go bar-hopping with, that understand when I get excited about innovative treatment strategies. I pray for them, I do what I can--say what I can--to show my concern for their eternal salvation. But it's not reciprocal; that's not their primary concern for me. Even though they are aware of my concern, they're not fully aware--how could they be, unless they're already looking beyond this world?

And so they aren't my "true friends." And unless I live near some of those "true friends," I'm a pretty lonely girl.
So far I've been blessed. I've never been far from "true friends."
I draw my strength from them. I find myself more fearless in daily conversation, defending the Church, asserting moral boundaries, disapproving sinful situations. And to my surprise, my "school friends" don't run away. They may not all conform to the Truth, but they are not repulsed by it. I think a few of them actually respect the "strong opinions" I stand for; others think I'm too innocent to think anything different. Either way, I find myself "off topic" from everyone else much of the time.
Like today. Exam? Study? Well, I was at a wedding (one of the happiest days in the life of my good friend) and then our new Pope got elected yesterday (a momentous historical occasion for the Church, the Bride of Christ). What's an exam in light of all this?
I know we speak the same language. We're just talking about different things.

"I'm gong to be blunt"

The most prevalent phrase I heard this weekend was, "what are you up to these days?"--which is not surprising, since that's what people ask old friends whom they haven't seen in several months.

But another phrase that characterized this weekend was the announcement of forthcoming bluntness. The fact that it happened twice in two days makes it a prominent feature of my whirlwind weekend. And it makes me stop and consider what I think about it. Thus an entry for faithful reader one and faithful reader two (or should I call them "faithful check-ers," since I hardly ever give them something new to read? how about, "for the Erins in my life"):

Ahem. Back to blunt.
The older (and wiser?) I get, the more I appreciate bluntness. If you need to say something, just get it out. Chances are, it's not that big of a deal. Frustration comes when something needs to be addressed, the speaker doesn't want to be blunt, and the listener spends most of his energy trying to figure out exactly what's being said.

As if to prove my point, both instances I experienced turned out not to be a big deal. If it were not for the bluntness, though, they might have turned into a big deal. Especially the second announcement of forthcoming bluntness I experienced, made in the car on the way to the airport, with plenty of miles to go! Yikes--dangerous closed environment from which there is no escape! Of course, it was my fault:
Lounging in the passenger seat, chatting away, watching the traffic and the darkening California sky, I suddenly realize my driver hasn't said much. Not too concerned, but wanting to draw out some dimension of fascinating personality I know is hidden within my good friend, I ask, "What are you thinking about?"
"Uuuum," startled smile, side glance, "well, ok. I'm going to be kinda blunt now, ok?"

By the way, what does "kinda blunt" mean? I think it means, "If you don't want me to be blunt, you can still object, and I'll tone it down without too much effort." Maybe it just means, "this is blunt, but it's not scary." Whatever it means, I give permission, because the conversation can be finished more quickly.

And as a matter of fact, the conversation was resolved in less than 5 minutes, and I moved on to the next thing I wanted to discuss with my friend. Which thing was a line I read recently in a beautiful book entitle A Right to be Merry:

"The highest use of something is the sacrifice of it."

Like my driver pointed out (the blunt comment off his mind, he was a little less reserved), it's not that profound until you realize how much truth you have to already understand. In commenting on my little "favorite," he actually coined another profundity:

"You have to realize, not only that this world is not the only thing, it's also not the important thing."

Yes, yes, this is all quite obvious. But take these two sentences and meditate on them in front of the Blessed Sacrament. You will find that suddenly you're not kneeling in a little chapel anymore.

Suddenly, you are hovering on the edge of creation, wondering why God so loved.

You're realizing how generously He gives His little children things to sacrifice back to Him--like a father who gives his child a dollar to purchase a candy bar for a Father's Day gift.

Suddenly, every little doubt, every tiny worry about what may or may not happen, becomes silliness and irrelevance.

And then you wonder why you ever worried.

Another comforting thought, credited to Father Check (the best spiritual father I've ever had):
It is in God's own interest to let us know what His will is. Doesn't He want us to do His will? In any romance, there is a certain hide and seek that goes on, which makes it beautiful. But ultimately, the Lover wants His beloved to discover Him and to discover His desires.

And you wonder why you ever worried.

wear a helmet

I just returned from a clinical rotation at an amazing rehabilitation center. I saw a 17 year-old girl who was in a really bad car accident in February. She's actually "getting better;" amazing perspective, given the fact that she has to work really hard to speak because of weakness in her muscles, cannot maintain an upright position in tall kneeling unless there's someone guarding her, and cannot yet keep focused on a task. (Rancho Level V/VI, in case anyone cares)
What was she like beforehand, I wonder?


I'll probably be seeing a lot this summer, including more brain injuries. My clinical rotation will be in a Kentucky hospital. It is an "inpatient acute neurorehab" affiliation

"inpatient" means the you treat the patients while they're in the hospital

"acute" means their condition has just recently happened, so it's usually pretty severe stuff (vs. "subacute," which means their condition is probably a little less severe)

"neurorehab" is short for neurorehabilitation, which literally means therapy for problems with the nervous system--brain injuries, strokes, multiple sclerosis, and a lot of other diseases and conditions we've been studying this semester.

It's fascinating, but very, very sad.

Wear a helmet.

Useless Trivia from Case 16:

The stapedius muscle is the smallest skeletal muscle.

It is located in the middle ear.

It functions to dampen sounds over 8085 dB.

It is innervated by the facial motor nerve, which is cranial nerve VII.

Spring Break is over...

John Paul: So, you have school tomorrow, eh?
Me: yup.

Alex: Oh! School again tomorrow?
Me: yup.

John Paul: Wow. Break is over, and you have to go to school tomorrow.
Me: yup.

Tony: Ahh! You go back to school tomorrow?
Me: yup.

Frank: Oh yeah! You have to get up and go to school in the morning!

Alex: So, what time do you have to go to school tomorrow?

Antonio: Hey, that's too bad, that you have to go back to school tomorrow.

John Paul: Yeah, we won't remind you of it, on account of the fact that your spring break is over and you have to go back to school tomorrow.

Move to Connecticut, acquire 4 Italian brothers! Both chivalry and full blown teasing guarenteed, everyday. Qualifications: a sense of humor, preference for pasta, and love for Mother Church. Understanding of Italian helpful, but not required.

24 years

Wish this beauty a happy birthday today.
I love you, Bean!

A-

Kidney transplants from living donors have advantages over cadaveric kidneys. Here are some reasons:

The living kidney is the best quality kidney that a patient can receive because the donor can be thoroughly tested before the transplant.

Half of the living kidneys transplanted today will still be working 25 years from now; half of the cadaveric kidneys will fail within the next 10 years.

Most living donor kidneys function immediately after transplantation, while many cadeveric kidneys don't function well immediately.

Transplants can be done immediately; the average wait for a cadaveric kidney in New England is 3 to 4 years.

*taken from Mayo Clinic and Rhode Island Hospital websites

Some disadvantages of being a living kidney donor:

Obvious reason: one less kidney in your body.
- What if something happens to that kidney?
- What if a family member eventually needs a kidney, and you would have been a perfect match for him?
- The remaining kidney may get over-utilized, and you yourself may face dialysis or the need of a kidney transplant later on in life

A non-family member can never be a perfect match, however close the match is

Submission to the risks of major surgery (exposure to anesthesia, risk of infection, always a risk of complication or death)

6-8 week recovery period

*taken from phone interviews with Aunt Maureen, P.A., and Adrienne Kania, D.O.

Klaske's Book Game

Very neat, so here are the rules.

1. Grab the nearest book
2. Open the book to page 123
3. Find the fifth sentence
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog, along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it. Just grab what is closest!

1. Nearest book: Little Women, my latest pleasure-read option!
2. p. 123 (which I just passed!!)
3. Her turn came next.
4. "What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself.
"A quick temper."
"What do you most wish for?" said Laurie.

And there I stop. Suspenseful, huh? Don't look up Jo's answer. Guess from these options, and I'll let you know if you're right or wrong:

a. a publisher to print my play
b. a pair of boot lacings
c. a hat with a wide brim
d. Father to return home

...?

Stuck - Unstuck

I spent most of the day Monday at the Minneapolis/St Paul airport in Minnesota, where a 3-hour layover turned into a 6-hour layover, plus a 1/2-hour wait on the runway. But I was happy, because the nausea and light-headedness that had continued from a vomiting episode the night before was gone.

I spent about 3 more hours after landing at LaGuardia airport in NY, catching a bus and a train back up to Connecticut. But I was grateful, because I got all my reading for school finished, and was even able to do some pleasure reading by the end of the night!

I spent Tuesday morning at Sharon's house translating all my airport reading into a written-up handout for my tutorial class that afternoon. But I was happy to eat breakfast, finish the write-up, stop at my house to drop off my luggage and pick up my books, and still make it to class on time.

I've been hearing a lot about PNF techniques, something we started learning in the Lab I missed on Monday while I was stuck in Minneapolis. But I'm lucky that it's a fun and exciting technique that people are eager to practice, so my classmates willingly show me what I need to know.

Everything seen with the proper perspective can be a blessing.

couldn't wait...

...until St. Patrick's Day to post this one. I got this from a friend, and I don't know where she got it. But I have to say, it's true:

Ladies of the Irish persuasion are unique in their character.

They are a combination of a little girl, mother, hooker, and nun. They go from Bambi to Banshee in 3.7 seconds. They can bat their eyes, or blacken yours. They can love you with a passion and make you feel like a king. They can be frail and strong at the same time. Depending on their mood, they'll chastise you for drinking...or match you pint for pint. The ladies keep Irish men from killin' themselves and each other.

They're like the grace of God-uncomprehendable but indespensible.

Seasonal changes

When I woke up this morning, I took great pleasure in pounding the snooze button of my alarm clock (something I gave up doing for Lent, but it's Sunday!). When I got out of bed a few hours later, noticed brightness trying to squeeze its way between the slats of my closed blinds. It almost bowled me over when I twisted the blinds open.
"Wow," I thought. "It looks like such a gorgeous day out. It's probably freezing, though, when you step outside."
But since I had left my phone in the car, and it needed to be charged, I decided to brave the weather, whatever it might be. I pulled on my sweatpants and a sweatshirt, slipped my feet into my untied sneakers, and jogged out to the parking lot.
To my astonishment, it truly was a beautiful day! After plugging my phone into its charger, I modified my outfit into running layers and decided to explore the neighborhood. I choose the phrase "explore the neighborhood" because, since I've lived in this apartment, I haven't been out running. Actually, the last time I did go for a run was ...oh, dear; nevermind. How embarrassing. Grad school is my obvious excuse, but the real reason is I'm a wimp when it comes to cold weather.
To my surprise and enjoyment, I discovered that not half a mile away from my house is a Sound-side boardwalk. That's right; I ran a few miles along Long Island Sound, greeting other people out for a leisurely stroll, out for a run, or out with their dogs--all in high spirits, grateful to greet a glorious Sunday morning. The Sound reflected the blue sky; the bright sun made the water glitter; the seagulls seemed as excited as the rest of us, calling, "Look! Look!" from overhead. I didn't feel as out of shape as I had anticipated. It must have been the spring-fever that seemed to infect everyone I ran past. The sun warmed us all through the brisk February air; I was down to my sleeveless T-shirt by the time I turned around to head back.
"Good morning," I nodded at an older woman, walking along in her Sunday clothes.
"Ooooh, look at you," she replied. "You really broke a sweat!"
I arrived back at the apartment refreshed, determined not to let the "winter storm warning" for tonight drag me down.

In fact, I think I might "take a day" tomorrow and go skiing in Vermont with Frank and Sharon. If there's going to be a winter storm, that's definitely where I'd like to be for it! And if by some stroke of Providence, school is cancelled tomorrow, I'll be even happier. (if not, though, I think it'll be worth the hassle, this time, of catching up!)

Who knew that Connecticut could imitate Colorado? Winter one day, spring the next, and blizzard conditions immediately following!

Omission = Actively Ignoring

Also, =what I'm doing right now. I've read a lot this weekend, but haven't actually compiled a workable handout for tutorial tomorrow. You'd think sitting alone in the PT computer lab at school would facilitate my motivational issues. But no. It's past 9:30pm, I have to work at 7:30am, nothing is on paper, and thoughts are running through my head like, "It's past 9 o'clock. Oooh! I have free nighttime minutes; who do I need to call?"

The weekend was great. Babysat on Saturday evening, then came "home" to a still-lit-up Frank and Sharon's place. Low and behold, there's Sharon, 12-o'clock midnight, wrestling with her latest and greatest baking adventure. We're expecting 16+ people for Sunday Dinner the following afternoon, and she spares no energy for guests--even during her first trimester of pregnancy! Well, I thought the cake looked beautiful, but she was noticeably frustrated. Apparently there had been several detours and recoveries before I'd arrived. Finally, we went to bed around 2am, woke up for 7:30am Mass, and spent the morning preparing for the big dinner at 1:30pm. (we were exhausted by Sunday evening--cleanup lasted until 11pm!)

Anyway, I found out that the beautiful cake was a surprise birthday cake for me! Candles and everything; it was great. And it was delicious, much to Sharon's relief! =] The whole dinner was a huge success, and everyone left wondering if Sharon wasn't really already Italian before she married Frank!

I've been making in-my-head plans for my summer clinical affiliation this summer in Georgia. In other words, thinking about things I can't decide just yet. I just received news that I'll be going for the third block, by myself (!!), although another student from here will still be there for a few days after I arrive. My dates are June 27th until August 19th. So my think-plans have included:

Where should I make my "base" this summer?
Should I drive home for Alissa's wedding in May, then later drive to Georgia from home, then from Georgia back to Connecticut?
Or should I fly home for the wedding and come straight back to Connecticut, and then drive down the east coast when my affiliation comes along later in June?
Or should I drive home, fly to and from Georgia (can I survive alone without a car in Georgia?), and then drive back to Connecticut from Colorado in August?
What about my poor car and all these miles?
What about a summer job?
What about Connecticut housing (I have housing here until May)?
What about money while I'm in Georgia?

Yikes! Gotta find out a few things....

Late night...

...because I went with Frank and Sharon to give Dr. Alice von Hildebrand a ride home after Theology on Tap. What an amazing, sweet woman! It was a treat to have a whole car ride to listen to her speak about various subjects. Her sense of humor mingled with her wisdom makes every conversation a joy. I've never read any of her books, but now that I've heard her speak a few times, I think I'll have to change that.

Ash Wednesday

Well, you've gotta suspect any open-note exam. It wasn't too bad, though. I feel pretty good about my grasp of all the concepts. We'll see how the professor likes my grasp of things!
Except Odds Ratio. I think I have to go back over that.
I dislike Odds Ratios.

On a happy note, Frank and Sharon gave me a purple sweater-shirt for my birthday! My favorite color, and appropriate for Lent!

Speaking of Lent, thank God it's here--and none too soon! I love this season for its opportunity to really investigate what my primary spiritual "issues" are. Frank put it well last night: "detox time!"
I'm heading down to St. John's for the official kick-off of these 40 days!

Study, study

We've embarked on the one-test-per-week gig that will last the rest of the semester.
On the upside, there'll be no final written exam!
This week: Measurement Exam
This is an open-book exam for our Statistics Unit of the semester. Open-book because our professor acknowledges the impracticality of making us memorize data from journal articles. They want us to understand the importance of evidence-based practice, so they want us to be able to analyze studies that have been done on different examination tools, as well as intervention strategies. So for our exam, we have a few articles to prepare, and the test will determine how well we understand the data presented. Sounds simple, straightforward.

But the questions aren't "What is the purpose of this study?"
They're more like, "On Table 2 from this article, referring to the surgery/no surgery data, state the question being asked by that ANOVA using example-specific terminology."
And the answer, of course, to this question taken from our practice quiz, is this:
Was the measured difference between patients who had surgery and those who did not have surgery due to more than chance alone?

I like the way this professor teaches stats, because she really explains what all the different calculations are measuring. But let me tell you, by the end of this exam, I'm not going to be able to think in real-life sentences! My brain is going to be so convoluted, I'll be speaking in double negatives!

The exam is tomorrow. Ash Wednesday. How appropriate:
"Remember, man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return."

You Know...

You know you haven't written on your blog lately when you have to type in your sign-in name and password...

Finally!!

One of the best writers I know is now reserving some of her more light-hearted talent for blog! She's going to one of our great international policy writers in a few years, folks. I must admit, though, I believe I will always enjoy her emails and updates more than her political dissertations!

List

Module I Exam, today (done)

Maria Goretti Society talk on Purity, this evening (done)

Research Statistics Question Activity for Meausurement Class, due Friday (pending)

Study for Statistics Exam next Wednesday--read and outline 5 assigned research articles in order to study efficiently with Hope, Janel, and Marisa--by Saturday (pending)

Research and put together "Intervention Strategies for elderly people with vision impairments and fear of falling," present it in tutorial on Friday (pending)

Do an Executive Summary from a chapter of a Geriatrics PT textbook, due Monday (pending)

Babysit 4 wonderful children from 4-11pm, Saturday (not yet actualized)

There. It doesn't look so bad when I write it down. But I allowed the stress generated by this list to affect my outlook on everything today. It influenced my dealings with my study partner, Hope, early this afternoon, and then my best friend, Sharon, later this afternoon. Impatience, shortness, and general frustration at the lack of more hours in the day. Scary how vulnerable I am to environmental circumstances.

Have to work on that....

I can do it,

but I hate keeping secrets.
Especially when it's great news. And it's all I can think about.

"That's all, Mom. No more news that I can think of" --except for this really exciting thing that I'm not supposed to tell anyone until further notice--!!!

Announcing (drum roll) alternate good news:

1. I got a part time job in a PT office as an aide! It's just a few set hours a week, with the option of getting called in for a few more hours here and there when it's busy. The important thing is the exposure it gives me, including a PT outside of my faculty whom I can go to as a resource. Of course, a little extra cash for gas money or something doesn't hurt, either!

2. I got a mattress. So I'm sleeping where I pay rent now, instead of at Sharon's house. Next priority is a bookshelf, although the piles of books scattered about the bedroom floor are suggestive of academic genius, and can be motivating in a fantastical sort of way.

3. The March for Life is a "go;" the final count of teenagers under our chaperone is 12. They're really good kids, and we are 3 adults, so it should be a good time. Of course, a busful of teenagers (we're not the only group of teens-and-adults going) will always have that element of the unpredictable.

4. I still like the material I'm studying, even though it's much different from last semester. In every consecutive country that I visited in Europe, I said, "No this is where I would want to live and learn the language." I'm finding the same pattern starting with physical therapy. "Orthopoedics--no, Neurology--is what I think I'd like to specialize in.

Good thing I still have some time to gain experience!

New Book

I just bought 5 new books today (I already bought 8 others online over break).

I've already started the first one.

It's a page-turner, let me tell 'ya: THE HUMAN BRAIN
Little neurons are dancing around inside my head, already.

Found out I do have a spring break, and it's in March, and it begins on Portia's birthday. Maybe to commemorate, I will do some New England skiing. But I hear the snow is amazing in Tahoe this year....

reminder

As we're in the car, on the way to the airport, I am sad to leave home.

Dad: I remember at the beginning of September, you were so happy with the program, with the faculty, with your fellow classmates. Is that still the case?

Me: Yes.

Then the realization:
At this time last year, I was hoping and praying I'd get into this program. I hadn't even had my interview yet. I wondered, "But if I don't make it in, what will I do? There's nothing else I want to pursue."
How easy it is to forget all those hours of anguish and worry and fear--and all the vows binding me to eternal gratitude "if I do make it."

So tomorrow is the first day of the second semester, and I have just been reminded:
I'M EXCITED!!!

short

skirts are too long
they enclose my heeled boots
their hems collect snow
and they sneak underfoot

shelves are too high
where liquor is kept
"sure I'll make you your drink,
when I find my stool-step"

lines are too long
when you cannot look past
this man's back in your face,
so broad and so vast

but the bright side of hope
shines forth faithfully:
He said, "let the little ones
come unto Me"

the power of DIA

Strange how, on Saturday, I will drive into one side of DIA and fly out of the other. When I touch land again, it will be in NY, and the exit signs will say "Leaving Kennedy Airport."

But someone next to me in line at the Security checkpoint in Denver will be landing in San Diego, or maybe even in Dublin! We will walk through almost all the same doors. He'll just walk a few feet further to another gate's waiting area. The type on his boarding pass will be arranged in such a way to allow him to fly out of the same building as I do, but in a different direction.

Even the people in my own waiting area will be scattered once we arrive at JFK. Each individual has his own reasons for flying at this time, on this day, to this destination. And we're all gathered together for a few hours in the great span of time to share a concourse train, a waiting area, an airplane.

Air travel itself is fascinating. But the power of airports--what goes on inside of them, on either side of them--amazes me even more.

compliments (?) from the man Wade

After my 6 months away from home: "You look great--the first thing I noticed was your arms"

After looking at wedding pictures: "Tell your sister she looks hot"

After berating the president, the Republican party, and the majority of Americans who are "obviously idiots": "Shannon hates me because I put everything into perspective"

After learning that Dad's 2 cinema favs are The Godfather and The Natural: "I knew I liked that man"

After a few at the bar: "If I wasn't married to Kristin, I would date this girl--and she'd get me into heaven"