Teaching Cursive Without a Book

Lowercase cursive, in a logical order.

Before teaching each letter, show the child where the printed letter is "hiding" in the cursive letter.
Also have a strip or poster of nicely-written cursive letters on the table or on the wall, for the child to refer to.

These first seven letters can be taught individually and then easily connected to each other.

e, l

i, u, t

m, n

Write some combinations:
Men.  Let.  Net.  Eel. Mutt.  Mile.  Time.  Et cetera.


Now they get a little harder.
Also show how some letters connect to each other at a higher point instead of on the baseline:
o, b, v, w.

Teach the grouping:    c, a, d, o
All four begin the same way.


You know "u."
Build off it to form v and w.

You know "l."
Build off it to make h, k, b.

Use "a" and "i" and "u"
with the below-line loop
to make g, j, y.

Teach the backward, below-line loop
to turn "l" into f
and "a" into q.

weirder ones:
p -- starts sort of like the end of a skinny "g" but then circles
r  -- starts sort of like "i" but heads off to the side and then turns a corner down
s -- starts sort of like "i" but finishes with the southeast quarter of "8"
x -- half an "n" and then cross it
z -- starts like an "x," but add a corner and then end like "g"



Make sure lower-case is well-learned (with words too, not just individual letters) before adding capitals.

Capitals that are generally like lower-case cursive, but bigger:
a, c, k, m, n, o, p, u, v, w, x, y, z

Capitals that are very like the printed letter:
b, h, l, q, r

Other capitals that will need a bit of teaching:
d, e, g
i, j
f, t
s

Empty Nesting

I miss Andrew.

No, I'm not sitting around pining for him, wishing he hadn't gotten married and moved out.  By "missing him" I mean that I keep forgetting that he doesn't live here.

We're ready to go to bed.  It's a night Andrew is scheduled to work.  Better unlock the porch door and turn on the light so that he can come through the door easily in half an hour, after we're asleep.  Whoops -- no! -- he's not coming home here.

Last Tuesday morning, only two leftover sandwiches remained from the wedding.  Maggie asks, "Mom, shall I leave one of these for your lunch?"  "No, I had one for breakfast already.  But you shouldn't eat them both.  Leave one for your brother."  "Uh, Mom ... he doesn't live here any more.  He's not going to be around to eat the sandwich."  Oh.  Yes.  That would be true.  Hmm.

I need an errand run (and I am still on the post-seizure driving-ban).  That's okay: I can ask Andrew to pick something up for me later in the day.  Oops.  Wait.  He's not here running his own errands and thus able to slip in an extra stop for me. 

I awake in the morning and see that Maggie's bedroom door is standing wide open.  Her bed is neatly made.  Andrew's bedroom door is closed; he must still be asleep.  I can't find Maggie anywhere in the house.  Eventually I realize that Andrew's bedroom is now Maggie's bedroom, and she is still in bed, behind that closed door.

How long until I stop being surprised that Andrew doesn't live here any more?

And by the way, do you realize how little food 

is required for only three people?  Freeeaky!! 
How little cooking; how few dishes; how little 
laundry?  It seems unreal.

A Few Wedding Pictures

"Jesus Christ is the Light of the world."

My mom with me & Gary, Andrew & Olivia.

The happy couple.

Maggie, Olivia, and Andrew.

The wedding party.  [sigh]  Boys will be boys.

First dance at the reception.

Be Prepared!

Is it possible to "be prepared" without hoarding?

Part of the problem is not knowing what to "be prepared" FOR.
~ Being prepared for power outages and huge blizzards would require a stocked pantry and candles and flashlights and kerosene heaters and offline resources.
~ Being prepared for a terrorist attack might require the same things, as well as heirloom seeds and ammunition, as well as oddball stuff like knowledge of medicinal herbs, and do-it-yourself equipment (tools, well-water with a handpump, wood stove, non-electric grain-grinder), and maybe even being debt-free.
~ Being prepared to flee might require some of the items/knowledge listed above, but it would also require a memory full of hymns and psalms and catechism and Bible verses.  And good hiking shoes.

Preparing a pantry full of emergency meal rations and batteries won't do any good if you're flooded out or if you're a refugee.

Old-fashioned paper maps and compasses and backpacks and and water-purifying tablets may be necessary for someone who must flee, but they won't be much use during a massive blizzard that isolates you for a couple of weeks.


Oh, I want to be a pack-rat!  I want to store things I may need someday.  I hate running to the hardware store for a 9-cent bolt.  When my jammies wear out, I want to dig a "new" pair out of the hand-me-down box and not have to shop for more.  I want my years of Backwoods Homes available to teach me how to be self-reliant.  I want scrap fabric and used buttons.  I want sleeping bags and a propane lantern.  I want iron skillets and an outdoor cooking-tripod.

A recent article, The Problem with Minimalism, makes the excellent point that people must store goods ... unless they have enough money to buy whatever needs replacing whenever they have a need.  That includes parts for car repair.  And it includes packed-lunch versus grabbing fast-food.  And it includes toys and educational supplies and old-fashioned books that your grandchildren will need long after your children have outgrown those items.

But what about balance?  There was the day when Paul had outgrown of many of his shirts, and had worn out the rest.  I knew there were shirts in his size in the basement's hand-me-down collection.  We hunted and hunted and found nothing.  We finally bought a few shirts at Goodwill.  A few months later, sorting through the massive collection of clothing, I found nineteen t-shirts and polos in his size.  NINETEEN.  But the collection was so unwieldy as to be useless when we needed to grab something.  That was when I pulled back a bit, before I hurtled from Hoarder-Cliff.

Sometimes we need a knock upside the head to remember that God will provide daily bread, and to let go of depending upon ourselves and our possessions.
And sometimes we have to have the good sense not to toss God's gifts in the trash, just because He provided them a couple of weeks (or several years) before we saw how much we'd need them.

But how to know which is which?

Road Work in Our Subdivision

I bet Alia would've loved to watch this!

A Few Non-Wedding Pictures

grandkids

Matt and Rachel

Rachel at a friend's wedding

Philip on his trip to Puerto Rico

Andrew's Rosie-kitty (who still lives with us)

Reading Challenge

Update on this year's reading list:

finish proofreading New Testament Catechist  [done Feb 11]

Light from Heaven (the last Mitford book) [done March 6]
the Father Tim series, by Jan Karon

the Kristin Lavransdatter series, by Sigrid Undset
Bridal Wreath [done March 27]
Mistress of Husaby [done April 30]
The Cross [done June 15]

Hammer of God (again)

The Complete Guide to Creating a Special Needs Life Plan, by Hal Wright

Anne of the Island [done July 31]
Anne of Windy Poplars
and maybe a few more in the series
(with Maggie)

likely some proofreading on Bible Stories for Daily Prayer



possibly
a Luther biography with Maggie
Narnia (again)
Horses of Heaven, by Gillian Bradshaw
maybe try out an Elizabeth Gaskill book
something by Beverly Engel or Robin Stern
Quiet by Susan Cain [done July 20]


additions beyond original list
What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Menopause [done July 29]

The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You
by Elaine N Aron

Is It Valuable? (Matthew 13)

My father-in-law collected oodles of Henry Major's paintings, drawings, and statues.  He is convinced they're valuable.  I don't think they probably are.  But I'll find out when we put them for sale on ebay.

Pastor mentioned Antique Roadshow in the sermon this week.  He pointed out that the value of an item is determined by what someone is willing to pay for it.  You may have something that you think should be tremendously valuable (such as the Russian 3-stringed guitar my father-in-law owned), but if nobody else cares and nobody else wants it, you're not going to find anybody who will pay five bucks for it. 

In the "kingdom parables" at the end of Matthew 13, Jesus sells all that He has to buy the treasure of the world.  What a wreck of a "treasure"!  But He loved.  He sold His life and His blood.  He placed value on a world of sinners who hated Him.  The Lord set an immeasurable value on the world when He gave His Son as the purchase-price.  (Really??--the world is worth GOD's suffering and death?) 

So when we think, "How could God love me?  Look at what a miserable excuse of a Christian I am," we look at what He says.  We look at what He was willing to give to buy us.  And as it is on Antique Roadshow, that is what determines value.

Cooties

But it was misdiagnosed.

Itching began last Wednesday.  Rash started Thursday and kept getting worse.  Doctor visit on Friday with a diagnosis of mites (from cuddling the cat on Tuesday and Wednesday) or chiggers (from sitting in the grass on Tuesday) or scabies (huh?).  This [substitute] doctor didn't test because these problems are all treated with the same Rx-cream and the same washing regimen.

Followed instructions carefully.
Refrained from hugging and touching anybody at the rehearsal dinner.  I told them I had cooties and to stay away for their own protection.
Wore long sleeves and long skirt and high neckline for the wedding, continuing to be careful to not-hug or at least to avoid any skin contact. 
Rash continued to get worse.
Continued to wash, re-wash, and again re-wash sheets, towels, clothes, etc.
Itching kept me up at night.
Rash continued to spread.
Sores became oozy and weepy.

Returned to doctor.  This time it was past office-hours and we went to FastCare.  This doctor diagnosed a bad case of poison ivy.  She prescribed steroids and an astringent wash for the sores.  In two hours I could already see significant improvement!  I slept comfortably last night.  Sores are healing nicely and no longer spreading.

The chigger diagnosis not only delayed treatment for the poison ivy; the medicine for it also worsened the rash and spread the urushiol oil.  It's sad that I could've felt this good for the wedding if the rash had been correctly diagnosed the first time. But at least it's on the mend now.

My Daughters

Rachel, Katie, Olivia, Maggie, Mandy

Aren't they beautiful?!!!!




A lot happening this week, some wonderful and some nasty:
broken plumbing,
returning to my job,
yardwork,
kitty's serious illness,
a kid's moving out,
company,
a humongous case of chiggers,
and a kid's wedding. 

I should post more pictures when I get a chance to see them.

Back to Work

Monday was my first day back at my paid-job.  Instead of a 10-hour day, my supervisors started me on 4-hour days.  By closing time, I wasn't as tired as I'd expected.  I was, however, surprised that my arachnoiditis flared up as badly as it did.

In spring I hadn't planned to take off time for the wedding this weekend.  But after my hospital trip, I can't push myself and cram loads of activities into a day, thinking, "Oh, it'll work out; this is important; I'll just take it easy the next week."  So I worked yesterday instead.  That way Friday has "only" the rehearsal dinner, and Saturday has "only" the wedding.   After two hours at work, again, the arachnoiditis began to flare up.  I took pain-killers before work and a different pain-killer two hours into my shift.  It still hurt.  This better improve.  If I have to take enough pain-killer to overcome the pain, I'm going to be too doped up to count money. 

Now to figure out:  Does "tiredness" necessarily show itself as sleepiness and a weariness with a desire to lie down?  Or might "tiredness" manifest itself as nerve pain, headaches, throbbing, and a rash?

I keep reminding myself that I have been healing and improving rapidly.  Maybe the nerve pain and the tiredness will improve right along with everything else.  I ought not expect that my body's response to my job will be the same in 3-4 weeks as it is now.

As for doing the job itself, things are fine.  I remember nearly everything.  The tricky parts are the new procedures that developed while I was gone, that everyone else took in stride a bit at a time so that they don't realize, "Hey, Susan, we do that differently now" until I do it the old way.  But those will be worked out a bit at a time until I'm up-to-speed.

It's nice to see old customers, especially when the "regulars" missed me.

Kitty Is Still Alive

On Tuesday night I was saying my goodbyes, not expecting her to make it through the night.

Tuesday afternoon, Athena had a spell.  She was too weak to stand.  Her eyeballs were flipping back and forth in their sockets.  She howled piteously.  We soothed and petted and comforted.  When she felt strong enough to try to walk, she wobbled.  She allowed herself to be held and petted some more.  When we finally permitted her to go outside, she found a secure spot under the deck and curled up there for two hours.  The noise of a small engine moved her to the other side of the house to seek refuge under the back side of a hosta.  She lay there without moving for four more hours.  She took a little walk, and then she allowed herself to be carried indoors for more cuddling.  She curled up behind the sofa and spent the night and half the next morning. 

Then she slowly began to improve.

Best guess?  When I woke up Tuesday morning, the smell of poison was wafting through the windows.  I think a neighbor's lawn service had come and treated the grass quite early.  Maybe Athena walked through their lawn and ingested the poison when she cleaned herself.  Maybe she ate a mouse whose belly-fur was covered with the poison.

Whatever it was, she's on the mend.  And I'm glad I can be happy at Andrew's wedding instead of crying about my kitty.

Natural Burial

My friend Polly posted today about an environmentalist's "green burial."  Although my perspective on natural burial comes from a VERY different place, the end result could look quite similar.  My pastor isn't exactly fond of cremation -- for theological reasons. 

I know that cremation grew out paganism.  I know that for many years the Church objected to it.  But I find it less objectionable than many of our current standard-American embalming/burial practices.  That said, I don't want to be cremated, and I don't intend to cremate anybody for whom I'm making funeral arrangements.

There is "green cemetery" space in Waukesha.   Although the cost is higher, there is also an option for "natural burial" in the regular parts of the cemetery, where a grave-marker can be placed.  For theological reasons, I think making note of the body's spot is important too, so ideally, I'm not keen on the idea of burying people "somewhere" on a prairie. 

The part of "natural burial" that troubles me most is the people that the family would be working with.  If their worldview and their theological perspective is the complete opposite of that of the grieving family, would that cause problems?  And if so, which would be easier to take: their weirdness or going along with Standard Procedure?

Current info on Wisconsin laws can be found here.

More info can be found in the 

video "A Family Undertaking."

Romans + Galatians

So that's why the sem makes guys take a course in either Romans or Galatians -- they say SO much the same thing!

Romans 7 -- I can't do the good I want to do. 
Galatians 5:17 "The flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary to one another, so that you do not do the things that you wish."

Romans 8:14 Those led by the Spirit of God are "sons of God."
Galatians 5:18  Those led by the Spirit of God "are not under the law."
Earlier in Galatians, Paul is on about how being-a-son means you're not-under-law.

Galatians 3:29 and 4:7 We are heirs according to the promise, no longer slaves but sons, an heir of God through Christ.
Romans 8:16-17 We are children of God, joint heirs with Christ.

Quiet

1. The book I'm reading about introverts and extroverts is full of stories.  More stories than research.  Anecdotal evidence doesn't bother me.  I usually enjoy stories.


2.  But one of the stories is about Al Gore and his passionate work to save the world from global warming.  Or climate change.  Or whatever we're calling it these days.  The author makes the point that Mr Gore worked doggedly on this issue for decades.  Few people listened to him because he is an introvert and doesn't make his case in a splashy way that draws the attention of extroverts.  She pointed out that Gore's movie finally woke up people to the danger we're in, so we're finally taking seriously the necessity to save the planet.

Normally, I will read such things and shake my head in disbelief.  I may crab about it a bit.  (Or more.)  And then I'll go on, taking the good parts of the book and ignoring the bad.  But this kind of book?  If the author believes the global warming and climate change are real, can I believe other things she says? 


3.  To add to my skepticism, she characterized the "Western God" as an extrovert, as seen in Jesus Christ Superstar where God's "son Jesus is kind and tender, but also a charismatic, crowd-pleasing man of influence."

Okay, maybe the Lord is an extrovert.  (What He's all about is giving Himself to others, pouring Himself out for us.)    But the author's source for this insight?

For real?  Jesus Christ Superstar?


4.  I did like the section on sensitivity, conscience, and guilt.  Apparently, introverts tend to feel guilty even when they've done nothing wrong.  They tend to feel embarrassed themselves when friends are teased.  They may fail lie-detector tests even when they're telling the truth. 

Story:  One day my brother and I came home from grade school on our lunch-hour. David and I watched one kid walking on the other side of the street take off his jacket.  Then he swung it at another kid, whipping him again and again.  That day Dad was working nearby so he happened to be home for lunch too.  As we told the story of the mean boy, Dad got mad.  He was angry at the kid for hurting the other child.  He went on and on about how the jacket-zipper could have cut the other child or injured an eye.  As an adult, I realize that everything Dad said that day was reasonable.  But in the midst of the situation, I felt accused.  I remember spouting, "Why are you mad at us?  We didn't do anything wrong!  We didn't hit anybody!"  Poor Dad.  He probably wondered where I came up with such a statement. 

And thus, the section about introverts feeling excess guilt resonated with me.

Queen of Heaven

Jeremiah calls the people to repentance for their offerings and their prayers to the "queen of heaven," Asherah.

It seems very odd that the Roman Catholic church would choose that phrase as a title for Mary, given the scriptural use of the term to refer to a false goddess.

Back to Work

A full year to recuperate.  That's what the doctors and therapists kept telling me as I progressed speedily in my abilities. "Slow down; don't overdo," they kept reminding.  Although I can do almost everything I could do before, I now realize I can't do very much of any of those things.  I wear out easily.  I slept 10.5 hours last night.  When Katie dropped by today, she was surprised by how clean the house was and that the laundry was caught up.  [light bulb click]  No wonder I was too tired to accomplish anything the last couple of days; I was worn out from the first half of the week.

When I found out that another part-time position would be opening at work, I adjusted my mind to taking that position while my boss filled my position.  That would've meant I had until late September before I had to be ready to work.  Recently that goal seemed perfectly doable; probably in mid-September it would've seemed intimidating.  After talking with bosses this week, it looks like I'll be returning to my job much sooner.  As in, a week or so.  For now, it will be only half-days.  And my boss made it very plain that he doesn't want me to get worn out so that the job interferes with my healing ... or even that it makes me consider quitting.  They are bending over backwards to help me keep my job.

And I'm terribly grateful.
Especially because I much prefer my current schedule to the other option.

But right now I'm also a bit hesitant about going back to work already.

It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.

I just have to readjust my mind away from all those books Maggie and I were going to read, and movies I was going to watch, and piddly projects I was going to tick off the list, over the next 2-3 months.  Sleep, however, will stay near the top of the Priorities List.


(PS to kids: I'm going to need some chauffeuring for a few weeks.  Andrew can take the first week.  But I'll need at least two more weeks of rides before I'm eligible to drive.)

My Old Backyard

Disturbing to see our former backyard splashed all over this week's news.

Two boys were playing in the tree-line on Wednesday.  One was shot.  The most recent news reports have the uncle saying that the boys were target-shooting, and the victim ran across the line-of-fire.   The WISN story is here, and the WTMJ story is here. 

I did almost nothing on Thursday except for checking the news and trying to understand how this could happen in "my space" and feeling vulnerable.  But that's nothing compared to the grief both families are enduring.

Tree Trimming

I'm too old and weak for the lumberjack-drill.

A few years ago, I trimmed branches overhanging the roof and the power lines.  Gary held the ladder; I climbed too high; I wielded the lonnng-handled saw.  Other than some achy muscles on both our parts, there were no mishaps.  And I tell ya, I am still pleased and proud of the results.  Oh yes!!

But I didn't finish the job.  I had no intention of coming into contact with electrical lines.  I didn't even want to go too near the cable lines ... because then I would've been disconnected from the internet ... which would make me pout.

Recently, the landlord next door had trucks in the backyard.  A cherry-picker!  And carts to haul brush and logs!  And lots of chainsaws!  At the end of Day 1, Gary talked to the tree-trimmers about doing some extra work while they were out here with their equipment.  They quoted us a price 1/3 what we'd been quoted a few years ago! (Hey, the benefits of grabbing Mr Muscle while his tools and machines are already in the backyard!)


This tree was my biggest worry.  It grew as a weed, way out in back, bordering the unused meadow, and nobody took it down.  Its branches wove back and forth between the three lines (cable, phone, and electricity).  Without a cherry-picker, there was no way to cut without knocking down lines.

These branches looked like they might be within the realm of possibility.  Maybe.  If I was feeling strong.  And being very very careful.  Tree branches had crawled in odd weavy directions.  If I'd tackled it when we first moved in, the branch may have been small enough to use my pruning saw.  Maybe.  But by now the branch-diameter was too overwhelming for something so high above my head.  And the weight had grown enough that it was no longer merely touching the electrical lines, but was pulling down on them.  Yeah, not my forte when I'm at my best and strongest.  (And I'm not exactly at my best and strongest right now.)

I can't post a picture of the improvement of the first problem.  Because the tree is GONE.  Yes, it's gone.  It's a pile o' logs and nothing more.  No more weaving and dancing and tangling in the electrical lines.  Oh, happy day!

The tree below is what's left of the second problem.  From this direction, it looks like the tree is still too close to the cables.  Well, not really.  There's a nice amount of space.  But what's more important -- what's left are branches that we can trim without destroying power lines, assuming we don't delay too many years.

And this mess is the wild grape vines that have grown up on the scrub-trees.  The grapes took root, grew, climbed, then crawled along the power lines to take over the pole for the power lines and begin spreading out.  These are not on our property, and they've grown unmolested for many years.  The neighbors did give us permission to hack back whatever we choose to cut.

I can see in this picture that the tree-trimmers did pull down a lot of grape vines that were within their reach, or which were engulfing branches that were chopped away. So it's better. But there's a long way to go. 

Job #1: Take down all the 6' weeds/trees that are anywhere near the power lines.  And keep taking them down.  If we murder them when they're small, we won't face huge tree-trimming problems when we're 80.

Job #2: Cutting back the tall grasses so that we can reach the bottom of the grape vines ... without inadvertently stepping on snakes, woodchucks, or whatever else may be living back there.

Job #3:  Whacking off the grape vines and taking a hefty chunk out of the branch.  If the smaller viney guys are disconnected from the strong roots and branches, eventually they'll wither, dry, crumble, and then storms will blow their remains off the cables.  At least, that's my hope.

Job #4: Some day in the future ... begin removing some of those bigger branches that are not a problem now.  They will grow twigs which will eventually becomes branches which will cause new problems.  Maybe one branch per year would be an achievable project?  Starting next year?

Weird Tasks

WHY am I compelled to tackle these things right now?!  (Or requesting the kids do it?)

~Scrubbing the ceiling-fan blades with a toothbrush to get them all-the-way clean instead of just dusted.

~Vacuuming the backs and underneath-sides of the dressers.

~Scrubbing the floor behind the computer desk and the back side of the desk.

~Washing the handrail on the basement stairs.

~Cleaning out drains in the bathrooms.

~Vacuuming the tops of the encyclopedias, as well as all the bookshelves in the living room.

~Vacuuming the living-room upholstery.

~Vacuuming cobwebs from the basement ceiling.

~Cleaning behind and under the stove and refrigerator.

~Washing the kitchen windows and screens.


Maybe it's because I haven't done spring cleaning since we moved into this house.
Maybe it's because I lay in bed for several weeks and did no cleaning, and now I'm trying to catch up.
Maybe it's because I know that, once I go back to work, I'm not going to be able to do any of this because the job will take all the energy I have.
Maybe it's because some of these jobs are so overdue that they're interfering with the simple everyday cleaning, and they Must Be Done.
Maybe it's because some of these jobs are small enough that I've got the strength to do them (in between the times I sit on the phone, on hold, for long periods, "resting up" while I deal with hospital bills and insurance).



Right now, the house is clean, the lawn is mowed, the laundry is caught up.  I cannot drive, so shopping, visiting, and other errands are not possible.  I may have to do something fun ... and do it without guilt over all the other things I "should" be doing.  Wow.

Not to worry, though.  Things will get dirty.  Soon enough I'll have more house-cleaning and laundry to do.

Lettuce, Orthaheels, and Hair

Planted lettuce yesterday.  It's the wrong time of year to plant lettuce.  I don't think the weather has noticed, though.

My apple trees, which haven't been bearing, grew some baby apples this year.  The tree with only two apples lost them.  But the other tree has a small crop we're hoping for.

My hair is long enough now that I occasionally have to brush it.  That's not really saying much, though, as my dad-who-always-had-a-crewcut brushed his hair every day.  But it's a step in the right direction!

My shoes -- my awesome shoes that are the only thing which make my feet not hurt -- my beloved shoes which are better than prescription insoles -- my shoes have been discontinued.  The technology for them was bought by another company, but customer reviews report that the support is just not the same.  So I bought all the rest of the old version that Amazon still had in my size.  Also, the new company doesn't make any versions without the toe strap -- in other words, none that I can wear to work when my current work-pair finally is no more.  I'm trying not to let this sink into my brain; it would be far too discouraging to realize what this means.  I can only hope that these shoes will be manufactured again before my new stash wears out.

Personality Trumps Character

James Davison Hunter, in The Death of Character: Moral Education in an Age Without Good or Evil

We say we want a renewal of character in our day but don't really know what we ask for.  To have a renewal of character is to have a renewal of a creedal order that constrains, limits, binds, obligates, and compels.  This price is too high for us to pay.  We want character but without conviction; we want strong morality but without the emotional burden of guilt or shame; we want virtue but without particular moral justifications that invariably offend; we want good without having to name evil; we want decency without the authority to insist upon it; we want moral community without any limitations to personal freedom.  In short, we want what we cannot possibly have on the terms that we want it.  (Found in "A Continual Feast" by Jan Karon)

Funny how I ran across this quote shortly after reading the first chapter of Quiet.

Happy Picutres

These pictures from the fund-raising auction in February were finally downloaded off the camera.  Rachel, Matt, and Maggie with his mom in the top photo, and then with me in the bottom photo.

It was a fun day with superb company!

Psalm 103:7

He made know His ways to Moses,
His acts to the children of Israel.

One perspective of God's ways:
God's way is to smash people who don't listen.
God's way is to give rules.

Another perspective of God's ways:
God says, "My people be protected from the calamities coming."
God says, "My people shall have light in the darkness."
God says, "My people shall be rescued when they are trapped."
God says, "My people shall eat the bread of heaven."
God says, "I forgive them and call them My own even though they are ... umm ... well, look at them.  I love them even though they are the rebellious mess they are."

Pretty Bridesmaid

Periwinkle.
Simple pattern.
Decent and proper.
White trim, white shoes, and pearls.

I was prepping the pattern, adjusting it to fit Maggie properly.  Then I crashed and Kristine took over the sewing so I didn't have to worry about the dress.  Oh, what a sweetie she is!

Personally, I think it looks classy.  Kristine did a great job.  And it's a dress that can be worn for regular Sundays instead of hanging in the closet with a "Bridesmaid Only" label. 

Screen Kleen

The little green roller beckoned to me while I was standing in line last year at the local hardware store.  It promised to make cleaning the window-screens a simple, easy task. 

Now, I don't know about you.  But I don't often clean my screens.  Maybe once a decade.  And they get nasty when you have a fan sitting in the window, running, all summer.  But cleaning the screens?  What a pain!  So they stay dirty too too often. 

So I splurged.  I bought the ScreenKleen kit. 

It sat in the closet.

For some reason, right now I am feeling in need of cleaning in the corners, behind furniture, underneath things.  I even got a toothbrush and Murphy's Oil Soap and scrubbed the nasty edge of a ceiling fan.  I never did that before in my life!  (Maybe these little jobs are my way of procrastinating on the big everyday jobs that I'm too weak to tackle?)  The other day, I couldn't see out the kitchen window.  There was tree-trimming going on next door.  And I couldn't tell if there were damaged trees from the recent storm, or if these were preventive measures to get branches away from power lines before the next storm. 

You know what?  If you cannot see out the window, it's probably time to clean the window. 

One window?  That should only take a few minutes.  I have energy enough for that.  But the clean glass made the screen look awful.  I tried the ScreenKleen.  It worked.  Oh man, it worked great!  Easy to do!  Effective!  Easy to clean up and put away the supplies (as opposed to stowing the hose and scrub-brushes and screwdrivers and putting screens back into the windows). 

The ScreenKleen kit worked so wondrously that I cleaned other screens later in the day.  I may even do some more.

The only thing I don't know is about its longevity.  The kit comes with two rollers.  They can be washed and re-used.  But for how long?  (I'm hoping a good long time, because this tool may make it possible for me to have non-disgusting screens for the first time in my life.)

Quiet -- chapter 1

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking,
by Susan Cain


My friend, Lora, recommended the book Quiet.  The first chapter intrigued me: history, sociology, psychology, and more.

Industrial revolution leads to

more consumer goods and less farming, which leads to 

people moving to cities (where they're relatively anonymous) and away from farms (where everybody knows their family for generations back and their work ethic and the looks of the place), which leads to 

an increased need for salesmen,
"a social operator, someone with a ready smile, a masterful handshake, and the ability to get along with colleagues while simultaneously outshining them" (p. 20).

Yes.  That's it.  Salesmen must have the charisma to draw others to themselves, to instill trust, and yet to make sure they get what they want from the customer and outshine the colleagues.  It's seldom about cooperation, and usually about competition.

The increased need for salesmen leads to 

a change from the "culture of character" to the "culture of personality" which leads to

advertisements everywhere

and earlier schooling (so that children can be "socialized")

and "inferiority complexes" for introverts

and psychiatric medications to change personalities

and the idolization of celebrities



as we learn to be dissatisfied with quiet thoughtfulness,
and be influenced by those who are outgoing (regardless of depth)
and those who talk and chatter and even scam.

Starck's Motherhood Prayers

I'd heard so many wonderful things about the book. 

Even though the author is a pietist, I figured that wasn't reason to write off the book.  [Pun.  Bad pun.  Oops.]   I figure that a Christian who values piety so highly (even if too highly) may have some good things to say about prayer.

And boy oh boy, what mixed feelings I have!

On the one hand, I am amazed by the prayers.  They are drenched in scripture.  These samples are what fervent prayer is all about: speaking back to God what He has spoken to us, holding onto His promises, fitting those promises and those words to our situation.  Rebekah explains this superbly.  And I think this is why Emmanuel Press publishes the book.  (By the way, their cards are gorgeous!)

On the other hand, when I first opened the book, Starck and I got off on the wrong foot.

The first thing I saw when I flipped through the book to get an idea of what was there?  A prayer that God would guard me from seeing any deformed person throughout my pregnancy (pp 16, 19).  And if by chance I should see a deformed person, I pray that God would guard my child from being affected by the sight.   Maybe I'm being too touchy, but that really hacked me off.  As I crabbed about it to Gary, he asked who I saw without an arm when I was pregnant with Katie.  And he pondered how it happened that I "saw" somebody's heart defect and palate defect when I was pregnant with Maggie.

The next thing I noticed was the part about the churching of a mother, and how a mother will spend six weeks after childbirth at home resting.  I realize that people respond differently to childbirth, and I realize that some mothers appreciate this hiatus from work and being out among other people.  But to use Leviticus to make a law of this?  And to tell mothers that they are disobeying God to get out of bed and do some work in those first weeks?  No wonder Starck is talking about the mother's weakness and how she needs to pray for strength!  After spending two weeks in an ICU bed recently, I am weak.  Too much rest destroys a person's strength.  It is not "wantonness" deserving of "injury for wanting to be wiser than God" (p 53) for a woman to "move about" during this time. 

I understand and agree with Starck's comments about how it's better for mother and baby when the mother is cheerful and thankful.  But it's going too far to say that "an outburst of hot temper" during pregnancy indicates "impatience at her fruitfulness, and consequently an act of ingratitude" for which God may punish her (p 16).  

Similarly (p 64) we hear that God has placed children into our keeping, and if they be lost, "then shall thy life be for its life."   I see where such a statement could flow from pietism.  But those who believe in original sin and know that it is the Holy Spirit (and not we ourselves) who preserves us in the true faith, such people cannot believe that God punishes Christian parents whose children go astray.

So I approach the final chapter with caution.  The naughty perspective is such a small portion of the book.  So much of the book flows from scripture to another scripture to hymn stanza and back to more psalms.  What will he say about the barren mother?  I noticed that, in Rebekah's review, she said she hadn't read that concluding chapter.  In my opinion, that's just as well.  The dear friend who gave me the book said that the chapter on barrenness was full of information that helped her, and she said there was truth there which was hard to hear, but nevertheless the words were good.  My perspective was a little ... uh ... angrier.

I think Starck tries to delve into the hidden mysteries of God when he attempts to give reasons why God chooses to withhold the gift of children from some couples.  And some of those reasons can be very hurtful.  And untrue.  And can contradict what we so often say about the good gift of children to those expectant mothers who are distressed about finances or the future.  And again, he goes too far when he says that married people should beware of "importunate prayers" because God may just go ahead and give them a child that will make them miserable for the rest of their lives (p 72).  ("Take that, you peons.  Don't question Me.  Don't keep praying to Me.  Yes, I did say to pray persistently.  But don't be too persistent.  Because then I'll teach you a lesson.  Ha!  That'll show you not to keep begging."  Uh, yeah, that's not my God.)

Thing is, there's some truth there.  It's not good to keep demanding things of God as if we are the boss and He is the servant.  But the pietist apparently has a good knowledge of when he's praying in a holy way, as opposed to those who pray in grief and feel the accusations of Satan that they are Not Content Enough.

While there is much good to be found in this prayerbook [again, see the review over at Concordian Sisters] I really would much prefer Luther's Prayers or Gerhard's Meditations on Divine Mercy or even the Pastoral Care Companion.



One more thing:  Although the title is "Motherhood Prayers for All Occasions," it's not.  It's for the perinatal time; it's not for all occasions.*  The book is not for mothers whose kids are off in the army.  It's not for mothers whose kids are getting married or divorced.   It's not for mothers whose children have all died.  It's not for mothers whose kids have left the faith and/or left the family.  It provides prayers for the one particular niche, which is either a strength or weakness in the book, depending on your own perspective and place in life.

* Footnote:   Well, I guess in a way it's for all people,

no matter what the occasion, because the prayers use 

Bible verses which apply to anyone struggling.  But 

the specific application is only to that one portion of 

 motherhood.

Such an Obedient Wife!

They're telling me stories of things that happened in the hospital -- things I do not remember.

They tell me that when the medical staff removed my breathing tube, I didn't exactly remember to breathe.  The machine had been doing the work for me.  I was weak.  Breathing wasn't on the top of my priority list.

So Gary would notice me go 20 or 30 seconds without a breath.  My oxygen level would go down.  "Susan!  Breathe!"

So I would.

Apparently, after one of these big breaths, I pointed out to him that I was a Very Obedient And Submissive Wife.  I breathed when he told me to!

Hey, I figured he should appreciate the "obedience" for those brief moments.

the absolution

Jesus said, "Come unto Me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."  And that rest is that He forgives your iniquity and remembers your sin no more.

Hallucinations

A friend asked recently, "So what did you experience when you collapsed from the aneurysm?"

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The book/movie "Heaven Is For Real" has been popular.  Nearly all my life I've heard stories of near-death experiences.  So what did I experience?  Nothing.

Maybe I wasn't that near death?

Or maybe it was something else?

My pastor is diligent to visit those in the hospital in serious condition.  Coma?  The guy needs to be visited frequently!  Surgeries, drugs, and breathing tubes?  Pastor is there a lot!  He says such times of weakness (especially with the drugs and anesthesia) are prime opportunities for Satan to wreak havoc in a Christian's life.  It's critical that the person be receiving the Gospel ... even if the person isn't intellectually comprehending the words.  It's a battle of God's angels versus Satan's angels.

I've heard stories of horrible hallucinations while people were on narcotics.  Even though I did hallucinate, it wasn't ugly.  I remember having an argument with myself about talking to one of the people in my room -- a person I knew full-well was NOT there.  But that person-who-wasn't-there was talking to me, and it would've been rude not to answer.  I remember reaching out to brush away stuff that was hanging too close to the hospital bed -- stuff that wasn't there.  I remember reaching for a pair of scissors (who knows why?!) that I just couldn't get a good grip on ... merely because they weren't there.  I hated the narcotics and the unreality it foisted on my mind.  But looking back, I'm realizing that nothing was horrible.  Monsters did not chase me.  Nobody threatened my life.  And best of all, there were no demons. 

And I wonder if any of this plays into the lack of "near-death experience."

Death cannot destroy forever.
From our fears, care, and tears
it will us deliver.
It will close life's mournful story,
make a way that we may
enter heavenly glory.

Lord, my shepherd, take me to Thee.
Thou art mine.
I was Thine even e'er I knew Thee.
I am Thine for Thou hast bought me.
Lost I stood,
but Thy blood free salvation brought me.

Without Electricity

Can't clean. 
Too dark to dust or pick up.
No electricity for the vacuum.
Can't mop or wash; no water.

Can't call Mom or Paul to chat; phone needs electricity. 

Can't watch television or videos.
Can't chat with friends on the computer.
Can't write blog posts.

Can't soak in the bathtub.
(Can't flush either.)

Can't go for a walk (because it's still storming outside).
Likewise, can't do anything with the garden.

Can't play board games because it's too dark.
Can't play piano; it's digital.
Can't do baking-chores.

Can't work the garage-door opener.
Can't run fans or air-conditioning.
Can't get snacks or cool drinks from the fridge.
Can't leave the porch light on for the one still at work.
Can't have him microwave his supper when he gets home.

CAN read next to the west window, until the sun is closer to setting.
CAN talk to the other people in the family.
CAN go to bed early.

Hoo-boy -- we are dependent!

Thanks be to God that we had no damage -- only inconveniences.

Middle Age

Forty is the old age of youth.
Fifty is the youth of old age.

Yes.

a French proverb

found in Jan Karon's 

"A Continual Feast"

Jesus, the Plagiarist?

Well, maybe it's not considered plagiarism, seeing as how the Lord wrote the Old Testament.  So if He takes the words from the psalms and "makes them His own" in the High Priestly Prayer, that's not really stealing words, is it?

John 17: Sanctify them in Your truth; Your word is truth.
Psalm 119 (resh): The entirety of Your word is truth.

What's extra-nifty, though, is that the bulk of the High Priestly Prayer is about Jesus' praying for the preservation of His apostles and other disciples.  They're about to face temptation.  They're going to fall away.  And He prays for the Father to keep them.

And that's what Psalm 119:153-160 is all about.  "Revive me."  "Plead my cause."  "Redeem me."

Katie's Kloset

What do you do with used medical equipment when Grandma or your dad no longer needs a walker or a shower-chair or a Cpap or whatever?  In Waukesha County, people can donate medical supplies to Katie's Kloset.  If you're in need of medical supplies, you can borrow it from Katie's Kloset (assuming the item you need is currently available). 

It's a great way to clear unused supplies out of your home and get them into the hands of people who need them!

It's a great way to save money if you need an item for only a few weeks or a couple of months!



A year or so ago, I was wishing there were a way for our congregation to set up something like this, but the space just isn't available.  And now I find out that there's no need, because somebody else in the county is already providing this match-making service.

"Going to Church"

When I was little, we went to "church."  "Going to church" meant Sunday morning or maybe a Wednesday-evening Lenten service.  It didn't mean dropping by the building to pick up the sweater you left there yesterday.

In recent years, friends talk about going to "Divine Service" or to "worship" or to "Mass" or to "prayers" or even to "celebration service."

[that moment when the light bulb clicks on]

Augsburg Confession, Article 7:  The holy Christian church is

the assembly of all believers among whom the Gospel is preached in its purity and the holy sacraments are administered according to the Gospel.

If you look at it that way, "going to church" doesn't sound any different from "Divine Service"!

Asking for Help

... also known as "bossing people."

I had to gather all my gumption to order-around little kids, to make them pick up their toys, to make them stop hitting a sibling, to write a thank-you note, to do their chores.  I kept making myself do it, for their sakes.  But boy, oh boy, I was not one of those moms who thought it would be realistic to have the kids doing all the housework for me by the time I was 40. 

This week I discovered why.

I can ask people to work alongside me.

I cannot ask people to do something for me if I am goofing off, resting, lying on the couch watching tv letting my brain heal.  I cannot ask people to clean house while I sit on the deck and read a book.  Even if they goofed off earlier while I worked, I can't seem to flip the scenario and ask them to work now while I rest.   

Last night, I asked for help.  There were groceries to be unpacked, hamburger to be repackaged and labeled and frozen, recycling and trash to be hauled to the curb, dishes to be washed, cat box to be cleaned.  All four of us pitched in, and the chores were done in about 15-20 minutes.  If I'd tried it myself it would have been more like two hours. 

I have to learn to request people to work while I don't. 
It's hard.
But I'm going to need to learn to do it before I'm 95.

(By the way, my mom will totally understand this dilemma.)

Hair Growth

7 weeks after the surgeons shaved it bare

17 days after surgery

It's growing.  Slowly.

I was mistaken for a man (by a friend!) last week.  And someone told me on Sunday that he much preferred the "babushka look" to the ... uh ... the "other." 

Yes!  Me too!

It's nice that Alia no longer seems afraid of me with my "boy hair."

Gary has encouraged me to take weekly pictures of the hair growth.  Because I have been frustrated by the changes in my hair as I age, he figured that evening out a huge bald patch on my scalp would be the perfect time to see what my hair did at different lengths.  When I came home from the hospital, Rachel cut my longer hair to match the fuzz over the surgery site.  When I'm in public, I usually wear a scarf or a baseball cap. 

The fact that I'm blogging about this probably betrays way more vanity in me than I want to own up to.

The scar site on my scalp doesn't show any more.  I think (I hope!) that my hair is long enough now to protect the scar from sunburn.  But I'm still being careful during midday; Pam warned me to watch out for sun on the scar tissue.

I do not think my hair will be long enough by the time of the wedding [just one month!] to go bare-headed yet.  Andrew asked Gary to keep his beard, even though it's summer, so that Gary would "look like Dad" in the wedding pictures.  Well, that lady ain't gonna "look like Mom."  But what are you going to do?!  LOL.

Strawberry Picking

Katie has done a LOT to tend the garden since I crashed.  When it comes to picking sweet berries, the girls are quite happy to help.  Alia loves it when we find insects or other small critters in the garden for her; she and I have different opinions, however, as to which of those creatures/pests should live or die.

I am SO glad we changed the strawberries last year, transplanting berries into a raised bed and putting grass seed in the former berry plot.  It's made the mowing much easier because we [well, they] are no longer mowing around an odd-shaped plot.  And I can help with picking/tending berries as they're easier to reach, and I can even sit on the boards at the edge of the bed.  Besides, the number of weeds is minimal in a raised bed compared to the ground-level plot.

Those worker-gals (in the photo above) forgot to take their berries home with them yesterday. So instead we are going to hog the benefits of their work.  We will enjoy strawberry shortcake for somebody's "birthday" today.  We'll have to pick some berries and drop them off for Katie's family another day.  Unless one of the other kids beats us to the next pickin' ....

Whoever Denies Me Before Men

Pastor has often heard me (and possibly others) moan about the verse in Matthew 10:

Whoever denies Me before men, 
him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.

In Sunday's sermon he pointed out what happened the night when Jesus was betrayed.  Peter denied Him.  Repeatedly.  Shortly after he swore he'd never do it.  

Did Jesus deny Peter?  No.

No.  He didn't deny Peter!!  
"When we are faithless, He is faithful, for He cannot deny Himself."

So it is true what the preceding verse says: 

Whoever confesses Me before men, 
him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven.

And that promise trumps the damning word of law.
 

Dear Diary ...

Discharged from outpatient speech therapy last week.
Discharged from outpatient physical therapy yesterday.

Borrowed Maggie's bike yesterday and rode back and forth in front of the house for two or three whole minutes, in yet another attempt to put a smidgeon of muscle back into my legs.  I did not topple over.  I did, however, get off the bike and walk it up the steeper inclines. 

The therapists warned me against overdoing; they said I must do a lot of "nothing."  They said that's when my brain does its healing.  I don't know how to do nothing.  I watch tv and read and do Sudoku's.  I drag myself through an easy chore or two.  I'm to the point of needing naps only when I overdo a bit. 

I've been watching Call the Midwife.  So many friends have raved about the series.  I have mixed feelings.  At the beginning, it seemed like the longest one-hour show I'd ever watched.  But after we got to know the characters and the setting, that aspect improved.  Overall, I get to liking the show, and then an episode pops up that infuriates me.  It's one thing to have a story about a brother and sister committing adultery, and then her committing suicide.  It's another thing altogether to have this relationship extolled as the right kind of love and passion and fulfillment.  Similarly, I can understand the reason why this series would set forth a story about a woman with "too many children" and her attempts to abort the next baby.  But that story takes on a completely different aspect when the narrator bookends the story with commentary on the Pill and the need for safe abortion to protect women from the Burdens Of Childbearing.  Then, when I've calmed down, I decide to give the series "one more chance" and the next episode gets me hooked again.

Andrew drove me to therapy the other day.  A soap opera was playing in the waiting room.  He was reading, but he caught glimpses of his first soap.  On the way home, he commented on the vengeance and hatred.  At my last haircut [no, I mean, the last regular haircut, y'know, in the salon, not the post-surgery head-shaving] I was sickened to see what was on soap operas today.  I remember people telling me when I was in college that they were inappropriate for Christians (or even decent people) to watch.  I thought that was overly legalistic.  I don't know if I've changed or if soap operas have worsened that much.  But now I'm inclined to agree: watching soaps today is submitting to the brainwashing of the culture.  (Oh, man, I'm gonna get hate-mail now....)

The strawberries are coming in abundantly.  I think we should replant healthy babies again this year, late in summer.  The difference in berry-size is significant.  And last fall it looked like those spindly, frail starters couldn't possibly produce anything.  I had to freeze some berries because we're bringing in more than we can eat ... and jam-making seems too risky right now with my brain-scrambles and my lack of physical strength.

God is certainly doing my garden-watering for me.  I did not get around to pruning the grapes, the cherries, or the apples.  Right now, the grapes vines look to be producing plenty of fruit and jam and juice.   The apples trees --which produced NOTHING the last three summers-- have baby apples.  I must have been pruning the wrong twigs in previous years.  Now, how do I figure out what I did wrong so that I don't repeat my mistake ... because these trees desperately need pruning as soon as fall's cool weather sets in.

I have not touched a lawn-mower since before my crash.  Gary has borne the brunt of that chore, with some help from Rachel.  We are deeply thankful that the neighbors have helped mow, and one has offered to loan his riding lawnmower to Gary occasionally!

Gary drove Maggie and me to the library last night.  First trip since my crash.  The library had notices about a town meeting that would deeply impact that future of the library.  Turned out the meeting was due to start just a few minutes before we left the library.  We drove straight over to town hall.  Both Gary and I ended up testifying briefly.  I'm glad we went.  Most of the citizens there were of the opposite viewpoint.  I think it was encouraging to the town board to hear us few taxpayers/voters in agreement with them.  It's probably also good that ALL the citizens attending were not of the one opinion, but that some of us agreed with the board's decision.  (I'm kind of scared to see how the local weekly paper quotes me: it's not exactly the most accurate news-reporting I've ever seen.)

We have lots of new members at church.  It is such an encouragement to see them arrive to visit, and revel in the liturgy and the preached gospel, to see their eager attendance at Bible class.  And they come back and bring friends.  Lovely!

You know what?  If you don't dust for long enough, you can't dust.  You have to use a wet, soapy cloth to scrub dirt off the furniture.  Each day I tell myself that I'm going to do a little housecleaning.  Just a little.  And it's harder to clean stuff than I expect.  Partly because I'm weak.  Partly because the dirt is thicker.  Ick.  (Thing is, before my daughters get any bright ideas to come over and help, I have to sort and file and toss and eliminate ... so that cleaners can find the horizontal surfaces in need of cleaning.)

At symposium last week, I found myself boasting to out-of-towners about the people at church.  We have done very little cooking since I arrived home from the hospital.  Our fellow-saints are preparing meals and bringing them to us.  I am absolutely overwhelmed by the generosity.  And the delicious cooking. 

I began weaning off the shingles drug (the one for nerve pain, aka my arachnoiditis).  Going from 3 pills daily to 2 was okay.  Going from 2 to 1 pill has been a bit much.  I thought I'd be weaned off the drug entirely before seeing the neurologist for my follow-up visit.  I doubt it now.  I'm too whiny about the nerve pain again.  I look like a dope, carrying a pillow around with me, so I don't have to sit on a hard pew or chair at church.  Too bad.  Dopey-looking is better than whiny and suffering.

That's enough update. 
I have all these scribbled notes for things I want to put on my blog/diary.
But there's only so much sitting at the computer that my body can take. 
So now I'm stopping and heading off to find a pain-pill.  
Have a happy day!

Kristin Lavransdatter

Medieval Norway. 
Historical fiction, particularly a love story or a story of motherhood.
Theology.

Okay, here's the deal.  If you're interested in any two of the above three topics, you should enjoy the Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy.

Me?  I didn't care diddly about medieval Norway.  But, hey, I learned something as I read through these books.  (Warning: it sure wasn't easy reading for me.  And to be fair, I started the series before my brain broke.  Even back in early spring it was a stretch.  For a while after my hospitalization, I considered reading Kristen to be therapy.)

I want so much to chatter on about the book.  Oh, uh, I mean, uh, critique it.  Yeah, that's it.  But I don't know how I can say anything without giving away spoilers.

My friend Polly would often recommend the Kristen series to people who were gathering a new reading list for themselves.  Last year, several other friends decided to read the series.  The books got a nearly-universal thumbs-up as more people recommended them enthusiastically.  And now I'm part of the crowd. 

More Brain Recovery

Speech therapist and physical therapist told me last Friday that I had "met all the goals" which had been set for me in the hospital.  I'm still in need of plenty of work: strength, endurance, speed.  While my legs still look spindly, we can now feel that there's something in my calves besides bone and skin-cover.  Although I appear to be building up some small amount of muscle, I still have not regained any of the weight lost during the hospital stay.  (Now, the flabby stuff on my belly which disappeared?  It can just stay gone!   The muscles in my legs --puny though they were-- need to come back, please!)

I am allowed to do light housework now.  Problem is, I can only tackle one thing per day.  Today it was picking strawberries and lettuce from our small garden.  Yesterday it was out-patient therapy and a short trip to the grocery store.  Day before was church and a bit of time with the kids.  Tomorrow is laundry and therapy and evening church; this will definitely require in-between napping.  I don't know when the vacuum cleaner and I will ever become reacquainted.

I've been given permission to begin weaning myself off the nerve-pain medicine.  I think I'll be off that drug prior to my follow-up visit with the neurologist.  I've bent the ear of two doctors, two therapists, and one nurse.  Nobody will budge on beginning to wean off the anti-seizure drug.  Thing is, I am really getting annoyed by its side-effects.  The neurologist suggested that the side-effects should lessen as I get rid of the other med. 

My boss is still patiently waiting to hear from the neurologist about my follow-up visit.  Turns out my employer was required by law to hold my position for me for only two weeks.  They have been more than generous in finding substitutes for me on the work-schedule.  They do want me back if at all possible.  It's so awesome to have a good employer that acts according to the Table of Duties' "To Masters" section.

When I talked to the neurologist last time, I gained a little more hope for returning to driving.  He said it makes a difference that I had a "provoked seizure" instead of a seizure that my body came up with on its own.  I guess if you go poking around in somebody's brain, sending her into a seizure doesn't mean she's going to have her own seizures later. 

I'm beginning to see what I suspect are side effects of not drinking my kombucha.  Today I talked to our doctor about the chin rash and the lower back pain.  Nothing to do but treat the symptoms.  I keep thinking that some of these things would resolve themselves if I could get back to my kombucha and my supplements and off the drugs.  But I am, so far, managing to be an obedient patient.

Still exhausted.  The doctors and therapists insist that "When You're Doing NOTHING Is When Your Brain Is Healing.  So do a lot of nothing."  No fear.  I am still quite the lazy slug.  Naps are my friend.

Okay, I think that's pretty much all the news for those of you who are asking how I'm doing. 
:-)

Cause Your Face to Shine, and We Shall Be Saved

The Aaronic benediction --
the way God told His priests to put His name on the people --
the way God designed for His people to be blessed:

The Lord make His face shine upon you
and be gracious unto you.

Psalm 31, right in the midst of the psalmist's plea to be rescued from those who are persecuting him:

Make Your face shine upon Your servant;
save me for Your mercies' sake.

I don't know about anybody else, but I think it's really cool that David, in his grief and his weakness and his prayers, grabbed hold of the liturgy to speak it back to God. 

And I think the psalm sheds light on what we hear at the end of every Service.  The pastor's not just saying some nicey-nice words about happy stuff happening to us.  He's not wishing us some inspirational, [temporally] abundant-life kind of week.  No.  The words of the Benediction are about mercy and salvation and rescue and the resurrection of the body.  These words are about Jesus and His suffering and death for us.

PS: In case I forget later where the line from

the title was drawn, it's from Psalm 80.

"We Don't Like Show-offs Around Here"

I signed up for Curves primarily because Maggie needed exercise.  We went together.  It's not the toughest, most strenuous workout.  I try to get more out of the gym-time by pushing harder on the cardio segments, swinging my arms, jogging with my knees higher, or whatever can push me to maybe (?) break a sweat.  A few times, an elderly woman has said to me, "Hey, we don't like show-offs around here."

I don't know if it's the same woman who's said it several times, or different women.  I don't know if it's a weird, back-handed compliment or if it's a genuine complaint.  I don't know if it's a clumsy but well-meaning way to try to initiate conversation with a new-comer. 

I have no idea how to respond to that comment, so I usually don't.  I usually act as if I didn't hear.  But it always leave me in a quandary: Do I take a lazy approach to working out so that I don't offend those who cannot expend as much effort as I do used to?  Do I work as hard as before, and try to explain? 

Someone said it to me again last month.  One or two minutes before my brain aneurysm ruptured.

I've wondered several times what she thought when I collapsed and they called 911 and the paramedics rushed up with the ambulance.  Was she horrified at her comment?  Did she think, "Serves her right, the show-off"? 

Maybe God in His grace caused her to not even remember that she said it.