Brent is doing better--although he still can't sleep for long, even with the meds the doctors have prescribed. He tore the left quadricep muscle off of the top of the patella--and shredded some of the side ligaments as well. Apparently he is one of about three every year that the doctor repairs . . . kind of a celebrity in orthopaedic surgery circles. It will be a few months before he is able to return to work.
It is the vacation of a lifetime--the opportunity to dash from Florida to DC and wait while the doctors reattach muscle and ligament and bone together--and then to spend three (to four) weeks in a nice hotel room waiting until Brent can be released to fly home. Apparently the danger of blood clots is too great before that time.
I just finished exercising in the hotel gym and have an appointment at 1pm for a therapeutic massage to assuage the damage of sleeping in a hotel bed while waking up at intervals to help Brent get back into bed. I am the lucky one, though. The meds give Brent nightmares--continually weird ones--while my bad dreams are always of him and the pain he's in. I take continuity any time--even for bad dreams. At least I always know where I am when I wake up.
The good part? I get to spend time with Brent and I get to take care of him. I could not ask for a more pleasant proximity.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
Asters and Mountains in Florida
For the last really long time, I have spent all of my productive time either having fixed, taking care of the fixed, visiting a doctor who did the fixing . . . my back, my hands, or my right foot.
Time for a new . . . OK, not NEW . . . but much better thing to write about. My daughter Lauren is living with Brent and me for the time being, and when I got to accompany her to where she trains dogs, I found a bunch of asters growing in a field out back of the main buildings. I remembered that my favorite professor, Dr. George Rogers (Department Chair of Horticulture, Palm Beach State College), mentioned that he was gathering materials to use in an article he needed to write on Asters. So . . . when I found the wild, yellow flowers I pulled them up and took them with me.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but there were other bunches along the fence--and they are not an endangered bit of flora . . . so I didn't try to work with the bright afternoon light.
At the end of the class on Monday (Native Florida Grasses, Sedges and Junaceae), we were coming around the last turn before the parking lot and Dr. Rogers pointed out something I'd never noticed before. In Florida, there is a distinctive shape made when a group of slash pines grow naturally. He called it the "dome". I took a photo--with just my iPad2 camera. It was a beautiful sight--and the landscape was charming.
It reminds me of mountain ranges that are made when volcanoes or immense ground upheavals grow old and are worn down by centuries of rain and wind. . . . and they say that Florida has no mountains. It is close enough for me.
Up north and out west, there is snow and cold and cold and snow. Right now it is about 75 degrees F outside and lovely weather for walks and bike rides. It rains and then the sun comes out--or I wake to thunder and the reassuring thrum of rain on the roof and ground. I remember that I do not have to worry about watering the new peach or mango trees and fall back to sleep feeling that I've already gotten something important taken care of for the coming day--kind of like when you are doing laundry: even if I'm eating lunch, as long as the washer and dryer are going, I'm getting things done.
Time for a new . . . OK, not NEW . . . but much better thing to write about. My daughter Lauren is living with Brent and me for the time being, and when I got to accompany her to where she trains dogs, I found a bunch of asters growing in a field out back of the main buildings. I remembered that my favorite professor, Dr. George Rogers (Department Chair of Horticulture, Palm Beach State College), mentioned that he was gathering materials to use in an article he needed to write on Asters. So . . . when I found the wild, yellow flowers I pulled them up and took them with me.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but there were other bunches along the fence--and they are not an endangered bit of flora . . . so I didn't try to work with the bright afternoon light.
I like the first photo best. Lauren let me use her little CoolPix camera and I snapped some shots when we were stopped at various lights--the car wiggled too much for a clear picture. These look much better after I fiddled with them--but the originals were pretty good to begin with.
At the end of the class on Monday (Native Florida Grasses, Sedges and Junaceae), we were coming around the last turn before the parking lot and Dr. Rogers pointed out something I'd never noticed before. In Florida, there is a distinctive shape made when a group of slash pines grow naturally. He called it the "dome". I took a photo--with just my iPad2 camera. It was a beautiful sight--and the landscape was charming.
It reminds me of mountain ranges that are made when volcanoes or immense ground upheavals grow old and are worn down by centuries of rain and wind. . . . and they say that Florida has no mountains. It is close enough for me.
Up north and out west, there is snow and cold and cold and snow. Right now it is about 75 degrees F outside and lovely weather for walks and bike rides. It rains and then the sun comes out--or I wake to thunder and the reassuring thrum of rain on the roof and ground. I remember that I do not have to worry about watering the new peach or mango trees and fall back to sleep feeling that I've already gotten something important taken care of for the coming day--kind of like when you are doing laundry: even if I'm eating lunch, as long as the washer and dryer are going, I'm getting things done.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Piece of Bone Re-Placed in Proper Place
Xray of my right foot. My 4th toe has been broken and healed kind of skeewampus (I think it happened when a horse with winter ice-cleats on his shoes stepped on my foot more than 20 years ago.). The reason for the X-ray, though, is the bit of bone wedged into the Metatarsal-Phalangeal joint of my little toe.
Such a small bit of stuff to make walking, running and dancing impossible to do.
From the outside, the work that Dr. Schilero did just looks suspiciously vague. On Tuesday I get to go in and he'll change the bandage and I'll be able to see what it really looks like.
Happy second week of November . . .
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Glass All Over the Floor
Last week I was a little manic and actually got something done. It wasn't my goal when I woke up that morning. It just kind of crept up on me. I started out needing to use the kitchen scales to weigh some packages that I wanted to mail. I started looking in all the usual places--no luck. Then I started scrambling about in the back of the kitchen cabinets.
I still didn't find the scales, but I did feel frustrated by all of the STUFF that was STUFFED into the back corners of the cupboards. SO I began to pull it out and piling it on the counters--there's still several stacks of mixing bowls clustered together where I first put them. I can't decide what to do with them--Lauren is gradually making inroads and spreading them throughout the kitchen cabinets.
As I was poking about, I pulled out the baking pans that I hadn't used in years (except to put underneath plant pots that were leaking water--or to hold groups of seedlings in a single place so that I could put water in the bottom of the cake pan or pie plate or whatever and the plants wouldn't dry out between waterings). With too many pans in my arms, I fumbled and dropped a glass pie plate. It EXPLODED all over: GLORIOUS explosion of sound and bits of light flew all around the room.
I gathered up the small kitchen mats (we have those foam filled floor coverings that help your feet and legs not to get tired when you are standing on them--they are WONDERFUL to step onto) and took them out to the driveway to hose off. I also took the large flat-woven rug that covers the space in front of the rabbit cages to the back yard where Sarah hosed it off and hung it on the line to dry for me. Then I swept the floor and mopped and got a lot of sticky spots cleaned off. Then things just kept going from there. I took pictures (surprise . . .) to keep track of that day.
Part of the Kitchen mess first thing in the morning. You can see the bunny cages, a new small rocking chair I got at a church rummage sale. Meg's fantasy character chair with the fore-shortened portrait of Meg's signature character on the seat.
Now the top of the small kitchen vac (the round grey thing) that I had to fix before I could use it to clean--there was stuff stuck in the hose . . . so of course it didn't work.
Here's the broken glass--kind of spectacular looking, no?
I also installed a child protection lock on the cupboard that Peter (the rabbit) is mysteriously drawn to. If you look really close, you can see where I drilled too far in and went right through to the front of the door. Hoping that Brent won't notice since it is so small and he is so tall.
The successful installation.
Peter's handiwork.
Another view of the normal state of things.
The stack of mixing bowls that I pulled out from under the counter.
My "nest" of work--natural plants of Florida (this semester's focus is on grasses, sedges and rushes.
This is a Cyperaceae grass. I'm mounting this semester's dried specimens in an old scrapbook I had from when the children were young. The pages are large enough for me to include roots and base leaves.
I also watered the plants on the porch and though it sadly strange that it was so beautifully cool and light outside--and I was spending the majority of my day poking around in the dusty recesses of the kitchen. Priorities.
Here's a shot of me in the walkway where the dining room, kitchen and family room all meet. Lauren decorated for Halloween--the first time ever that this has has see such frivolity at the end of October.
Now the floor is clean and the rugs and mats outside getting cleaned and dried.
Another view of the lovely space in front of the rabbit hutches.
At the end of the day--clean kitchen and Charlie comes home from work with Lauren. He snuggles with me, tired from all the activity and attention at La's workplace--a dog training facility nearby.
Closer view of Charlie and his grandma.
I love days when I can wear my "favorite" things--baggy shirts just a bit too little for Brent and my 7-year old shorts: below the knees and with zippered pockets for my phone and keys and stuff. I know that I look like a homeless tramp when I have them on--but I am so comfortable for some reason. It is as if I COULD go out in the garden and kneel in the dirt to pull weeds, plant trees and bushes and flowers I've grown myself from cuttings or seed. Somewhere I have a photo I asked Nathan to take of me after a long, full day in the gardens. I know how desperate I must have appeared to anyone who saw me--black dirt all down the front of me, bruised knees from kneeling on mulch chunks, rocks or pine cones. Hair pulled back and still damp from my habit of pouring water over my head when I get close to over-heating--which, of course, tends to turn the dirt down my front into a fine mud.
Those were frantic, frustrating times. A huge space to fill and no money for plants to fill the space. The Propagation class I took at Palm Beach State helped a bit. The ginger, the hibiscus called Turk's Cap, the butterfly bush in the side yard, and the proliferation of wandering-jew that covers the ground and kills the weeds that try to gain purchase in the soil below them. Even the myriad of avocado trees grown from seed in the back yard--good only for shade we've been told--since trees from seed take as many as 10 to 15 years before they decide to start giving fruit.
I am tired. In the morning at 7:30am I report to the outpatient facility to have my foot operated on--but then, that is a story for tomorrow.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Samples of My Work For Carrie
People, Birds, Bugs, Bridge, Stills, Plants
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ForwardCarrie and Children, Jupiter, FL 8 2012 |
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| Eat a Carrot Jon, Hyattsville, MD 4 2012 |
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| Grandmother; Granddaughter Carolyn and Kate, Hyattsville, MD 4 2012 |
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| Heron and ShadowJuno Beach, FL 8 2010 |
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| Sandhill Crane Chick Palm Beach Garden Estates, PBG FL 3 2012 |
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| Calla Lily Palm Beach Gardens, FL 4 2012 |
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| Sunflower Palm Beach Gardens, FL 8 2012 |
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| 4 Weeks Old Palm Beach Gardens, FL 8 2012 |
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| Dragonfly in Hand Palm Beach Gardens, FL 2011 |
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| Wild Flower Buds and Flowers Palm Beach Gardens, FL 2010 |
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| Shallows Crab Florida coast, FL 2012 |
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| Staghorn Beetle Palm Beach Gardens, FL 2012 |
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| Jon's Trains Hyattsville, MD 2010 |
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| Tiny Blue Wild Flower Palm Beach Gardens, FL 2011 |
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| Lawn Orchids Palm Beach Gardens, FL 8 2012 |
Friday, August 10, 2012
53 years old and hurricane season
We're gearing up for hurricane season here.
Filling up the red, twenty-some, 5-gallon containers with gas--starting
the huge generator every month to be sure that it works; buying bottled water
by the case and stacking them waist-high along one of the the hallway walls,
Brent beginning to keep the Emergency Essentials catalogues that come in the
mail and asking me to order canned butter and fresh, canned cheddar cheese.
I'm afraid that our idea of "roughing it" entails the absence
of a dryer should we need to run the house off of the generator. We've
used it once for about 24 hours. I'm glad that we have it--I'm also glad
that we live near a charging station where the power comes in in huge volts and
goes out in tight, little, expensive packages for people to use. Our 72
hour kit includes a toilet seat that fits over a huge bucket and LOTS of tp and
powder stuff that neutralizes . . . well, you know . . ., tents, battery
powered fans, a chainsaw, a full tool kit, a first aid kit the size of a
briefcase, a fire/water-proof lock box for birth certificates, etc--none of
which I could carry out in a backpack—actually I couldn’t even carry any of it.
We talked about what to do if a hurricane should
come near Palm Beach, FL while Brent and Nate are driving west to BYU.
Brent thought about loading up the Expedition with everything we’d need
to survive at a shelter. I told him that, were a level 3 or 4 hurricane
to even look at Palm Beach while he
was gone, I would pack up the pets, the documents, emergency cash and a formal
blue silk gown that I've never worn--and drive north. We have flood,
wind, fire, hurricane, and water damage insurance. I also know the GPS
coordinates for the house, so if it got swept out to sea, I would know where to
return to after everything was cleaned up and re-built.
When we got flooded in Texas, I was expecting to stay at the house with
Brent until re-construction got underway. Those of you who know me know
how well THAT went.
I am now even further from being the outdoorsy, camping, roughing it in
the outdoor elements that I was as a teenager.
Now I get shots to manage the pain in my lower back 4 to 5 times a year,
my right foot didn't heal properly (left top part of the proximal phalanges has
splintered off and is floating about just below my little toe [or the piggy
that went wee-wee-wee all the way home rests on a bone that is missing one side])
so I keep my right foot taped. I did too much too soon after Dr. Acosta
removed the pisiform bone from my left hand and so I keep that taped up, too.
When my left hand was immobilized in bandages, I overworked my right hand
and so the ligament over my first knuckle is inflamed and needs to be taped
each morning.
Should our home be threatened today—I am done fighting the physical
world and I am ready to run and take cover. My determination to endure
hardship has shriveled into a dry crust of my former bravado. I am 53. I am too old—I have banged up my body too severely—to continue
to roof houses or to dig out dead tree roots or to spend 9 hours outside, in 95
degree heat, weeding the gardens.
I am so adamant about this because it bothers me so much. I want to be able to sit for an hour
without having to stand up and walk around. I want to saddle my horse and ride trails in the
afternoon. I want to be able to
re-roof our house because it needs it and I hate the thought of paying someone
to do what I can do myself. I want
to be able to do handstands and run along a balance beam and jump on the big
trampoline—heck, I’d be excited just to be able to run. I am tired and
probably hungry and a little dehydrated.
The house is in a continual shambles—boxes of food storage from when we
cleaned out the guest apartment for Lauren; toys and a high chair and two car
seats are still in the living room and in the way out in the garage almost a
month after the grandchildren are gone.
Boy! Am I feeling sorry for
myself.
For all of that I complain, I am so happy with my life—who I am—what I
am doing—who I am with.
I could never have imagined being as happy as I am now . . . remarkable?
Yes. Yes it is.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Bones I Don't Have Any More AND Words Have Power Talk
Both palms up together--they look almost the same.
From the back, its a little easier to see that something is different.
The scar is not all that noticeable.
Good news . . . The operation was quick and immediately took care of the sharp pain that had been radiating from the lower left corner of my left hand palm up through my fingers and down the length of my arm. The doctor told me that after he opened my hand up, he found the bone--and looked for the cartlige that should have surrounded it. There was nothing there. So that's why it hurt--bone on muscle and nerves. Nice to have that taken care of.
Bad news . . . I did have an allergic reaction to something that got on my skin while the doctor was putting on the partial cast and bandages. THAT event caused horrible itching--to the point that I tore off the bandages after only two days . . . to find skin covered with a rough, raised, angry rash that ITCHED. Have I mentioned that it itched? I would rather hurt than itch. Much rather hurt than itch.
It's all good now, though, and so two weeks after the operation, I am left with a small red scar that is fading slowly. I can played the piano a yesterday . . . lots of weak muscles in a single hand. I am typing with two hands right now, though, and am quite pleased with my efforts.
Better news, I got to give a talk last Sunday in Sacrament Meeting (one of my FAVORITE things to do) and I talked about the power of words. I'll add a copy of the talk before I sign off tonight. Time was short and so I cut my delivery to just 10 minutes--Brent tells me 12 minutes with my testimony at the end. Pretty good. I'm getting better at judging how much time it takes me to present.
WORDS HAVE POWER
SACRAMENT MEETING TALK 24 June 2012
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
By words, the earth created, By words, the stars are paired
In words we hear eternity, by
words our hearts are shared.
I would like to share with you my testimony of the power of
words.
As I began to read the Book of Mormon this year, I added
another key to look for. Every
time I read w-o-r-d, I
mark it. My husband, Brent, has
often pointed out that every project I undertake becomes a vehicle for
language. I paint the alphabet; I
work for hours on cards to send and give; I have amassed literally thousands of
pages of journal, essay, and poetry; one of my recent projects was a book made
up of photos—each labeled with one word—trucks, cars, mom, dad, sister, trains,
numbers and letters. My one “real”
paying job was teaching composition and literature to college students.
I am charmed by the magic of speech. Odd sounds and discrete packets of
vowels combine to make it possible for my son Nathan to tell a joke; for my
grandson Jon to tell me “I wuv you, Gama Kaolin! Tank you for ta red ca’!” when we Skype; for Brent to leave
a message that it has been a really long day at work and he is really looking
forward to coming home to me.
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
Will they bloom, sustaining life?
or will they root and rot?
Will I be traitor-coward or be the
hero sought.
Words have made all the difference in my life. I remember a time when I was
about 8 years old. It was an early
Saturday morning and I, my two younger sisters and two younger brothers had
been assigned chores to do. I
happened to get the easy ones:
vacuum and dust the living room.
When I finished, I stayed in the living room and sat at the piano. I began to practice my assigned songs
with great vigor and volume. About
5 minutes into this performance, my dad came in to the living room and sat down
next to me on the piano bench. He
waited until I had finished the piece that I was playing and then put his arm
around my shoulders. “I’m glad
that you have finished your work and are now practicing for your piano lesson,
but the rest of us are still working.
Would you please come and help us so we can get the house clean faster?”
There was no acrimony; he didn’t yell from another room,
“Why are you fooling around playing the piano! Get in here so we can finish cleaning the house!”
My father’s kind words have stayed with, and become a part
of me—a part that has bloomed.
Because of those words, I have tried to raise my children with the same
respect and honour shown to me those 47 years ago.
Words have power to change lives.
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
Will they bloom, sustaining life?
or will they root and rot?
Will I be traitor-coward or be the
hero sought?
When I was in college, I took ballet lessons at BYU. We met in an old church building, off
campus with echoing halls and warm, wood floors. Our teacher made us work hard, but one morning, with 15
minutes of class left, we begged her to let us try some “really fancy
stuff.” She agreed and showed us a
passage that went across the room.
She started with simple jumps and turns. We did our best to be her perfect shadows. Then she asked each of us to do our own
combination—to let everyone else see us dance. I have an idea of what steps I did, for I had done this
hundred of times before in empty gymnasiums and down long, quiet hallways. I just let my heart loose and
danced. My moment was over. Class ended.
As I was standing outside, waiting for the bus to take me
back to campus, one of the other dancers stood beside me for a moment. “You dance so beautifully.” she said. “I love to watch you dance.” All I could do was say thank you before
she turned and walked down the street.
Those words, blossoming still in my soul, sustained me
when I was morning sick, or too depressed to look at myself in the mirror, or
30 pounds overweight because of medicines I was taking, wire- thin from a
sickness that no one could name.
No matter what I was at that point, I was, and always would be, a
beautiful dancer.
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
Will they bloom, sustaining life?
or will they root and rot?
Will I be traitor-coward or be the
hero sought.
The words we use change those around us. An angry Sunday School teacher once
took a noisy student out of class and told him to “never come back.” And he didn’t. He married and had a family and they
stayed away with him. Forty years
later his Bishop visited him and his family and listened to the man’s
story. Bishop Wirthlin apologized
for those words. He then did his
best to convince the man that his apology was real. Over time, wounds healed and the family returned, gaining
the blessings of the Gospel in their home. (Elder Wirthlin, April 2005 General
Conference)
Never come back. Three words that could have kept a family from having so
much more than they deserved.
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
By words, the earth created, By words, the stars are paired
In words we hear eternity, by
words our hearts are shared.
One of the most evocative events in the Book of Mormon
happened when Alma the younger was converted to the Gospel. As with Paul in the New Testament, it
took divine intervention to help Alma the younger to repent. He relates his conversion story to his
own sons:
6 . . . I went about with the
sons of Mosiah, seeking to adestroy
the church of God; but behold, God sent his holy angel to stop us by the way.
7 And behold, he spake unto
us, as it were the voice of thunder, . . . and we all fell to the earth, for
the bfear of the Lord came upon us.
8 But behold, the voice said
unto me: Arise. And I arose and stood up, and beheld the angel.
9 And he said unto me: If thou
wilt of thyself be destroyed, seek no more to destroy the church of God.
11 And the angel spake more
things unto me, . . . , but I did anot
hear them; for when I heard the words—If thou wilt be destroyed of thyself,
seek no more to destroy the church of God—I was struck with such great fear . .
. that I fell to the earth and I did hear no more.
13 Yea, I did remember all my
sins and iniquities, for which I was atormented
with the bpains of hell; . . .
15 Oh, thought I, that I acould
be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought
to stand in the presence of my God, to be judged of my bdeeds.
16 And now, for three days and
for three nights was I racked, even with the apains
of a bdamned
soul.
17 And it came to pass that as
I was thus aracked
with torment, . . . behold, I dremembered
also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of
one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.
18 Now, as my mind caught hold
upon . . . [these words], I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, ahave
mercy on me. . . .
19 And now, behold, when I
thought this, I could remember my apains bno
more; . . . .
20 And oh, what ajoy,
and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as
exceeding as was my pain!
Mosiah 36
Alma’s belief in the words of his father saved him,
literally, from “the pains of a damned soul.”
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
By words, the earth created, By words, the stars are paired
In words we hear eternity, by
words our hearts are shared.
One of the most thought-provoking, joyous places on this
Earth is the temple—where words help me learn better my relationship to
Heavenly Father and how to become more like Him. Brent and I were married in the temple 30 years ago. Our words bound us to each other and to
the Lord in an eternal family.
This promise has sustained us when we were just the two of us together
in school, when we didn’t have enough money, when we didn’t have enough time, through
job changes and moves to different homes, later, when my mother died, and each
time I’ve been sick.
I am able to enter the temple—I am able to renew my
covenants with the Lord—temples exist upon this earth–because of the words that
a teenage Joseph Smith read in the Bible.
Where Joseph and his family lived, there was “an unusual
excitement on the subject of religion.(5)
“So great was the confusion and strife among the different
denominations, that it was impossible” (7) for him to know who was wrong and
who was right. He read in the
Bible, James 1:5
If any of you lack bwisdom,
let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and
it shall be given him. (11)
He “reflected on it again and
again, knowing that if any person needed bwisdom
from God, I did; . . .
13 At length [he] came to the
conclusion that I must . . . do as
James directs, that is, ask of God. . . .
14 So, . . . I retired to the awoods .
. . . . It was the first time in my life that I had . . . made the attempt to cpray dvocally.
15 After I had retired to the
place where I had previously designed to go, . . I kneeled down and began to
offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when
immediately I was aseized
upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing
influence over me as to bind my tongue . . . it seemed to me . . . as if I were doomed to sudden
destruction.
16 But, exerting all my powers
to acall upon God to deliver me out
of the power of this enemy . . . , and at the very moment when I was ready to
sink into bdespair .
. .I saw a pillar of clight
exactly over my head, above the brightness of the dsun,
which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
17 It no sooner appeared than
I found myself adelivered
from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rested upon me I bsaw
two cPersonages,
whose brightness and dglory
defy all description, estanding
above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said,
pointing to the other—This is My fBeloved gSon.
Hear Him!
I worship God, and revere Joseph Smith as a prophet who
restored the full Church of Jesus Christ to the earth. Guided by the words of James, he heard
the voice of our Heavenly Father and listened to the words spoken by Jesus
Christ.
Words can change history.
Words can change eternity.
Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the
heart and grow.
By words, the earth created, By words, the stars are paired
In words we hear eternity, by
words our hearts are shared.
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