Tonight I have two stories to tell you, the first, and lesser in importance, is The One in Which I Narrowly Escape Having Lock Jaw. - True story! - As you know, last week I inadvertently sliced open my own arm with a sharp metal blade, after which I hastened to the emergency room for stitches. The emergency room nurse asked me if I was up-to-date on my tetanus shot, and I admit my brain was a little befuddled by then (due, perhaps to copious blood loss, self-horrification at what I had done, and some well-grounded fear of retribution) so I said, "I am pretty sure I am," and made an immediately forgotten mental note to check with my doctor's office the next day. A week passed, and suddenly I noticed myself clenching my jaw a lot, throughout the day, involuntarily. My jaw ached, my head ached, and I couldn't stop clenching! Instantly I knew: I had tetanus! I was not at all up-to-date on my tetanus shot and even though I thought the blade had been clean, free of both rust and the dreaded Clostridium tetani bacteria, I must have been wrong. One of my worst fears was about to come true - paralysis! - and it was beginning with this excruciating jaw clenching. Naturally I came to this conclusion in the evening, after the doctor's office had closed and naturally, not being prone to external histrionics (no matter how histrionic I might wax here), I decided to take my chances with the lock jaw, wait out the night, and call the doctor's office in the morning. Which I did. Only to be told that a nurse would have to call me back. So I waited. Along about 1:00 in the afternoon the call came: my last tentanus shot was in 2009, plenty recent to prevent a tetanus infection no matter how germy the blade might have been. Whew! So I did some anti-jaw-clenching yoga and breathed a huge sigh of relief at this very narrow and completely specious escape.
The second story is much better than the first, quite glorious, really. This story is about God and Sophie and how God is sending Sophie to France on a mission trip to help with a church there in the Spring. Sophie has always wanted to go to Europe (so have I, for that matter, but Sophie took steps to make it happen). Sophie went to a meeting about the mission trip, and put the question before God, "Shall I go on this mission trip? I will need a lot of money, that I don't personally have, but everyone on the mission board says You will provide the means if I am meant to go, and I believe that, too." Then she was completely yielded to God's will, and God completely showed her (and me) that yes, He wants her to go! Our church family and some close friends in the Lord have amazingly shown their love and support for both Sophie and for God's work and BAM! she has enough money to go to France! Really, when she first brought up the notion of going, my reaction was that in the past, when she did fund-raising for various causes she never raised much money. She has always been reluctant to ask people for money (understandably) and so the thought of her raising enough money to go to Europe seemed very much out of reach. However, her faith was strong and God's grace was abundant, and the money has been provided for this journey. Sophie is extremely grateful and extremely motivated to continue finding God's will for her life and serving Him. And that is a glorious and completely genuine story!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Grace and I have had a winter gig. Once a week we help halter train alpacas. Almost every week that we go Jonathan C goes with us.
It is cool because: 1) winter in New England, outdoor work, literally COOL if not downright COLD. 2) We like Wendy, the alpaca-farm-owner, and we are glad to help her. 3) Hello?? Alpacas! They have enormous dark brown eyes that peek out from under shaggy bangs and they kind of half-bleat like large, long-necked, tongue-tied sheep. They all need to get used to wearing a halter and walking on a lead in case they need to be brought to the vet or to an alpaca show. Some don't mind at all and trot along beside us nicely, some just stand still and stubbornly refuse to walk, and some kind of buck and try to get away. At any rate, it's always interesting and we drive home pink-cheeked, smelling like large farm animals, and feeling pretty happy.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
GRACE HAD A BOOKISH DAY!!! Supreme happiness cavorts in her mother's heart.
She is reading the very popular The Hunger Games, and she wanted to read it all day long Friday. I cut some of her other schoolwork out, because I want to fan this flame of reading fire.
I hope it will continue to other books beyond this admittedly riveting series, too.
She is reading the very popular The Hunger Games, and she wanted to read it all day long Friday. I cut some of her other schoolwork out, because I want to fan this flame of reading fire.
I hope it will continue to other books beyond this admittedly riveting series, too.
Okay, as the cut on my arm heals it does hurt sometimes. Ayyy.
Yesterday morning we had a dusting of snow that made the ground pretty mosaics of brown and white. Then the day warmed, the white melted, and brown is once again what we see.
Mood: gloomy.
Depression: beckons.
Sight: must be lifted. I am very glad it is the Lord's day, and Grace and I are going to church. In the afternoon maybe we will bake molasses cookies and play Mario Kart. Maybe not, too. Life is an uncertain endeavor, in which God is the only constant certainty.
Yesterday morning we had a dusting of snow that made the ground pretty mosaics of brown and white. Then the day warmed, the white melted, and brown is once again what we see.
Mood: gloomy.
Depression: beckons.
Sight: must be lifted. I am very glad it is the Lord's day, and Grace and I are going to church. In the afternoon maybe we will bake molasses cookies and play Mario Kart. Maybe not, too. Life is an uncertain endeavor, in which God is the only constant certainty.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Sophie
Sophie and I have an awesome Friday tradition: she calls me on Fridays, and we talk for a long time! I love Sophie so much. The first Friday call, it's true, ended with me hanging up and crying, because at the end of the call she quite innocently said that she thinks the Lord might be leading her to work overseas when she finishes college. . . and what mother wants to hear that? I used to worry that she'd marry a boy from another part of the U.S. and live far away from me there, and now I have to imagine her living overseas? So I, very childishly, said to her, "Well, I shouldn't worry about it now because I might be dead by then." And she, quite rightly, said, "That's kind of mean." and I, abjectly, apologized and said "It's okay. If the Lord wants you to live overseas, as a missionary somehow, I can handle that." (Warrior mom takes another blow to the gut but just keeps going. What else is new?) So I tried to put on a brave phone face and then hung up and cried.
The next week's phone call was great because we used the Iphone's Facetime feature, so I saw her AND talked to her! Really it was almost like visiting in person. I loved seeing her face, reassuring myself that she looks well and happy. That phone call involved no discussion of living thousands of miles apart, and I hung up quite happy.
Today, my Sophie sweetie called me and we just talked, about all sorts of things, for a very long time. She laughed when I told her about how we have a tradition of Friday phone calls, and how I cried after the first one. I also told her that when she and Molly were very young, and Grace not even born, I was in Sunday School one week when Pastor asked how, as parents, we would feel if our children decided to be foreign missionaries. At that time I, in my complete naivete, imagined a feeling of tremendous joy flooding my heart because my children wanted to serve the Lord with their lives, meaning that Steve and I had been successful as parents, completely!! However . . . fast forward 15 years to last Friday . . . . there was only a smidgeon of joy in my heart when my daughter mentioned maybe being a foreign missionary. Once again I am wrong in my prognostications! Yes, I am completely thrilled that Sophie loves God so much that she is willing to do whatever He wants her to do, but selfishly I wish she could do it within a ten mile radius of me!!! Yes, I do. (Will the Lord understand if my prayers relating to Sophie lean in that direction? He will completely understand, because He knows the sorrow of His Son leaving Him and going to a dangerous place, but He might not answer my prayers in the way that I hope, because His plans are bigger than mine. And He let His Son go, even to the shame of the cross. Once again, I will yield to His will, and find joy in doing so. The life of a Christian mother! I would choose no other.)
So, Sophie is doing well at college. She is very busy, working hard, making great friends, and having fun. I am so happy for her, and so glad that we can talk once a week!
The next week's phone call was great because we used the Iphone's Facetime feature, so I saw her AND talked to her! Really it was almost like visiting in person. I loved seeing her face, reassuring myself that she looks well and happy. That phone call involved no discussion of living thousands of miles apart, and I hung up quite happy.
Today, my Sophie sweetie called me and we just talked, about all sorts of things, for a very long time. She laughed when I told her about how we have a tradition of Friday phone calls, and how I cried after the first one. I also told her that when she and Molly were very young, and Grace not even born, I was in Sunday School one week when Pastor asked how, as parents, we would feel if our children decided to be foreign missionaries. At that time I, in my complete naivete, imagined a feeling of tremendous joy flooding my heart because my children wanted to serve the Lord with their lives, meaning that Steve and I had been successful as parents, completely!! However . . . fast forward 15 years to last Friday . . . . there was only a smidgeon of joy in my heart when my daughter mentioned maybe being a foreign missionary. Once again I am wrong in my prognostications! Yes, I am completely thrilled that Sophie loves God so much that she is willing to do whatever He wants her to do, but selfishly I wish she could do it within a ten mile radius of me!!! Yes, I do. (Will the Lord understand if my prayers relating to Sophie lean in that direction? He will completely understand, because He knows the sorrow of His Son leaving Him and going to a dangerous place, but He might not answer my prayers in the way that I hope, because His plans are bigger than mine. And He let His Son go, even to the shame of the cross. Once again, I will yield to His will, and find joy in doing so. The life of a Christian mother! I would choose no other.)
So, Sophie is doing well at college. She is very busy, working hard, making great friends, and having fun. I am so happy for her, and so glad that we can talk once a week!
Merriam Webster's word of the day is ludic. I like it a lot: it means playful!
What I do not like a lot is that Google stalks me (and you, too, without doubt.) It is not playful to stalk another, is it? No. It is creepy and spookish. I know that they stalk me because on my ludic page is an ad for Rick Santorum. Yes, I completely support Rick Santorum, but the fact that Google knows that and uses that bothers me.
So, if you go the ludic page, because you also delight in a word that means playful, I wonder what ad Google will present to you, at the very top? How does Google view you, and your internet interests?
Or maybe I'm wrong, and everyone will be given the option to learn more about and financially support the courageous Rick Santorum, in which case I will only be happy (and no longer spooked.)
P.S. confession: I am so susceptible to gimmicks and crazes and advertising: I want a Rick Santorum sweater vest! (Rock the vest!) Even though I don't wear sweater vests at all. I want it because some of the money would go to his campaign and some would go to the factory in the U.S. where the vests are being made. I want it because there is a limited time, surely, where it will be available and because I like the idea of showing the world that even though I dress oddly I support Rick Santorum. ha ha ha!
What I do not like a lot is that Google stalks me (and you, too, without doubt.) It is not playful to stalk another, is it? No. It is creepy and spookish. I know that they stalk me because on my ludic page is an ad for Rick Santorum. Yes, I completely support Rick Santorum, but the fact that Google knows that and uses that bothers me.
So, if you go the ludic page, because you also delight in a word that means playful, I wonder what ad Google will present to you, at the very top? How does Google view you, and your internet interests?
Or maybe I'm wrong, and everyone will be given the option to learn more about and financially support the courageous Rick Santorum, in which case I will only be happy (and no longer spooked.)
P.S. confession: I am so susceptible to gimmicks and crazes and advertising: I want a Rick Santorum sweater vest! (Rock the vest!) Even though I don't wear sweater vests at all. I want it because some of the money would go to his campaign and some would go to the factory in the U.S. where the vests are being made. I want it because there is a limited time, surely, where it will be available and because I like the idea of showing the world that even though I dress oddly I support Rick Santorum. ha ha ha!
Thursday, February 09, 2012
The arm feels fine.
Tough week.
"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way; when sorrows, like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well, with my soul.'"
I have just spent over 30 minutes on YouTube, listening to so many versions of that song. I like them all.
Tough week.
"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way; when sorrows, like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well, with my soul.'"
I have just spent over 30 minutes on YouTube, listening to so many versions of that song. I like them all.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
today I learned that trauma, even relatively slight trauma, can have a bigger effect on one's emotions than the trauma itself should merit.
because, after I sliced my left forearm open with the Japanese kama (like a small sickle) that I was so happy to have as a real, true, authentic Japanese weapon, and after it was all stitched up and now feels fine, my emotions are still helter-skelter. I want to curl up, hide, sleep, eat pastries, hide, be taken care of. For no obvious reason except that when it happened, and blood was gushing out and I was grabbing the wound edges together, I guess the accompanying adrenaline rolled through me and then rolled out again when it was over, leaving me empty, empty, empty as a pocket. Empty as a pocket with nothing to lose. (Paul Simon)
So, yes, lots of blood. Thankfully Sensei Dave was there (he enjoyed the gushing blood part) to bring me paper towels and clean up most of the blood. A friend in need is a friend indeed! And lots of exposed fat. Seriously, it was absolutely fascinating to see what lies beneath the surface of my left forearm, in the cushiony part: many yellow fat globules.
I called Steve, because I didn't think I could drive myself to the ER while holding together the wound edges, and he came quickly to my rescue. At that point I might have been able to drive, because the bleeding had mainly stopped, but he gallantly insisted that he would take me, which I appreciated.
At the ER I was stitched up by a PA who asked me why we don't practice with plastic weapons. I said that actually we use wooden weapons a lot, but I wanted the real thing. Which I got. I now have personal evidence that these kamas really work. And I will probably always wear my gi jacket from now on when I practice with them. (I am really hoping Steve doesn't come home and ask me never to use them again. That would be dreadful. He does not share my enthusiasm for real Japanese weapons, and he worries about me, and now I've given him a solid reason to worry. Blast my careless slice!)
So, I've gained seven stitches and some much-needed cautiousness. And I want to burrow under some covers, sleep a lot, and feel better tomorrow.
******************************************
a couple of hours later: I am feeling stronger and better now, status-post two bowls of angel hair pasta with lots of sauce and a giant glass of milk, and I realize that part of the reason I was so shaken earlier was because creeping on the edges of my thoughts was the awareness of how close I came to seriously hurting myself with that kama. I could have sliced my arm or some other part of me very dangerously, so I am very thankful that my cut is as slight as it is. I hereby promise to be so very careful with weapons in the future.
because, after I sliced my left forearm open with the Japanese kama (like a small sickle) that I was so happy to have as a real, true, authentic Japanese weapon, and after it was all stitched up and now feels fine, my emotions are still helter-skelter. I want to curl up, hide, sleep, eat pastries, hide, be taken care of. For no obvious reason except that when it happened, and blood was gushing out and I was grabbing the wound edges together, I guess the accompanying adrenaline rolled through me and then rolled out again when it was over, leaving me empty, empty, empty as a pocket. Empty as a pocket with nothing to lose. (Paul Simon)
So, yes, lots of blood. Thankfully Sensei Dave was there (he enjoyed the gushing blood part) to bring me paper towels and clean up most of the blood. A friend in need is a friend indeed! And lots of exposed fat. Seriously, it was absolutely fascinating to see what lies beneath the surface of my left forearm, in the cushiony part: many yellow fat globules.
I called Steve, because I didn't think I could drive myself to the ER while holding together the wound edges, and he came quickly to my rescue. At that point I might have been able to drive, because the bleeding had mainly stopped, but he gallantly insisted that he would take me, which I appreciated.
At the ER I was stitched up by a PA who asked me why we don't practice with plastic weapons. I said that actually we use wooden weapons a lot, but I wanted the real thing. Which I got. I now have personal evidence that these kamas really work. And I will probably always wear my gi jacket from now on when I practice with them. (I am really hoping Steve doesn't come home and ask me never to use them again. That would be dreadful. He does not share my enthusiasm for real Japanese weapons, and he worries about me, and now I've given him a solid reason to worry. Blast my careless slice!)
So, I've gained seven stitches and some much-needed cautiousness. And I want to burrow under some covers, sleep a lot, and feel better tomorrow.
******************************************
a couple of hours later: I am feeling stronger and better now, status-post two bowls of angel hair pasta with lots of sauce and a giant glass of milk, and I realize that part of the reason I was so shaken earlier was because creeping on the edges of my thoughts was the awareness of how close I came to seriously hurting myself with that kama. I could have sliced my arm or some other part of me very dangerously, so I am very thankful that my cut is as slight as it is. I hereby promise to be so very careful with weapons in the future.
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