FINALLY !! Some good news !

Last week was the one that almost got us down - me and my son that is, as we fight our way through this situation he finds himself in, with only me as his trusty sidekick.  (Poor guy, he sure drew the short straw on that one.)

It was Thursday, clinic day, and we were all geared up for some test results.  These were important tests, not just "how ya doin ?" baloney.

But the clinic somehow didn't follow up on the doctor's faxed orders, the lab didn't run the right tests, or someone, somewhere in the galaxy dropped the proverbial ball.  In any case, after a week of edgy anticipation (I know, I know, we are not supposed to be "anxious" over anything, but sometimes that is easier said than done) the clinic visit was at hand ... but alas, the results were not.

I thought K. was going to blow a gasket, and I was ready to do a parallel blowout myself.  Even the doctor could not quite mask his frustration over the whole thing.  So we dragged home discouraged and were told they would draw blood again the next day, and we would get some results this week.

Fast forward to Tuesday  - and after days of nerves, and trying to stay steady and calm, and just keep breathing in and breathing out - we got a phone call from the doctor - two days before the week was up.

BOTH test results were marked improvements!  Oh, and guess what else, it was K.'s birthday, and it was the best birthday present he could possibly have received.

Oh sure, I baked a cake, and made another favorite dessert of his, cooked him his favorite dinner, and invited his best friend over for dinner to help cheer him up.  But moms can only do so much, and on this front, I was coming up more than a little short. Note to self:  doubling-down on desserts will not cut misery in half.

And then the blessed phone call.  Color us both grinning from ear to ear for the rest of the day - and at last "happy birthday" greetings did not ring quite so hollow.  His class called and sang happy birthday to him over the phone.  A colleague stopped by with a card and to visit.

Family members called with greetings and good wishes.  Nieces and nephews also called and sang to him.  All good stuff.  But nothing quite so wonderful as those test results.

He has been bed fast for almost three months now since the surgery, and we are not home free quite yet.  But we are thankful, thankful, thankful, that this week there was finally some good news.

What a wonderful birthday present.  :)  AND he was allowed to sit up for about 15 minutes for the first time in months.  Yea !

Thank you each and every one for your thoughts and prayers these past weeks.  Blessings to you - until next time ... Marsha

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Proverbs 13:12

It's The Little Things

                                                                            

Doing dishes the other day (here at my son's house) I noticed a little blue bowl among all the other more fashionable dishes in his cupboard.  I recognized it immediately and had to smile.  It was his grandmother's bowl; and while it is a little beat up and not very useful as it is too shallow for soup and too small for cereal, he keeps it.  (The bowl in the picture is  just an illustration.)

My guess is that it reminds him of his Grandma Lucy.  She loved that particular shade of blue - kind of a pale turquoise, but not actually an aqua.  She used to paint little end tables that color, small wooden racks that color, and once I noticed her little glass-front cupboard where she kept her favorite tea cups and saucers, and lo and behold, she had painted the back wall inside those shelves this same color.  She just liked it!  :)  Oh, and she never "painted" per se, she always "KemToned".  She was very particular about that. 

I thought about that little blue bowl, as I stopped by our new digs to see how the painting was coming along.  The painter and his helper had already finished the first phase, and I was pleased as punch to see that the celedon green I selected for the kitchen is just exactly what I hoped for.  (You know how it is with those paint chips - sometimes what you see, is not what you get!)

It is a color that I have had in at least three different houses, in various modes.  Once it was in a floral sofa, more recently it was on the living and dining room walls.  Now it will be in my new kitchen.  I just like it!

The living room, dining room, and hallway are all to be "tortilla chip" cream.  The master bedroom will be "bird bath blue" - a little more blue than just powder blue.  The L.O.C.'s* office will be "Seminole" (a basic beige - because that is what he likes) and the guest room will be ..... oh, dear, here I go again, just one shade off of celedon, it will be mint green. (*Lovable Old Coot)

We are not buying new furniture, nor appliances, etc.  No new carpets either, maybe some area rugs, though, for all the beautiful hardwood floors.  But the wall colors, now those I wanted fresh and personalized.

Wall colors may just be silly background for some folks, and that is okay, too.  But for me, the color I am surrounded by makes me either smile or ....not.  I am hoping to do lots of smiling after we make this move.  Goodness knows there have been very few smiles about much of anything else lately.  As some of you know, it has been a tough three months and we are not home free yet.

So I am very glad for the little things that can make us smile.  Birdsongs, a butterfly outside the window, a nice breeze, a great shade of wall color, all small things that can bring big smiles.
Until next time ...Marsha

Is there some aspect of your surroundings that makes a big difference to you, even if others might consider it a little thing? 

Do You Know Where Your Keys Are?

Tomorrow is the big day.           

I have visited there before, several times actually.  I have walked around outside planning where I want to plant certain things in the new landscaping project.

I have been inside on three occasions, most recently for a final walk-through, and to hold paint chips up to the all-white walls as I picture how it will look when it is enhanced with wonderful colors.

But I did not have the ability, nor the legal right, to enter the premises alone.  It was not yet mine, you see, and thus I could not enter.

However, tomorrow we will receive the keys to our new home.  As glad as I am to begin this next phase of our journey, I do not confuse it with an even more important journey for which there is also a set of keys.

These keys are both easier to obtain than the ones I will get tomorrow (there are no ninety-six pages of documents to fill out) and more difficult to obtain, as they cannot be earned, only received through faith.

Jesus said to Peter, "...I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven..." (Matthew 16:19).

Some of us spend much of our lives walking around outside the kingdom, trying to figure out how to buy or earn our way in.  Some of us want to "enhance" the property because we think the Lord left it a little plain (what's with all that narrow gate and straight way stuff anyhow?).

In that kingdom, there will be no need for new landscaping, as there is a river that runs through it and wonderful trees along its banks whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.

Still, some of us are not sure we want to enter the kingdom because we have seen who some of our fellow kingdom-dwellers are and we are not convinced we are compatible.

Some of us were hoping for a different role in the whole kingdom- scheme of things, and that has not worked out, and thus we are a little miffed at the pecking order.  (Really now - the last shall be first and the first shall be last?  Does that make sense?)

Nevertheless, it was not some smooth-talking realtor, nor even an erudite lawyer like the Apostle Paul who said it.  It was Jesus himself, and he knows what he is talking about since he was there in the beginning and with the Father and the Spirit designed the whole kingdom concept.

He said, "...I will give you the keys of the kingdom"  - you will, I hope, notice he did not say the keys "to" the kingdom, but rather the keys "of" the kingdom?

That is a very important little word. Generally, gaining the keys to something or someplace means having access, legal rights and some authority over what goes on there.  It also includes having the ability or right to say who else can and cannot "enter" and be part of that place or space. 


Again, however, the really important keys, are the keys "of" the kingdom.  To gain an understanding of the kingdom, an appreciation of the kingdom, a heart of gratitude for inclusion in the kingdom, despite the fact that we could never earn or buy our way in; now those are the really important keys.

Yes, I am grateful to be getting the keys to our new home tomorrow.  But it is really just another temporary dwelling.  I never want to lose sight of the fact that it is those other keys, the keys of the kingdom, that are the truly important ones in life.  They open life, love and fellowship, not just for a few days or a few years, but for eternity.

Hope you know just where your keys are this evening.  I do, and I am very grateful.  Until next time  ... Marsha

Sign Me Up - and Down and Sideways and Backwards and ...

                                                                                              
Today we signed documents.... lots, and lots of documents.  Long ones, short ones, several that were almost blank, and not a few which were completely indecipherable except to the mortgage lady who simply pointed to a line and said, "Sign there."

We have bought our little "half-acre of paradise" and I am going to smile to myself as I drift off to sleep tonight.  But it has been a journey getting here.

My husband, the LOC*, is very familiar with how these things work.  Or at least he used to be in his former profession as a banker.  But even he was astounded at how complicated the whole thing has become since the "big melt down."     (*Lovable Old Coot)

Because I can be just a little obsessive (to which my three children shriek from the peanut gallery, "A little?"  Ha!) I actually counted the number of documents in just one of the earlier packets we submitted.  It was 96 (ninety-six) pages.  And that was just one of several different packages of documents we have submitted, received, acknowledged, signed and returned. 

You would think we were attempting to negotiate the national debt reduction behemoth, instead of buying just a modest little house in the woods.  But said modest cottage does happen to have a lovely stained glass window next to the front door, with a rose pattern.  I simply love it, and I have always wanted one, and never dreamed I would buy a house that had just the very thing.  It is almost as though someone designed this one for me.   Actually mine is prettier than this one, but you get the idea.                                                                                  


When I am "off the tether" so to speak, I truly hope to learn how to move pictures from my camera to my blog, so that I may share our little adventure with you. 


Until next time, stay away from all enterprises that require signing lots of paper, unless you just have to, and think happy thoughts as you drift off. ...Marsha

One Spot - How Busy Can We Be?

When we hear someone say they are really busy, we generally picture someone running here, there, and everywhere.

My son and I are, however, stuck in just one spot nearly all the time, and yet I tell you we are busier than a one-armed paper-hanger working in a high wind.  It is just ridiculous.

Take yesterday for example.  (I certainly wish someone had taken yesterday, besides us that is, because it was a real lulu.)  The first nurse was due at 10:30, so we planned other chores to be done in the morning.  However, the first nurse arrived early, then the medical transport team (it was wound clinic day) also arrived early so they were trying to work around each other.  Trust me, this is not pretty. Then the second nurse didn't arrive at all, which meant we would now have to reschedule for after we got back from the clinic.

About then, insert the IV infusion supplier "dropping by" with supplies we had not ordered and did not yet need.  But on the theory that they may not come when we really do need them, we took delivery anyway.  Just have to remember to make sure we use the older meds first, and not get the two deliveries mixed up.  Oh, and three do not have to be refrigerated, but one does, and we had better not confuse which one that one is.

Meanwhile, my son had a planning commission report due, his long-term substitute teacher for his students called to get his thoughts on first quarter reports, and a friend called wanting to know if K. could "look in on C. - because he wasn't doing well."

Excuse me? No, he really cannot, as he has not been allowed out of bed, except for medical visits, for over two months.

Meanwhile, I am off to the store to get supplies, down to the gas station to avoid running out as my low-fuel light had been on for days, and then to the post office to mail an insurance appeal letter for some of his treatments, for which they had denied payment.  (Sighhhhh.)

And of course, clinic visits require coordination worthy of a synchronized swim team routine.  One must lay out the dressing kits and cannisters for the wound vac, refill K.'s sealed cold water bottle, and get his clothes ready to put on at the last minute, as he cannot wear them in bed; they could pull the vac tube to which he is attached - literally - at the hip.

Then as the gurney team pulls in - oh, yes, I have to first go move my car out of the driveway so they can have full access - and load him up, I have to quickly strip his bed and put on clean sheets, because it is much quicker and easier for him if I do it while he is out of the bed.  I then jump in the old Buick and race to the clinic to deliver his personal dressing supplies and to jot down his wound measurements so that we know what kind of progress he is making.

The second nurse still had not showed and was now an hour and a half late, so I called the agency.  "Oh, she is in Clear Lake today."  Whaaat???  That is about two hours northwest of here.

Take a deep breath, Marsha, and ask calmly, do they plan to send someone else?  Oh yes, there has just been a minor mix up.  So when we return from the clinic I begin set up for the next nurse, who still does not show.  Three calls later, she comes huffing an puffing in, apologizing for keeping us waiting; but she had to go pick up her teen age son after soccer practice!

And so it goes.....and goes....and goes.  The good news was that the doctor was really pleased with the healing rate going on with the actual wound site.  We are thankful!  And thank you all for your prayers and good wishes.

I have to say that I am a "little old lady" who is not really built for this pace.  I am finding water bottles all over the house, wherever I set them, and I just grab one and take a quick swig, because there is no time to linger over a nice cup of tea.  But here is an odd thing, I am actually stronger than I was two months ago.  And if the health reports are true, that you add one day to your life for every fifteen minute brisk walk, well, shoot; at this pace I'm going to live to be a hundred easily.  :)

Until next time - hope your pace is a little more sane.  We are still stuck here in one spot, but running in place as fast as we can.  :)
...Marsha

How to Hug a Drunken Porcupine

Now admittedly, I have not hugged too many porcupines, regardless of their state of inebriation, or lack thereof.  But sometimes it seems like my entire life has been spent trying to figure out how to do it successfully.

What, you may reasonably ask, would a "successful porcupine hug" be like?  Good question.  Maybe one where you can walk away and not need emergency medical treatment?

The thing about porcupines is that they have a hard time telling their friends from their enemies, and therefore, they tend to just send out barbs to anyone who comes within their firing range.  Know anyone like that in your group of friends, or among family members?  You do not have to answer that.

And why drunken porcupines (DPs for short)?  Because anytime I have been attacked by a wobbly "prickly pig" - which is essentially what the word porcupine means - inevitably either the DP him or herself, or someone apologizing for them, would tell me that they didn't really mean it, and I should excuse them for their hurtful behavior because they were "under the influence" at the time they sent all their zingers my way.  Huh?

"You know how her mother was, and she was always too influenced by her."

"He only strikes out like that because of the influence his older brother had on him."

"She doesn't mean to be nasty, she just was overly influenced by her third grade teacher who embarrassed her."

....whatever.  And then there are those porcupines who really are DPs with DUI - Damaging Under the Influence of substances both legal and illegal.  Again, we are often admonished, "Well, you know she only says things like that when she has had too much to drink."

Sorry, but I studied and worked in drug and alcohol programs for five years and the fact is that people tend to exaggerate their own worst tendencies when under the influence, but they do not act completely contrary to their character.  A mean drunk is simply an ornery sober person, gone over to their own dark side.

So what to do when one of these DPs comes wobbling into your day wanting a "hug" despite the fact that they have repeatedly punctured you in a thousand places, for about a hundred years, and you are only just healing up from the last time you tried to make contact with them?

Do you ignore them?  Do you tell them to get lost because they are painful to be around and, although you don't admit it, they privately make you furious?  Or scare you to death with their invective?

I have even known one or two DPs who told me it was my own fault that I got treated to the pincushion treatment any time they were around me, because I brought out "their worst quills" and they just couldn't help it.    Sorry - not buying it.

Another misleading factor is that some porcupines are pretty cute, from a distance.  And some can look fairly innocuous, if you don't try to hug them, or even shake paws with them.

So how do you hug a drunken porcupine?  Carefully, very, very carefully.  And you wear great big padded oven mitts, face protectors, and very sturdy overalls.  And why would you want to try?  I am not sure, but maybe because they are one of God's creatures, too, and maybe underneath all those sharp barbs they need a hug? 

I don't know about you, but I truly wish our family didn't have quite as many porcupines as it does, and I certainly wish they didn't imbibe so frequently.  But as I always say, "Every family has a crazy Aunt Harriet or a nutty Uncle Harry."  And every family or group of friends knows one or two drunken porcupines.

The next time one of them tries to cozy up to you, my suggestion is smile, if you can, back slowly away, and only offer a paw-shake after you have donned the oven mitts.  'Cause the only way to hug a porcupine is carefully, very carefully.  And if they are DUI - just RUUUNNNN!

Wishing you hugs of the non-porcupine kind, until next time ...Marsha

                                                                                             

Meaningless Games ??

Our favorite baseball team, the S.F. Giants, are just about at the point where they cannot make the playoffs.  True, they have not yet passed the "statistical point of no return" - but in all practicality, their season is over.  It ended when they lost their most recent series with the Arizona D-Backs; who are play-off bound.  (I really do not like snakes.)

But there are still a few games left to play in the season, and it is their job, even when it is not their "joy", to suit up and show up.  Once there is no longer any reasonable expectation of making the playoffs, most sportscasters call these "meaningless games."

There are times in life when we all feel like there is no longer a reasonable expectation of some grand achievement for our efforts, but it is still our job to suit up and show up.  The question then, for a Christian, becomes can we still do it with joy?

It all depends upon the source of our joy.  If it is all about "me" and what I can achieve, and what recognition I can gain from the achievement, then once the excitement factor is gone, it can become the life equivalent of a "meaningless game".

But Nehemiah 8:10 tells us that "... the joy of the Lord is your strength."  And when that is the case, then we can still suit up and show up and even enjoy doing it; even though there will be no promotion at the end of the project, no write-up in the paper about our prowess, no accolades to reward our efforts.

I don't know about you, but I often forget that the phrase which precedes "the joy of the Lord is your strength" is an admonishment which simply says, "Do not grieve."

This does not mean that we should never grieve in life.  Grief is human and natural and necessary - for a time.  But in this context, Nehemiah was encouraging the people of Israel not to grieve about things which were past, and would not be recovered, things that could not be changed, things that had not turned out the way they hoped they would.

He told them this in the middle of a building project, a wall around the city, that their enemies thought was a complete joke.  They were objects of scorn, and people made fun of them for staying with it.

But they just kept showing up, and doing what they could.

Maybe the remaining baseball games for this season for our team are "meaningless games."  But in life, as long as it is our job to suit up and show up, there are no meaningless games.  Only meaningless excuses.

Meanwhile, we still can work with joy, if we know Who the source of that joy is.  With God there are no meaningless jobs, as long as it is work we have been given the strength to do.

Hope your day and week are filled with joy, and strength, and good things.  Until next time ...  Marsha

Competent - Don't I wish ? - Mondays Wrinkled Brows

Wrinkled Brows is a Monday series on a word or quote of interest (perhaps only to me.)

Competent: having requisite or adequate ability or qualities; legally qualified or adequate; having the capacity to function in a particular way.

Most of us have a few personal pet peeves and one of mine happens to be incompetence, especially in areas where it really matters.  I'll just own it; incompetence makes me cranky.

As a young girl, even just ironing dresser scarves, my mom expected that they would be done correctly.  "If it's worth doing at all, then it is worth doing right."

Let's face it, when one is less than fully adequate in "flopping whoppers", or perhaps greeting customers just so at the local wally-world store, the ripple effects are likely to be little more than mild irritation.  No big deal.

But when competence is inadequate in areas where health, safety or even financial dealings are at stake, I have a fairly low-threshold of tolerance.  This past week has been a stiff challenge in remaining professional and polite while dealing with people who lacked "the capacity to function in a particular way."

Necessary paperwork authorizing critical medical treatment gone awry, missing, or in one case delivered to the wrong patient, for the wrong diagnosis with the wrong treatment.  People!  What happened to professionalism?

Deadlines were ignored or missed.  Arrangements which had been double-checked for confirmation due to necessary, and very specific logistics, had not been communicated to the right person despite assurance that they would be.

I made a living for a lot of years in a tough corporate environment where you either delivered on your promises and met your deadlines, or you were invited to seek your future elsewhere.

Say what you'll do and then do what you say.  Walk your talk.  Plan your work and then work your plan.  However it was phrased, you darned well better come through or there were serious consequences to be faced.

Apparently that type of commitment to keeping one's word is no longer in vogue.  It is a lackadaisical society in which we live.  More's the pity.

I don't know about the rest of you, but this week's miserable demonstrations of incompetence have caused me to determine to do even more going forward to:
-     communicate clearly wants, needs, and expectations
-     follow through on exactly what I say I will do
-     remember to thank those who services I value and respect.

I no longer get paid to behave this way; but I still believe it is worth the effort.  Someone, somewhere is depending upon each of us to be competent.  I say let's come through for them.

Hope you are enjoying the waning summer days and remembering to thank those who demonstrate competency.  It apparently isn't all that common anymore.  (And I am not just being cranky.  At least I hope not.  :) Until next time .... Marsha

Just Keeping It Real

Yesterday a number of readers were very generous, kind, and encouraging in their comments regarding the circumstances my son and I are currently dealing with.  I appreciate your prayers and support more than you can possibly know.

However, I am a tad bit concerned that K. (my paraplegic son) and I may be coming off a bit "too good" in all this, and if so, that is entirely my fault.  So today's post is my attempt to keep it real, as there is no one living in this little domicile who is apt to win any Mother Teresa awards.  Trust me on this, Mother Marsha can be quite a pain. 

You know what they say, "If it isn't one thing, it's your mother."

Likewise K., while everything I have shared about his indomitable spirit is quite true, is no Saint. K., and can also be quite the challenge on a rough day.  He does not suffer fools gladly, has a fierce intellect that can be sharply critical, and is a fairly picky housemate.  I simply do not know where he gets these traits.  :)

Here are a couple of examples- in the spirit of keeping it real:

When being transported to the wound clinic yesterday via gurney, he noticed as they loaded him in his driveway into the van that there were some brown spots in his lawn.  He hires folks to keep his lawn meticulously trimmed and fertilized year 'round, so a brown spot is NOT what he wants to see.

"Mom, could you please put the sprinklers on those brown spots later today?", he says with just a hint of impatience because he has asked this previously.  And I have done it any number of times over the past two months, but admittedly I missed a couple of times this past week - probably while I was doing fourteen loads of laundry.  (She mutters to herself.) Just keeping it real here.

I make eggs and toast, but this is a balancing act worthy of a hire-wire trapeze performance.  The eggs should be over-easy, with just a hint of liquidity on the yolks, but without any hint of crispy edges on the white part.  He never complains if they are not to his liking, he simply eats around the offending portions and leaves it on the plate.  Message received - and I redouble my efforts both to get the eggs just right, and to not strangle him while I serve them to him.  I'm just saying.

And THEN there is the whole toast saga.  Could grief, could he have picked a more obstreperous appliance?  He likes his toast light, but not too light.  In his toaster oven, if one does not place the bread slices in exactly the correct spot, it makes these darker stripes on the toast, even if the rest is just the way he prefers it.  I staunchly resist the temptation to pitch the darned thing into the farthest corner of the backyard.

How I long for my Cuisinart sitting on my forlorn little kitchen counter at home, where both my husband and my little dog currently reside without me.  (Sniff, sniff.  Boo hoo.)

So, while we are indeed, moving right long as best we can, there are no heroics going on around here, except perhaps in heart and in good intentions.

As the Mother Teresa reportedly said once, "We can not all do great things, but we can all do small things with great love."

And that is where we are today.  Just keeping it real.  Hope your day is filled with good things and love.  Until next time ...Marsha

Whistling While We Pray

I simply hate hand-wringing and, as they used to say where I came from, "mully-grubbing along." (A colloquialism meaning to shuffle along while pitifully sniffling over one's woes  - never considered good form.)

The Disney movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs had a little song in it called "Whistle While You Work" and the dwarfs would sing it as they swung their little pick axes over their shoulders on their way to the mines.           

Now let's just think about that.  Their work apparently involved going down into deep, dark places and doing tough physical labor for long hours, and yet there they were - whistling along the trail.  You have to admire their spunk.

There is, however, someone whose "spunk" I admire even more - my son K.  Last week we received a tough diagnosis after his MRI, followed by a potentially gloomy prognosis.  It was, to put it mildly, a real downer.  He has lived in and dealt with some deep, dark places himself.

But by the next afternoon, as I was doing a little housework around his spiffy little house, where he generally lives alone, but where I have been staying during his post-surgery recuperation as he is bed fast, I hear whistling coming from down the hall.

I assumed he had his TV on, and it was so cheerful sounding, I went down the hall to see what program he was watching.  But it wasn't the TV, it was him, laying there working on his laptop and whistling just as cheerful as a little bluebird.

I was humbled.  He had just been told he would be in bed for more like six months, instead of the original three month estimate, and he had been told he has a bone infection (which is very scary stuff) and yet he is still summoning up the chutzpah from somewhere to whistle while he worked.

He cannot leave his bed (except once a week on a gurney when we go to the wound clinic - nurses come here to the house the other six days a week); he cannot go to work, he cannot even turn over without a great deal of effort; he is tethered to a wound vac 24/7; and yet - he can whistle.

What was he whistling?  "All You Need Is Love".    :) :)

So I'll pray while he whistles - and God will have to handle the rest. There is an old Keith Green song that says, "Just keep doing your best, and pray that it's blessed, and He will take care of the rest."  Isn't that always the way of it?

Hope you are whistling a happy tune today.  Until next time ...Marsha

Until next time ....

Each new day is a gift.  That is why it is called the present.

                             This is true.

                Sometimes life bunches up on you.                       


                              This is also true.                                          

This blog is on hiatus for a few days - while we deal with a bunch of life.

                    Blessings to you until next time. ... Marsha