The Dentist

Yesterday began with a 9:00 dental appointment; the place I never wish to go, but must out of necessity.   First of all, the bed/table you lay on has been designed with arms that you can clench as you are reeling with pain.  The bed gets tilted low and my head tilts almost upside down.  I can feel my weight falling to my chin with the gravity of the position I am in.  With that in place, and after the dental assistant x-rays the tooth in question, and makes an impression, the dentist comes in to do the task at hand.  She first inserts a needle in my gums causing me to groan.  She is injecting pain meds in three parts of my mouth and the needle itself causes pain.  Soon, though, I can't feel the upper side of my mouth.  The assistant puts a vacuum cleaner type hose on one side of my mouth, another on the other side, and squirts water in my throat the whole time.  The assistant pulls my mouth one way and the dentist pulls it the other way and I probably look like Bozo the Clown, with my mouth wide open in all directions.  And then, the drilling begins.  And she drills, and drills and drills.  She is trying to crack  the crown on my old tooth, whereby she can pull it off, but the cement holding it is very stubborn.  I kept swallowing the water the assistant was constantly squirting in my mouth, which makes the drill jump and squeal on another tooth and I had to keep apologizing, but laying upside down with water in my throat, I couldn't help but swallow.  After one squirt, I thought I was going to drown, until the dentist told her assistant to stop with the water already, at which point I thanked God.  It took her a LONG time to finally yank the crown off of my original tooth.  After that, there was still more drilling and cleaning and more impressions, because I had a cavity that was behind the crown and reached into the tooth next to it.  When the assistant said she was finally done, I paid the bill, took a deep breath and waddled out to my car, proud that I endured to the end.  I have to go back in a month for them to cement the permanent teeth in, so I have time to recuperate and gain my courage once again.

This whole ordeal reminded me of when I was a kid and my mother would take us to my uncle, the dentist.  He worked in downtown Chicago, and so we would drive and park at the Skokie Swift, a small train that stopped in Skokie and proceeded into the city.  We would have to transfer to the "L" at some point, and that train was much longer.  It would take us into the heart of the city, down into the subway, which was really creepy.  The lights would flicker on and off and there were always weird looking people on the train.  We got off in the subway and walked upstairs to the street level which was really cool to see.  If you look up, you can barely see the sky because of all the skyscrapers.  It was all overwhelming for a kid my age.  My uncle worked in the old Marshall Fields building and we would go up the elevator to his office.  Back then, when he squirted water in your mouth, you turned to your left and spit it out in a bowl swirling with water.  After you endured the trauma of the dentist, you were given a little toy out of his "treasure chest," which usually broke by the time we got home.  Before we left to go back to the train, we always had to go to the bathroom to"make."  The toilets in this building were locked and you had to put a dime in the door lock to open it.  I will always remember that, because I would wonder what if you didn't have a dime and you really needed to "go."

My children and I actually witnessed this problem one day, when we were driving on the South Side of Chicago.  We all, except Micah, had to "go" and so we stopped at a Burger King off of the Dan Ryan Expressway.  The bathrooms in this restaurant were locked and you had to have a key to get in, but to get the key, you had to buy something.  So I bought a pop and we waited because there was a line to get into the bathroom.  A woman came in very distressed and yelled that she had to go to the bathroom, but the workers told her that there was a line and besides, she would have to buy something in order to "go." Instead, she barreled out the door, and per Micah who witnessed this from the car, pulled her pants down and "made" right there in the parking lot.  She walked away like nothing happened and I think it put Micah into a mild shock.  My personal opinion is that bathrooms should be free and open to avoid unfortunate incidents such as this.

So be forewarned:  if you are driving in Chicago, keep in mind the toilets in fast food restaurants and gas stations are all locked, so you may want to "go" before you reach the city.

Buckets

Sometimes I laugh at my mom because she can actually be funny.  Several months ago, around 10:30 pm, my mom and I were watching the news. Suddenly, my father came hobbling in with the intention of putting my mom to bed.  He didn't ask her; he just assumed she was ready for bed and he was coming to "tuck her in" and give her a goodnight kiss.  So he comes in, goes over to my mother and proceeds to help her out of the wheelchair, while my mom says nothing.  I watch this because it's sweet after all these years, even though my dad is telling her to, "Hurry up and get your legs into the bed; c'mon, hurry up."  My mom complies, lies down and my dad covers her up and gives her a kiss.  He says goodnight to both of us and retreats back to his office, at which time, my mom gets up and sits back up in the chair.  Like it was a routine they do every night, except my dad doesn't know that she doesn't actually go to bed when he tucks her in.  I thought that was so funny and cute.  My mom let him feel like he was doing something needful and responsible, meanwhile she gets back out of the bed to continue watching the news, because she wasn't ready to go to sleep yet.  She catches and understands more than I give her credit for.  Ashanti would say that GiGi (for great-grandma) was filling Papa's bucket.

You can learn a lot from children if you really listen to them, either by talking directly to them or by overhearing their play.  Ashanti came home from school one day and started talking about "buckets."  She said that she had "filled her friend's bucket" at school that day.  I asked her what she meant and this is what she told all of us at the dinner table, "Everyone has a bucket.  When you do something nice or say something nice to another person, then you are 'filling' their bucket.  When you do something mean or say something means, you are 'dipping' into their bucket, and taking something out of it.  Wow.  How simple and yet so profound.  So Shanti began to ask each of us every day if we were filling or dipping into each other's bucket.  It does give us cause to pause before we speak to each other.  After all, who wants the reputation of a "bucket dipper?"

I was raised by saying, "please" and "thank you," and calling adults and my parents' friends by "Mr. or Mrs so-and-so," or responding with "Yes ma'am or No sir."  These small yet very important types of etiquette are so essential when we deal with one another.  They show respect for others, as well as for oneself.  When my children's friends called on the phone for them, I always asked who it was if they didn't tell me first, and grilled them before I would let them talk to my kids.  I think it's rude when you call someone's home and don't identify yourself first, and then ask to speak to so and so.  My kids caught on fast and they warned their friends to do this when they called so they wouldn't get the first degree from me.  I wasn't really mean - I just don't like when people, no matter who they are, call up and immediately ask for so and so.  I always stop them and ask who they are first.  I also taught my children that they should always have a firm handshake.  I told Leah that if her boy friends shook my hand, they better have a strong handshake, so she probably warned them about that too.  I just think that it shows part of a person's character if their handshake is limp and insincere.  A firm handshake tells me that this person is focusing on the person whose hand they are shaking and is sincere.  Petty?  I think not.  It's better than standing in the doorway with a shotgun waiting for the boys that would try to enter my house.

I did not like my son-in-law when I first met him.  He had long braids and looked like a thug and he was in no way going to date my daughter.  Of course, I had lost control over that by then and she dated him anyway.  His saving grace at the time was his firm handshake.  I thought - but didn't say out loud - "Hmmm.  Maybe there's more to this guy than what it looks like on the outside...."  I did put him through a lot of questioning and observation, but he passed with flying colors and it turns out that he is one of my favorite people in the world and I love him very much.

So please.... if you greet me, please don't give me a limp handshake.  That actually creeps me out.  Fill my bucket and I will fill yours with a firm handshake and love.  The two go hand in hand.  Better yet, give me a hug because we always need that.  Everyone in the world needs and wants to feel loved, and what better way, than to give a sincere hug.

In fact, if I could, I would give you all a sincere hug right now.  Nonetheless, I do so in the spirit of filling your bucket today.  In Jesus' Name.

Royalty

I think I'm the only person in the world that could care less about a baby born to the royals in England.  I don't mean to be mean, but is it really that big of a deal for us as Americans?  If I lived in England, I probably would feel the same way; it just doesn't mean a whole lot for me.  It's history, that's true - but so is everyday life here, even the most mundane situations.

I remember when Princess Diana died and how "shocked" the world was and how everyone said she was the most spectacular person that ever lived, etc., etc.; and at around the same time, Mother Theresa died and there was definitely not the same amount of television coverage and hullabaloo about her as there was about Diana.  I actually got into an argument with someone about it, as I believed that Mother Theresa, who lived, worked and helped lepers the majority of her life, did more for mankind than a princess in England, and the person I got into an argument with became very angry at me and stormed off.  I really didn't understand.  I'm sure Diana did noteworthy things in her role and even humanitarian things - I'm not doubting that.  I just think that a little nun who was humble and kind and never sought personal attention, but gave herself to a country of very sick and contagious people, deserved as much, if not more, accolades from us when she died.  That's all I was saying.

So going back to this royal birth, I think it's great, as all newborns are precious in God's sight.  I just don't view movie stars or royalty or sports figures as something to worship, in any sense of the word.  I think people who are born into wealth or power or privilege are very fortunate and also have a great responsibility to those less fortunate than themselves.  I always wondered what I would do if I won the lottery or became suddenly wealthy.  I could never live in a huge, ostentatious mansion with a million rooms - I would constantly feel guilty for those who live daily on the streets.  I could never keep that much money to myself, knowing that there are people still starving here and across the world.  It would bother me so much, I would probably give my fortune away, until I had enough for my family and I to be comfortable.  I guess I don't have to worry about it - I don't play the lottery, and I have no rich relatives.

Shanti stayed over last night.  We went swimming in the dark with the pool light on.  She was so excited about it, at one point, she told me that this was the best night of her life.  She said she will never forget it.  I had to chuckle inside.  We made a memory for her to always remember, and we had fun doing it.  Before that, she brought over a box of shells she had collected and she painted them, while I worked on a picture I'm painting.  We always paint quietly side by side and she talks to herself or sings quietly and I listen.  Before she left today, she saw me scratching a rash I have on my arm and she said, "Grandma, please don't scratch that."  She said it with such sincerity because she was concerned I would make it worse.  Oh, to have the heart of a child...

My brother, Richard's wife, is on life support tonight.  I don't know what's wrong with her, and I don't know if the doctors even know, but she's only a few years older than me.  He, and her kids, have to make the difficult decision of if and when to remove the support.  She doesn't have a living will, so the decision will be left up to them, and ultimately with my brother.

It seems - no - life is, more difficult the older you get.  It's more complicated and distressing as people become ill and your family and friends start disappearing.  If my hope was in this life only, how sad my life would be; but I'm a child of the King and so my hope lies in His Royalty....

The Cheap Chillow

I was so excited to get the package in the mail the other day - I knew exactly what it was.  It's called a "Chillow."  It's a type of pillow that cools you off, when you're sleeping.  It helps people like me whose heads explode with sweat.  I quickly tore open the box to find a plastic blow-up kind of thing and I was disappointed, because I thought it would have gel in it or something.  I was surprised to find out that it had to be filled with water.  So I followed the directions carefully, filling the thing up with the right amount of water and letting it sit on the countertop to even itself out, for 4 hours.  It was a very technical procedure.  After that, I was to roll it up and push the air out of the little spout like thing that has a plug on it.  I did that, but water also came out, spilling all over the place, but I managed to push as much air out of it that I could and happily went to use it the other night.  You're supposed to be able to slip it in the pillowcase and lay on it, which I did the first night.  It felt fantastic when I went to sleep, but by the time I woke up in the morning, it was all bunched up in the bottom of my pillow.  So, I thought I would out smart this thing and lay my head on top of it, instead of putting it in the pillowcase, the next night.  There is a plastic side and a soft side, like fake suede, and I laid on the plastic side to get all the coolness I could.  I had a dream that night that I was, well, making, as I used to call it, and when I woke up, the whole front of my nightgown was soaking wet.  "Oh no," I thought, thinking the obvious.  I stood up and the whole side of the bed was soaking wet and lo and behold, the "Chillow" was almost flat with no water.  It had leaked during the night, and had slipped down off my pillow and created a huge wet spot on the sheet and mattress.  Needless to say, the "Chillow" was cheap and is now in the garbage can.  So much for my initial excitement and hope of a better night's sleep.  I will just have to sweat on.

I turned the ceiling fan on higher last night, but it sounds like it will fly right off the ceiling, so I am a little leery of that.  It wobbles around and around and the lamp part is crooked.  I think the fan came with the house 38 or so years ago when my parents purchased it.  I would say it's time for a new fan, so I don't get chopped in half in my sleep.

I went to see my dad on Saturday.  He has lost so much weight that he looks emaciated.  They weighed him and he weighs 136, which would normally thrill my mother, but in this case I think she is just worried about him.  He says he's just not hungry and eats very little.  His cheeks look sunken in and his legs, although they have always been skinny, looked like sticks.  He sat up in the bed to talk to my mom and I and he was clearer than on other days, however.  His mind seemed to be back to reality for the most part.  I just wish he would eat more so he could gain strength.  He says he can't walk because his legs "don't work."  I'm not sure what that means, but I do know he is very weak so maybe he just doesn't have the strength to make them work.  He is in his own room now and in seclusion because he has an infectious disease in his bowels; but, that's okay - he actually prefers being alone.

My mother questions him, every day I'm sure, about his bowels and the details thereof.  She keeps close tabs on that as well as how much and what he is eating.  The two go hand in hand, of course, and she has always been the Food Monitor in our house, but now she has become the Bowel Movement Monitor as well.  It gives her something to do, as I know she feels pretty helpless.  The nursing home did an x-ray of his stomach today and they found nothing abnormal about it.  In other words, the balloon is no longer in there, but the question remains why he isn't hungry.

It's so incredibly difficult watching my parents become this old and broken.  I know I signed up for this, but I didn't know it would affect me in such a powerful way.  It would have been a lot easier to have stayed up in Madison and try to ignore what was happening down here, but then that wasn't God's will - and I knew it.  Sometimes, you just can't hide from the hard stuff.  Sometimes, it smacks you right in the face and your response to it makes all the difference in the world.

Hope Floats

I watched a movie the other night, called "Hope Floats."  It's a good movie, but I like the title even more.  I thought about how hope floats, and I pictured it on top of water, floating.  Water is dense, heavy and dangerous.  In a flood, it could move land, destroy trees and even move houses out of place. I've seen houses cave in through the pressure of the water pushing on them, and the whole house got carried away with the flood.  You can drown in water if you're not careful.  There are dangerous creatures in the waters of seas and oceans, that you have to be aware of.  Water is a powerful source that could easily overtake us if we are not watchful.

And yet, water is a dichotomy.  It is a cleansing agent for not only our bodies, but for so many things.  It provides nourishment for plants and trees and all vegetation, as well as animals.  It provides nourishment for our bodies, for without it, we would die.  Our bodies are, in fact, filled with water.  When I was pregnant, I retained so much water, that I looked like a sumo wrestler - without the thong.  My legs looked like elephant trunks, which made it very hard to walk - all because of the water that was accumulated in my body.  It was very attractive, I'm sure, but thank God it was a temporary situation.  The point is, water can be our foe, but it is also our necessity.

We all have "trials" or situations that come against us, sometimes in full force, but if you can float above those trials, with your face breathing in air and sunshine, you will always be the victor.  I love to float on my back with my face to the sunshine.  It's really not easy - you have to work at it.  Our bodies do naturally float, but our faces can go under if you're not careful.  You have to move your arms and legs slowly so you don't sink part way.  You will float if you put your mind to it.  In fact, when the kids and I play a game of diving for the ball that sinks to the bottom of the pool, where it is 8 feet deep, I try and try so vigilantly to get there, kicking my feet and flailing my arms to reach the ball, but always,  except once, does my body start floating back up to the surface and the ball is out of reach.  My little 8 year old granddaughter, Ashanti, can swim down there with no problem and get the ball, like a little fish.  She really puts her grandma to shame.  In fact, her and I race all the time and she is most always the one who finishes first - and I'm really trying to win.

So hope floats.  It floats above all the problems and issues in our lives that try to destroy us, or bring us down.  It's like an anchor that we can hold on to when all else fails.  And our hope, to be powerful and lasting, should be that which we treasure most in our lives.  My hope is in Jesus Christ, and most of you know that already.  He will always hold me up above the issues in my life, if I keep my face securely fixed on Him.  When Jesus told Peter he could walk on water too, Peter started off fine, but then he took his face off Jesus, and sank.  He quickly forgot Who his hope had been.

Do I always sound like I'm preaching?  I don't want to come across that way.  It's hard though, when I'm expressing myself with this medium, not to speak about God because He is laced through and through my life.  Frankly, without Him, I would be the saddest soul without a shred of hope.

But I do have hope, and it is what I base my life upon.  And it floats me by my past, to a brighter future, by living day to day in the Light.  That's probably why I love the sunlight so much.  It feels so good to have the warm sun shine on your face, and the cool water on your back.  I know I'm taken care of, so I just continue to float....

Times Past

When did I get old?  That question keeps haunting my mind as I think back over the years.  It seems I was just a young mother, schlepping a baby with a giant diaper bag and ushering two small children into church with me.  After church was over, I felt like a cowboy trying to round everyone up.  Jason and Leah were always somewhere I was not, and it was challenging to find them, with Micah on my hip.  I could carry a lot back then.  I was really strong, probably from my years as a tomboy.  Eventually I would get everyone together and then into the car for the ride home.  Inevitably, everyone was asleep by the time I got home, so I had to maneuver like an acrobat, getting everyone in the house in one piece.  It got to the point that I put my kids in their pajamas for the night services, because it was too hectic trying to change them when they were half asleep.  I was a quick learner.

My youngest, Micah, was a very strong willed child.  I would carry a wooden spoon with me to church and kept it in my jacket pocket.  I don't think there was a service that went by where he didn't get a spanking for acting up.  One particular night, we were sitting in our normal pew, 3 rows from the front on the right, and the pastor was preaching a long sermon.  Micah was about 4 or 5 and was getting very restless.  When there was a pause in his preaching, Micah stood up and looked at Pastor Grant and asked out loud, "Are you done yet?" I, of course, was mortified, but everyone in the front who heard him started to laugh.  Even Pastor Grant looked down at Micah and said, "I'm almost done, Micah."  I swiftly carried him out of the sanctuary before he could say anything else.

Another time, I sat in the back of the church and there was suddenly someone speaking out in tongues - the gift of tongues.  The church became silent, and then Micah, being around the same age, said out loud, "Oh my people, my people," and before he could get anything else out, I closed his mouth with my hand and ushered him quickly out.  The gift of tongues, one of the fruits of the spirit, is followed by an interpretation, and here my 5 year old thought he would interpret for the church.  Needless to say, Micah brought me many interesting and humorous times, but it is noteworthy to say that today he is an associate pastor of a large church in California, and married to a wonderful daughter-in-law.

My daughter, Leah, was very well-behaved when she was young - I never remember having to spank her.  She was a very congenial child and it wasn't until she turned into a teenager that we seriously bucked heads.  One time I was so angry at her, she was too old to spank, so I picked up a chair and threw it at her.  It missed, of course, but that was the beginning of a long, contentious relationship.  Apparently, her friends were afraid of me, which I was unaware of.  I really wasn't that bad - I just had a bad temper, especially when it came to boys who were interested in my daughter.  I tried to protect her from the idiots she would introduce me to, but it was futile.  I'm just thankful she ended up married to a great man who loves her dearly.  That is the most I could have asked for.

My oldest son, Jason, was dedicated, along with Leah, when Leah was born and Jas was 4.  He slept on the front pew, as Pastor Grant dedicated them both.  Jason was a very sensitive young boy, much like his son, Donovan.  He cared if I cried or was sad, and always tried to make me feel better.  It's hard for me to believe that he will turn 37 this month.  It seems he was just a baby I held, not knowing what to do with.  I had no one to guide me or look to when I began raising him and I did what I thought made the most sense.  I must have done something right, because he is a responsible, God-fearing man today and I'm very proud of him.

I'm, in fact, proud of all three of my children.  What they've done in their lives and who they've become.  I don't know how that happened, except that I have always depended on God to help me raise them and see me through.  And in turn, they also looked to God for their needs and have all become successful, God-fearing individuals.  What more could I ask for?

So then why does the past make me cry tonight?  I have so many happy memories, but many times I wish they were small again, so I could do a better job and so they would need me.  It's a wonderful feeling to be needed, and I see why many older people become disillusioned or depressed.  When you get old, your children move on in their lives and have families of their own, and you are happy for them.  Sometimes, you can't wait til they grow up and get out.  But then one day, you sit alone in a quiet room with only your thoughts and you realize that that chapter of your life is long gone, never to be lived again.  And you wish beyond words, that you appreciated those times more when they were happening, instead of now when they are gone....

M&M's

Sleep escaped me last night - I literally tossed and turned,  and every time, I had to flip the hose to my CPAP machine back and forth to avoid laying on it.  The hose attaches to my nose and I breathe through that as I keep my mouth closed, clenching my teeth.  I clench my teeth because I don't want to move them as I sleep, but inevitably when I awake in the morning, I have bitten my tongue and/or the inside of my mouth.  It's very annoying and I don't know why I do this.  I think I must be dreaming of pasta or something equally enjoyable that I miss, because my mouth does eventually pop open and drool settles on my pillow.

Now my pillow is another story.  I'm way past the big "M," but I still have ridiculous hot flashes.  I have to turn my pillow over during the night because it gets so hot I could fry an egg on it.  I want to buy the "Chillow" advertised on TV.  It's made of gel or something like that and keeps you cool all night, or so it claims.  It's very weird, these hot flashes.  My whole head heats up and I feel my face get flush, then sweat rolls down in flood force.  It's so flattering, especially when I'm around other people.  It probably looks like my head is about to explode - it feels like that anyway.  I carry a handy handkerchief in my purse for moments like this.  Thank God for cotton.

I went to see my dad yesterday.  When I came into the room, he was sleeping with his mouth wide open. He looked dead, so I said, "Dad!" kind of loud and he woke up.  He was glad to see me which was nice.  In fact, he didn't want me to leave - he just wanted me to sit there with him and watch TV towards the end of my visit.  I brought him a big bag of M&M's, which my mother, of course, scorned.  She didn't say anything, but her looks say it all.  Danny and I know that look. It's a look that says, "You really shouldn't eat that because it's fattening and you will just continue to gain weight, and you know, you should not be FAT."  My mom has a real and long-standing problem with fat people.  Or even people who are slightly overweight.  She will describe a person's size before anything else.  "You remember Rose who is my sister's friend, she's the heavy one in their family...."  My dad will describe a person as to if he or she is Jewish or not.  "He's a hard worker, but is he Jewish??"  You can be a wonderful person, but if you're overweight or not a Jew, well then, for some reason, you are substandard.

Anyway, he loved the M&M's.  My mom told me to only bring him half the bag, and I scoffed at the idea.  Why?  So he doesn't get fat?  Good grief, I brought him the whole bag and enjoyed watching him eat something he missed.  They don't give you M&M's in hospitals and nursing homes.  My dad and I had a thing about sweets when my mom was in the nursing home.  My mom was away, so we could play!! I bought all kinds of goodies when I went shopping and my dad was like a kid in a candy store when I returned home.  I can't eat like that now, of course, with this diabetes thing, but I can watch my dad gobble each piece down with delight.

He did a little more talking than in past visits.  He tried to make conversation with me, which is something really hard for my dad to do.  He's a loner at heart and would much rather just watch TV or diddle on his computer by himself.  He has no friends.  The one he did have passed away.  In fact, all of my parents' friends, except for two of my mom's, are gone.  I guess that's what happens when you're 85 going on 86 - friends drop off like flies, and you wonder how you got to be so old.  It seems like it was just yesterday.....

He asked the nursing aide to pull his bed up so he "could see his daughter."  That made me feel special.  You would just have to know him.  If he is sentimental or emotional, he hides it deep inside.  But he didn't want me to leave yesterday.  I felt bad that I had to go, but good that he didn't want me to.  I thought about it, and it is amazing to me that just over a month ago we were preparing for his death, and now he is rehabilitating in a nursing home.  Prayers work.  No doubt about it, and my dad is living proof of that.