Shift Tab

With the price of groceries soaring I opted to finally try a single twelve-pack of Big K Diet Cola, the off-brand cheaper version of Diet Coke. At $1.99 I hoped it would be a good substitue for the nearly $4.00 name brand. After unloading and putting away all the groceries, I popped open a can and poured it over ice. With the first sip I was taken back almost forty years to my carefree high school days. This soda tasted just like Tab, a diet cola introduced in the seventies. Memories flooded my mind of my good friend Holly. We spent many summer days lying in the sun, on beach towels stretched brightly across the lawn in our backyards, sipping Tab while we baked our bodies to a golden bronze. Sometimes we would climb up to the flat tar roof over her garage, slather ourselves with baby oil, and lounge on the aluminum-framed chaises to give ourselves a quick tan. Ice cold Tab quenched our thirsts while we sizzled in the sun. We would set a timer, then turn on cue, like chickens on a kabob, basting ourselves evenly from back to front and sides. When the heat became more than we could bear we would scramble down and walk across the street to the public swimming pool and seek cooling relief in the cold chlorinated water.

On other occasions we would seek out the sun with a group of friends at various locations. My favorite was to swim and sunbathe at the river dam. We could lie on the flat rocks nearby and soak up the sun then wade into the rolling water and slide over the first tier of the dam, catching ourselves before we slipped over the second tier flowing into the main riverstream. Then we would scramble back up and do it all over again. We challenged ourselves to wade all the way across the dam to the other side of the river where we would climb up into the pumping station and sit on the brick wall and watch the water roll by. Sometimes we would hike up to the road, climb up onto the old iron bridge, and dive into the river upstream of the dam. Then we would float along until we were whisked over the edge of the dam. Sometimes we would go further upriver to the sandbar, where we spent late afternoons swimming and sunbathing, then early evenings partying around a campfire, laughing and having a great time with friends, some of us drinking Tab while others experimented with alcohol. There were always adventures to be had somewhere along the river and we were the river rats enjoying every moment we could.

Another popular swimming destination was the reservoir about thirty miles away from our small town. There we would spend hours floating on rafts, swimming, and exploring. We would climb up the steep hill and swing out over the water from a rope tied to a tree limb, then jump or dive into the water at just the right moment to avoid the rock ledge lying just below the surface near the shore. Then we would swim back to the ledge and watch the others do the same. We would wave to the sight-seers on the pontoon tour boat as it went by, entertaining them with our acrobatic skills from the rope. It is here that I learned to do a perfect dive, a useful skill when I joined the swim team. We challenged ourselves while we developed our friendships and the sun and water were our common ground.

One of our friends' parents owned a camper at a private lake. There we would float lazily on big inner tubes until we were waterlogged. Then we would roast hot dogs and marshmallows over a roaring campfire and spend hours playing euchre at the picnic table by the light of kerosene lamps. Whoever got tired first claimed the beds or sofas and sleeping bags were strewn on every inch of floor space available for the rest of us. The next morning we would take one last morning swim then head out, crammed into our cars with all our gear. We would lean our heads out the windows to let the wind dry our hair as we drove along the country roads toward home.

Looking back, I suppose we were extremely lucky that nobody got hurt during our many watery outings. Oh, but the memories are fond of this carefree time of our lives.

Random

On Tuesday morning an elderly woman came into my office looking for the stairs to get to the third floor oncology office. I informed her that there was an elevator in the next hallway that she could take but she seemed hesitant. I then offered to ride up in the elevator with her if she would like me to and she seemed to melt with relief. I walked over with her and rode up to the third floor then walked her to the door of her doctor's office. She told me, as I suspected, that she was somewhat claustrophobic and could only ride in elevators if someone else was in it with her. I empathised with her because my mother battled the same fear of elevators while going through her chemo treatments. I was only too happy to pay back the small kindnesses that strangers had bestowed upon my mother. I gave her my business card and told her to call me if she needed someone to ride down with her when she finished her treatment. She was very grateful for such a simple kindness.

Yesterday I went to the grocery to do the weekly shopping. After parking and heading toward the entrance I got behind an elderly gentleman who was standing behind his car with his empty cart looking confused. I asked him if he was finished with the cart and told him I would take it for him. He thanked me, stating he had been trying to locate the cart return. I went on in and did my shopping then went out with my cartful of groceries. As I was nearly finished loading my bags into my car another man walked up and asked if I would like for him to take my cart. I thanked him and tried to hurry to get the last of my bags into my car. He told me to take my time, that he was in no hurry. Then he advised me to fill my car up with gas also before the prices went up again and discussed how food prices would be going up again also. After a few minutes of conversation he took my cart and I headed off to the gas station. I thought about the unusual coincidence of my offer to take the cart being followed by another shopper offering to take the cart from me. It made the chore of shopping just a bit more pleasant to bestow a small kindness and then to receive one in kind unexpectedly.

I have decided to make a conscious effort to do at least one random act of kindness for someone every day. This will be my Lenten project and hopefully will turn into a habit for a lifetime.

Outside Looking In

When I think of my daughter and my grandchildren I sometimes feel like a window-shopper, face pressed against the glass, longing for the treasures that lie within, knowing I cannot have them. I long to be a part of what is going on inside, to actively participate in their lives. The physical distance between us is a barrier to being able to reach out and touch the people I love the most. Though I would never tell them so, my heart breaks because of that distance. While webcam and phone calls help ease the burden, there is no comparison to being physically present in their lives. I would trade almost everything I own for the chance to hold them in my arms more frequently than once every twelve to eighteen months. And with the downturn in the economy I foresee that stretching out to every two or three years. I know that as my grandchildren grow they will become busier with their own lives and the webcams will slow from once a week to once a month or so. The phone calls will taper off as they get busy with school, sports, friends. I won't resent it, but I will regret it. I respect my daughter's decision to move with her husband to live in his British homeland. I am grateful that she has his parents fairly close by to be involved with my grandchildren, to give their support and love, to give them that wonderful experience that only doting grandparents can provide. Yet, I wish my husband and I could do the same. In lieu of frequent visits, I hold on to the idea that we may be able to have them come for long summer visits every few years, allowing us the opportunity to shower them with our love and give them a sense of their American family heritage. I hope to give them many happy memories of time spent with us, to feel comfort and joy in our love. An ocean seperates us, but blood bonds us. I pray that they will understand and treasure that.

A Moment of Truth

Yesterday was a stark reminder of how quickly our lives can change, suddenly and unexpectedly. And how easily we let our relationships slip into non-chalance, taking for granted that our loved ones will always be there. I should know better than most that this is not the case but find myself vulnerable to this human condition as much as anyone else. While enjoying a leisurely webcam visit with our daughter and grandchildren, my husband, who has been fighting off a horrible respiratory infection for the past several weeks, began a coughing fit that took his breath away. He rose from his chair at the kitchen table to move out of the webcam's field as he gasped for air. He did not get far, only a couple of steps, before he was suddenly falling face first to the floor. It happened so fast that I wasn't sure if he had tripped or fainted. I leapt from my seat to his side, shaking him and calling his name, to no avail. He was face down on the floor, glasses askew on his face, blood splattered across the tile and dripping from his nose. He was unresponsive and not breathing. I glanced back at the webcam to see the wide-eyed expressions of helplessness on the faces of my daughter and granddaughter as they watched the scene unfold from thousands of miles away. I shook my husband's shoulders again to no avail. I needed to roll him onto his back to assess him, fearing the worst, expecting to be doing CPR. As I grasped his shoulder to turn him he drew in a gasping breath and slowly came around. He was dazed, trying to understand why he was on the floor bleeding. I quickly told my daughter we would call back, not wanting to frighten my granddaughter any more than she had already been, and disconnected the webcall. Then I was back at my husband's side, assessing then easing him slowly from the floor to his recliner so I could elevate his feet and tend to his injuries. He had lacerations across the arch of his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose from his eyeglasses and blood was dripping profusely from his nose. I checked his pulse, his pupils, and asked him a few questions to determine his neural status. He was becoming more alert and he was breathing normally. He refused to go to the ER so I cleaned his wounds and iced the ever-growing goose egg on his forehead. The lacerations were not deep so I agreed to let him just rest for a while. I suspected that he had had a vasovagal episode caused by the coughing, but I would have felt better if he were assessed by a physician and perhaps a CT scan of his head and chest. He promised to go to the doctor again first thing on Monday morning. In the meantime, I will worry every time he coughs. I gave him a Mucinex, Advil and a tall glass of water, the remote to the tv and strict orders to stay put for a while. He wanted to finish mowing the lawn but I hid the keys to the rider so he could not. I called my daughter back to reassure her that he was okay, knowing that she would be stewing with worry from across the wide expanse of ocean between us. Then my other daughter called from Chicago, alerted by her sister in London of the situation.

After everything settled down, I found myself trembling with the fear that I had kept at bay while getting the situation under control. I was overwhelmed with the thought that I could have lost my husband right then and there with no warning, no chance to say those things we tend to expect they know and take for granted. Though I tell my husband every single day that I love him, I don't always make him feel my love the way I should. I used to do little things, like a love note tucked into his shirt pocket or hidden under the receiver of his office phone that he would find unexpectedly when I was at work, a small note of encouragement when he would travel for an important meeting or presentation, a funny card to lift his spirits. I used to make breakfast every weekend morning as a way to thank him for cooking our dinners during the week. Lately, we have been so busy that I have lapsed into letting him have cereal to avoid the extra dishes and time spent before I could start my day's chores and projects. I know he enjoys a leisurely breakfast but I was too busy to indulge him. So this morning he got his breakfast.

My husband is a wonderful man, easy-going and fun, a friend to all. He finds it natural to pick up a conversation with total strangers and has a way of making everyone feel at ease. He is a wonderful father to our children and adores our grandchildren. He makes them feel his love every time he talks to them or sees them. He loves them with all his heart and they know it. He is a father figure to many others who don't have the support of family. He is generous to a fault, and loves to share his enthusiasm for music with anyone with the slightest inclination to listen. He does not exclude from his life people who are different. Rich or poor, intelligent or mentally challenged, straight or gay, black or white, all are worthy of his respect. He is more like his own father, his hero, than he will ever realize. He is a truly good man. He is my lover and best friend, my confidante and counselor, my sounding board when I am frustrated, my soother when I am out of control. He makes me laugh, he makes me cry, he makes me face my own self-destructive emotions and reaches out his hand to pull me back from the brink of guilt and depression, he encourages my creative obsessions, and gently guides me toward truth. I know he loves me. I fear that he may not know truly how much I love him. I do. With all my heart, all my soul, and all my flesh, I do. We are so interconnected after all these years and all our heartache and joy that for a moment yesterday I thought that if he died I too would die, unable to disconnect from his love. So I will renew my effort to not only tell him how much I love him, but to show him, so I know that when he looks into my eyes he will see and feel that love. To our dying days and beyond he will always be my true love.

Just Said No

I thought I would try to write daily for NaBloPoMo but I have failed. I simply don't have time and so I had to Just Say No to NaBloPoMo. I will try instead to post something weekly.

A Tisket A Tasket

A tisket, a tasket

A red and white blind basket

With zero cost

Nothing's lost

I'm getting better at it.

#3

Crimson and Cream

There's nothing like getting up before the crack of dawn to prepare for a day of tailgating and football in Bloomington with my daughter and friends. Go IU!