tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52031810959103384162024-03-05T23:45:42.348-07:00Roots and WingsROOTS AND WINGS: Marriage, Motherhood, Moments, and MemoriesSRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-49044482877976537022014-03-26T17:00:00.004-06:002014-03-26T17:00:51.898-06:00Does this "Moms" have a STOP button?Diego and I had to really jump in with all 6 feet those first three days. In order to get the three "with trainer" days organized, I had to concentrate all my errands into one day. That included a follow-up medical appointment including x-ray and cast application on my hand, an hour and a half trip across town to drop off my car and another long ride back in my daughter's car. For helping me out, I took her to eat at Olive Garden...Diego in tow of course. The next day wasn't much slower. We tried a track mile at the gym, went to Target to get him some much needed supplies, then a trip in Wayne's truck to get my car, eating out at KFC and then another long ride home. Mind you, as a retired person, this is A LOT for me. I seem to do one big thing a day and call it good. This was packed, and on top of all that we still managed to get in the doorbell, phone and fire alarm practice twice a day. He was such a trooper at every establishment.<br />
<br />
There was one small down side that for reasons explained later, that I have not been able to address. Diego gets car sick! Now, he has been in no less than 4 cars for 10 rides this first week. He got sick on the longer trips, all in my car! While I was driving across town to have some work done on my car, he threw up twice. That will be the last time I have only one slightly used Kleenex in my purse for clean-up. Thankfully for only $40 they would clean up and detail the backseat. I came prepared when I picked up the car, and spread a blanket over the backseat. It covered the whole thing except for about 4 inches...Yes, that was the spot he aimed for on his third hit. Poor, poor. little guy. I was actually grateful to have years of mommydom under my belt to kick in for these moments.<br />
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Things did start to calm down after those first two days, at first. Except for the whirlwind of meeting the three young grandkids, Diego was able to keep up with my pace. I do think he must be wondering if this new "Moms" had a STOP button. I didn't think too much of that scratchy throat feeling as the weekend came to a close. I usually shake off these spring colds pretty easily. Besides, I was in a "Stay, Focused, Go Positive" mode. I had declared that Diego was just what I needed to avoid my typical negativity. So on to plan the next week. But by Tuesday, I could barely walk from the couch to the kitchen without gasping for breath. This cold/flu thing was a little rougher than expected, and to make it worse, Wayne was pretty sick with it, too. Neither one of us was able to care much for the other. But Diego still needed to be taken outside. This dog is trained to bond with only me. I had to be the one to take him outside at least 4 times a day. So on goes the hoodie, the jacket, the scarf, and the blanket in Colorado spring weather that included inches of snow one day, wind for most, and sub-freezing temps. They were the only 4 times each day that I even moved from the couch.<br />
<br />
As Wayne got a little better, I was just getting worse. So another doctor trip and a second time watching me from behind the x-ray wall, Diego and I found out that I had pneumonia. That pretty much put my "Hakuna Matata" attitude on hold. This was my STOP button. I was really too sick to care. Too sick to figure out what a one-handed cook could make in the kitchen. Too sick to try. But I still had to be the one to get him outside. He still would not go out alone. He had been with me less than 10 days total, and not getting a true reading of how all this was going to work into a real forever routine.<br />
<br />
Today marks two weeks that Diego has blessed my life. I feel like I have cheated him in a way, because for 4 days he has not been able to work or play much, only because of my lead, poor thing. He reads me like a book, and if I'm slow to move, so is he. He was such a ball of energy. The little snow on the ground gave him sheer joy as he chased and plowed and slid all over the backyard. It had become his sentinel duty to rid the backyard of that rascally rabbit, that Squirrel Family, and even that cute Mourning Dove couple. I do hope as I heal, and get stronger to pick up the pace again and I'll get him right on track. Maybe I can look at it as a need to slow down a bit and spend some time getting a pace that works for us both. I do know that will be my focus.<br />
<br />SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-22939652315066437512014-03-14T12:35:00.003-06:002014-03-14T12:36:07.107-06:00Can’t Cook, Can’t Sew, Thank Goodness for Diego<br />
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<o:p> </o:p>If there was ever a right time for something, it happened
yesterday. Any apprehension I had about
bringing a service dog into my life melted into a sigh of relief less than a
day of having this little guy. Again, no heralded angels singing, no love at
first sight, just pure relief and joy to have something to pull my attention
forward instead of inward. The events of the past week, though more blessings
than not, were really trying to draw me into a pity party I did not want to
attend.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first day of March (which would have been our parents’
68<sup>th</sup> anniversary) brought all my siblings here to Denver to
celebrate a new life within our fold.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A new baby next month is the best reason
to celebrate and after a quarter of a century of mostly coming together for
funerals this was cool stuff. We had met up in Albuquerque 2 years ago for this
new baby’s parents (my nephew Andrew and his beautiful wife Gretchen) to marry.
I was liking this new pattern and it was such a joy to have both brothers and
my sister with their spouses in my home. <br />
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The week was filled with everyone going in different
directions for skiing, traveling, and working. We didn't have to be in each
other’s back pockets to just enjoy being close by. Our last day together would
just include my sister and husband. We planned a little western apparel
shopping, lunch, the beautiful Butterfly Pavilion, and an easy home cooked
dinner. But in a quick rush back to the car to get the clothing coupon, my
bifocals read one step when there were actually two. If I had been even a
decade younger, I might have been able to correct my stumble, but this time I
made a sprawling leap forward onto the concrete walk. My right hand and temple
received the greatest damage. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I now have a “road hazard” orange cast on my broken hand and
the most brilliant black eye I have ever seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“A sight for sore eyes” has
taken on a new meaning. Because I cannot
have an MRI due to my cochlear implant, I am just watching for possible symptoms
in case a lurking subdural hematoma wants to surface. The death of a dear
friend’s son and a close call with a sister-in-law’s brain bleed last year has
made me all too aware of that potential danger.<br />
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I decided to go ahead with the plans to have Diego arrive
this week. Luckily I am left handed and
he is trained to walk on my left. The
commands can be delivered with a clap to my thigh rather than a two hand clap. However, this plan was not without its challenges.
The daily training practice, feeding, walking, poop paroling is a silly
scenario to watch. While I have to remember to lead him with my left hand, it
is the only functioning hand I have, and I need it to use it to open doors, get
him out of the car, and carry things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even with these crazy challenges, I’m very grateful for
them. The outlook of thinking about the next
six weeks was going to be overwhelming. There is very little I can do that I wanted to do. Sewing/quilting
right now is pretty much on hold. One arm cooking and cleaning is a bit slow
but doable. One hand typing for this blog is a whole new brain adjustment. I pictured myself just sitting and moping about the “can’ts” but
with Diego I have so many other things to focus on. He and I are in training for the next three months, and it is up to me to follow through with it all. Two practice sessions daily of listening for the door bell, the phone and the smoke alarm. I don't have time for a pity party! We have work, and praising, and a lot of loving to do. Oh, and learning to take better selfies is on the list, too. Stay tuned to hear about Diego's first professional on the job outing.It was a doozy!</div>
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SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-2501028725578579852014-02-22T14:09:00.000-07:002014-02-23T12:48:24.620-07:00Mirror Reflections<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s another trouble spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I talking about a writing block or another
age spot I’ve just noticed in the mirror? Maybe a little of both. For the most
part, I avoid mirrors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quit looking at
my reflection in store windows as I walk by. I don’t stop at every mirror to
smooth my eyebrow or adjust a wayward curl anymore. I don’t even carry a
purse-sized lipstick mirror, or even a lipstick for that matter. All that was
left back in the Second Quarter of my life (the 30’s and 40’s maybe).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I am ending the
Third Quarter completely absent of the daily required primping for meeting the
masses at school or work, I consider myself free of society’s judgment to defy
my age, shrink my pores, or make my age spots disappear as the ads so profusely
promise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think about styling my
hair, or apply the latest goop to provide sheen after the once in the morning
ritual of tooth and hair brushing. I am finally a Wash, Rinse, and Go Girl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Free at last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That is, until I finally glance in the mirror at night to
repeat the morning’s ritual. Staring back at me is always a shock. My God, did
I look like this all day? I can no longer just repeat the cute phrase that I
see Mom looking back at me as I am more than a decade older than she would ever
be. The sagging eyelids, sallow skin, and dull graying hair are harsh reminders
that the Fourth Quarter is beginning and I have no chance to be the stunning
athlete who will save the game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How can I sing the “Aging Gracefully” mantra when I look
like I tripped over a wayward tree root or piece of cracked sidewalk? It’s hard
to be proud of the glorious claim that I earned every gray hair. To see joyous
memories in every wrinkle or sag. That my waving wingspans were once firm loving
arms holding children. I’m supposed to embrace the terms “seasoned,” “intelligent,”
“mellowed”…hell… I love to pick wine that way, not feel like I look that
way!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s plain and simple, this girl is
aging, and faster than ever before.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Trying to find comfort in my reflection is
really difficult right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except I do
try to think of the good side to all this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can still <strong>walk</strong> up to the mirror; I can still <strong>see</strong> it (if my glasses are
on); <strong>lift</strong> my arms to brush that mop. I can just as quickly turn around and flip
off the offending light and retire to bed with the same aging man of 40 years who
unwittingly still thinks HE is the starring quarterback and I am his head cheerleader.
Thank goodness "the eye of the beholder" isn't lost on me!</span></span>SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-89347732501240828352014-02-17T14:26:00.000-07:002014-02-17T14:26:31.379-07:00Diego<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have had fitful sleep times lately, mainly just aging
issues that keep me from having a full night’s sleep, so my mind flitters about
so many different thoughts, problems, ideas, and such. Lately I have been
giving a lot of those nocturnal thoughts to Diego. I’ve meet with him twice,
once with Wayne and Stephanie as backup, and once alone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no real “I know he’s the one” or “You
just know when you know” kinds of feelings. I try to think back to last time I
picked out a dog. That was really more than 20 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can recall the scrambling pups in the
kitchen and seeing the beautiful golden retriever mom and the black lab dad,
and the pup’s funny cowlick on his nose that dubbed him the name Spike. We didn’t
name it that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even remember the “picking”
though. I don’t remember the “he’s the one” thoughts. I was doing it on my own,
and Spike, later named Odie, was a beloved treasure in our family for 13 years,
but the memory selecting him fades, and doesn’t help me much now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This time Diego was picked for me; from trainers who have been
matching owners and service dogs for more than 30 years. I should trust them,
and they said that they did pick a matching personality to me. Maybe that’s the
problem. He’s boring because I am boring, and I hate to admit that about
myself. My cover is blown. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Okay, I can
hear someone chiming in, “What cover?”) Not so boring,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when I
am comfortable with friends and family, but for the most part, I don’t do too
much. Watching TV, writing, quilting, cooking, grocery shopping and the
occasional cleaning duties when I’m in the mood are about it. So why wouldn’t
they pick a dog that is comfortable just sitting at my feet and happy to have
his “babies” (aka toys) around. Playing fetch is pretty much out of the question.
Balls are not his thing. I can tell he would love to take walks and mark every
bush within a quarter mile radius, if I’d let him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little hind leg walking action seems to be
fun, but he is the ever couch potato for the most part. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ve been troubled that I can’t even get
him to look me in the eye. Oh, man, my biggest fault is not looking people in
the eye; I’ve been so used to looking at lips for lip reading!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, there you go, he is a little fluffy,
puffy Suzy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My initial “dislikes” have eventually been put aside. I was
put off by his name, his penchant for wanting to mark in the house, his watery
eyes and nose (pretty much a norm for the breed, mixed though he is) All of
those issues have melded into ”he is who he is” and any un-wanted behaviors can
be easily addressed with better training and attention. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did seem to dwell on the fact that maybe I
didn’t really “need” him anymore because my implant was so successful. But I’m
not too unrealistic to know that when this processor is off, I am for the most
part completely deaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I am
doing so well there are still many instances that I miss the direction of noise.
And sometimes, I just like to be in the beauty of “deaf mode” and enjoy the
quiet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could never do that for fear
that I might miss someone calling out to me, or a doorbell ringing, for example.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, I was wanting a new “project”
and responsibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to give a
rescued dog a chance at a better life all the while he would be a companion to
me. Therein lies the rub, that I do already have a lifelong companion… my
husband. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although he has given me his
blessing on this endeavor, I can’t shake the feeling that that we are not
making this choice together, and Diego for the most part has to be “my dog” to
maintain his hearing training. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So these are the thoughts that occupy my spinning mind when
I can’t sleep. I really don’t blame this issue on my sleeplessness; it’s just
the topic of choice these days. I will pay another visit to Diego tomorrow,
hoping that when he does come to live with us next month and the real training
begins, he will be familiar with me. I picked up a new squeaky toy that he will
associate with me and will be at the house when he arrives. We may not have
that love at first sight bond, but I do think he is a wonderful little dog, and
I can’t wait to see how he becomes another member of our family as the sweet
animals did before him. I think it is going to be marvelous to discover what talents he will possess to help me through my new hearing world. I hope you want to hear how this new chapter will develop. </span><br />
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SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-21624928075230886972014-01-07T11:23:00.000-07:002014-01-07T11:23:58.878-07:00The Art of Friendship<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few weeks ago I was attending a meeting made up of ladies
who had the desire to offer random acts of kindness to others. Among the group
are three good friends of my own, and even though I travel one hundred miles
each way to attend this meeting, the draw of friendship and camaraderie for a
good cause makes it an easy drive. As a warm-up, we went around the room to
share something about someone who has made an impact on our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The obvious, mothers, dads, grandparents, and
teachers were honored, and no doubt I have had so many of those who have
definitely been a major influence, as we all have. As it rolled around to me I
couldn’t add anything new except, by my side (this is almost a literal phrase;
we’ve been accused of being joined at the hip) was a person who had taught me
the art of friendship so many times over in the better part of quarter century
that we have been friends. As I began to speak, my voice went into that
horrible high-pitched warble that happens when emotions are stronger than the
voice box. I wasn’t able to eloquently pay tribute to the beauty of her selfless
acts and the impact of how she has taught me what it means to really be a
friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I could only
belt out, “ Shhee’s m-my-y-y, sniff, sniff, friend… shhe’s she’s the b-b-best. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She was touched, but this blubber ball was so sad that the
right words to honor her were not spoken. This dear one is first to say that it
has been a two way street, but I can’t help but pale in comparison to her. What
we do have though is one of those rare strong bonds that withstands distance or
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is also a very, very private
person and would not be too happy if I announced her name to the blogosphere (all
9 people who read this, even if the potential of more is possible). So, I won’t.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I do want to share the poem I wrote
to her almost 20 years ago, that gives a small inkling of what makes up the
body of a true friend. I only hope that you have had a similar experience of
knowing such a friend, and in return becoming a better person for it. I know I
am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The Body Perfect”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She looks at herself
with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dread and concern,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fearing what is to
come…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And when.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, when God created
my friend,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He added “extras” not
given <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He added a strong
right arm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Connected to a
delicate consoling hand;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shoulders strong
enough to withstand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A waterfall of tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her heart seals in my
secrets,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All the while
silently packing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Away its own pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Deep piercing eyes
watch for any<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chinks in my armor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tender, yet solid soles
keep her ever mindful<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the personal pain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sacrifice of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Taking any
goal-driven step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the hip He devised
an extra hinge<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Made for locking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Onto the hip of
another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No other body was
created with as much<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love and perfection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Suzanne Robinson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>August, 1995<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-19331949038086032162013-12-17T22:22:00.003-07:002013-12-17T22:23:42.817-07:00Activation DayToday turned out to be beyond anything I could have imagined. A table piled deep of paraphanalia that had fit into a huge premium backpack was my first vision that said this is going to be a huge endeavor. Audiologist Sara and her intern Carley were happy to see us. I asked Wayne to come along to be a part of this new event in our lives. For someone who was a great sport amateur photographer in his early years, I'm sorry that he really didn't capture the really exciting moment of me "going on air." But maybe he was just a little overwhelmed himself. Together we are not the epitome of huge expression, but we get lost up in the moment.<br />
The angels from above didn't break into Handel's Hallaluia chorus, but it was a sweet moment of hearing a slight siren sound and then Sara's voice albeit a little high pitched and mechanical asking me "what can you hear?" It was not a series of beeps that I heard, but actual words. I had to close my eyes to make sure I wasn't depending on my lip reading. That's when I knew all the indecisiveness, the waiting, the rejections, the final approval, and surgery were all worth it. The best I could show was a little misty eyes and on to the business at hand.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBqstoHjIQMo77F8PIY61qYt4IY0GXfhcgo-pve0tx4RJcvXhmWJVq-Xr3qPeAhAju5f0OCmMBkZYI5pkBxAfUeF9Xb3_5psiA0llMt1swxDLoV8NG1jdzwWgvRYn9_6bEVl6I-U8Tp6F/s1600/We+have+words!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBqstoHjIQMo77F8PIY61qYt4IY0GXfhcgo-pve0tx4RJcvXhmWJVq-Xr3qPeAhAju5f0OCmMBkZYI5pkBxAfUeF9Xb3_5psiA0llMt1swxDLoV8NG1jdzwWgvRYn9_6bEVl6I-U8Tp6F/s200/We+have+words!.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIkKI-2Tkek9U8oVtNSY_S9hLzc8WSNkYzflNAu1qSlU3Vho7lYkj-zxaVSCZw_gzQfCrN_dr3ZDXjMNyhRJIVFgFZxwvSflIS7yjf1cIbq1qTjGgoRA8DxuD7qJk1ylBLXw1DGi9LEEi/s1600/Hooked+up+for+the+software+programming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIkKI-2Tkek9U8oVtNSY_S9hLzc8WSNkYzflNAu1qSlU3Vho7lYkj-zxaVSCZw_gzQfCrN_dr3ZDXjMNyhRJIVFgFZxwvSflIS7yjf1cIbq1qTjGgoRA8DxuD7qJk1ylBLXw1DGi9LEEi/s200/Hooked+up+for+the+software+programming.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJsoIMbtjhh6tAfyBrwisMbRDlBdzYEg5zASLE5tUd11fv8UW7WVG-dAeahhA3ej8z0eOHq37BMPVpvFMk2ByEPhAW1FtkDJEzuvUK1gGm4DUgfqUlDlYF24CD_XIwZ0pa4aVWYyuWNCY/s1600/Sara+and+Carley+working+on+software.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJsoIMbtjhh6tAfyBrwisMbRDlBdzYEg5zASLE5tUd11fv8UW7WVG-dAeahhA3ej8z0eOHq37BMPVpvFMk2ByEPhAW1FtkDJEzuvUK1gGm4DUgfqUlDlYF24CD_XIwZ0pa4aVWYyuWNCY/s200/Sara+and+Carley+working+on+software.jpg" style="cursor: move;" unselectable="on" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We spent the better part of two hours finding the right loudness for each group of electrodes, figuring out all that equipment that was on the table and creating baby step programs to get me through the new two weeks before I see her again.<br />
All the while I am trying to become accustom to my voice interrupting the voices in the room. Quite a lesson in rude butting in I must have developed over the years. Wayne's voice being lower/deeper than the the electrodes' capabilities are being picked up by my other ear's hearing aid. Another perfect marriage is in the works.<br />
There's a funny bubbling aquarium sound that has actually dissipated over the past few hours since reaching home. We're were immediately met with some unexpected out of town guests and I can actually hear them visiting in the basement while I am fixing dinner. Yes, I'm typing this as dinner is cooking. <br />
Now that dinner is over and I have had the opportunity to have spent some time listening to voices, cleaning up clattering dishes, and trying s little TV, I can't help but feel that it will take me less than the anticipated months for this to become as close to natural hearing as possible. Are there some down sides? You bet, and I will share those a little later, just to let you know how realistic this adventure is, but for now I will bask in the phenomenal miracle of technology, a skilled surgeon and audiologist, and the countless thoughts and prayers of family and friends who have made this possible. It's a blessed day!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYp8M4XX5ITtHoRgCGnJESkPkdGCPtB4XtSzZCfoQqDhHgJN5l6P4pB1iP-KPikxTU1sOscx3e5o76bXGfWdZNDvXLCJVBKchgdtN-zRimcQLLORr4KcwG9L_zywS69f8I6Re6ZuSaXQg/s1600/Now+you+see+it..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYp8M4XX5ITtHoRgCGnJESkPkdGCPtB4XtSzZCfoQqDhHgJN5l6P4pB1iP-KPikxTU1sOscx3e5o76bXGfWdZNDvXLCJVBKchgdtN-zRimcQLLORr4KcwG9L_zywS69f8I6Re6ZuSaXQg/s200/Now+you+see+it..jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now you see it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnwi_iOusfypqqqWnIhgXmD5AuLM9YJV9PCh558twy-DS_dPCIjUZojD9xbYvmCA4Kjg_UMaZTPhdIZQo0NYVCieX__ElSxmJPlXOC7vpBpjhRCt6U5uVPVhJBgv0iFedONwxDTAnNs6Gg/s1600/Now+you+don't.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnwi_iOusfypqqqWnIhgXmD5AuLM9YJV9PCh558twy-DS_dPCIjUZojD9xbYvmCA4Kjg_UMaZTPhdIZQo0NYVCieX__ElSxmJPlXOC7vpBpjhRCt6U5uVPVhJBgv0iFedONwxDTAnNs6Gg/s200/Now+you+don't.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now you don't.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJsoIMbtjhh6tAfyBrwisMbRDlBdzYEg5zASLE5tUd11fv8UW7WVG-dAeahhA3ej8z0eOHq37BMPVpvFMk2ByEPhAW1FtkDJEzuvUK1gGm4DUgfqUlDlYF24CD_XIwZ0pa4aVWYyuWNCY/s200/Sara+and+Carley+working+on+software.jpg" style="left: 266px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 298px;" width="72" />SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-12876831886810684622013-12-16T15:39:00.000-07:002013-12-16T15:39:30.330-07:00Post Surgery Update<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOz2O0TiZXtjUkGVbQLClseyKzCZXredtXV0wQHJbCVOYSGPrnNfrtGctdsUMMEFpI6P8165Mv2S-iIbPPXgtTwjGQ7X6repn1leSODoSG9q2IDBxgTGmPv68UvHqFV3yu9XatJbZseQe/s1600/011df131c46c5b90c54c15b03ddacab0e2aeebe585.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOz2O0TiZXtjUkGVbQLClseyKzCZXredtXV0wQHJbCVOYSGPrnNfrtGctdsUMMEFpI6P8165Mv2S-iIbPPXgtTwjGQ7X6repn1leSODoSG9q2IDBxgTGmPv68UvHqFV3yu9XatJbZseQe/s200/011df131c46c5b90c54c15b03ddacab0e2aeebe585.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minutes before my CI surgery </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYFfJ91PMtygwjzLejxebCqcav1UnhF5XwNybw_w2WXi-ggNUV3cDeYtG-eOCaXPqArVajJIFJN6DyUF_AvequtC00aWgdWby0UzIEQkmIInH6MJJCAGB62HP7QA0QOUAYriv_pWlf0_j/s1600/016d5b284f3509c08d15afdc3731f8ad0f2ca17d13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYFfJ91PMtygwjzLejxebCqcav1UnhF5XwNybw_w2WXi-ggNUV3cDeYtG-eOCaXPqArVajJIFJN6DyUF_AvequtC00aWgdWby0UzIEQkmIInH6MJJCAGB62HP7QA0QOUAYriv_pWlf0_j/s200/016d5b284f3509c08d15afdc3731f8ad0f2ca17d13.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Home with my new Turban</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOlDy1ql4aRs9SZKg7o4ssfr32ayqD0T-g5EeohQaWTZU6Il2mmIibq-09mi4idjbB_C_jAmkH0Rts-PymapWZcaDdbsjEEDHyEMwb2gE3yvNsu5ab9xMnQoM_hPOVgzGiMT4_phR0p7u/s1600/012a16e042db2f951fdc552609bb81893742f09f7f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOlDy1ql4aRs9SZKg7o4ssfr32ayqD0T-g5EeohQaWTZU6Il2mmIibq-09mi4idjbB_C_jAmkH0Rts-PymapWZcaDdbsjEEDHyEMwb2gE3yvNsu5ab9xMnQoM_hPOVgzGiMT4_phR0p7u/s200/012a16e042db2f951fdc552609bb81893742f09f7f.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My excellent doctor's hand work</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I want to share these pictures to show some of the behind the scenes experiences of what happens right after surgery. Sadly I don't have pictures of all the adventures that have happened in the past three weeks, but the fuzzy brain just didn't think fast enough to put a camera in someone's hand. For the most part it has been a quiet time to just let my body heal. I was in the hospital at 8 a.m. and home by 4 p.m. that afternoon. I was treated professionally, kindly, expertly at St Joseph's Hospital in Denver. I could not have asked for better care. The surgery lasted a little over three hours, and all I can remember is complete euphoria, good will, and gratitude for getting this far. Drugs may have helped kick in those emotions, but I really haven't lost that feeling yet. <br />
<br />
My surgery was the Monday before Thanksgiving and by Wednesday, with the help of my own Vietnam Vet husband, we made a QOV presentation to Joe Birge. My participation in this Foundation is very important to me, and I didn't want to miss out on this opportunity. This was not a quilt that I made, but from someone else who participates in this great organization. It was a special honor to just be the presenter this time. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqMaQoyHzrP-zaKg_fQDnfhLBa_ecmDRLhzgKjmm-JdYYiyxTme7QAIAhMARN18C4vqRhLdhoU4xhRVaInlnNCRxt3LiE4q-9JS9WsG5V9VsOXvWoIgWeorAFXx_4EFMtFe_X5iscb-HW/s1600/01e1615ef931dda7712e60798707b73acc4ca782f7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqMaQoyHzrP-zaKg_fQDnfhLBa_ecmDRLhzgKjmm-JdYYiyxTme7QAIAhMARN18C4vqRhLdhoU4xhRVaInlnNCRxt3LiE4q-9JS9WsG5V9VsOXvWoIgWeorAFXx_4EFMtFe_X5iscb-HW/s200/01e1615ef931dda7712e60798707b73acc4ca782f7.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two days after surgery.<br />
Well enough to make a QOV Presentation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicknZ7fuP717dlvXwpNINyQKixxLDDtrYbT7-o9GZi2yGSI8hdDqhO2wsq67_N0GwBOeolTN5tYRSQoe4a9DTwALWCIiIGp0lfAhvOi_WnOK_JP2JSBVWs6xNIRkrac-1BVvdDR0Rt2S-8/s1600/01e371456cb41019748a0b24a88917b03fc766d68d.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicknZ7fuP717dlvXwpNINyQKixxLDDtrYbT7-o9GZi2yGSI8hdDqhO2wsq67_N0GwBOeolTN5tYRSQoe4a9DTwALWCIiIGp0lfAhvOi_WnOK_JP2JSBVWs6xNIRkrac-1BVvdDR0Rt2S-8/s200/01e371456cb41019748a0b24a88917b03fc766d68d.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat from Wisconsin's beautiful quilt presented to <br />
Vietnam Vet Joe Birge<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By Thanksgiving Day, I thought I was on a smooth ride to healing. Actually I was not yet off the pain meds and the new BP meds that I had to start before surgery were not being too kind to each other. I passed out due to a drastic drop in blood pressure that won me an ambulance ride to the ER and a full day of trying to stabilize my blood pressure. After years of trying to keep my BP from soaring, this was a whole new experience. Many times in these past few weeks I have had a hard time trying to tell if it was the bp meds or the surgery aftereffects that has been causing the fluctuating numbers, dizzy spells, and light headedness. The one thing I wanted to avoid was to confuse medications, but all the doctors were insistent that I start them before the surgery. Now it will be interesting to see who will blame what. Whatever the case, this is one battle I am allowing myself to retreat from. They can figure it out. I have better things to do...like learning to hear again!<br />
<br />
The next two weeks were pretty mild compared to that first one. I worked through the expected pain without any medication. The most worrisome that proved to be typical were these cattle-prod like shooting pains inside my ear. They tapered off within a few days, and were more comical than painful. Then a new sensation came on board that hinted of a miraculous possibility. I started hearing that "weird water in your ear" sound. Very likely fluid does build up in the Eustachian tube after this surgery, so this is not abnormal, but the key word here is <strong>sound</strong>!! If I am hearing this, it quite possibly means that some of my residual low frequency hearing was not lost. This was one of the drawbacks I had struggled with in deciding to have a cochlear implant to begin with. I had to come to the realization that what little residual hearing I had would be lost due to the electrode being fed into the tiny cochlea destroying any remaining live hair cells. As I explained in an earlier post, the amount of hearing is like a healthy foot attached to a destroyed leg...not much use. But the good news is that as technology improves, cochlear implant processors (which are electrical) are being developed to add hearing aid (acoustical) capabilities. I was fortunate enough to be implanted with the newest electrode that is designed to prevent the expected loss. So when such a hybrid is available, the little bit of saved hearing may give me an ever wider range of hearing tones. That's way down the line in the future. Right now I am just grateful that I was given the best technology out there to hear more than I ever have, <br />
<br />
Being completely deaf with no use of a hearing aid on one side, I have stayed close to home, avoiding crowds more than four, and that can be a challenge during the holiday season. But to be honest, I have loved the excuse. It has made this holiday less rushed, hassle free, and definitely less stressed. My husband has become my new best friend...again. He has definitely been my hero in this trek. He was by my side to catch me when I passed out. He gently washed my yucky hair while I held a cup over the stitched ear a long 10 days after surgery. He arranged a mini-birthday/Christmas party (of 4!) to help get a little Christmas spirit going. And, today he finished decorating the tree (this has ALWAYS been a solo duty for me). My precious friend and her husband from Wyoming traveled down here to pay me a visit this week, which was more delightful than she could ever imagine. We have spent precious moments with our grand-kids making gingerbread cookies. Shopping has been online and minimal. So far this is the best December I have spent in a very long time.<br />
<br />
I am less than 24 hours from meeting with my audiologist to have the processor fitted and activated. This is the climax of this adventure, and while the rising action has been sweet, quiet, and calm, I am full of anticipation, doubt, and yes, just a little fear mixed in there. I want to hope for a "rock star" activation, where I hear voices right way, but I know it may take longer than the immediate gratification I desire. I promise, whatever the result, you will definitely hear from me tomorrow. This is too BIG not to share!<br />
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SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-61918456175970820852013-12-03T05:25:00.000-07:002013-12-04T12:56:27.260-07:00Amazing Grace<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>Our memories are sometimes wrong or not the same as those who lived the moment with us, but the truth of those memories are more important than the facts. I hold a special memory of my mother teaching me to draw.</em></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><em>
</em></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>What
I remember: her studio, an apple, cigar box of colors, the picture window,
talking to me, Rich playing war in the sandbox, favorite position for drawing,
watching TV, etc.<o:p></o:p></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><em>
</em></span><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>What
I don’t remember:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>her voice, my brother’s
picture (but I do remember his accurate drawings), when this happened, if it
actually did; more like a montage of several events... again, the truth is more
important than the facts.<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Mommm,
I can’t!! “<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Belting
out my usual chant of low self-esteem, I dolefully peered into my mother’s
utility room that doubled as her art studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was just a tiny room with barely enough space for the washer and
dryer and her art easel, but it was a place of magic that transformed blank
canvases into portraits of beautiful people who graced our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
was in my favorite position on my belly, scrawny legs sprawled behind me, feet
crossed at the ankles, propped up on my elbows. With the Rand McNally Road
Atlas in front of me as my easel pad, and a piece of paper I was attempting to
draw an apple my mother had placed in front of me. The autumn morning sun
beaming through the large picture window blanketed me and my tiny makeshift
studio in the doorway of her art magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My cartoonish flat (one dimensional ) round red apple glaring at me
while my older brother’s masterpiece abandoned for a sandbox game of plastic
green soldier war in the backyard, laughed at me with its authentic outline of
a perfect Red Delicious. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How does he do that? It looks so real and mine
doesn’t!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well,
first of all, he’s a little older and has been practicing it a little longer.
You’ll be able to do that well in a couple of years, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“But
I want to do it NOW!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bellowed as I
flicked the red crayon through the threshold of her studio. With her perfect
parent patience, an inherited trait that I completely missed at the gene pool,
she reached for the offending crayon that just missed her ankle and walked over
to kneel beside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reached for a
new sheet of paper and placed it in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leaning
over like she was about to go into a yoga partial child pose, her gentle voice
gracing the top of my ear she said, “Honey, it’s all a matter of just seeing.
Let’s just look at it for a moment. Is the shape of the apple really round? “<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
apple silently stood at attention as I studied it. Its shape was not round at
all but a little long and a bit triangular with bumps at the bottom and a
widow’s peak curve at the top where the stem sat. “No, not really.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Okay
then, use a pencil here and see if you can outline its shape. Look, even one of
the bumps is a little bigger than the other ones. “<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
drew the three bumps at the bottom and began to draw the sides of the apple
digging the pencil hard against the paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She patted my hand, “Relax, sweetie, hold the pencil a little lighter
and your lines will be softer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hand
released the death grip on the pencil and I looked up. She took my
hand and massaged it just long enough to make me notice how tense I was. She
took my pencil and in feather like strokes she guided the lead on the paper to
create the right side of the apple, then handed the pencil back to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mimicked her movements and created the left
side not totally unlike hers. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wow that
was cool.</i> Then I looked at the apple again and proceeded to finish the
outline on top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A tiny glow of
confidence was beginning to take root. I beamed up a grin at my mother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s
just perfect, Suzy. Now look at the apple’s color. Is it all a solid red? “As
if suddenly changing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>its skin, the apple
gleamed with gradations of red gold to deep scarlet, with tiny specks of black
and brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A gleaming crescent of silver
like my mother’s coat pin of glass diamonds shone on the side where the sun was
touching it.” Mom, this is going to take more than this one color isn’t it?
“<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well
you have a whole cigar box of colors beside you. What colors can you use?” I
reached into the sea of colors making noisy waves through the pool snatching up
Burnt Orange, Bittersweet, Maroon, Goldenrod, Sienna, and Silver. Lining up the
soldiers of color, I began to doubt how I was going to use them all. Sensing my
hesitation, Mom said, “Use your first red and color lightly all over inside the
lines. Then take the other colors one at a time and look back at the apple to
find that color on its skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Create that
same place on your apple. “<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I creased my brow in concentration and
started the wash of red over the surface, barely noticing mother’s silent
retreat from my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As each color had
its turn claiming its place on the canvas, my apple became something much more
than the red apple I first drew. The blended colors became one and I could see
a new apple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really don’t remember what that newly
drawn apple looked like, but the lessons have remained, and I’m not only
talking about drawing techniques. No thing or no one is just one-dimensional. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her amazing grace taught me to sit back, relax
a little, be patient, study my subject silently before beginning to take on any
task or try to create any solution. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where I was blind before, she had taught me
to see. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-79943359364271724012013-11-21T07:43:00.001-07:002013-11-21T07:43:24.947-07:00Leaving the Waiting Room<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">You would
think that a nine month absence would bring forth at least a bundle of joy, gently
cradled and ready to show off to everyone, like a new parent wondering how it will change
life as I know it. But that’s just not exactly the case here. I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">am</b> a bundle of nerves, and I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">am</b> grasping onto a ball of anticipation
trying to figure out how this next turn in the road will affect my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve researched, questioned, and
pseudo-prepared myself mentally and physically to receive that long awaited cochlear
implant this coming Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">This baby
analogy is not too far off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m
even nesting a little bit. Doing a little more laundry than usual so my
comfortable clothes will be ready to slip on. Making sure the kitchen is
stocked up for those easy meals that the hubby can put together without too
much help from me. Dusting, scrubbing, organizing, and purging a little more
extensively because I know I won’t be able to do it later. Bending over and
lifting are big cautionary threats that I must obey for 6 weeks, although not
being able to blow my nose far outweighs the need to clean, but there is no way
to do that ahead of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Like a pregnancy,
the details of the last nine months are probably too gross, too mundane, too
self-absorbed to bother repeating, but I do have to say that I have lived
through the mounds of doctor bills, inconsideration of insurance companies, and
a roller coaster ride of emotions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So what is
this cochlear implant anyway, you may be wondering. You can visit this link <a href="http://www.advancedbionics.com/com/en/naida_ci_q70.html" target="_blank">http://www.advancedbionics.com/com/en/naida_ci_q70.html</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>if you really want to know the technical
ins and outs of this tiny prosthesis. I can only really tell you that it will be
an opportunity to bring back to life the gift of hearing. This is not a “have
to”, life or death surgery; it’s elective. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The protests of my friends and family claiming
that I really do so well and hearing better than ever with these last hearing
aids, stab me, okay, not stab, but they do prickle a bit. Even I have had to
struggle with the realization that my residual hearing will be
permanently lost. But I can only relate this to maybe someone who has received
a devastating blow to the knee. The leg is mangled and beyond repair, but the
foot is still in perfect condition, untouched by the damage. What good is that
foot if there is no leg to support it? What good is one or two tones of hearing
a snore or a foghorn blast if I can’t hear the conversation of a loved one or
the endearing question of a grandchild wanting to know when she can help me make
a 3-2-1 cake for dessert tonight?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t even tell you when I last heard the punch
line of a joke. When we are in the throes of telling a story, the inflection
and body language are animated and pretty easy for anyone to follow. But as we built
to the climax of the last line, our voices hit a higher frequency and then, reaching
the best line of the story…POW, we blast the words out faster than a speeding
bullet. Anyone with a hearing loss has just missed the G spot of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">g</b>rasping what was said. Asking for a
repeat just kills the mood, you know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Living with a
hearing loss can be done. My deaf colleagues with their admirable pride and
lack of shame have tried to show me that they are not broken, and their lives
are just as fulfilling as any hearing person’s life can be. But for the most
part this is all they have ever known, and being deaf is their normal. They
have the gift of communication using ASL. As a post lingual adult with a
progressive hearing loss, I never learned sign language and, all too gradually
my communication tool, the voice, was lost. When I am with a group of deaf and
hearing individuals, my isolation just doubles, because I cannot sign, and I
can’t hear the conversations of the hearing people either. But, I have spent
the past 30 years proving that it indeed can be done, and I am proud of my
accomplishments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
guess I can blame the aging process and lack of "umph" to keep working at both
hearing and listening (They <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">are</b> two
different things). Before, I was too busy to worry about what I didn’t have,
but after retiring, I have had the time to really know what I am missing and I
want it back. I want more than hiding in my quilt room, looking at a computer,
or settling for close captioned entertainment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Birds singing, visiting with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>friends in a noisy pub, the gentle car conversations,
a musical concert or a play, an energetic discussion of a lifelong learning classroom,
the garage door opening to know Wayne is home, the punch line of a joke. Those things
and more are waiting for me, and I am ready!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Oh, just so you know, the stories are flowing again, and I will be back not only sharing this amazing adventure, but relating the moments of the past to our lives today. I hope you continue to visit. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-66246693026611311392013-02-09T12:45:00.001-07:002013-02-09T12:45:14.347-07:00How Do You Deal with Disappointment? I wonder how you have reacted to a situation when you struggled though a life-changing decision, and the moment you finally choose the path you will take, something or someone else decides for you that you can't. It's that "control" thing. The only conflicts we really have in life happen when we don't know what we control. There are so many life-changing decisions where you are your own worst enemy, and you keep yourself from making the choice, but I am talking about those times when it's something else that makes the final say.<br />
Let's brainstorm some of these -<br />
<ul>
<li>Choosing a life partner and suddenly he breaks it off.</li>
<li>Deciding to take that career risk and move to a new place only to find out your company is planning on downsizing within the year, and you're on the list.</li>
<li>Deciding to move nearer to your married children and families and then your son is transferred across the country.</li>
<li>Deciding to have a life-changing surgery for which you well qualify, but your insurance company refuses to pay.</li>
</ul>
Ah, That's the one!! You have seen my "waffle-itis" in the past posts in making the decision to have the surgery for cochlear implants. I made the decision, pushed aside my fears, and waited for the approval. Hearing from so many others that in this day and age, I believed that insurance companies are much more accepting to the surgical implant due to their high success rate, and that it is as much a prosthesis as an arm, a leg or an eye. The news yesterday was so disappointing. Mainly because I was trying to be so optimistic about the process. Another sucker punch that I so dread.<br />
<br />
There will always be missed opportunities, time and money not wisely spent, and other things that we regret. It's just part of life, and I find it pretty easy to accept responsibility for my poor decisions. But I crash when it's not my choice. <br />
Well, crash for a little while at least. Obstacles are always on our road of life. We still have a choice when an obstacle is lying in front of us. We can choose to fall into a pity puddle, turn back, go over, around or through it. Oh, the beautiful image of blasting or choking that stupid insurance reviewer... No, in all reality, I do know I have choices in my perspective and actions that can result in continuing my journey. I will be fighting this and work toward a better quality of life for me. There's no time for self pity or wallowing in disappointment.<br />
I know I have a support of so many special people including a daughter bringing me a cheer-up bouquet, a son who wants to see about getting a loan for me, a BIL with a calm voice of reason to help me ask the right questions and pursue a course of action, special friends and family through emails and texts to state their support and ideas, and even a great joke that made me laugh out loud. God, I love them all!!<br />
I have also looked for wise words from others that help me move forward. I added a couple of those quotes below that were especially helpful. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest. Our magic moment helps us to change and sends us off in search of our dreams. Yes we are going to suffer, we will have difficult times, and we will experience many disappointments - but all of this is transitory it leaves no permanent mark. And one day we will look back in pride and faith at the journey we have taken."<br />
Paulo Coelho <em> By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept.</em> <br />
<br />
" It was one of those times you feel a sense of loss, even though you didn't have something in the first place. I guess that is what disappointment is - a sense of loss for something you never had."<br />
Deb Caletti <em>The Nature of Jade</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
Perspective is so helpful. When I put this stone of disappointment next to so many other obstacles that have been in my way, it seems to shrink, and I will easily be able to kick it aside. I wish you the best in shrinking your own obstacles. <br />
Blessings to you all,SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-74063387067632177572013-01-30T08:53:00.000-07:002013-02-02T08:52:23.036-07:00Quality of Life Debate<strong>I've being hearing these phrases a lot lately when it comes to my pending CI surgery:</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong> "What have you got to lose?"</strong><br />
<strong> "Won't you definitely improve your quality of life?"</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>These questions are put to anyone facing a risk in their lives, so look for a connection while debating your own risk-taking decision.</strong><br />
<br />
My mental debate wants to really kick into high gear and argue that I could lose the natural hearing that I have already have with my hearing aides. But, when I really think about it, that "natural" hearing is not so much from the HAs but from my skills of reading lips and facial expressions, and guessing the overall context of what was said, filling in the blanks. My use of closed captioning is also the biggest assistance when it comes to television. I kept thinking there might come a day when people could wear a CC device and I could read what they say. Can you imagine the looks on people's faces when I ask them to put on such a device?<br />
So, there! The HAs just made everything louder, not clearer. I'm not losing those little tricks and devices. They will still be there. Argument goes to the Pro's. Next Question.<br />
<br />
Oh, yeah, "quality of life."<br />
<br />
No matter what age you are there are 4 elements to living successfully. These are not MY words of wisdom. They are backed up with years of scientific research in the aging process:<br />
<strong>Stay Connected</strong><br />
<strong>Stay Active</strong><br />
<strong>Become a lifelong learner</strong><br />
<strong>Find purposeful activities</strong><br />
<br />
The <strong>CON</strong> argument: Life as I know it now.<br />
<strong>Stay Connected</strong> - Bluetooth isn't strong enough, so I use those T-link wires to put on my phone and hear conversations. <em>Hello? What? What? Wait a sec, I need to hook up. (pause, pause, rattle, clink) There now, what? eh, hello? Well, there's always email.</em><br />
<strong>Stay active</strong> - I hit the gym with a 20 minute walk every day. <em> That's 15 laps, no ipod, single file, no talking. Uh, join the fundraiser committee? I'm a little under the weather right now...</em><br />
<strong>Become a lifelong learner -</strong><em> </em>I'm learning to use Windows 8. <em>That may take a "lifetime," sitting in front of a computer for hours. My eyes are blurry. Need a nap. Or, maybe I'll watch that National Geo program. Dang, it's not closed captioned! Nap it is. A quilting class? Uh, how many will be there?</em><br />
<strong>Find purposeful activities -</strong> I quilt, and volunteer shelving library books. <br />
<br />
The <strong>PRO</strong> argument: What life <u>could</u> be with <u>cochlear implants</u> (you fill-in the blank with your own dilemma)<br />
<strong>Stay Connected -</strong> Bluetooth devices, t-mics and direct connect programs will all be available for better phone conversations. All these will help at meetings or groups, movies, plays, symphonies...<br />
<strong>Stay Active -</strong> Going to the gym with a MP3 or ipod may make me stay longer. I'm up for a lunch date, a committee meeting, or a take a road trip to Tennessee!<br />
<strong>Become a lifelong learner -</strong> The CI technology is always changing. I'll have to stay on my toes to learn all the programs and new products that will help me. There are Ollie classes at the community college with amazing selections, energetic discussions, and delightful connection with the learning community again!!<br />
<strong>Find purposeful activities -</strong> I will always quilt and shelve books, but I still have so much to offer in women's organizations, church, tutoring.<br />
<br />
I see I can "con" myself into believing that I follow all those elements of successfully living now. But, I have to go with the pro's on this one. I wish you the best in your own mental debate.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-73472816788932047622013-01-25T16:34:00.000-07:002013-01-25T16:34:26.975-07:00Waiting is the hardest part.<strong>Ouch, Ouch...I had the meningitis vaccine today, but more about that later.</strong> <strong>These posts are a little delayed, because I am still in a holding pattern waiting for the insurance approval...my moment when this will all become real. This is what happened last week.</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">January 19, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have had an amazing mental/emotional aerobics week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have gone through just about every emotion
imaginable, and instead of being completely drained, I feel refreshed,
relieved, and calm about whatever is ahead of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think my blood pressure is even a bit lower
because of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To begin, a week ago, as I was still agonizing over this
whole decision process, my daughter was in a road rage accident of some
madwoman who didn’t like that she was driving the speed limit in morning
traffic. Stephanie moved over as soon as she could to exit, the woman followed
her and rammed into her at the stop sign. Wayne and I went to pick up a very
frightened, but lucky young woman. The trials and tribulations of online police
reports, insurance calls, estimated filtered in and out through the entire
week. Staying calm for a child is a mother’s first instinct, and maybe that
helped me through the week’s process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Funny though, I usually go in a corner and have a private meltdown after
these kinds of events.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My four hour meeting with the audiologist and surgeon (he
was only 30 minutes of all that time, no surprise) on Monday encapsulated the
major decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all that fussing about
my hubby earlier, I was so surprised that he stayed all that time, asked
questions, and supported me throughout the whole process. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He really is the best partner for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to learn about all the devices and
their programs, make a choice, order all the accessories, and understand
exactly what the surgery was like and expectations afterwards, and finally
schedule the day of surgery…February 20th.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seems so much more simple when it is just put into one sentence, but
I assure you, by the time it was over, and the nurse took my BP, we all were
shocked at it 201/104 reading. This was HEAVY stuff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All that was left was to get insurance approval, and I have
spent the last 3 days in agony with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what
if’s</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even tried calling my
insurance company to at least get some sort of answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond my understanding, they could not even
tell me it was a covered benefit to my policy until they get the
pre-authorization from the surgeon. The surgeon would not send it until it was
30 days until date of surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a
silly ping pong match.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was left with
the agony of just waiting, and worrying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second-guessing starts to roll in. Maybe I
should get a second opinion. But, what would that really do? I get an agreeing
answer<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, no change</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get an opposing answer, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more decisions</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">,
it’s up to you,</i> well, I just wasted my time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then in what only I can call a real epiphany,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a favorite Joseph Campbell quote which I have
“preached” to others for years whispered to my mind’s ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You have to let go of
the life you planned to embrace the life in front of you.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had planned to
spend the rest of my life accepting the slow gradual loss of hearing and
stoically trudging on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The biggest worry
I had about this surgery was that I still function (albeit very, very basic
functioning) with the little bit of hearing that I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounds “natural” beefed up with the old
hearing aids. With cochlear implants I will lose ALL my hearing and I would no
longer be able to use hearing aids if for any reason the CIs don’t work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The likelihood of that happening is less than
1%, but it is there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CIs will give me
what an amputee has with a prosthetic leg, not the same, but it works better
than crutches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For whatever logic battle my brain was having, it suddenly
made sense to let go of the essence of natural hearing (which is really only 10%
of what you hear) to embrace a new way of hearing at 85% or better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voices may sound like Mickey Mouse and it
will take a lot brain training to re-learn sounds and voices, but I am ready to embrace
that challenge. And IF things turn south, and I am left completely deaf… I will
embrace that too…. And maybe get a service dog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-31374914097213505872013-01-24T16:21:00.000-07:002013-01-24T16:21:25.581-07:00MOBIUS STRIP<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><strong> </strong></div>
<strong></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Whatever is inside us continuously flows outward to help
form, or deform the world – and whatever is outside us continually flows inward
o help form, or deform our lives<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~
Parker Palmer<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we
started and know the place for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>~ T.S. Eliot<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know that cool little anomaly when you take a strip of
paper, bring the two ends together, but twist one end before taping the ends
together. When you draw a pencil line through the middle of the whole strip the
front and back sides become one continuous line. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UlMybpCDiFKBcKffafZFEcljB0Tu2AmED8tJ7YoCV6m-pVtKNNxw_6ACmhzUstt517eVUW4ugiPwA8tGKBcDgluL4t2HBtiHIs8T6bcYf_chKviJDs623ZXRiJwT7P8Faiuo73pVppsf/s1600/mobius1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UlMybpCDiFKBcKffafZFEcljB0Tu2AmED8tJ7YoCV6m-pVtKNNxw_6ACmhzUstt517eVUW4ugiPwA8tGKBcDgluL4t2HBtiHIs8T6bcYf_chKviJDs623ZXRiJwT7P8Faiuo73pVppsf/s1600/mobius1.gif" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I read these quotes, they really hit a nerve. That same
nerve that has been plaguing me all week and continues to throb incessantly
like my back molar and the soft tissue underneath slowly swelling and causing
more pain than I want to acknowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the emotional nerve is a new row with a loved one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as I feel that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> is the one who needs to read , understand, and relate to these
sayings, my little back tooth is chanting, “Look only at yourself, look only at
yourself…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've always quoted my dad whenever some adversity is haunting me with there are always two sides to every story. "You can’t have a piece of bread sliced
so thin that there aren’t two sides to it."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, if the Mobius strip effect comes into play, this can’t be true. Both
sides are one in the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A creation of
reality are one in the same. But what is reality except <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perception</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(One man’s truth
is another man’s lie.) Definitely a challenge to know which truth is right: the
Mobius, or is it toast?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look at me not her,
look at me not her, lookatmenother…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have endured a long journey together. No matter how much
I want to scream out her injustice to me, to speak my truth, to get her to own
up to the hurt she caused, I keep arriving at the same answer. We are back
where we started. Yes, 2 sides are alike, but keep in mind to believe in the
Mobius strip, you have to be just a little twisted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-70899608184646956882013-01-21T11:06:00.000-07:002013-01-21T15:48:34.551-07:00A Successful life...because?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Imagine yourself 90 years old, sitting comfortably on a
porch with a refreshing drink in your hand visiting with someone and you start
out saying, “My life has been so successful because….<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I really believe I have to give credit to my success in life
to the fact that I never stopped learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Learning has allowed me to forge through problems, challenge myself, and
question my beliefs as well as others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Looking back at those low points in my life, they were the times when I
was stuck in an old belief or habit and refused to see the situation
differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether it was a tragic
loss, financial setback, or a physical disability, I failed (or wasn’t
successful) when I couldn’t see it as a time to learn something new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What more important element could there be to success than
the ability to learn?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing is for
sure, failure in a project, relationship, or any endeavor can still be
successful if you’ve learned something from it. How cool – I was successful
even when I failed. What a safety net!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my life of ninety years (of course I can only remember
the first 60 years of it) I have learned that...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the loss of my parents in my 20's didn't mean I quit learning from them.</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">losing a child (although everyone believes that will be the end of them, too) can make you live your life to its fullest a the strongest tribute to his memory.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">choosing to let go of a tiny piece of myself does not change who I am but gives me the opportunity to let myself grow a different way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may had to let go of what was left of my residual hearing when I received these cochlear implants, but it opened doors for me to communicate more with those around me.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">whatever decisions I've had to make in life, I found new pathways that allowed me to learn more.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At ninety years old, whether I have 10 years or one day, I’m
going to learn something everyday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
recently read a now to be a forever favorite quote…”We meet everyone in our
lives for a reason. You are either a blessing or a lesson.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will you be, dearie?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-6887936698104593552013-01-19T12:40:00.000-07:002013-01-19T12:40:11.506-07:00A New Call to Adventure
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">January 4, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After toying with the idea of having cochlear implants (CI),
I am now taking the steps to make this a reality. Some of the fears about just
having it done are tabled, and I am just taking it one day at a time…my
self-preservation tactic to avoid any kind of sucker punch that may halt the
process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been wearing hearing aids for 30 years (actually this
very year because I was fitted with my first pair while holding infant Stephanie
in my lap) I was able to keep the cost of getting 2 hearing aids every 7 years
or so with Voc Rehab, Flex Benefits, appealing to school principal to follow
ADA requirements. The cost was usually an up-front one-time payment ranging
from $1000 to $5000. After moving to Colorado and not working full time that
became a future burden I didn’t want to face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I met a new audiologist and ENT at the University of
Colorado Hospital. I took the first test in 2008 and then again in 2011. I
“hear” too well to qualify using my brain to fill in the pockets I don’t
hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Dec 31<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> 2012, I had
failed enough to qualify, going from a speech discrimination of 67% to 28%
bilaterally. My hearing loss hasn’t changed but the word clarity is in the
bucket (aging process sucks)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now the process of acceptance is in motion. A
balance/gravity test VNG (Videonystagmography) and VEMP (Vestibular Evoked
Myogenic Potential) was administered last Wednesday, January 2, 2013. This
involved trying to get me dizzy by flushing warm and cold water into my ear
canals and then measuring my eye movements while wearing a mask and then
testing the balance organ by marking neck muscle, sternum, and ear canal
electrodes. Evidently I passed that with the knowledge that my left ear is more
balanced than my right by a slight margin. Still no indication that both ears
could not be implanted simultaneously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now I wait 2 weeks until January 14<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> to meet
with the surgeon and audiologist to decide on the right product for my
lifestyle, get the info about the surgery and schedule a CT scan to check the
bones. I have a library of promo material from the 2 companies and my single
solo alone mind to figure out which to pick. THEN the coup de grace approval
from BCBS, All of this hassle, testing, money, and false hope have to happen
before I can even find out if I can have the surgery. Actually the possibility
of not being approved is pretty slim, but how much out of pocket is the big
roadblock and my biggest fear. I am preparing myself to hear that this will
cost me my deductible ($3000). If I have to pay a 20% over that which would be
close to $20,000), I have to call off the deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not too thrilled with the $3000, but it’s kind of doable especially
if I can work out a payment plan over 6 months. That is my hope. Then my little
“Pollyanna Buster” voice says, “Don’t get your hopes up, sister!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another worry, trepidation, concern is how alone I feel in
doing this. Wayne doesn’t like to talk about it. I just get, “You’ll research
it and I will support you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steph and
Sam aren’t around and they have their own problems. Friends are too far away,
Yeah, I would talk adnauseum about it if I had the chance, but it’s how I deal
with the fear and try to make choices. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I know I can make the choice, it is a
personal one anyway, but I also think about the day of the surgery and
following.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Historically Wayne is always
“busy” when I need/want him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel I
have to schedule around him all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I just got the call that my CT scan is now scheduled for next
Thursday January 10th at 8:45. So all will be in place for my pre-op appointment
the following Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I put aside all
my doubts, this could actually happen by Valentine’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a PEO program that I am supposed to
give that day so, I am kind of hoping that it would work for the 15<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>.
Of course if they could get it in sooner, I would go for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now I just wait… going to purge my sewing room, now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-72731533257013955262013-01-17T11:39:00.000-07:002013-01-17T11:39:42.198-07:00Oh Woe! Where Did My Muse Go? I do believe my Muse has abandoned me for a more prolific writer! She has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. In grade school when I was the fledgling incompetent and unconfident writer, she would quietly sit on my shoulder whispering, "You don't have to copy that poem as yours - write your own."<br />
In college, I dabbled in writing short stories but the rejections from professors who "expected better" as well as magazine pink slips, prompted that sweet Muse to say, "Give it time, your writing will grow and it will become something only for you. That's your first audience anyway - <em>you</em>."<br />
When marriage, and babies, and teaching took up most of my time, that little Muse sat atop my ear chanting, " But what about writing <em>that</em> down?" I ignored her mostly. I think she took up knitting, but she loyally stayed.<br />
Kicking into high gear with my writing and even teaching writing little Wilma Writer Muse was in her finest form. She broke out with a celebratory break dance cheering and encouraging and even crying and laughing with every stroke of my pen. She had finally earned her Best Friend to a Writer Badge, and I was so proud to have her in my corner. Her pushing and urging even took me to a local writer's group, online classes, journal groups, and creating this blog. Man, she was on fire!<br />
Then, what? What happened? Where did she go so suddenly? I've been through dry spells before, and she never gave up on me. Why now? Did I say something wrong? Ignored her one too many times? Or has she just worn herself out? Is there a Retirement Muse Plan? Maybe she's on a Muse Cruise. Seeing the sights of the world that she missed out on trying to get me to open my eyes all this time. Well, she deserves it... I guess. I was a tough client. But now more than ever I see a need to make sure thoughts, creations, and gifts of writing flow from my pen, but she 's not dangling on my eraser this time. I sure hope she comes back...soon.SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-10313624079129947492012-09-13T11:48:00.000-06:002013-12-04T12:34:04.152-07:00Quilt of Valor #5: Full Circle<img src="http://thumbcdn.springpadit.com/9f7_2/springpad-user-data.s3.amazonaws.com/c7d/c7deacf08b5d5ae7b4813b1e156ed571-250x250.jpg" />
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There are really few times when I am rendered speechless. Even in this situation, I'm not so much speechless as I am awestruck. Because of this, I have struggled more than a couple of days to complete this post to let you know about the Quilt of Valor's last leg of its journey. I may be breaking my old teacher rule to "show don't tell" this story, but like I said, I'm really a loss for words...sort of.</div>
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The simple idea to be a part of an organization that wants to offer some comfort to soldiers has melded into something on a scale I can't comprehend just yet. Yes, this foundation did start as a small idea from an individual and has mushroomed to reach so many. It would be so cool to such a "mustard seed." We can all names such beginnings: Race for Cure, TOM Shoes.... </div>
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But I am really getting away from my point. This small idea to help a soldier may have been spurred by the QOV Foundation, but my solitary motions triggered even more actions by others not even associated with the initial program. </div>
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Once I finished my quilt, I wanted to make sure that I made a personal connection, so I asked my brother (a retired Army Colonel) if he had any ideas. He gave me a name of a Colorado Guard chaplain. Through emails and facebook messages, I eventually reached her.. I trusted this young chaplain to find a recipient. She took it to several co-chaplains, and how the name was chosen was out of my hands. But in those few remaining days, my family was met with a grandmother's death and so too the chaplain experienced the same loss. Responsibilities of such events over and above this small mission created a break in the process. This just had to take a backseat. Even so, the machinations were still spinning to completion. The details were sketchy, erratic and by the morning of 9/11 I thought the final delivery might not happen as I planned. I tried to soften the disappointment with the idea that I at least met my goal to have it ready on that day. (You can read my other QOV posts about why the date held more than the obvious reason.)</div>
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At literally "the 11th hour" I reached SSG May's wife through email. I think she must have recognized my desperation (or was it obsession?) to get this to her husband that day.. How trusting! She sent me directions to her house. </div>
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I'm not going to go into Marty's story to tug your heart strings and make you feel bad that you're feeling sorry for yourself. He's the first one to admit there are many worse off than himself. I don't want to start a "his story is worse than your story" tug of war. His experience is not much different than any soldier injured in a theater of war, but the details of his story are unique to him. However, it's his willingness to plod on to whatever his unknown future holds, with not only his own strength, but also to hang on tightly to those who stand by him; in this case, his wife Wendy and his 3 children. He is a symbol of so many, yet I can't shake that he is just an individual, an THAT is just as important.</div>
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We visited for over and hour in their kitchen, listening and connecting. Three strangers left as friends. We "friended" each other on Facebook, and I received one special message that Marty was curled up on the couch wrapped in his quilt in the waning colder morning hours, "silently going out of his mind" waiting for the email that would determine his "rating" with the VA and the Army that could sink or keep afloat an uncertain future for him and his family. </div>
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We will always live in a world of doubt, global unrest, indifference, family grief, economical woes, bureaucratic red tape. The media is bereft with such problems. We all experience them in our daily lives. As we peel away that onion of life (my sweet brother's analogy) we meet individuals and make a tiny connection of commonality. This is the core of our existence...what's important. At least I think that is the reason for my awe in the experience. The quilt was just the catalyst; meeting Martin and Wendy May was the result that matters. The realization that working with a string of unknown individuals can create a special moment for another. That magic maze of humanity circles right back to the beginning and sends currents of change to everyone involved. What a blessing to us all to have the ability to experience this connection to each other! I wish you all happy connections!</div>
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SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-3032090276242957472012-09-12T20:41:00.000-06:002013-12-04T12:31:16.100-07:00Quilt of Valor #4: Points and Borders<div>
I meant to post this on July 4th, and not until today did I realize it was a draft. I have been absent from here far too long and I am finally getting my mojo back to keep going. hope to still see you here. <br />
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As a promise to myself, I finished the top today. It only required a strip of ribbon points on all sides and a solid border all around. It has been a fast and furious month full of family obligations in which I was not able to work on the quilt at all. I knew I would have only a day or two to complete this task.<br />
My thoughts about the soldier receiving this quilt was a bit sidelined in the past few days, because my dearest friend (my long-arm friend) has been evacuated from their beautiful mountain home in Wyoming. With so many fires in the west right now this fire was getting little attention. It has now grown to the third most active fire in the nation, but there has been nothing in the news about this one. I have been glued to the tiny maps on the information website trying to see where the fire is going. My eyes strain to focus while I try to figure out which dot or X's is their hourse or fence. It has been a search of points and borders of another kind. <br />
As I continue on that thought of points and borders, I drift into how we have become a nation of pushing our points across to each other and the building up of borders to keep us from our neighbors. Whether it is a political division, or a marital spat, or just a traffic lane change, we seem to take on a it's my way or no way. We may listen to, shake our heads at, and even pray for those devestated by fires, or battles, but very quickly we get back to our own lives and pay no attention to those around us. I'm usually wrapped up in my own sorrow that accompanies this day, and I forget that there is a soldier that will one day get this quilt who is fighting whatever battles still may remain with him or her. I was stopped in my tracks to switch into a prayer and wait and see mode for my friend. I remember hearing some saying that goes somewhat like this, "Be kind to everyone you meet because they too are fighting some battle." <br />
A call this morning did give bittersweet news from Wyoming: she's fine and their home is okay...for now, but their old homestead ranch where she grew up and her brother lived was completely destroyed. It will still be a long wait until they are able to see their home and assess the damage to livestock and buildings and a lifetime of memories. Although this is usually a tough anniversary day for me and my family, my tears flow for my dear friend today. <br />
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SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-82374578884469766892012-07-05T17:47:00.000-06:002012-08-17T14:15:07.572-06:0010 Gratitudes for July 5<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">10. My friend in Wyoming is safe.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">9. The 4th was simple, good, and happy.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">8. My son is a fabulous father with a darling wife and kids.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">7. My daughter is beautiful, brave, and loving.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">6. My quilt top is finished.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">5. My hearing aides work...better than my ears.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">4. I love and adore my siblings.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">3. I can find creative outlets for my frustrations.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">2. My 18 mo. old grandson, who is not a cuddler, came to me yesterday for a little comfort hug.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;">1. Thirty-seven years ago today I began a journey with a good man, a wonderful father, and a lifelong companion who makes every morning a grateful day.</span></span></span>SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-60476331833130971922012-06-08T14:22:00.002-06:002013-12-04T12:31:16.105-07:00Quilt of Valor #3 Decisions! Decisions!<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /> Except for one blue strip of the weave, everything has been placed on my design wall. This is called a scrappy quilt because the materials have come from my own personal "stash" of materials. Yes, we quilters have our private stash. Sounds clandestine, doesn't it? There have been a lot of jokes about how we hide our stashes and keep trying to find places to put it all. My stash is really quite modest and I have pretty slim picken's finding the right colors and hues to create some order in the pattern, even though it really doesn't have to be, being scrappy and all. I'm not the best colorist when it comes to this part of the quilt making. When you get me together with my 2 quilty friends from 100 miles away, we become a dynamo team, selecting, scrunching, displaying, viewing all kind of color schemes. It's such a joy to find that strength with my buddies. But going this one alone really boggles me. Because I am limited to what I have, (yes, I could go to the quilt shop and purchase many more fat quarters to make the color scheme "pop") but I really wanted this to be from me, my stash and my heart. Some of the materials carry precious memories of past works or favorite shop hops, and one is even a fabric gift from my sister when she was in Australia and wanted to send me something for my quilting. She sent me a huge bandana! Do you see that one? I like the idea of selecting all these mixed up pieces to create one new piece. Kind of fits what I was saying on my last post.<br /> As I am struggling to decide on the just right placement of the rows, I think about all the decisions we all have to make in our lives. As with most families, we are at the crossroads of many decisions, individually and as a family unit. My adult children struggle daily with the pressures of work and home that keep them from finding moments of joy. My husband is trying to decide how best to help his aging parents when is he too many miles away from them. I keep waffling in my decisions to find a happy medium between stepping in to "help" them all or standing back in love. Then my mind goes to you. What decision you must be having to make. What struggles are you confronting?<br /> After staring at the wall all this time, I need to take a break as the colors are becoming a blur. I choose to do a mindless task of making the "flying geese" blocks that are the ribbon points of each row. These are simple and no major thinking has to take place to get them done. Just 3 blocks, diagonal lines and little ironing and cutting and Viola! flying geese and my brain can relax for a while. A whole new lesson in this too: when the task gets to be too much and everything is rushing in, around, and by us, we need to stand down, walk away, and re-group our senses.<br /> So now, is there a better way to arrange these rows? I know in any art, the eye needs a resting place. Eyes follow to the light. I have a lot a patterns in here that are keeping the eye busy. Then I go the the real purpose of this quilt. It's not supposed to be hung on a wall for the discerning art critics. This unknown soldier is supposed to take it to his/her bed or couch and snuggle under it and find some warmth, calmness, and love amid all these reds, whites, and blues. It should surround him with the untold stories of someone who is grateful for his service even if he doesn't know her, while he can hopefully and in the spirit of healing, reflect on his past, and rebuild whatever the future may hold. I know that the hardest struggle is in getting to the decision itself, because once it's made there is a clear path, and there's no looking back. No time for "woulda, shoulda, coulda. Just keep on moving!</span><br />SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-90157329281197700202012-06-06T10:51:00.000-06:002013-12-04T12:31:16.108-07:00Quilt of Valor # 2 Order Among Chaos<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Frutiger, Tahoma, Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I have almost finished cutting all the red materials into the required squares and triangles. I am lining them up on the table next to the un-cut blues. The table is beginning to really represent today's title. It is easy to compare it to a unit of soldiers lined up and ready for whatever is commanded of them, while the rest of the world around them is jumbled into a chaotic hodge-podge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Adding to my chaos, a little diversion occurred when the grandkids came with their dad to help Papa Wayne. Three little ones under the age of 5 do not allow for this kind of concentration. Only when they all went down for naps did I get a chance to return to this endeavor. But four year old Tayah woke early and came into the sewing room. I had her sit on a stool and watch. Needless to say, the curious questions and inquisitive fingers kept me from cutting accurately, and I messed up a fat quarter and will have to find a new one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I stopped and spent a rare precious moment with the one singleton child to teach her how to cut fabric with little round tip scissors. What fun to see this new skill develop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Back to the quilt project:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Every Quilter has probably been asked the same redundant/rhetorical question, "Why would you want to cut up perfectly good pieces of material just to sew them back together again?" I hear a similar statement addressed to paratroopers on why they want to jump out of perfectly good airplanes. Do they really want an answer? Whatever others think of our reasons for doing anything that brings us some kind of joy should not be a topic to address. I do think the questions and our reasons pose polar views that may add to the scheme of things and how we do find some order.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> If anyone would want an answer to the cut up question, I would want to answer with the analogy of our lives. We come into this world like a beautiful piece of fabric, untouched, pure, and beautiful. Some are richer than others, and some are stronger. The colors may be muted or vibrant. There may even be some flaws, but that just adds to the beauty of the material and its unique individuality. Our life's journey can cause some pretty heavy slashes mentally, emotionally, and physically. Whether it was the horrors of war, a loved one's death, a physical disability, or discord within a family or at work, these experiences cause severe cuts into our well-being. It would be easy to end up in the scrap heap on the floor. But working together with others, adding support to and from each other, we can stitch together a new being, more beautiful and stronger than ever before. We may not be the same as we started out, and all the cuts and slashes are still there, but we can create this new life to take on anything else that comes our way with a new found strength, purpose, and resolve to find some type of order in this chaotic world around us. </span><br />
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I've been trying to wean myself from electronic devices because they have just invited more isolation from those around me rather than stay connected. I was fearful that all this inward "acedia" as it may be was going to just sound like a pity party, and I didn't want this blog to turn into that, which seemed to be the path it was taking. I have decided to make a move away from self-pity and just plain loneliness by turning my attention on to something/someone else. <br />
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I have been hearing about the great organization that encourages people to make a quilt for a returning soldier. The requirements are quite specific...no quicky quilts, no tying, required dimensions, and it has to be quilted on a longarm! I don't have one, but I have a dear friend that does...3 hours away from here. So I am planing a great reunion with her in July for this. <br />
Here's the plan...Today is Memorial Day. What a great day to start! Chris was born on Memorial Day and this year the date is the same as well. I have been tear-y eyed all week anticipating the inevitable "Day." They say the hardest day for a mother who's lost a child is his birthday. It's hard to put any day on a scale because then there would be an "easier" day...ain't gonna happen. Back to "The Plan" .... I want to have the top finished by the Fourth of July and have it ready to send off to the soldier by 9/11. <br />
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These dates have special meaning to just about every American, but they are especially poignant to me. Chris died on the Fourth of July, and when that horrible event of 9/11 happended we were just 10 weeks into mourning the loss of our boy. The whole nation was forced into mourning, and I was angry that I was supposed to push aside my loss and join the nation. Besides, Chris wasn't a soldier, and his death seemed to pale in comparison to all those who had died. This is a terrible confession but an honest one about the horrors of grieving. <br />
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It's been 11 years. and each of these dates bring too much sadness into my daily life. It's time to create new memories and a purposeful gift to someone else. So this Quilt of Valor in my sewing room has been born today. Here's another quirky fact...the pattern I have chosen takes <strong>9 </strong>red fat quarters and <strong>11</strong> blue ones. This is meant to be. <br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGa3ZSeivRHXTk7yDZehWTAN2Ap9Wc64ZkHzM-wMZV5_T_VWgtXthgV5Nw81txYa8Ml7tkGTvv90pNwPcfDypfKVdEH71iOHvI98Xk9acmxsBEFkplO0_8MphQ3x38k21gWxRU7cTpH6A/" /></div>
SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-45721103562941135722012-05-03T07:31:00.001-06:002012-05-06T09:29:23.533-06:00Irises -- RevisitedLast March I posted a childhood memory about fingerpainting flowers as a child. This week I was able to "pass it on" in a special way to my sister. I know the picture is dark but I just wanted to share this story and this phenomenal talent that was emerging at such a young age. <br />
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After writing that post on March 1st, many asked me if I still had that picture. A child's painting from 50 years ago?! I had a few things tucked away but I doubted I had that after all these years. It did get me to thinking if it was indeed in a particular box. Deep in the junk closet of my own children's packed away keepsakes, I found what I was looking for -- an elongated flat box that held some quick drawings my mother had done, and a funny huge robin on manila paper and swashed with a thin layer of tempera paint -- a faint memory, too. Rolled in the bottom were two finger paintings. A blue one that I think I did but not signed and this brown one. Great, this is it! But the artist signature was not mine! Instead, my little sister had signed her piece of art( two years later with the same teacher) and for some reason, I had it.<br />
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This had to be preserved, and I had to get it back to her. She had been in the huge process of helping her son plan a wedding many states away, and buying and refurbishing a home that was taking longer than anyone cared to admit. Even as an artist in her own right, with a degree from UT and our mother's genes, Janie still only dabbled in her art. But a studio room is part of that new house and I wanted to make sure she had this piece to adorn a wall of that room to remind her of her gifted talent.<br />
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I framed it between two pieces of glass, printed out the Irises story and placed it on the back just above her childhood signature. Then it was off to UPS to get it safely to her. I am a little OCD when it comes to mailing packages; checking every hour the staus online and calling to see if it came to the right door. I was beside myself when Janie did finally say that it came, but she would open it...later. WHAT!? Who does that?<br />
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As it turned out, the wait was some sort of divine intervention. The next day, Janie heard about the passing of her dear godmother, a precious friend (and the last) of our mother's. The sad moment at least became bittersweet as she finally opened the package with her husband. A treasured memory preserved of art, mothers, sisters, friends, and lasting love. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPyhZ7L-Bv4tOJYCEjTg_1QxTy85pqUlFfEK0sqk62CCfj8VfpGwywUxh-X06S_Z8C7tNj6yU6nl2-s6sFSJX_nF70RS-1rXVBUdO-Sss37x5euUV_XWBJVy6GHgXuOFOPTQch4oZOwvo/s1600/Janie's+Irises.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPyhZ7L-Bv4tOJYCEjTg_1QxTy85pqUlFfEK0sqk62CCfj8VfpGwywUxh-X06S_Z8C7tNj6yU6nl2-s6sFSJX_nF70RS-1rXVBUdO-Sss37x5euUV_XWBJVy6GHgXuOFOPTQch4oZOwvo/s1600/Janie's+Irises.jpg" /></a></div>SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-65649645539429808562012-04-24T19:43:00.000-06:002012-04-24T19:43:40.048-06:00Dedication of Mud Woman by Artist Roxanne Swentzell at DAM 10/10/201<br />
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<i>I have recently become attached to Storyteller dolls of the Pueblo people. Maybe I wishfully think that I am a storyteller myself and just like the association. Last year The Denver Art Museum added this large sculpture to greet patrons to its beautiful Native American Art collection. The artist gave a dedication at its unveiling. Her words resonated such truth for everyone, and these few sentences seem to be the cornerstone of what I have been trying to present in the blog. I gladly share her thoughts with you. </i></div>
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<span lang="EN">This piece is dedicated:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">To all who feel like they have lost
a parent...someone who can hold your bonds of love and security...this piece is
for you. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">To all who have lost a child
and feel that love got stopped from entering the future... this piece is for
you. To all who feel sisterless or
brotherless, who've forgotten the bonds of growing together, of sharing the
world together through play and experience, this piece is for you. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">To all those who embrace All life, knowing we
are One, this piece comes from you. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">She
came through your love and your prayers for life to continue in a good
way. This piece is dedicated to
you. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">To all our parents and parents'
parents, to all our brothers and sisters, to all our children and children's
children, from every corner of the world...from the birds in the sky, to the
fish in the oceans, from the highest peaks to the lowest deserts, we are
One. All our Relations, we are one held
in the power of love, held in the arms of our mother we share, The Earth. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Let us remember the dirt beneath our feet,
the mud of our rivers, and the grass swaying in the breeze... </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Let us remember the our roots and our future,
of our love and how we are loved. Fresh
waters, cleanse us. Repined fruits fed
us. Tall forests protect us. Songbirds
fill our ears with joy. We are loved by so much beauty, so much beauty all
around.. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Mud Woman, speaks for us,
now, from our hearts. Let us stand ready to listen. She speaks of timelessness
and care, of nature and right place.
She has always been and always will be.
She sits here in the dirt and straw gathered up and formed together by
many hands that gave her presence, so that we may remember what has always been
and always will be, deep in our hearts. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN">I ask that the spirit of our fathers bless through this song so that
life may continue in a good way, the right way....<o:p></o:p></span></div>SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5203181095910338416.post-82849230661470628652012-04-06T10:12:00.001-06:002012-04-06T10:12:47.347-06:00From Mother to Son<strong><em>I had given this poem to Chris once, and then more recently passed it on to my youngest, Sam.</em></strong><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it through the colic days and the
multiple stitch stage.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I thought I could claim success. You have survived, and
quite well at that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">With a great deal of encouragement
from both your father and me, </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">but mostly a task of your own doing, you have
grown into a fine young man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As a mother, I can do so
little now. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I look back and think the past was such a breeze.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> THIS is the time
to try a mother’s soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But, without a doubt, without
a faltering thought, </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I will always love you. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Flesh of my flesh, blood of my
blood,</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I was the instrument that brought you to this world. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Your life is the
reward of that sacrifice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And what a wonderful reward
you are! </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I know deep in my heart and in the marrow of my bones</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> that you will
always treasure that “reward”</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> by passing on to your family</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> the same duty, honor, and love
that has been given to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">You know value. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And you are
the most valuable thing you own: </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A priceless asset, who I am proud to call my
son.</span></div>
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<br /></div>SRRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08674355274961037807noreply@blogger.com4