10/31 -- If Today is Your Birthday...

(Happy Halloween by Kate, 2002, MSN Paint)

...If today is your birthday, then you are my Halloween Angel, Frances!

...If today is your birthday, I don't think either one of us is able to remember exactly what year it was when we met. But we both love to reminisce about what we remember of the day!

...If today is your birthday, I can remember a rainy day one April when I responded to your lovely note on a "neighbor-to-neighbor" plea for funds for the American Heart Association. You wrote, "Please come for a visit." I can't tell you how glad I am that I accepted your invitation!

...If today is your birthday, I was welcomed at your back door that day by a smile that I can only describe as "twinkly." All of these years later, that word still aptly describes you!

...If today is your birthday, the day we met was the day we discovered a mutual love of books that would bind us together through many happy years as members of the "Intimate Book Group."

...If today is your birthday, I will always associate you with one of my favorite authors -- James Thurber. I had just discovered him, and there, on your coffee table, was a large Thurber volume! (I love quirkiness in authors, and in my friends!)

...If today is your birthday, I only hope you know how much your friendship has meant to me over the years. We've shared many things besides a love of reading. You may have retired from the teaching profession before I met you, but you have never stopped being a teacher. You are one of those wonderful creatures to whom guidance comes naturally; you can't help but excite those around you about what lies just around the corner, waiting to be discovered.

...If today is your birthday, I hope it will be a day filled with all of the things you love -- Especially the blessings of your family and friends!

Happy Birthday, Frances! I love you!

Eye Doctor Blog

Yesterday I saw an opthalmologist. (Which has to be one of the strangest words I've ever encountered. Did you know it's pronounced off-thal-mologist?)

Actually, the opthalmologist whom I saw was rather strange himself, but in a nice way.

I saw Dr. Oph (I'm assuming a nick-name basis here for the sake of simplicity) at the suggestion of Dr. Pulmonoligist. As I understand it, there were at least two reasons for this:

(1) Sarcoidosis...

Digression Alert: For the sake of simplicity, I am also going to assume a nick-name basis for my relationship with that oh-so-ugly name for a condition for which I shall never feel any affection. I shall no longer refer to my affliction by its revoltingly proper name, but shall instead revert to a more familiar form of addressing my medication-requiring conditions; henceforth, I do not have sarcoidosis, but rather, ODD (Oxygen Deficit Disorder). There -- that sounds better, doesn't it?

All right then...

(1) ODD can also affect the eyes. (Of course then it wouldn't be ODD; I would have to come up with another name.) If Dr. Oph had discovered granulomas in my eyes, it would have helped Dr. Pulmonoligist to be more certain of his diagnosis. (I should mention here that once I had read about symptoms of the disease that can cause granulomas to appear in eyes, I immediately realized that I had had all of them at one time or another. Perhaps that had some influence on Dr. Pulmonologist's decision to send me to Dr. Oph.)

(2) I am now beginning my second week of taking prednisone (or The Big P, as I like to call it.) TBP can cause cataracts if taken for a long period of time (i.e., three years or more), so I suppose an exam by Dr. Oph would determine if cataracts were already present, pre-TBP.

The good news is that Dr. Oph found no signs of granulomas, glaucoma or cataracts. My optic nerve looks good, and pressure is normal. In fact, my prescription hasn't even changed in the last two years. The downside is that there's no help for Dr. Pulmonoligist and the certainty of his diagnosis.

Oh -- Did I mention that, although I do indeed have granulomas in my lungs, they are not 100 percent like the granulomas normally found with ODD. Here -- do you see the difference?

"Normal" ODD granulomas tend to be smaller clusters, and more numerous than those that appear in my lungs. See how mine are larger and more "flowery" appearing. (No, Dr. Pulmonologist did not actually use the word "flowery." I just like it, ok?)

So while there is still room for a diagnosis change somewhere down the road, for now, in addition to ADD, I also have ODD -- the flowery variety.

Autumn Leaves: Another Haiku

(Taylor in the Leaves by Greg Fischer, November 2002)

The leaves have fallen,
Have strewn themselves on the lawn.
Rake them into piles...

But do be careful
Dragging your pronged implement --
Something is hiding!

Under their crispness,

A giggling mound of softness

Waiting to be found!

10/28 -- If Today is Your Birthday...

(Karen's Flower, Lake Shannon, by Karen Branson, 2001)

...If today is your birthday, you love to read. That is what brought us together almost 20 years ago -- a mutual love of reading and talking about books.

...If today is your birthday, you are one of the two charter members remaining of what we now call our "Intimate Book Group." (I'm the other one, of course.)

...If today is your birthday, your gift to others is your generous spirit, your gracious demeanor, your joy in life and the love that is evident in everything you do.

...If today is your birthday, you are a dear and steady friend whom I could take for granted as easily as I do all of my other blessings. But thank God that I do remember to count those blessings and feel grateful from time to time! Your friendship is a treasure I appreciate most when I allow myself some quiet time for reflection.

...If today is your birthday, I have a feeling of comfort whenever I think of our times together -- whether in the back room of a library branch, in the "intimacy" of one of our homes, or now, as we meet at the assisted living facility where our dear Frances resides. The ambiance has always been that of warm, freshly baked bread, aromatic coffee and loving conversation, even though the "feast" has not always been permitted, and the bread not always freshly baked!

If today is your birthday, I wish for you a day filled with warmth and beauty...with health for you and your loved ones, loving wishes from good friends. And time for books -- as much as you could possibly want!

Happy Birthday, Marilyn -- Have a beautiful day!

Job Interview: The Follow-Up

(Kate Celebrating, circa 1955)

I got the job!

(I just thought you'd like to know why I'm celebrating.)

It was one week ago today that I went out on a limb, put myself out there, took a chance...had a job interview.

Today was the day I was going to make that awkward follow-up phone call. You know -- the one where I tell them that I hope I'm still "in the ring," because I am very excited about the prospect of coming to work for them. I spent my entire lunch with my daughter trying to prepare myself to make that call. Then, before I could dial the phone, they called me! (I think I know how Sally Field felt when, upon winning an Oscar, she blubbered, "You like me -- You really like me!")

The place? Barnes & Noble, Friendly Shopping Center (a/k/a one of my five favorite places on earth).

When do I start? I don't know yet, but I go in next Monday to fill out the paper work. (I think I've already done the hard part, right?)

What will I be doing? The official description is "Shelfer," but I'll be happy to do whatever they ask of me -- within my aerobic capacity, of course.

My hours will be 7:00 a.m. until 11:00 or 11:30. I like the 11:30-ish part. Being somewhere by 7:00 will take a bit of practice, however!

Of course I realize this is a "seasonal" position. But hey -- it's a Position! That's something I haven't held in such a very long time. I hope I remember how!

Oh, I just know I'm going to be the best seasonal shelfer that store has ever had! I am an intelligent, worthwhile person with plenty of talent and lots of skills. I can do anything I put my heart into. I will be an asset to anyone willing to step out of their comfort zone to give me a chance! Barnes & Noble is lucky to have me -- Indeed!

Oh My Gosh! I have to go buy some new shoes or something! Wait -- Jordyn's here! I'd better go take care of her now! Hey -- I'd better get some sleep so I can get up early...

10/27 -- If Today is Your Birthday...

(Melissa's Sunflower and Bumblebee, by Greg Fischer, August 2008)

If today is your birthday, then you are my baby sister, i.,e, the youngest of the three that I have. Your name is Melissa, but I like to call you Roley. (You call me Poley.)

...If today is your birthday, I'm going to tell you something that you probably already know -- that messages from you make me lol more often than anyone else's!

...If today is your birthday, you always let me sleep at your house at least one or two nights when we come to Michigan to visit. I know that's hard for you (having people around, I mean). That makes me feel like you love me.

...If today is your birthday, I love to sleep at your house, because when we get up in the morning, we get to sit outside on your patio swing and drink coffee and talk. I know you wish we didn't have to talk, but you let me anyway. That makes me feel like you love me.

Morning Coffee on Missy's Swing, by Greg Fischer, August 2008

...If today is your birthday, you have two kids -- Alex and Avery. I love those kids very much, and I'm glad they have you for their mom. You're doing a great job. (Even though you probably already know that, too.)

...If today is your birthday, you also have a lot of animals...dogs, cats, rabbits, horses. But you don't have a blue-tongued skink. I think I'm going to give you one for your birthday...

...If today is your birthday, you are a wonderful writer. I love reading your blog, I love reading your messages and I love reading your "assignments." So for your birthday, I'm also giving you permission to spend as much time as you need to get caught up on all of that!

...If today is your birthday, I hope that you feel really appreciated and loved, and that you are "very smiling." Not just today, but every day.

Happy Birthday, Roley -- You are a gift to me!

Halloween -- The Church Party

(Jordyn Gottlieb as "Sharpay" from High School Musical, 10/25/08)


To begin with, a thought that came to me last night as I was trying to fall asleep:

Whenever your "best laid" plans get all messed up and your day ends up looking nothing like the one you had envisioned, try thinking of yourself, perhaps, as the answer to someone else's prayer.

Taking my precious Jordyn (my imaginary grandchild) to the childrens' Halloween party at our church last night was, indeed, part of my Saturday "agenda." The rest of the list looked something like this: Clean bathrooms, dust and vacuum main floor rooms, do two loads of laundry, organize desk, iron...

The only thing checked off of that list is Take Jordyn to Halloween Party. The revised list reads: Have Jordyn dropped off mid-afternoon (Mom flying out of town unexpectedly; have Jordyn spend the night after party; drop Jordyn off at friend's house after church tomorrow. (Each one of those entries now has a tick in the "done" box.)

As usual, when asked to do a favor for someone (in this case, Jordyn's mom), I said yes -- but not without inwardly griping, "Oh great -- now I won't be able to get anything done!" Hello -- We're talking about housework! We're talking about replacing housework with my favorite little girl in the whole world -- my secret "inner child!" What was I thinking?!!

Just look at this face:

(The "real" Jordyn, Lake Shannon, August 2008, by Karen Branson)

Whose plan would you rather follow? Yeah, me, too. Thank you, Gina, for asking me to help out. Thank you, God, for using me.

Oh -- there was one other item on both lists -- Get together with Dawn (Greg's sister) and Mik for dinner and cards (or something.) That one also got checked off. Plus, Dawn got her chance to be Sharpay...

(Dawn as "Sharpay," 10/25/08, by Greg Fischer)

Afterword: All of my Jordyn-Time this weekend was nothing short of delightful, and reminded me of how blessed we are to have her as part of our lives! She was on her very best behavior, no matter what we were doing. She made me proud and happy everywhere we went, right up through Mass this morning. And twice, when people thought (or pretended to think) I was her mom, well, I just counted that as part of my reward. (Oh -- a big thanks to you very nice folks, too!)

After-afterword: Of course we consider Dawn a really special blessing, too!

Dreams -- the Interpretation of

("Dreamclouds" by Kate, 10/25/08, MSN Paint)

Last Saturday morning I had a dream (See "In My Wild-Assed Dreams," 10/18/08). Today I shall interpret it...

(By "interpret," I don't mean that that the dream was a foreshadowing of things to come, and that I am able to predict the future...I mean that I know why I had that particular (and peculiar) dream. However, should the dream turn out to actually be a foreshadowing, I would be glad -- Clogging while suspended from an electrical wire would be on the fun side of thrilling, wouldn't it?)

The clogging at a fall festival in my dream is a no-brainer. During the month of October, our club was booked nearly every weekend; fall festivals abound during October. Having a parade as part of a such an event isn't much of a stretch, either. Now, dancers performing their art while suspended from wires -- that gets a little more involved. I have figured it out, though...

That portion of the dream obviously indicates that, given the fact that I have been recently made to realize that performing an activity with a significantly lowered oxygen level in my blood (such as is caused by scar tissue and/or sarcoidosis) can irreparably damage my heart, I have come to view clogging as a somewhat dangerous endeavor. Fun, but dangerous, nonetheless. Like hanging from wires over the street. Fun? Most likely -- at least for a few seconds. Dangerous? Most definitely.

So will I choose to live dangerously? Well, I never have before...

Prednisone Puff

For those of you have been asking whether the Prednisone has made me "puffy" yet (my SISTERS), the answer is yes...

(Kate as a Prednisone Puff, Detroit, MI, circa 1954?)

But I think it makes me look younger, don't you?

Little Old Men -- a Haiku*

*Haiku: an unrhymed Japanese poem of three lines containing 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively and referring in some way to one of the seasons of the year...

I have taken "poetic license" and made mine a multi-verse haiku. The only reference to a season is implied -- we are in the "winter" of our lives as we become little old men.

Shuffling, their feet,
Supported by their walkers,
They enter my heart.


There is a place there
Made softer by the vision --
Such fragility.


I think of my dad.
I did not see him as frail
Except for one time...


My daughter's wedding.
I thought, "Dad is growing old."
Months later, he's gone.


That place in my heart,
Was there before, however;
Soft place for old men.


The doctor's office...
"My appointment is Thursday?
Is it not today?


"There's been a mistake.
Am I the one who made it?
Maybe it was me."


(I would trade with him
If it were up to just me.
But there were others.)


At Mass on Monday...
Something fell from a frail hand.
I handed it back.


A pack of Tic-Tacs.
His smile made my heart lighter.
Personal contact.


Little old men. Sigh.
There's always a place for them
Deep in my psyche.

Might as Well...Can't Dance!

(Kate's Dancing Feet by Greg Fischer, 9/08)

Or:

"Falling in Love with Reality"
(taken from my Horoscope, 10/22/08)


Yesterday morning I shut the door on my life as a busy (as in always-jumping-around-flitting-from-one-activity-to-another busy; not as in accomplishes-a-lot-is-very-productive busy), active person who thrives on motion as a motivator. As that door closed, I opened the one marked, "Life as an Inactive Slug Who Must Now Live Cautiously." (I sighed deeply as I did so.)

Then I happened across my horoscope in the Greensboro News & Record...

"It's pointless and stressful to argue with what is. Acceptance of what you can't change will set you free. And if you take it one step further and really fall in love with reality, you'll be downright happy."

I'm not making that up! That really was my horoscope yesterday! And so, in an effort to "really fall in love with my reality" (for who doesn't want to be "downright happy?") I've come up with some little reminders for myself...

(1) I may not be able to clog, but I can still wear my clogging shoes, and tap my feet very loudly.

(2) I may not be able to get out and enjoy a brisk walk on a beautiful fall day (How ironic that this new reality of mine should begin during my most favorite season of all. Sigh), but I can still sit outside and watch my husband rake leaves into big piles and haul them to the street. (Honey, you know I'd love to help you, but remember what the doctor said...)

(3) I may not be able to distract myself from the mundane activities of housekeeping by breaking up periods of work with periods of dancing, but I can still put such "mundanity" off for hours on end as I sit here typing my blog. (Bonus: I may even be able to elevate blogging to an aerobic level if I put my mind to it!)

(4) I may no longer be able to maintain my "leg strength" by using a kitchen chair (height:18 inches) as a step during the most vigorous of my Firm excercise videos (I never did invest in one of those 14-inch boxes they keep talking about), but that in itself is a reality I shall happily embrace -- I hate that exercise!

(5) I may be required to take a drug, the very name of which strikes fear into my heart for some reason; but here it is, only my second day, and I feel better already!

(6) I was only able to think of five things which I am being forced to give up (and I really had to stretch to come up with some of those); yet I still have an entire paragraph of things things that give me pleasure (and which perhaps I will now have more time to pursue)! A partial list would include reading, playing my guitar, just sitting and feeling grateful (for everything), drawing, painting, sewing, crocheting, knitting...Not to mention all of those other crafts for which I have laid in a large stock of provisions (beading, scrapbooking...), but for one reason or another, have yet to attempt!

You know, perhaps my new reality won't be so difficult to love after all.

Attitude adjustment complete. (Thank you, God.)

10/22 -- If Today is Your Birthday...

(Fireworks over Lake Shannon by Karen Branson, 7/4/02)

...If today is your birthday, you are my niece...my brother's first child...one of the most adorable babies I've ever seen.

...If today is your birthday, your newspaper horoscope says that your social status is on the rise this year. It also says that that since you are modest and internally centered (which I think you really are), then this may not matter very much to you. But you should be prepared, because doors will open and you will be taken quite seriously. Now that sounds thrilling, no?

(Bethany Experiences a Rise in Her Social Status by Karen Branson, Summer 2002)


...If today is your birthday, it also says that you will be made privy to inside information in November. I think that means you're going to hit the jackpot as you do your annual pre-Christmas snoop for gifts that Santa brought early and hid away!

...If today is your birthday, relationship rifts should be healed in January. So for the next few months, no holds barred...Let everyone know exactly what you think of them. No need to worry...after the first of the year, everything will forgotten!

...If today is your birthday, April and August will be financially abundant. I'd start making some travel plans if I were you!

...If today is your birthday, your lucky numbers are 3 (the number of children in your family, 26 (the number of letters in the alphabet, and you know them all!), 51 (your dad's age), 40 (the number of cats you're allowed to own at one time) and 1 (you -- the Number 1 Girl -- especially on your birthday!)

...If today is your birthday, I hope it is filled with fireworks, cake, chocolate, family, friends and breadsticks!

Have a wonderful birthday, Bethany -- We love you!

You're Invited to a Party...

(Kate circa 1955)
...A pity party, that is!

You're all welcome, but come early -- the fun won't last very long! (I promise it won't.)

What's the occasion?

Why, today was the day I got the results of the lung biopsy I had a week ago.

It's funny, but I really thought I was prepared to hear "The Worst." There was all that research I had done; all those jokes I had prepared so I would think I was taking it lightly...But in spite of all that, when I heard what Dr. Pulmonologist had to say today, I actually started breathing like a harmonica -- you know, like Jack Black (Tenacious D) doing his "inward singing" -- right there in his office. (I could almost hear him thinking, "Geez -- If that's how you act when you get upset, no wonder you have scar tissue on your lungs!")

Mind you, it wasn't the diagnosis -- sarcoidosis -- which made me react so theatrically; I was prepared for that. No. It seems that The Worst which I had been planning to hear was that I would need to adapt all of my physically strenuous activities -- most specifically, clogging -- to accommodate a canister full of oxygen. (Hell, I'd even invented the Oxy-Bra!)

Well, oxygen is off the table for now. So is clogging. And jogging. Walking. Mountain climbing. Skiing. Ice Skating. Gymnastics. (Ok, ok -- I take back everything after walking. But this is my pity party!)

So you're probably wondering what I am allowed to do instead? Well, I get to take Prednisone! (Picture that word with blood-dripping fangs and very sharp claws, please. Rational or not, that's how scary it is to me!) I am not going to list the potential side-effects of Prednisone here, nor am I personally going to get on the Internet to reapprise myself of them. If I were to do that, I most likely would end up having 70 percent of them! (You, of course, are welcome to do your own research; however, please refrain from sharing your findings with me!)

Well, this is where my party starts winding down...I may only have to take the wicked, scary drug for a few months. Dr. Pulmonologist feels that I should start feeling some worthwhile results (i.e., the ability to draw a full breath without gasping) within as little as a month. He'll be monitoring everything, of course, and he assures me I can call him whenever I want to. And before we left his office, he looked me right in the eye and told me "We can totally handle this." And I still trust him.

Ok y'all. Party's over. Time to go now...

Too Good to be True?

(Kate in a Quandary, circa 1954?)


You decide...

I had a job interview this morning. With the exception of one I had a couple of months ago (and which I'm still trying to get over -- hey, I don't handle rejection well), it was my first such ordeal since 1990. (And that one probably shouldn't count, because it involved calling up my Best Friend Leslie and asking, "Are you still looking for someone to work in your office?" and her saying, "Yes -- Do you want the job?" and me saying, "Yes, I do," and her saying, "Ok. It's yours.") My point is, this was a huge leap outside of my comort zone.

To begin with, as I was getting ready for the J.O. (I know that has multiple meanings, but here let it simply stand for Job Interview, ok?), I realized there were a number of questions I hadn't thought to ask anyone. Questions like...

...How should I dress? In the way that makes me feel most comfortable, or in the way my husband thinks looks good? If my hair is flat on top and it looks better with a roller stuck there, is it ok to leave one in? (Don't worry -- I'd never go out with more than one!) Do I need to wear socks? Is a tiara appropriate if it fits the persona I'm trying to convey? Which leads to my next question...

...Who should I be? Someone who is self-confident, self-possessed, and self-controlled, or someone who is possessed and controlled by others, and whose confidence level is directly related to the way she perceives she is being regarded at the moment?

...How should I answer questions? Should I try to figure out what I think the Interviewer wants to hear, or should I just be honest and hope for the best?

Well, of course I know the answer to that last one! One must always be honest, in every situation. I would never attempt to mold my answers into the shape of what I thought the questioner was looking for! That would be dishonest! (And besides -- what if I'd guessed that shape incorrectly?!)

But guess what...Every time I heard myself answer a question, I thought, "Oh, crap! That sounded like I'm just saying whatever I think he wants to hear!" You know, things like, Oh no -- I would never try to pick a fight with a customer. Or, If I see someone who's cranky and out of sorts, I like the challenge of trying to make them laugh. And, Of course I don't mind being pulled from one job to another to fill a need; multi-tasking is what I'm all about! (And here's my very favorite one: If I were given a task that turned out to be really boring, I would play little games with my brain to make it more interesting.) But truly -- I was being honest. That is the way I am when I'm not at home!

Alas...On the first two questions, I was forced to "wing it." I arrived for my J.O. wearing socks, flat hair, no tiara. (I had changed my slacks to accommodate my husband's taste.) I think I appeared self-confident, etc.; however, after the interview, I took a side trip to the mall, which always knocks the wind out of my sales (i.e., I sense that all the smart, attractive people there see me as a dowdy old lady who has no right to even be out of the house, let alone at the mall). Therefore, I'm no longer so confident that the interview went well.

However, as for that last question, I think maybe I really was just too good to be true...

Whatever happens, I really did enjoy this particular interview. I don't know if the Interviewer was being totally honest himself, or if he just had good manners (both of which I consider to be good qualities)...I just loved him because whenever I said something that made me mentally slap myself and think, "Ooohh, why did I say that?" he would say "Me too!" (Yes, he really did say that to my comment about playing little games with my brain.) Hmmmm. Maybe even if I don't get hired, I'll still say that this interview went well.

Sunday Morning Poetry Blog

(I originally wrote this for my daughter, who had just begun college, in 1996. They were good words to live by then, and they still are, by golly.)

Words to Live By(?)

Pillows should be soft,

Not donuts or rock 'n roll.

Donuts should be sweet,

Not coffee or housework.

Coffee should be hot,

Not ice cream or bedrooms.

Ice cream should have nuts and chocolate,

Not spaghetti or books.

Spaghetti should be al dente,

Not oatmeal or toothpaste.

Oatmeal should be made into cookies,

Not celery or jewelry.

Celery should be cruhchy,

Not pudding or soap.

Pudding should be creamy,

Not vegetables or hair.

Vegetables should be eaten raw,

Not eggs or makeup.

Eggs should be colored,

Not bread or windows.

Bread should be toasted,

Not cheese or lamps.

Cheese should be on pizza,

Not furniture or shoes.

Furniture should be comfortable (so should shoes),

Not prison or potato chips.

Prison is something you should try to avoid,

Not friends or family.

Friends and famiy should be valued above all things.

That's it.

In My Wild-Assed Dreams...

In My Wildest Dreams by Kate, 10/18/08, MSN Paint
Have you ever awakened at the usual time on a Saturday morning, realized, "Hey, I really don't have to get up," but gone down to the kitchen anyway, had a couple of shots, half of a six-pack and a glass of merlot, and then snuggled back in for a little more snooze time?

Well, of course I haven't either! But if I ever had, I don't think I could possibly have conjured up a wilder dream than the one I had this morning...

There was a fall festival ('tis the season, you know), and our clogging group was going to be performing. But first there was to be a parade -- right down Market Street, starting in the vicinity of Guilford College Road. I know this, because that's where I was waiting for the festivities to begin, watching the pre-parade entertainment (perhaps superfluous, but it was a dream, ok?) on a large-screen tv. As I watched -- Oh, first, I must tell you what I was watching....

There were dancers of all genres -- including clogging, of course. Not dancing on a stage, though. No, these dancers were performing their routines from the electrical wires that run across the road. (It probably is easier on the knees and feet that way, but I had to wonder about their poor hands!)

What I realized as I was watching was that I knew where those particular wires were -- at the very next intersection, Swing Road. I simply had to move closer to the action! (Apparently there were no large, rowdy crowds to contend with, because I was there in a flash. Oh wait -- that would be the Dream Factor, wouldn't it?)

I believe I was just getting up my nerve to see if I, too, might be part of this exciting new peformance art when my husband arrived with my morning coffee. (Just in time, I might add -- My little hands haven't been able to bear my body weight since I was about eight years old!)

Maybe next time I'll just have one beer.

10/17 -- If Today is Your Birthday...

Bradley Young, Photo Proof, 2007

If today is your birthday, then you are my nephew (by marriage -- not that it makes any difference). In fact, aren't you the nephew who used to call me "Uncle Cake?"

If today is your birthday, then your initials form and an acronym...Bradley Otto Young equals BOY. Pretty cool. However...

If today is your birthday, then you really aren't a boy any more, so we have to change to that to MAN...How about Madly Ata Nun? (If this were Jeopardy, which it obviously is not, the answer would be, "How did the disturbed Catholic school boy throw his text book?)

If today is your birthday, then you are a very intelligent, very kind (to older female relatives, at least), very funny guy who also happens to be a damned good cook. (Hey, anyone who's willing to take part in meal preparations for this family is a damned good cook in my book!)

If today is your birthday, you have been known, on at least one occasion, to make up a word that is so succintly descriptive, it should be added to some dictionary, if not Webster's itself. Hello -- I give you "prettyful!"

If today is your birthday, then you probably really are a very good driver -- just not a very lucky one.

If today is your birthday, then this is your first year at college, so I hope you're having one hell of a celebration -- Bradley-style of course, because...

If today is your birthday, that is your finest quality -- your Bradley-Style.

Have a great birthday, Brad! We love you!

Missing Mom and Dad

"Wedding Day" Tom and Rosemary Karlek, 12/26/51
This is for my sister, Melissa.

All of us miss Mom and Dad, and we always will. But Missy needed them in a special way this week. I read about it in her blog, www.alexisalldonescreaming.blogspot.com, "Train Wreck."

I cried as I read, and I continued to cry after I had finished. Missy wrote, among other things, about crying. She doesn't cry often. At least she likes to act like she's not the crying type. But a couple of nights ago, she gave in and cried enough tears to cover every reason she's ever had for crying. I cried with her as I read, and I re-cried this morning as I re-read.

She wrote that she cried for Mom and Dad. Never do we feel the need for our parents more than when we are wracked by sobs for all of the sadness -- or even just some of the sadness -- in our lives. Even though, as grown-up children, we know that they really can't make it all go away, on some level we believe they can. We need to feel their presence and their unconditional love; to feel their embrace and know that no matter what happens, they will be there to help us, and to love us. We need, like not-so-grown-up children, to know that Mom and Dad are in charge.

Of course Missy knows that Someone really is in charge, and that the burden is not hers alone. And I know that she feels Mom's and Dad's presence with her every day. But I know what she needed the other night as she sobbed out her sadness alone, and I wish I could have been there to hold on to her and to remind her that she's not alone.

(I love you, Roley.)

The Mother of Inventions...

At this point, the jury is still out on what is causing my current breathing difficulties. Maybe it's something that can be wiped out by a strong course of antibiotics, or perhaps some steroids. Could be I just need someone with a really loud voice to sneak up behind me and shout "BOO!" By this time next week, I should know more.

For now, the fact remains that at my last visit with my faithful and trustworthy Dr. Pulmonologist, he pointed out that I was "qualified" for my very own Oxygen canister. If you are one of my regular readers -- and I no longer speculate how many millions of you there actually are -- you know that this has caused me no little concern...Primarily because the mental image of me trying to deal with an unweildy can of air attached to my nose by a rubber tube while trying to remain light on my feet and keep my knees bent is just too pathetic! Adorable little twirly skirt or not -- It's time for me to go pro-active!

The OxyBra by Kate 10/08 MSN Paint

Of course there's a Patent Pending, so don't even think about it!

Guest Blog

(left) "Mr. Scribbles" by Kate, 2008, MSN Paint


(below) Meagan in London by Joe Kopp, Oct. 2007

Sticking Things in My Mom's Nose

by Meagan Kopp

10/14/08, Wesley Long Hospital...



Here's the post-op update...at least as of 11:00 this morning:

Everything went as well as you could hope. Not only was Mom the first patient checked in (apparently she and Dad got there as they were turning on the lights), but the doctor was there right on time, ready to begin. They indicated that they might have to go through her mouth if her nose wouldn't allow the scope to pass, but after numbing her up by making her snort goo, she was awarded by hearing that her nose was now big enough to drive a truck through. Yeah!!!

The only downside to the surgery itself was that Mom's description of "Mr. Scribbles" (drawing above, and 10/8 post, "How Does Your Pulmonary Function?") was dead on. I had to hold myself back from laughing out loud, and then from slapping his hand and saying, "Just let me do it!" Seriously, the guy put an oxygen mask over Mom's face then changed his mind and reached for something behind him, pulling the elastic strap across her nose with him. She was very patient, though (HA! Patient -- I just got that), and managed to cast just a fleeting "Didn't I tell you?!" sideways glace toward Dad and me.

The biopsy results will be back in three days, or so they tell us. Mom and Dad are hoping for a bacterial infection (who wouldn't?), but the doctor also left sarcoidosis on the table. For now, Mom is home resting and sleeping off what they described as "amnesiac" side-effects. What fun! Oh, and I guess it's pretty common after a scope-and-grab surgery for the patient to have a productive, bloody cough. No worries though, because anything up to enough to fill a shot glass is totally normal. (Awesome!) Anything more, like, say, enough to fill a coffee mug, warrants a call to the doctor. (Well, of course. That's just gross.)

At this point the only other thing I'd like to note is that the recovery ward included a number of colonoscopy patients, and as I learned today, part of their recovery is to "pass gas" to relieve the pressure. (Nurse's words, not mine -- I'd go with "Let 'er rip!") So, yeah, I know that recovery should be a relatively private, peaceful place where you don't have to worry about pretentious visitors judging your butt melodies, but come on! I'm pretty sure the man behind the curtain to our left was trying to channel The Star-Spangled Banner.

OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhh, say can you see?

My Indonesian

"Jesus Praying in the Garden"
Tapestry by Ignatius's aunt
(Indonesia, 2008)

Ignatius Budi Sriyono
at work, Batam, 2000

I have an Indonesian. If you don't have one, I highly recommend getting one...

Seriously. Ignatius is my "Indonesian Son," as he sometimes signs his messages to me. (He calls me "Mama Kate.") Occasionally he simply signs, "Your Indonesian," which makes me smile -- His messages often make me smile.

Today he wrote about praying...

"Jesus teach how to pray, and one of them, give us each day the food we need. I mean, when we pray, if we have breakfast in this day, we must grateful with the other gift."

(Sigh.) How many times I have said the Lord's Prayer, taking for granted that I will be given -- at the very least -- "breakfast" (as well as all the other meals I need to round out my day), never recognizing that my full belly is an answered prayer! (And that does not take into consideration all of the other blessings I recieve daily which fall under the "Bread" category!)

Ignatius goes on...

"Usually when we pray, we always request, request and request. I think if we grateful with God about our sick, our difficulty, our 'cross' and gift all things to God's hand, maybe God will change our life...In my country, most of people difficult to find food for daily life, so when we have food for today this is enough. The other gift from God is our blessed."

I am humbled. I am blessed. I am grateful.

I first "met" Ignatius after I logged onto a Catholic website in search of materials for the Catechism class I was teaching in November 1999. He came across my address in the on-line guest book I had signed, and sent me a message introducing himself as an "Indonesian Roman Catholic guy." He apologized for writing to me when I did not know him, and he apolgized for anything his people "dirty did" for my "nationality." He explained that all Indonesians were not the same, and that he did not hate us, because we are family and friends. His last line was "Jesus love us...!!"

Ignatius was 21 years old -- slightly younger than my Meagan. He explained that he just wanted to write to a friend who lived in another country.

I still have all of those messages from my long-distance friend. Via the Internet, I got to know Ignatius quite well, and learned to love him for his spirit, which shone through the barriers of language and distance. I worried about him whenever I heard of a natural disaster or an act of terrorism in Indonesia. (There were plenty of both.) A small item in the newspaper would send me scurrying for the world map so I could see how close Ignatius's island (Batam) was to the disaster.

We exchanged gifts and photographs by Air Mail, but not very often. After a couple of years, Ignatius's commissioned job ended, and he no longer had access to a computer. No more e-mail. We exchanged a few more letters, then communication stopped. After a while, I assumed the worst; I was certain that if he were able, Ignatius would have stayed in contact. My addresses -- both e-mail and physical -- remained the same. I wondered for several years if I would ever know what had happened to my friend.

Then, six years after I had last heard from Indonesia, I finally received a letter -- Ignatius was alive and well! (Alas, I misplaced that letter before I could answer, so I had no idea where to send my reply.) Finally, last spring there was a message in my Inbox from my Indonesian, and we have been exchanging messages regularly ever since.

Of course I can't know why God put Ignatius in touch with me nearly ten years ago -- or why he had him vanish, only to reappear years later. I suspect it has something to do with "Daily Bread." I can't remember what was going on in my life when I received that first message from across the seas, but that is not important...Right now I feel like I am in special need of prayers, and every message from Ignatius resonates with hope and trust in God (and, always, assurances of his prayers for me and for my country). If Ignatius gets through to God as clearly as he does to me, then I consider myself well prayed for!

God bless you, my wonderful Indonesian son! I am thankful for the "Daily Bread" you provide in my life!

Sister Lucie

Tom Sees the Future by Greg Fischer, Lake Shannon, 2007
I know you were there this morning, Dad.

Sometimes Betty says she asks you to send her a sign. I've never asked for signs, but I've had them. This morning it was Sister Lucie...

I was leaving Maryfield after my hour of adoration. Sometimes, while I'm praying, I think of you...I remember that you came with me to the chapel once while you were here. I hadn't wanted to give up my solitude, but I'm glad now that I had that time with you. I wish I'd had more special times like that. Yet, I still do...

This morning you were with me as I was reading a little book that you gave me years ago -- "Confidence in God." Although it's been in a basket beside my bed, it's been ages since I've looked at. It was exactly what I needed this morning. (Missy and I often talk about how some of our most valued treasures are your "meditation" books -- especially the ones that you used and wrote notes in. I have many such treasures that you've given me over the years. I love knowing they're mine simply because you wanted me to have them; I'll never part with them.)

I drifted off today -- as I often do -- in that quiet little chapel. Therefore, I was a bit groggy as I was leaving. Upon entering, I had read a note about some sprinkler work that is going to be done in the chapel next week, necessitating a change of venue for our Perpetual Adoration. This caused me no little concern...You know how I am about finding my away around unfamiliar places. However, I had apparently put all troublesome thoughts out of my mind as I read, reflected and dozed...

Walking to my car, I was trying to prepare myself for the "busyness" I was sure to confront as I reclaimed my worldly life. Looking up, the sky was barely light enough for me to recognize Sister Lucie hustling across the parking lot. Remember Sister Lucie, Dad? We had gone to Barnes & Noble on one of your visits and she was there, promoting a book about Maryfield Nursing Home and the Irish sisters who had founded it. (Did you ever visit and not do Barnes & Noble? Of course not -- There was always time and money to spend on books!)

Anyway, I remember sitting there in the coffee shop with you, listening to the soft-spoken nun with the delightful brogue. You commented on how "nice" she talked. It was lovely, and afterwards I introduced you to her. I'm sure she didn't (and still doesn't) know my name, but she recognized me from seeing me there in the chapel. Meeting you, she acted as if she'd known me for years and couldn't be more delighted to meet my dear father -- at last. What a lovely, warm person -- exactly what one imagines a nun should be!

Of course I've seen Sister Lucie coming and going regularly since then, although we rarely speak. Most Friday mornings she pops into the chapel for a moment, apparently just to tell Jesus good morning. She always smiles warmly at me, too. There she was this morning, just arriving as I was leaving...

"Good morning," she said. I said "Good morning, Sister," intending to continue walking into my day. She stopped me, though, and asked if I had seen the note about next week. I told her I had, and she said, "Come with me now, and I will show you where it will be." (Of course her voice still has that lovely lilt, so it came out, "where 'twill be.") She said, "I was thinking of you this morning, and I wanted to show you."

She was thinking of me?! And somehow she knew that I would be anxious! I know that was you, Dad! Had you been there in person, you would have shared my anxiety. Instead, you sent Sister Lucie to show me ahead of time where I would go, leaving me no cause to worry! Thank you, Dad. How wonderful to still have you close, just being a Dad! I love you. (And I still think you're kind of a nut -- the best kind.)

How Does Your Pulmonary Function?

I had my pulmonary function tested this week. The PFT (Pulmonary Function Technician) said I did "just great." (He even gave me M&M's instead of a sticker.) I could tell he was a little bit disappointed in me, though, because I always had to cough at 11 seconds, when all he asked was that I hold my breath for 12 seconds. But I couldn't help it -- and I swear I wasn't doing it on purpose to pay him back for setting my arm on fire while he was trying to get blood from my artery!

Ok. So there wasn't really a fire. And it really wasn't his fault; I'm the one who has "rolling" arteries. I'm not sure what I did to get them, but I'm sure it was something good. Who wouldn't want rolling arteries? (Ok. While I'm sure there must be occasions when having arteries that roll is a gift, you really don't want to have them when someone needs to draw blood from them.)

Please allow me to digress here by describing my PFT...Three words immediately come to mind: Attention Deficit Disorder. (But if I were told to describe his physical appearance in one word, that word would be "scribbly.")

Now I don't mean to give the wrong impression here...You know I adore people who have ADD. I was just thinking that I might look for someone a little less distracted and scribbly before I handed him a large syringe with a needle on the end (see picture) and instructed him to get blood from my artery. (Alas, that choice was not mine to make. I got Mr. Scribbles.)

Mr. Scribbles really couldn't have been any nicer. Or friendlier. I could (and maybe will -- someday --) do an entire blog on what I learned from him -- about him -- in the relatively short time we had together. For now, though, that would be seriously digressing...

Ok. Back to those rolling arteries...First Mr. Scribbles tried my wrist, but admitted defeat there before he actually hurt me. (When you feel that "little pinch" they always warn you about, it doesn't necessarily mean the needle got where it was supposed to go.) The next best option is the inner elbow, I guess -- it's just not the preferred location, because apparently there's a little cluster of nerves right beside that artery. Mr. Scribbles had to go for it, though.

Oh, he was so apologetic. I , of course, have no idea what he was doing, having looked away. (I cannot stand to watch my own blood being sucked into a syringe via a needle which has been jabbed under my skin -- I'm sure I would have puked on the spot if I'd had to witness an artery rolling!) I gradually became aware of a burning sensation overtaking my entire right arm, and Mr. Scribbles kept saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." If I had thought I could manage the words, I would have shouted, "Well then stop it!" As it was, I was totally absorbed in trying to relaxe. Oh -- and breathe evenly. Ha!

Finally Mr. Scribbles had to concede on that artery too, and he went for help. That's when I shoved my head down between my legs because I knew I was going to faint.

Soon the sheepish (he'd bragged that he'd done about 10,000 of these procedures with no problems) PFT returned with a sweet young lady with a voice like velvet, who had me lie down on the cot so she could have a "stab" at it (sorry -my little joke). She kept murmuring "There, there, Honey," as she worked, admitting that that wiggly little artery had rolled away from her, too. She, however, did not give up. Eventually, with only the expected "little pinch" (slightly less little, since this was an artery, and not a mere vein), she was able to get that sucker, extract the required sample and patch me up.

(Amazingly, I was able to walk out an hour later with no residual pain, and no bruises!)

The blood sample showed that my hemoglobin is good. (Big sigh of relief, right?) The breathing tests I performed showed...well, I'm not exactly sure what they showed. I don't think Mr. Scribbles was supposed to tell me anything. He's just lucky that I have ADD, too, and so am unable to recall any of the information that he let slip.

Oh -- guess what...Next Tuesday, when I go in for that scary Fiberoptic Bronchoscopy (the lung biopsy), Mr. Scribbles will be there!

The Moa Boas

Note: I have spent more time than I'm entitled to for the next six weeks trying to set this post up so that the photos and captions are aligned. I would also have liked for it be aesthetically pleasing when my readers log on (probably about two-and-a-half million of you by now, right?)...You know how they say, "It's the thought that counts?" Well, I thought I could do it, but now I am admitting defeat. Just read, ok?

Photos:
(Top) Moa Boas in Moa Boas, Boone, NC, circa 2003 - Julie, Hilda, Helen, Leslie

(Center) With Hubbies - John & Leslie, Greg & Kate, Archie & Julie, Mitch & Hilda, Jimmy & Helen, Hodgin Valley Farm, 2007
(Bottom) Blowing Rock, NC -- Julie, Hilda, Leslie, Helen

The "Moa Boas" are so much more than the name implies! (What does that name imply, anyway? We named ourselves after those fuzzy knitted tube scarves that were so popular a few years back.)

We were initially brought together by a mutual love of tennis. Then life and injuries intervened, leaving only a couple of us to carry on our legacy on the courts. It turns out, however, that tennis was not the only bond between us. We happily discovered that we all shared a love of knitting soft, fuzzy scarves. (Get it? The Moa Boas!) We also realized that there were any number of activities that we enjoyed, as long as we could do them together...Stimulating conversation (a/k/a "bitch sessions"); trips to the mountains and the beach; shopping -- especially in the mountains and at the beach; preparing gourmet meals (some of us) and eating them (all of us); drinking good wine (as well as other beverages); movies and shows...The list doesn't end. To state it simply, the Moa Boas are friends.

As a group, and as individuals, the Moa Boas are multi-talented. This was never more clear than when I received a telephone serenade for my birthday the other night...

Did I mention that Monday was my birthday? Well, it was the worst birthday I've ever had. (Ok, not totally, but sort of.) That was the day that my body decided to react to that flu shot I had last week (see "Scary Doctor Blog") and I was afflicted with flu-like symptoms. I kept trying to convince myself they were "virtual" flu symptoms, and therefore could not hurt me, but I wasn't buying it. I felt miserable for most of the day. Not only did I have to back out of my lunch plans with Leslie -- She and I always share our birthdays, since they're days apart -- but I wasn't able to join the group for knitting (maybe) and cake that evening.

(Here I would like to confess that my birthday really wasn't bad at all. Leslie lost her mom a couple weeks ago, and she was not able to do knitting and cake on Monday night, either, because she was preparing to leave today for Florida, where they are having the memorial service. I do not mean to be flippant by blogging on like a self-absorbed idiot. I hope she knows that my heart is with her.)

Anyway, by dinner time I was better -- well enough, in fact, to enjoy some white beans and collard greens (yes, I actually craved them) that my husband brought home from the cafeteria. (Well, what did you have for your birthday dinner?) Later, as I settled down to watch "Dancing With the Stars," consoling myself that at least I wouldn't have to miss my tv, the phone rang...

The Moa Boas were singing Happy Birthday, and it was awesome! (Then Julie, who was hosting that night, told me how good the cake was -- I think they're saving some for Leslie and me!) I don't know if they ever got around to knitting or not -- sometimes we don't. I just know that whatever they did, they had fun, and they made me feel part of it by calling! Thank you, Moa Boas! You're the best -- all of you! (Good singers, too!)

Happy Birthday, Baby!

"Baby Dog" by Kate Fischer, 10/6/08 (MSN Paint)

For those of you who know that today is my birthday, do not be alarmed -- I am not going to ask that you read a sentimental tribute to myself! I shared my birthday (at least 14 of them) with a goofy-looking, pointy-headed, blue-eyed dalmatian named Baby Blue Fischer. She wasn't actually goofy-looking until her head got pointed when she was about a year old. Something (we never found out what, so I guess that makes it Idiopathic Pointy Head Syndrome) caused the muscle on the top of her head to atrophy, which meant that she would need to wear a hat if she didn't want other dalmatians -- ones with nicely rounded beans -- to laugh at her. Fortunately, vanity was never an issue for Baby, so we were never forced to look for a doggy millinery shop! Oh, but I'm digressing...So Baby ended up goofy-looking; but she did have the most beautiful blue eyes, which, if you're into bloodlines and things like that, is not a desirable trait in a dalmatian. (We are not into bloodlines.) It was those eyes which made her stand out from what seemed like dozens of brothers and sisters. We chose the puppy with the blue eyes.

Besides having a pointed head and blue eyes, Baby was set apart from ODs (other dalmatians) by her temperament. We had unwittingly chosen a dog that we later learned was, by nature, high strung and not very good around people. While Baby could seem a little tightly wired at times -- like whenever someone rang the doorbell, or when, as a puppy, she would pee all over the floor in excitement every time the Family returned from an outing -- she was, for the most part, a laid-back, happy-go-lucky people dog. She loved everyone -- especially kids. I tended to get a little high-strung myself when we had visitors with small children, but I never saw Baby show unease when little ones got in her space, wanting to pet her and touch her spots.

There were so many things about Baby that we loved -- and a few things that annoyed us, too (especially me, being the least tolerant person in our family when it comes to animals and their natural tendencies). Today I'm remembering Baby because it's our birthday. Mostly, I remember the good, fun, funny things about her. That's nice -- I'm glad the sadness (and the guilt for the times I was impatient with her) have gone.

Happy Birthday, Baby -- Have a good one!

More Fontana Dam

Fontana Village Jamboree 2008 by Greg Fischer. (Find Kate
behind the guy in the orange hat on the right.)

The Dances:

Oh, just forget about the dances, ok? I can't tell you anything about dancing. I have deleted more dance data from my brain since that weekend than I've been able to retain in the nearly two years that I've been clogging!

I had planned to write about the dances. Remember -- first I wrote about The Place, then about The People? The final installment in my Fontana Dam Series was going to be about the dances. But I can't very well write what I don't know, can I?

Ok. So I've forgotten all the dances. I guess my circuits just got overloaded or something. My system crashed. My wiring went blooey. I lost my marbles. I did too many Whoo Whoo Whoo Triples. (Yessssss -- I worked that in -- the one step I can remember!) There are some things about the weekend that I haven't forgotten -- I could write about them before that fuse blows, too...

As we were approaching Asheville (about 80 miles from our final destination) during afternoon rush hour on Friday, Greg decided it was time to stop and buy a bottle of whiskey for himself. I didn't mind; after all, he was giving up his weekend so he could accompany me on this "clogging spree." How could I complain if he wanted to get a little mellow? I'm just saying -- Friday afternoon, rush hour, strange city...oh well.

We hadn't seen any conveniently situated ABC stores -- you know, the kind with a nice big sign out front and easily accessible parking on the side -- as we drove into town, so squashing down his urge to be like all those other guys who won't stop and ask for directions, my husband stopped at the first gas station we came to and asked where we might find such an establishment.

Well, it sounded easy -- about three miles straight ahead on the right. Greg told me, "Look for the "usual" big red ABC sign." Like I should be familiar with that because there's one right across the street from our house or something. I can't think of any time in my life when I've needed to remember what the usual Alcoholic Beverage Commission sign looks like. Sure, I know where the store is in Greensboro; sometimes I sit in the car while Greg runs in. Ok, I've even gone in with him a time or two. But I didn't know I was supposed to commit the sign to memory!

Now see, that's the kind of thing that makes Greg get really irritated with me. Especially when he's stressed. Like when he's in a strange place and traffic's heavy and we've already driven four miles and haven't found what we were looking for (i.e., that familiar big red ABC sign.) We had to stop again. Aha! We hadn't driven too far. The first guy just wasn't good with distances. If only we hadn't been so quick to turn around before we stopped and asked someone else...

Well, now that we had the correct information, guess what -- no big red sign. Just a little one. And the store itself could have been nicknamed "You Can't Get Here from There." I'm not kidding. We had to keep circling around until we could get close enough to call it parking.

I was so pleased that we'd found what we were looking for that I just wanted to sit in the car and revel in my relief. Greg happily rolled down the windows and left me. I had closed my eyes for a second when I heard a voice saying, "You only live once. You only live once." It was a black guy, neatly dressed, with braids all over his head. Not dreads, but neat little braids -- the kind that take a long time to do. He was walking up from the main street, entering the liquor store as he repeated "You only live once" into his cell phone. I'd kind of like to make up a story about him. (Some other time, maybe.)

I remember being amused by some of the signs we saw along the way. There was one for a barbecue restaurant that said "Butts on the Creek." (Of course it included a drawing of some pigs' butts. Heh-heh.)

I liked the road sign that read "Beside the River Road." I've been thinking they should rename our road, "Decimated In Order to Make Way for FedEx Road."

And I loved walking into the Hellbender Pitt Stop and ordering a beer before the final "exhibition" on Saturday night. I imagine we were a pretty daunting sight (even without our clogging shoes) -- Greg and five women. (We were not intimidated by all those biker dudes!)


Well, if I should happen to remember anything about the actual dancing at Fontana Village, I'll do a fourth installment. Don't hold your breath, though. At least I was able to provide a photograph of people dancing.