Summer Of Sweat

Today I want to share a helpful hint. I am a little hesitant to do this, for fear of evoking the "Too much information" response. However, in an era where we are bombarded with pharmaceutical ads for erectile dysfunction and ads for feminine hygiene products and lingerie ads that seem more like soft core porn than actual adverts, I've decided that this is actually a public service announcement.

The heat and humidity in Pittsburgh and indeed, in North America must have caused more women to struggle with this issue than just me. The problem is sweat. Not just the "glow" we women are supposed to attain in the summer (Horses sweat; men perspire; women glow), but the agonizing under breast sweat that cause chaffing and sometimes fungal infections under our breasts and in any area where breasts meet other flesh.

Several years ago, both a sweet older lady friend at church and my PCP, recommended using an athlete's foot, anti-fungal cream. This does work. My goal in this heat however is to prevent such rashes from taking hold to begin with.

My internet search lead to several sites that offer reusable pads to place in our bras to absorb excess sweat. While they may or may not work, looking at them sparked an idea in me.

In my bathroom closet I have an box of panti-liners. Since I am well past the need to use them for their intended purpose, yet too frugal to throw them away, I was happy for this light bulb moment!

So, here you go! Before putting on your bra, take a panti-liner and place in to the cup of your bra, in the area most afflicted by sweat. This area should be easy to recognize by the persistent stain that, despite use of a multitude of stain removers, continues to leave it's mark.You simply press the adhesive side to the bra, to allow the absorbent side to contact your skin. Seriously! If the bra you are wearing isn't quite as "uplifting" as it once was, you can add to the absorbency effect by also placing a panti-liner on the outside, to prevent inadvertent contact with your skin. I kid you not, this works!

Depending on your activity level and the heat index, you may have to change these little helpers a couple of times during the course of the day. But if you can avoid experiencing that awful, unpleasant and sometimes painful rash, why wouldn't you? I suggest buying the cheap store brand, unscented. I mean why waste extra money on "delicate scent" or "odor fighting" when it's just going to absorb sweat and then be thrown away. And you really must change them when you become aware of dampness, because to keep them on after that defeats the purpose and invites fungus. And don't get all freaked out about fungus; it's everywhere! The idea is to prevent it from taking up residence and growth. To do that, dryness is essential, so bust out those panti-liners, women!

And you thought the days of stuffing your bra were over! HA!

Gassing Up

Yesterday, Raymond and I took the dog and went for a brief drive in the RV, essentially to get gas. There is a gas station about three blocks from our house, but we avoided gassing up there because of the small area, which would require skills I barely have in the SUV, in regard to tight turns. So, we headed down Ohio River Blvd to a large gas station.

I made the turn off the blvd between the thrift store and the gas station, thinking to enter from the area above the station, thereby allowing us to be pointed head first toward the adjoining street for easy egress to the light and an relatively easy turn back onto the blvd. The thought was, easy in and easy out. Oops! Wrong again! There used to be access. Apparently the owners of the gas station felt the need to fence off that area.

I fear I allowed this to cause some major anxiety. I now had to enter traffic on Elizabeth St and then make a left turn into the gas station. Why is it these little glitches are the ones that mess with my head the most?

Providentially, the gas station was nearly empty.

I decided to access the pump closest to the main road, hoping for a way out that wouldn't involve trying to cut around the pumps to get back to Elizabeth Street and what I saw as easier access to Ohio River Blvd via the traffic light. I should have been focused on the moment, instead of worrying about how I'd get out.

As I turned off Elizabeth into the gas station, I forgot to think about pivot points and how the motorhome turns differently from the Mazda. "C ... R ... U ... N ... C ... H," is what I heard. I had scrunched into one of those brightly painted barriers they place alongside the pumps so that you don't hit the actual gas pump!

I backed up; made the appropriate adjustment and pulled alongside the pump. I was mortified! We haven't even made the first payment yet! At first, I wanted to take it as a sign that we are not meant to do this. That's how much I let this get to me. Thank goodness for my dear husband. We got out, looked at the crunch and he said, "That's no big deal! Besides, now we don't have to worry about the first scratch." I was still feeling embarrassed, but also blessed. How is it that R takes things so much in stride and with an eye to the bigger picture? After filling the tank, which surprisingly cost less than what we had anticipated, R assisted me in checking for traffic so that I could pull out of the gas station directly onto the Blvd, eliminating any need for tight turns back onto Elizabeth St. As we headed back the way we had come, R continued to be supportive and encouraging. Then, as we approached Marshall Avenue and the posted detours, I realized that we would have to make a left turn, followed quickly by moving into the right lane and taking a relatively hard right onto Superior Avenue, in order to get back home. R continued to offer support and even said that I should consider how much easier driving the open road would seem compared to navigating city streets. We made it back into the grocery store parking lot behind our house without further incident. Now, the tricky part where I have to back up through the gate to our yard with just several inches clearance on each side of the motorhome. Then, back the rest of the way in blind,depending on R to make sure of clearance, as the mirrors must be pulled all the way in, to fit through the gate.

We made it!

Seems the most important lessons I learned in that short little trip were: Be prepared; Stay present in the moment; Adjust; Trust R to assist; and Laugh at yourself.

The last one comes as a result of our neighbor who looked at the yellow paint along the bottom of the slide and said, "Hey! You need to sign it! That's what they do at Talladega!"

Yesterday, THE Day!

Yesterday was THE DAY! We drove out to Akron to pick up our new motorhome!

In the time since we signed all the paperwork, my anxiety level has been constantly rising. So much so that I was having constant tension headaches. One of my biggest concerns before actually picking up the RV was if I could possibly drive 30 feet of Class C machinery safely. The never-ending headache was the result. The excellent news is that the headache is gone! I'm not sure of the actual timing of when the tension lifted, but somewhere on the road between Akron and Pittsburgh, I became aware that I no longer had pain just below the mastoid bones and at the junction of my skull and neck.

"We" includes Raymond, my brother Vinny, our dog Greyla and me. The reason Vinny was along was to drive our Mazda back, following me in order to critique my motorhome driving. Greyla was along because R wanted her there.

The RV is now in our back yard. Mostly. We still have some details to work out so that we can get it all the way into the yard and close the gate. That we'll work on when R gets home from work today.

There are many more details of this pick up story to be told, but first I need to come to grips with the reality of the fact that we are indeed RV owners and I think I can drive this baby!

A New Beginning?

The verse I posted on Facebook last night was the first thing I read yesterday. [Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. http://bible.us/Phil4.6.NIV]. A pastor friend of mine in NC had it as his status yesterday. And it just seemed to set the tone for the day, especially when I purposefully kept it in my heart and mind.

The day started out with me sleeping in until 10:30! When I woke up originally at 7, my back was hurting a lot, so I went back to bed, but I never expected to sleep so late! Then when I got up, I made coffee & went on Facebook, where I read Pastor Dan's status and spent some time in thought and prayer.

Then I read the quote that I blogged about yesterday. [‎"Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark.” - Elizabeth Gilbert]. That had myself in a space of introspection, wondering where my faith had gone and how I had become so lacking where once I had been strong.

Yesterday was garbage day and usually when R takes out the trash, he leaves the garbage can in the middle of the kitchen floor so that when I get up, I put new bags in and return it to its home. Only yesterday, I didn't have any trash bags. So, I was irritated with myself that I had forgotten to get them when I went shopping the previous day, now I was going have to take another trip to the store. That was so NOT what I wanted to do.

When R came home from work, I kept finding myself being irritated with him for the way he was processing the impending RV pick up. He was trying to be practical, which is a good thing, but because of the way I process events, it was annoying me. And my annoyed attitude caused R to become annoyed with me. It wasn't very pretty.

But being the good procrastinator that I am, I decided to call my sister, Janet first, since she had been on my list of calls I needed to make and while I was out on the porch reading the paper she had called. So, I called her and ended up spending about 90 min on the phone with her. This is the reason I hate talking on the phone! She wants one of our computers and she's going to take the two dressers & the table Daddy finished for me. She offered to store R's records at her house, too. We spent a lot of time talking about our dysfunctional family, which probably didn't do anything to lighten my mood :) Although my sister did remark that talking to me was better than therapy for her, which is OK, I guess.

When I got off the phone it was about 1:30, so I figured I should get to the store. There were just a couple of thing to get, and when I came home I wanted to put together a pasta & veggie salad for the next day's dinner. It always tastes better if the flavors have had a day to blend.

So off I went to the Giant Eagle. As I was turning onto Shadeland Avenue, I saw my friend Ronnie, sitting on her porch. Normally, I would just toot hello and keep going, but something told me to stop. So I did. Since we hadn't seen one another in a few weeks, I was sharing the story of R's dislocated shoulder when James, who is one of the elders at New Hope Church, stopped as he was walking by. He actually remembered my name, which surprised me. We had a very comforting conversation regarding the possibility of me coming back to NHC. We even touched on Rodger (the former pastor who when he and I met, told me "perhaps it is time for you to find another church"). James was very kind and talked about some of the way in which things have changed at NHC in the time since my departure. I shared my feeling as someone who has been part of the church and then an outsider, that it is sometimes very easy to perceive NHC as a clique, rather than as an outreach in the neighborhood. He asked me to return to New Hope because, as he said, "We are still your brothers and sisters in Christ." I shared with James that just that morning I had been wondering how I had strayed so far from where had been. When I explained that we had recently bought an RV and hope to be traveling as soon as September or October, he said, "Then at least come back to allow us to pray over you before you go." He and I gave and got a big hugs as I left for the store. I honestly felt as if the Holy Spirit had orchestrated the whole day: From reading Pastor Dan's status, to reading the quote that started me thinking about my faith, to my leaving for the store two hours later than I intended, to stopping to see Ronnie, to James walking by, remembering my name, talking and offering fellowship and kindness. It felt like one of the first steps toward healing what had been a festering wound.

I also told James about our house, the good and the bad. I told him we'd like to sell it "as is" and explained about my unfinished projects. I also told him we'd prefer to sell it to a family for 35K, than to sell it to Allegheny City Electric,whose owner wants tear it down and make a parking lot. We would rather make less money and have it be a blessing to some family who would like to have a home of their own. He said he would put the word out on the grapevine.

I went to the store (and STILL forgot to get cleanser for the sink!) I came home with a much improved attitude, although when I shared with R, he still seemed a little irritated. Then I told him that I wasn't sure why he and I were getting under each other's skin so much, but that I was sorry and would try to curb my irritability. He said that he was sorry too and we should begin again.

I made the salad for the next day. Then I made us dinner. All in all, a much improved mood prevailed : )

That is, until, I went to put the leftovers away and dropped the coconut cream pie that was going to be my dessert all week! As I was putting it in the fridge, I bumped it and PLOP! it flipped over and landed half on the floor and half on the bottom of the fridge!

Here's hoping THAT wasn't an intervention by the Holy Spirit!

Faith, Grace and Mercy

"Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark.” - Elizabeth Gilbert.

My first reaction to this quote was cynicism - "That's not faith, that's stupidity." After chastising myself for my immediate response, I thought about it a little. Two thoughts were immediately recognizable. One, that if faith is as described by Ms Gilbert, then Grace and Mercy are what keep us from stubbing our toes in the dark as we walk face first and full speed into the dark. And two, how far from faith I have become stranded.

A week ago Thursday, a dear friend and her two kids were coming over in the afternoon to harvest mulberries from our tree. We had some plastic sheeting ready to lay under the tree as we shook limbs to release the ripe berries. They arrived at 3 PM and by 3:05 we were all in the yard. Things were moving along well. Then I had the brilliant (she said sarcastically) idea to use our 20 foot ladder, to allow access to berries higher than we could reach from the ground. Let me say two things about me & ladders: 1) I do not like climbing them, 2) I apparently do not know how to position one properly. R came out to adjust my placement of the climbing device and then because he is kind and knows I do not like ladders, told me to move and let him climb. Which I did, gratefully. While he was ascending, with our friend holding the ladder, I decided to go into the house and get the platform ladder, which is only 8 feet high, more stable and which I felt sure I COULD climb without incident. I was happy we were all going to participate in gathering berries. Yea! As I began climbing the "normal" ladder, my friend came over and said to me, "R's hurt." I looked around and saw him on the deck, with his head down and looking rather pale. When I got over to him, he explained that he slipped on a branch as he was attempting to reach higher into the tree, lost his footing & grabbed a branch above his head to prevent falling. Unfortunately, the grab along with his body weight & angle, caused something to happen to "his right arm". I glanced at the clock. How could things go so wrong in only 10 minutes? From the look on his face and the pallor of his skin, I knew he was in tremendous pain. So, as gently as possible, I looked at his shoulder and arm under his t-shirt. Even if I had never worked on an orthopedic unit, I would've recognized a dislocated shoulder. We hurriedly explained to ou friend that an ER visit was necessary immediately and asked that she and the kids continue picking if they liked and just lock up on their way out. In the car, we opted to drive to UPMC St Margaret, which is 10 miles from our house, instead of the the closer ER at Allegheny General, simply because past experience has shown us that the average wait at AGH ER is about 5 hours, while UPMC SM is generally 1.5 hours. The judgmental errors of the day are compounding. The road to UPMC SM is being repaired. The bumps were many. And poor R was already in pain. What is usually a 15 minute ride was closer to 25. Upon arrival at the ER, R goes inside while I search for a parking space. Searching produces the LAST space in the ER lot! When I enter the ER, I am astounded! It looks like a convention. Nearly every seat is filled. WTH? Since R cannot use his right arm, or hand, I fill out his paperwork and we look for seats. In all my years of involvement with UPMC SM, I have never seen so many people in the ER. It is 3:50PM. Let me just say that one of the most annoying things about waiting in the ER, is having to see people who came in after you did get called ahead of you. I mean, I understand the folks who are bleeding. I even understand those who do not appear to have anything wrong, but who may be having some sort of challenge like a heart attack or shortness of breath. What I don't get is the people who walk through the door, talk to the receptionist, sit down, chat with their companion(s) and then get called ahead of my husband who is in so much pain that he describes it as 13 on a scale of 1-10. But enough about that! The other annoying thing is the TVs. Two of them. Tuned to the same station. Until that visit in the ER, I was proud to say I had never seen the Dr. Phil Show. Can't say THAT anymore! Poor R! after waiting for just a little over two hours, his pain was becoming unbearable. He was pale. And he was having swelling in his right arm and hand. I approached the receptionist. Knowing she couldn't really tell us how long we would have to wait, I asked her anyway. My reasoning was that if she knew how much pain R was in maybe we could get pushed up in the rotation. She was very sympathetic, and even though she said exactly what she was supposed to say, I still felt a little better. Maybe it was her attitude. She seemed to genuinely care. Her name was Rita. I reported back to R what Rita had said and left him for a minute while I went to the rest room. When I returned to his side, he was sporting an ice pack on his shoulder. He said that Rita had gotten it for him. Neither she nor he knew if it would help, but the kindness was greatly appreciated. About 15 minutes later, Rita asked if R had had an X-ray yet. She said had noticed that X-rays were being ordered, so we might as well head over to radiology while we were waiting to be called to an exam room. Again, her common sense approach was greatly appreciated! After a very brief time in radiology, we were back in the waiting area. Waiting. It was now about 6:45 PM. And we waited. About 7:10 we were taken back to an exam room. We didn't wait too long in there. The nurse came in and did the preliminaries. About 10 minutes later, the Orthopedic doctor arrived. He was very kind. He explained what they would attempt and what they might have to attempt if option one didn't work. He then left and returned with the longest needle I have ever seen. The plan was to inject R's shoulder joint with a relaxant and then attempt a closed reduction (popping back into place) after the spasms in his muscles and ligaments had subsided. Then the nurse returned, as we waited for the relaxant to take hold. She placed an IV, and gave R an injection of diluadid, for pain. Then we waited a little bit longer. At 7:45 PM the doctor, Adam Ray, did the closed reduction. It was an amazing thing to see. The pain etched on R's face was palpable. I had to walk to the other side of the room to avoid over reacting. But R reported a "small pop" followed by a "bigger pop" and Dr. Ray also reported "feeling the big pop". They ordered a portable X-ray to be sure the shoulder was in proper placement. By 8:15 PM R, with placement verified, was in an immobilizer sling, with two pain pills and the phone number of the f/u doctor in hand. Not at all how we had planned to spend our Thursday, but in the grand scheme of things, it could've been worse. Of course, that's easy for me to say!

Thankful

2011 May 17
THANKFUL

Yesterday I had one of the every 3 month checks for my bladder cancer. The result of yesterdays cystoscopy is that there are no new tumors present. YEA!!!  The next appointment will be in August. If at that visit there are still no new tumors, I will be able to go to an every 6 month schedule for cystoscopies. Another YEA!!!  I am grateful for the prayers of friends and for the peace of God.

After my appointment yesterday, I stopped and visited with my Daddy  one of my brothers. On my way home afterward, I reflected on the start of this journey, back in February 2008.

Raymond, our dogs, Katie & Greyla, along with my two of my brothers, Vinny & Dave and I had just spent a week in the Northern Outer Banks.  We had been vacationing in a rental home on the 4WD beaches.  I love going to the beach in the winter. There is something very peaceful and invigorating about the winter beach for me.  This particular time, I felt a great sense of peace and commented that for me, this particular vacation felt like the best we had ever experienced.

The Monday after our return, I had an appointment scheduled for an ultrasound for some ongoing "female" issues. Part way through the ultrasound, the technician stopped and excused herself. Not usually a good sign.  When she returned, she told me I should get dressed and ushered me to a consultation room with the comment that the Dr. would be in to speak with me, shortly.  As a veteran of these types of ultrasound procedures, I was a little confused, because this is not how they go. 

The Dr. did indeed show up shortly.  She gave me a CD of what they had ultrasounded and told me that they saw something "unexpected" in my bladder.  Her instruction was that I should go home and wait for my PCP to call me to discuss the "unexpected finding".  No matter how I phrased my inquiry, she wasn't coming up with any more information. So, I went home to await a call from Dr. Ebbert, my PCP

The call came from my PCP, explaining that I needed to call Dr. Traub, a urologist, for an appointment, as the unexpected finding was some sort of growth in the area where my ureter connects to my bladder. The CD was to give to him, so he could see what they had found. I would need to have a cystoscopy to determine what the growth was. OK, so far, so good. This is not the first time my body has decided to grow some little peculiarity.  There was no mention yet of cancer.  I was still floating along in my post vacation bliss. 

The next day, while my little charge, Kate, was napping, I called Dr. Traub's office.  The receptionist was very nice and mentioned that they had a cancellation for the next day, Wednesday, if I could make it on such short notice. Great! the next day was one of my days off and I was thrilled to not have a three week wait.

The appointment went along very normally. Fill out the paperwork. Wait. Pee in a cup. Wait. Have the cystoscopy. Get dressed and wait in the Dr's consult room. All very routine.

Then the Doc sat down, looking very serious and began to explain. He explained that there was a tumor and that this type have an 80% probability of being cancer. That much I still remember. He explained that I would need to have surgery for removal and full identification of the tumor. He asked his nurse to bring the surgery schedule. She mentioned that there had been a surgical cancellation for Friday. He asked if that was too soon. I said no, the sooner the better. Less time to think.

I would need to have a chest xray and blood work. Off to the hospital for those.

By the time I was on my way home, I was starting to worry a little, as the word "cancer" began to sink in.  I wanted to talk to someone. Raymond wasn't at home.  I thought of stopping to talk to my Daddy, but it didn't seem fair to dump my probably irrational fear on a man who had lost his wife to cancer.  I decided to stop at my brother's place of work. He was at the counter when I walked in and I asked if we could talk in private for a minute.  I explained about all that had happened since we returned from our lovely vacation, and ended up crying, " What if I have cancer?" 

My level headed brother asked me to tell him exactly what the Dr had said. When I reported the statistic "80% of the time these tumors are cancer", Vinny said, "That means that 20% of the time they're NOT". He continued with the best advice he could offer, "Don't get ahead of things. Wait and see."  And he hugged me, which is not something that comes naturally or easily for the men in my family. By the time I got home, I had adopted the "20% of the time they're NOT" attitude.

At home, my PCP called to say I would need to have a stress test prior to the surgery. Great! It was Wednesday afternoon and the surgery was scheduled for Friday. Talk about crunch time!  But the hospital stress lab was very cooperative and managed to get me in on Thursday.

Raymond's sister-in-law, Barb, who is also a kind and wonderful friend, as well as a cancer survivor, offered to drive me & Raymond to the hospital on Friday. 

I called upon my friends and acquaintances via email and asked for prayer.

I remember thinking before the surgery that God had been so gracious to allow us that peaceful, restful time at the beach since He knew what was awaiting upon our arrival home. 

The tumor did indeed turn out to be cancer.  But, as I have said many times, if you have to have cancer, bladder isn't the worst one!  Since February of 2008, my body has managed to grow two new tumors, both of which were small enough to be "cooked" off in the doctor's office.  The last one was in August of 2009. So I am on the threshold of a new level in my recovery. If there are no new growths at my August cystoscopy, I will be able to have six months between appointments. 

Cancer is not as scary as it once was.  Having lost many relatives and friends to the disease, simply hearing the word applied to me, was once very frightening.  

Through this period, I have had many relatives, friends and acquaintances who have prayed for and loved on me. I have found and continue to try to nurture a more positive attitude in myself, thinking of the 20% that is NOT cancer, instead of the 80% that may be cancer.  And I have learned that God does indeed have all things under His control, even when it may look like chaos to us.  I am thankful.  Thankful that I am able to see the good, even in a bout with cancer. I am grateful for prayer, both mine & other people's. I am appreciative of my family and friends and the support they provided. 

The whole experience, seemed to have grace and mercy embedded from beginning to now. From the time of rest and relaxation, to the double cancellations in a busy urology practice, to the flexibility of my employer, you never know who God will use to provide your needs. I am simply grateful that He does.

WELCOME, FEBRUARY!

Meteorologists across the country are full of dire forecasts today. "Monster Storm", is heading, they say, for portions of at least eight states. Locally, the forecast has been for eventual freezing rain and icy roads. Does this have me down? ABSOLUTELY NOT!  Today is February 1. In my mind, there is light at the end of the winter tunnel because we today is 1 February. Today I have  hope that spring will come. And I have this hope regardless of what Punxsutawney Phil has to say tomorrow. 

Perhaps the naysayers in Pittsburgh would declare that you can't really be sure of spring locally until late April. It's true that there have been years when actual warm weather hasn't arrived on the three rivers until well past February. It's true that we have had a "Snowmageddon" in February and a blizzard in March here in western Pennsylvania. None of that matters in my little world! All that matters to me is that January is over!

I dislike the month of January. There, I said it. It's long. It's cold. It follows Christmas and offers none of the lights, festivities or hope that I feel in December, therefore making it feel darker. January is a crappy month. For the second year in a row that we are missing our traditional February beach vacation. That was one of the reasons I thought I loved February. Turns out, I love February for reasons other than the annual trip to our favorite North Carolina beach in the winter.

Welcome, February!  I love you!  You are short. You usher in March. You provide the realization that the days are indeed becoming longer. The second half of the hockey season begins. You used to be the beginning of my football free time, but unfortunately the NFL changed that. No matter. Eventually, in early February, football will come to an end! Thank you for that, February! What other month offers the celebration of love AND chocolate? I love typing "February"; I love the word. In February we celebrate our wedding anniversary. My birthday comes toward the end of the month. And in between those dates, is Valentine's Day. For a month with a scant 28 days, there are many celebratory events. I like that. So, again I say, "Welcome February! So glad you're here!" 

Matt's Legacy

As I was driving to work on the 24th of January, a song came on the radio. The lyric included, "...who will love me, for me? Not for what I have done or what I will become. Who will love me for me?..."  While some might say the answer is obviously God, I know others who would say, "No one." And there are those who would answer, "Parents", or "Family", or "Friends".  For me, the answer is definitely Christ. But, there was one friend who was a human example to me of the ability to love, in the way Jesus teaches us to love.

Since the following day was the 6th anniversary of Matt Smith's death in this world, my thoughts went to him and to how he lived. His is a legacy of example.

Matt Smith exemplified, to me and to most who came in contact with him, what the love of God sees in us and what we are capable of through that love. He was that rare person who truly exhibited the love of Christ. He made you aware of the way in which God loves each of us, unconditionally. When I met Matt, I met a man who loved the people he met by seeing them through the eyes of Christ. He loved, period. There was no pretense. This is not to say that he was more Christlike than most. Rather,he was a man, who had himself, been transformed by the love of Christ. Matt lived what he believed in a way that most of us do not. He allowed the love of Christ for him, to transform the way he looked at and loved those with whom he came in contact. I am grateful to have had his example. 

We all want to be loved for who we are. Those of us who profess faith in Christ believe that He loves us unconditionally. And while we believe that, it is not often that we see the fruit of that belief in our own lives or the lives of those around us. Too often we allow ourselves to be blinded to that love by our guilt or our expectations. We have trouble loving the way that Jesus does. He loves us. Period. There is no condition placed on His love. There is no expectation. We don't need to be something, or do something. He loves us for us. Or as the song says, "... love me for me, not for what I have done or what I will become.''  Our God loves us because we are His creation. And even though He knows our sin, He loves us. He came here, to the earth He created and lived among His creation, to show us how much He loved the people He created. He gave us the greatest example of how to love one another.

This made me think about the reason why Matt Smith is greatly missed by those who knew him. Matt's legacy was to show us our possibilities in Christ. Matt epitomized acceptance of people, regardless of their deeds or station in life.  We are all sinners saved by grace, Matt no more or less than any of the rest of us. But through his words, deeds and actions we saw the real potential of true Christ - followers to evoke change. Change, first, in themselves, in their families, in their communities and in the world at large. I thank God for Matt and the example he provided. And I pray that the love of God transforms my heart in a similar way. May each of us learn to love one another for no other reason than we are following the example laid out for us by Christ and hopefully by each of us who calls him or herself a follower of Christ. It may seem an impossibility, but we know it's not. We saw Matt do it.

Snow Days

I guess snow days don't have a magical quality when there are no school age kids in the house. And when the snow falls on days when you are already off work, it seems rather anti-climactic. I remember snow days when I was a kid, more in grade school than high school. It was a blast living on a street with a steep hill. Especially because in the late 50s & early 60s there were fewer cars, especially on our street, which had a belgian block road connector at the top which nobody traveled in snowy times.

We used to get cardboard boxes, as large as we could find and sled in them, usually with the box turned on its side.  Sometimes we got really lucky and found a HUGE box which could be cut down to provide "sleds" for more than one kid. Sometimes there was an ancient wooden sled around & we would take turns riding with one or two of our friends.

But the cardboard boxes really stand out in my memory.  In order to make them faster on the snowy hill, we would soap the area that came in contact with the snow. This was accomplished with a bar of bath soap, usually Lux or Palmolive, borrowed from someone's kitchen or bath. I remember a variation of this as we got older that involved using wax candles to waterproof our cardboard, too.

When I say we sledded down the hill, I mean to say we rode our sleds down the middle of the street on which we lived. Growing up in an urban area, there wasn't any nearby park, or unpopulated hillside on which to ride. As I mentioned, there was little traffic, if any, so we just had fun.  Our street was about 2 blocks long, so it was a decently long ride down the hill. And we kids lived throughout the 2 block area, so we could take warm up breaks at anyone's house anywhere along the way. My house was within 6 houses of the top of the street.  

I can remember a lot of times sledding after dark, too.  That always seemed to be the most fun.  So, if we hadn't had a snow day, after school, we start sliding down the hill and trekking back up, until supper time. Then, after supper, out we'd come again, until we got too cold to move, or until someone's Mom decided it was time for everyone to head to their own homes. When we were out there after dark, parents would turn on porch lights so we had some visibility, since the street lights were about 10 houses apart. 

We had special ways of trying to keep warm and dry. One method involved wrapping our feet in newspaper and waxed paper inside our boots. This later evolved to wrapping our feet with saran wrap. I don't think any of us had real snow pants. I remember staying out until my pants just became too snow logged and cold to bear with any comfort. Then you went in for awhile to warm up and hope your Mom didn't see how red your legs were. We would wear double pairs of pants in an effort to stay warm longer and be outside longer. There is also a vague memory of wearing a pair of pants, covering them with plastic cleaner bags, followed by another pair of pants. There was serious effort to remain warm & dry as long as possible.

Every year there was at least one accident, usually involving one of the boys and someone's parked car. I remember the year that one of the Autore boys slid under someone's car and got scraped up pretty badly.  The girls were a little more cautious.

Of course, even the girls got to be daredevils at times. The bottom of our street intersected with Butler St, which was the main thoroughfare through our area of the city. It was the street on which the trolleys ran. There was a time, probably in the early to mid 60s, when all of us got a little more daring in our sledding down 57th Street hill to Butler St. If our parents had known, they probably would've revoked our sledding rights.  Someone, I'm not sure who, discovered that if the light was green at the intersection and you were traveling fast enough, you could make it across Butler St, instead of aborting into the curb at the bottom of the hill. Timing was oh so important!  I remember the time I came down at a pretty good clip and found I had a green light. Wahoo! My first time making across Butler St! Good times!

Wonder when I began to see snow as more of a challenge than a plaything?  Time to renew my attitude of childhood, I think. 

Open Letter to My Daddy

December 2010

Dearest Daddy,

This is something I wish I had written long before now. But I'm letting you know now, so at least that is something good.

You have always been a great role model. You taught me so many things just by your actions through the years. Your attitude has always been encouraging, even in the times when you may not have realized it. You were always there. You never drank or swore. You made lots of things seem like fun. You were the person I always wanted to spend time with. You played games with us. You sang beautifully. You were a

great Daddy! You still are!

You were always the person who seemed in control of himself. Indeed, on those rare times when you would loose your temper, it seemed like an event, rather than some day-to-day occurrence. It always seemed to me that you must've taken each bit of anger and disappointment and stuffed it away inside. And when you

could hold no more, POW! you erupted. I can only remember two or three eruptions over my whole life, though. You taught me something about self control and anger management, though you probably didn't realize it.

I remember that we were poor, but also that it really didn't matter much. We never went hungry or lacked for a roof over our heads. I DO remember surplus food and you telling me that if I was really hungry, I would eat the surplus government pork. Since I don't remember eating it, I guess I never was REALLY

hungry.

I remember a time when our gas was turned off and it was early March. You made it seem like fun! I remember you letting us kids go under the dining room table as you draped blankets over it and warmed the air under the table with an electric space heater. It was an adventure and we had our very own warm 'tent'.

I remember that you often seemed to acquiesce to Mummy. Those times taught me the need for compromise. I remember that you sat with me all night when I was in terrible pain because of my teeth. I remember that you came to all my graduation ceremonies. I remember that you loved music. I remember playing games and cards as a family. I remember a time when a drunken relative made a hurtful comment to me and you came immediately to my defense. I remember us playing records and singing. I remember that family was important to you. I remember fun times.

I remember once when the electricity was turned off and we got to use Pap-Pap's old railroad lanterns to light our way to the bathroom. Another adventure! It may have been stressful to you, but you never let on. You made the whole episode seem like a great fun escapade!

You taught me that all people are equal and deserving. You instilled in me a desire for a relationship with God. You showed me that it is important to be who you are and to speak your mind at times and to hold your tongue at other times. (this is a lesson I am STILL learning)

Through your example, I learned that even death is a part of life. You showed me how to grieve and still survive, even when the lose is painful.

You aren't perfect, but you're close enough!

I know that through the years I have been a brat, an incorrigible, a trial and a pain in both your heart and your butt. I am sorry for the times when I caused you pain. I know that you have always been on my side even when I acted like you weren't. I am sorry for the times when I was thoughtless. I am sorry for causing you shame and for being so headstrong and stubborn.

Most of all, thank you for always allowing this prodigal to return to your family.

I love you, Daddy and I always will.

Your oldest "pain in the ass" *

JeanMarie

* a direct quote from you, regarding children & parenting. :-)

Whatever happened to...

 Courtesy. Privacy. At the moment these two things come to mind.

I am sitting in my living room, with the windows closed. Yet I can hear my across- the-alley neighbor talking on his cell phone. Granted, I hear only his portion of the conversation, but really, should I have to hear ANY of it?  

This is not an odd occurrence.  Usually, several times weekly, I am privy to Mr. Cell Talker's conversations. Sometimes they are simple, even friendly. Other times they are laced with expletives that lead me to believe he's angry with the person on the other end.  

I know things which the Hippa Privacy Act dictate  I shouldn't know without his consent!  I suppose talking loudly in a public thoroughfare implies his consent to allow the sharing of these details, however I have NOT consented to be made aware of theses personal issues.

Last weekend as I was changing for bed, at 11:30PM, I could hear him ranting about some place that in his estimation was "a (expletive) palace!"  and how he'd "live in the (expletive) place!"  Those who know me well, know that I am not overly sensitive to coarse language. In fact it is an area I often struggle with. But why am I hearing this from a middle class man who has a home in which he could be having said conversation?  It's not like he's out there doing something!  It's dark. He's pacing in the alley! Go into your house, for goodness sake, or at least for my sake!

Not that Mr Across the Alley is the only offender around here.

I have heard folks across the street arguing with the cable company about their payments. Again, these people have a home, but choose to have these conversations outside, while walking back and forth in front of their house. I don't get it!

Another neighbor often will walk outside his house and either sit on the front steps during his conversations, or else, like the before mentioned guy, pace the sidewalk.  I have been the unwilling recipient of knowledge about his 12 step program, his dinner plans and much more.

What ever happened to keeping one's personal business personal? When did it become acceptable to share with such abandon? Especially with folks who are simply  neighbors by accident of fate?


Do these people even realize that they are inadvertently sharing details of their lives with anyone in earshot? Are they so self absorbed that they think we find the minutia of their day to day existence fascinating?

Am I just becoming overly sensitive as I age? Am I the only person who finds this behavior annoying?


And since I mentioned annoying, when did it become acceptable to wear ones pajamas to the grocery store? I know I've ranted about this before to friends.  But I am seriously asking when it became acceptable to walk to the grocery store in an item of clothing that one would sleep in? I know we send pictures of people inappropriately attired as email jokes, but I see it all the time.  I live very close to Kuhn's Grocery and see woman and girls, mostly, on their way to the store in items that I recognize as sleepwear. 


There was a time, when I was growing up in Lawrenceville, that there was a woman who often strolled the main street in her pj's, with curlers in her hair. She was mentally ill. But even she wore a robe over her jammies!


Again, I ask, am I just getting old and becoming a fuddy duddy? Or have we allowed our casualness to cross the line into inappropriateness?

Strangers

Yesterday Raymond and I drove to Hershey from Pittsburgh to attend an RV show.  While traveling along the PA Turnpike, we made a stop at one of the service areas.  I decided to get something to eat and was standing in line behind a group of six gentlemen who were discussing what they each would be ordering.

One of the guys said, "No, I don't want anything. I have all those cookies in the car."

Ever the busybody, I said, mockingly, "Young man! that is no kind of lunch! Cookies, indeed!"

He laughed and one of his buddies told me, "You tell him. He can't just eat cookies."

The fellow laughed and said to me, "They're really good cookies. Homemade. Chocolate chip."

My turn to laugh, as I asked, "can I ride with you guys?" And answered my own question by pulling out my car keys and saying, "Wait. I'm the driver, so that won't work."

We all went on to place our orders and I waited for Raymond to return from his personal sojourn. We got our sandwich and  fries and were headed out  through the parking lot to our car. I noticed a bronze colored mini van pull up to the edge of the parking area, but paid little attention to the occupants. 

The sun was shining, the air was clear and perfectly crisp. I was enjoying the conversation with Raymond. 

I had passed by the mini van and was headed to our car when I heard a horn beep. I looked around and saw someone motioning to me from the van window.  I ambled over to the van and one of the passengers leaned forward from the back seat toward the driver's window, with a ziplock bag in his hand. The bag was filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies! It was the guys from inside the rest stop. They had stopped to offer Raymond and me cookies.  I took one and thanked them for their kindness. They told me to take one from my husband, too, but I explained that he doesn't eat cookies, which they accepted without question.

Then they drove away and beeped good bye.

I was stunned by such kindness. 

Since Raymond had missed the interaction while I was standing online, I explained what had happened.  He told me I should've taken one for him and I could've had two.

Somehow that just didn't seem like the right thing to do. 

I know sharing their cookies isn't on a par with saving the world, or even a portion of it, but it went a long way toward improving how I looked at my fellow travelers and touched me deeply.

Have you ever experienced a seemingly disproportionate reaction to some stranger's act of kindness?  


And even though the context may not fit, it made me think of Hebrews 13:2.


"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it." (NASV)