I read an interesting article in January's Popular Mechanics. Yes I read Popular Mechanics, my Dad sends that McClain's and Chatelaine in and I read all 3 of them cover to cover. You know you're getting old when you read McClain's.
Anyways the article was titled "The Deadly Season" by Michael Finkel and was about ski patrolers setting off preventative avalanches. Ski patrolers......... smile.......... Even though I lived at the base of Sun Peaks (Todd Mountain back in the day) for years and years I've never actually skied. But I'm smiling because I've known a lot of ski patrolers. And mine rescuers and firefighters, and ambulance attendants and industrial first aiders. All incredible people doing an incredibly hard job. Hard and sometimes dangerous. All industries have workplace loss;."In 2008, 1036 workplace deaths were recorded in Canada down from 1055 the previous year. This represents more than 2 deaths every single day. Another 942, 478 were injured or became ill." http://www.ccohs.ca/events/mourning/ America lost 5, 071 the same year. http://www.bls.gov/iif/ Sad, sad, sad. The CCOHS site has a great article about International Day of mourning.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh but the rescuers. The ones who put their life on the line to save others. I had the privileged of walking amongst them for many years. I taught first aid, I did first aid and was involved in competitions. Rescue training is an on going thing. It's a lot of long hard hours, sacrifice and self discipline. Check out this article for what I'm sure will tell a story many of my friends can relate to. http://thetyee.ca/News/2009/06/05/BeAParamedic/index.html?commentsfilter=0 The average career span for a paramedic in Los Angeles is 8 years. http://www.allbusiness.com/north-america/united-states-california-metro-areas/341705-1.html That's life for the professionals, I've probably met more volunteer rescuers than I have professionals. And it's risky. The first thing we're taught is to ensure no danger to others or ourselves. I ran many a drill where there was a hidden hazard and I was cautioned not to enter the scene until it was secure. "Nothing like becoming a victim yourself and needing to be rescued" I was always told. But it happens. Statistics were surprisingly hard to come up with but here's what I found: Between 1992 and 1997, the study finds 114 EMTs and paramedics were killed on the job, more than half of them in ambulance crashes. That's an estimated 12.7 fatalities per 100,000 EMS workers, making it close to the death rates for police (14.2) and firefighters (16.5) in the same time period, the study says. And it's more than twice the national average for all workers (5.0). http://www.emsedsem.org/Prior%20Articles/EMS_Fatalities%20from%20JEMS.pdf
And that's just the day to day rescues never mind the catastrophes. We lost 343 firefighters and paramedics plus 23 police officers on 9/11. Someday I'll tell you about where I was on that horrible day. But because I was soooooo far removed from the crisis it took me days, possibly weeks to realize that being part of the family of emergency responders I had lost brothers and sisters.
The funny thing is that I was a terrible first aider, I lacked maturity, thoroughness and competitiveness but I learned a lot. I've always said that one of the reasons I flourished in Asia was because of my first aid training. No it wasn't the actual skills of how to strap someone to a spine board that I used but the problem solving skills were invaluable. Living overseas is a constant stream of problems to be solved and I used everything I knew about thinking on my feet. And I had great, great teachers. Like any job I might have struggled with some of the personalities of my co-workers but never their integrity. My memory is filled with great colorful characters who knew how to lift a car off a patient and soothe a child's scraped knee. All in a days work. I learned sportsmanship and compassion but most of all I learned team work. I haven't done first aid in probably 10 years. I'm guessing that my first competition was in 1996 but I am still close friends with every person on that team and all the teams after it. They are my go to people. The ones I feel safe with. On the other hand I've lived in 3 states other than this one in the last 7 years and I'm only friends with a few people in all of those moves. Heck I've been in 2 churches in the last 3 years and I'm not still friends with ANY of the of the people there! Maybe that has to do with the amount of trust you put in people. Or the trust you HAVE to put in your co-workers when your working together under less than ideal circumstances. Maybe it has to do with the type of people the industry attracts. I don't know, but I know that I miss it.
The Popular Mechanics article attests to the closeness of ski patrolers. It talks about the atmosphere in the patrol locker room in Big Sky resort in Montana at the end of the day: "Beers are distributed as the afternoon wanes, but no one pops the top, or starts to change out of uniform, until the last of the on-duty patrolers enter the locker room. That's a strict patroler tradition, I'm told. They won't even take their boots off until everyone is safely home."
Dang I envy that! In my craving for a society or a group of friends that looks out for each other, not relaxing until everyone is safe and accounted for means a lot to me. Actually a metaphor for the church reaching the lost as well. To care about each other enough to want everyone to be safe and not to relax until they are. If your boots are on it means that you're prepared to go back out if needed. Here's to the rescuers. And here's to keeping your boots on.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Panties for Passover
Memories of Easter.
First there were Easter baskets hidden in the dishwasher. The Easter Bunny a.k.a worlds best dad used to come up with great hiding places and the dishwasher was one of the most memorable. Unlike my kids I only got candy in my basket, although I do remember a large, inflatable pink bunny. Now, what goes in baskets and how big to make them is a surprisingly controversial topic amongst my friends. The "no candy" camp prefers mainly toys, the "it's not a big deal" camp prefers mainly candy no toys. I've been stashing bits and pieces of things since Boxing Day sales, not that I mind candy, we have plenty of that too, it's just that I'm creative and like gift giving occasions. And I'm a great shopper as well so I really enjoy it.
Speaking of gift giving occasions, I've had to create my own. I have no idea if Passover is a gift giving occasion or not but come next Tuesday in my house it's going to be "Panties for Passover." See, my Huggyband's birthday is in December and somehow as a child he was traumatized by combined birthday/Christmas presents and worse yet underwear and socks as presents. So he's pretty adamant that underclothes of any variety don't count as gifts. I'm not. I'm practical. And since I can't give them as Christmas or birthday presents I've had to come up with creative reasons to give them, hence "Socks for Hanukkah" and "Panties for Passover." What that means is that last Hanukkah everyone in my family got a new package of socks lovingly wrapped in blue tissue paper. Fortunately they all laughed. Now here we are at Easter and since I can't stuff underwear in baskets I'm just borrowing Passover as an excuse to give it to them.
But meanwhile back to the past. Easters as a kid where pretty routine, baskets, frilly dresses, church and a ham dinner. No family nearby meant that it was usually just the 3 of us and that was fine. Everything is fine when there are chocolate eggs and trifle involved. When I was 7 I think we billeted hockey players for an annual international tournament. Billeting is a Canadian thing. Americans, at least my husband, have never heard of the word or the concept. Anyways, it means to put someone up for a night or so. What the kids would call "couch surfing" now. Good excuse to show some hospitality.
That hockey tournament would wind it's way back in to my life in the mid 90s. St. John's was responsible for providing first aid coverage at every single one of those hockey games throughout the entire tournament. Hockey in Kamloops in the spring; freezing cold arenas, early mornings, lots of coffee, lots of injuries, great people. One year in particular stands out. The nephew of a beloved "may as well be" uncle was coming from Saskatchewan to play in the tourney. The uncle and his family were coming in to town for it as well so it only made sense that I offer to do coverage for that particular team so that I could be of service and hang out with the family. The problem was that I had never met this hockey playing "may as well be"cousin or his dad. My plan for the very first morning was to scan the crowd for the man who looked the most like my uncle, introduce myself to him and we'd be all set. Well, as an only child there's some things I'll never be able to figure out, such as how siblings can look and act so different from each other. None of the parents of the Saskatchewan team looked anything like my uncle. My Uncle is a small guy and all of these men were big. My second choice was to talk to the friendliest looking parent and get them to point me in the right direction. Well the second choice turned out to be the right choice because when I told the friendly looking man who I was and why I was looking for Mr. G he laughed and said "Cass I AM Mr. G! You're uncle is my brother!' Laughter all around, soon my uncle and his family joined us and we were on our way to the next game. Turns out that the hockey playing cousin was playing with a broken arm and really shouldn't have been playing but it was a good opportunity for scouts to see him. It was also a good opportunity for the other teams to take advantage of his injury. We all watched him be cross checked into the boards and watched as a ref DIDN'T watch. My Uncle's family is French Canadian; they're all fluent in it including a young cousin in French immersion. When A was cross checked both his Dad and Uncle let forth a stream of curses in French and started yelling at the ref in French. My youngest cousin was standing in front of me and I clamped my hands over her ears to protect them. Good times, good times.
Easter would get even better when I discovered God and the amazing play that helped me find him. Tell you what? Let me work privately at the memories of Alive Again for a while and then I'll share them. Stay tuned!
First there were Easter baskets hidden in the dishwasher. The Easter Bunny a.k.a worlds best dad used to come up with great hiding places and the dishwasher was one of the most memorable. Unlike my kids I only got candy in my basket, although I do remember a large, inflatable pink bunny. Now, what goes in baskets and how big to make them is a surprisingly controversial topic amongst my friends. The "no candy" camp prefers mainly toys, the "it's not a big deal" camp prefers mainly candy no toys. I've been stashing bits and pieces of things since Boxing Day sales, not that I mind candy, we have plenty of that too, it's just that I'm creative and like gift giving occasions. And I'm a great shopper as well so I really enjoy it.
Speaking of gift giving occasions, I've had to create my own. I have no idea if Passover is a gift giving occasion or not but come next Tuesday in my house it's going to be "Panties for Passover." See, my Huggyband's birthday is in December and somehow as a child he was traumatized by combined birthday/Christmas presents and worse yet underwear and socks as presents. So he's pretty adamant that underclothes of any variety don't count as gifts. I'm not. I'm practical. And since I can't give them as Christmas or birthday presents I've had to come up with creative reasons to give them, hence "Socks for Hanukkah" and "Panties for Passover." What that means is that last Hanukkah everyone in my family got a new package of socks lovingly wrapped in blue tissue paper. Fortunately they all laughed. Now here we are at Easter and since I can't stuff underwear in baskets I'm just borrowing Passover as an excuse to give it to them.
But meanwhile back to the past. Easters as a kid where pretty routine, baskets, frilly dresses, church and a ham dinner. No family nearby meant that it was usually just the 3 of us and that was fine. Everything is fine when there are chocolate eggs and trifle involved. When I was 7 I think we billeted hockey players for an annual international tournament. Billeting is a Canadian thing. Americans, at least my husband, have never heard of the word or the concept. Anyways, it means to put someone up for a night or so. What the kids would call "couch surfing" now. Good excuse to show some hospitality.
That hockey tournament would wind it's way back in to my life in the mid 90s. St. John's was responsible for providing first aid coverage at every single one of those hockey games throughout the entire tournament. Hockey in Kamloops in the spring; freezing cold arenas, early mornings, lots of coffee, lots of injuries, great people. One year in particular stands out. The nephew of a beloved "may as well be" uncle was coming from Saskatchewan to play in the tourney. The uncle and his family were coming in to town for it as well so it only made sense that I offer to do coverage for that particular team so that I could be of service and hang out with the family. The problem was that I had never met this hockey playing "may as well be"cousin or his dad. My plan for the very first morning was to scan the crowd for the man who looked the most like my uncle, introduce myself to him and we'd be all set. Well, as an only child there's some things I'll never be able to figure out, such as how siblings can look and act so different from each other. None of the parents of the Saskatchewan team looked anything like my uncle. My Uncle is a small guy and all of these men were big. My second choice was to talk to the friendliest looking parent and get them to point me in the right direction. Well the second choice turned out to be the right choice because when I told the friendly looking man who I was and why I was looking for Mr. G he laughed and said "Cass I AM Mr. G! You're uncle is my brother!' Laughter all around, soon my uncle and his family joined us and we were on our way to the next game. Turns out that the hockey playing cousin was playing with a broken arm and really shouldn't have been playing but it was a good opportunity for scouts to see him. It was also a good opportunity for the other teams to take advantage of his injury. We all watched him be cross checked into the boards and watched as a ref DIDN'T watch. My Uncle's family is French Canadian; they're all fluent in it including a young cousin in French immersion. When A was cross checked both his Dad and Uncle let forth a stream of curses in French and started yelling at the ref in French. My youngest cousin was standing in front of me and I clamped my hands over her ears to protect them. Good times, good times.
Easter would get even better when I discovered God and the amazing play that helped me find him. Tell you what? Let me work privately at the memories of Alive Again for a while and then I'll share them. Stay tuned!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
3rd floor please
The 37 1/2 year old version of me got on an elevator and pressed the button for the third floor today. It was only my second time on in In Patient Unit at the hospice; but it for sure won't be my last time. Today I sat down with a volunteer co-ordinator to discuss my areas of interest in volunteering with hospice and as soon as the paper work comes back I can start. In the mirror of the elevator I caught a glimpse of the 22 year old me, who all those years ago also punched an upward number and headed to a hospice office.
At the time I was on my way to what I know would call an anticipatory grief counsellor. My mom had just been diagnosed with cancer and she was dying fast. It has been said that you don't find hospice, hospice finds you. You could say the same thing about death; nobody goes looking for it, it finds you. Death had made it's customary appearances in my childhood. Lurking in the corners as it often does not really affecting you but just letting you know that it's there. There was the death of a distant grandma, then 2 uncles in the same year none of who's funerals I went to. When I was 16 a favorite friend committed suicide; death rode up boldly to center stage of my life. It was a collective experience, I can't remember the death of M without talking about it in terms of "we." We standing for all my classmates. We lost a friend. And like the rabbits in Watership Down we clung to each other in fear of death personified like they did in fear of The Black Rabbit of Inle. Then as quickly as he had come death slipped away again. His shadow wouldn't sneak up on me until late college.
It was the equivalent of the literary device called foreshadowing; something happened that would give clues about what was to happen. We were doing group presentations for a geography class I think. It was the morning of the presentation and one of my friends in my group didn't show up. It was looooooong before the age of texting and we had no idea where she was. I was frustrated and disappointed. A week later she returned and told us that her Mom had died rather unexpectedly. "Mom's die?" how sad. It was so sad that I went home that night and discussed with my Mom how sad it would be for her to die. A few months later my Mom WAS dead. A few years later my Dad would marry that same friend from college's aunt and we would become step cousins. Foreshadowing........
In my head there's a line or memory of demarcation. A memory that stands as the last normal, stable thing before the world crashed around me. I wonder if every crisis has that? Has the "one moment we were doing X and then the phone rang" moment. One moment I was trying to shut the morning news off and then........... One moment I was arguing with my husband and then.............. One moment we were laughing in the rain and then................ Yeah, the major stuff comes with those moments. So one moment I was registering for summer school at college. Listening to Garth Brook's "Ain't Goin' Down "Til The Sun Comes Up" on a yellow Sony walkman and the next moment my Mom was being diagnosed with cancer and told that she only had 2 months to live.
I was an only child, and while we didn't have a diagnosis then it's clear to me now that I had depression back then. In a move that would change the course of all of our lives my Dad got me an appointment counsellor. Death had found my family. He had us in his cross hairs. Hospice also found us. One of those organizations that you have no idea even exist until you need them and then you're sure glad they're there. 5 years ago my oldest son was medi-vaced to a hospital in another state upon his birth. Ronald McDonald House stepped in and gave us a place to stay. That's another organization that you don't know anything about until you need to.
I don't remember the counsellors name and only some of what we talked about but I remember feeling very relieved when I left one of our sessions. You know how in the movies families gather at the deathbed of a loved one and everyone is happy and close? Here's something you don't see in the movies; sometimes families argue all through a death. Arguments so big doors are slammed. Sometimes old sins are dragged out. Sometimes scape goats are created. Sometimes families fall apart and people leave. My family was one of those. I was the grieving person who wanted to talk about it. Who wanted to know exactly how long my mom had and how the death would happen. I dared to imagine that my life would continue without my Mom and that thought scared me. Yes I was self centered, yes some nights I was more concerned about what I was going to wear to a party than my moms health but that was ok. Hospice told me so. Hospice told me that it was ok to grieve the way I was grieving and that talking about death didn't make it happen. When my Mom died 9 weeks after diagnosis a hospice volunteer met me at the house and she was the only person I let into my room that night. Hospice pulled me through.
Shortly after that my Dad joined the board of directors at hospice. They went on to build a 12 bed free standing hospice house. Both my parents volunteer there regularly as well as for their thrift shop and in other areas. A year ago a childhood friend of mine came to live out his last days in "the house" as we call it. Honestly, that caught me a little off guard. While I know that Vancouver has a children's hospice called Canuck Place, I still equate hospice, or maybe just long term dying with the old. C wasn't old. He couldn't be, his birthday is the day before mine. In my head the house was built so that people like my mom wouldn't have to die in a hospital nor a living room. It wasn't built for extraordinary young men. But I'm sure glad it was there. Last week a friends mom died. She was an amazing lady and although I'm sad that she died I'm thrilled that she died in hospice. It seemed a fitting and dignified end to a life well lead. I miss you Jaquie.........
And so all these years and all these states later my work with hospice begins. I hope that one day years from now someone will say of my bereavement counselling that "she got me through." Comforting from where you have been comforted right? Giving back.......... It's going to be hard I'm sure; but worth it. My current work with doing began today by getting back into an elevator.
At the time I was on my way to what I know would call an anticipatory grief counsellor. My mom had just been diagnosed with cancer and she was dying fast. It has been said that you don't find hospice, hospice finds you. You could say the same thing about death; nobody goes looking for it, it finds you. Death had made it's customary appearances in my childhood. Lurking in the corners as it often does not really affecting you but just letting you know that it's there. There was the death of a distant grandma, then 2 uncles in the same year none of who's funerals I went to. When I was 16 a favorite friend committed suicide; death rode up boldly to center stage of my life. It was a collective experience, I can't remember the death of M without talking about it in terms of "we." We standing for all my classmates. We lost a friend. And like the rabbits in Watership Down we clung to each other in fear of death personified like they did in fear of The Black Rabbit of Inle. Then as quickly as he had come death slipped away again. His shadow wouldn't sneak up on me until late college.
It was the equivalent of the literary device called foreshadowing; something happened that would give clues about what was to happen. We were doing group presentations for a geography class I think. It was the morning of the presentation and one of my friends in my group didn't show up. It was looooooong before the age of texting and we had no idea where she was. I was frustrated and disappointed. A week later she returned and told us that her Mom had died rather unexpectedly. "Mom's die?" how sad. It was so sad that I went home that night and discussed with my Mom how sad it would be for her to die. A few months later my Mom WAS dead. A few years later my Dad would marry that same friend from college's aunt and we would become step cousins. Foreshadowing........
In my head there's a line or memory of demarcation. A memory that stands as the last normal, stable thing before the world crashed around me. I wonder if every crisis has that? Has the "one moment we were doing X and then the phone rang" moment. One moment I was trying to shut the morning news off and then........... One moment I was arguing with my husband and then.............. One moment we were laughing in the rain and then................ Yeah, the major stuff comes with those moments. So one moment I was registering for summer school at college. Listening to Garth Brook's "Ain't Goin' Down "Til The Sun Comes Up" on a yellow Sony walkman and the next moment my Mom was being diagnosed with cancer and told that she only had 2 months to live.
I was an only child, and while we didn't have a diagnosis then it's clear to me now that I had depression back then. In a move that would change the course of all of our lives my Dad got me an appointment counsellor. Death had found my family. He had us in his cross hairs. Hospice also found us. One of those organizations that you have no idea even exist until you need them and then you're sure glad they're there. 5 years ago my oldest son was medi-vaced to a hospital in another state upon his birth. Ronald McDonald House stepped in and gave us a place to stay. That's another organization that you don't know anything about until you need to.
I don't remember the counsellors name and only some of what we talked about but I remember feeling very relieved when I left one of our sessions. You know how in the movies families gather at the deathbed of a loved one and everyone is happy and close? Here's something you don't see in the movies; sometimes families argue all through a death. Arguments so big doors are slammed. Sometimes old sins are dragged out. Sometimes scape goats are created. Sometimes families fall apart and people leave. My family was one of those. I was the grieving person who wanted to talk about it. Who wanted to know exactly how long my mom had and how the death would happen. I dared to imagine that my life would continue without my Mom and that thought scared me. Yes I was self centered, yes some nights I was more concerned about what I was going to wear to a party than my moms health but that was ok. Hospice told me so. Hospice told me that it was ok to grieve the way I was grieving and that talking about death didn't make it happen. When my Mom died 9 weeks after diagnosis a hospice volunteer met me at the house and she was the only person I let into my room that night. Hospice pulled me through.
Shortly after that my Dad joined the board of directors at hospice. They went on to build a 12 bed free standing hospice house. Both my parents volunteer there regularly as well as for their thrift shop and in other areas. A year ago a childhood friend of mine came to live out his last days in "the house" as we call it. Honestly, that caught me a little off guard. While I know that Vancouver has a children's hospice called Canuck Place, I still equate hospice, or maybe just long term dying with the old. C wasn't old. He couldn't be, his birthday is the day before mine. In my head the house was built so that people like my mom wouldn't have to die in a hospital nor a living room. It wasn't built for extraordinary young men. But I'm sure glad it was there. Last week a friends mom died. She was an amazing lady and although I'm sad that she died I'm thrilled that she died in hospice. It seemed a fitting and dignified end to a life well lead. I miss you Jaquie.........
And so all these years and all these states later my work with hospice begins. I hope that one day years from now someone will say of my bereavement counselling that "she got me through." Comforting from where you have been comforted right? Giving back.......... It's going to be hard I'm sure; but worth it. My current work with doing began today by getting back into an elevator.
Another blog about bacon
Another blog about bacon? "But Cass you haven't written about bacon before" you say. No, I haven't but the whole dang world has!
Here's how we got started on the topic; I was cleaning! That in itself is a miracle. Lately I seem to be on some sort of spring cleaning fling thing. Not exactly cleaning with cleaning stuff more like sorting. It's fair enough to say that lately I've derived a lot of pleasure from sorting out stuff like drawers and boxes. It's probably symbolic of an inner need to get rid of what I don't need any more and keep the stuff that matters in my new mental world order. Sooooooooo........... I was cleaning out a drawer and came across a bunch of page a day calendars that I had picked up in late January of last year for a dollar each. One was an "fascinating web site a day" calendar. I had intended to actually check each recommended site out every day, but then as we all know life happens. So the other day I pulled off all the pages of the sites that looked interesting and have been going through them; I'll give you the highlights later. That brought me to this site: http://www.thinkgeek.com/
it has a lot of cool, geekish stuff that I'll also review later. But what caught my eye first was the staggering array of bacon products.
Ladies and gentlemen may I present to you bacon salt: makes everything from vegetables to ice cream taste like bacon. I'd use it on popcorn or I could just buy the bacon flavored popcorn and save myself the trouble of shaking. There's a bacon flavored mayonnaise that I would definitely go for, but I would think twice about bacon flavored gum balls, breath mints and lip gloss. Bacon flavored jelly beans intrigue me.
I'd heard that bacon was a big deal but I'd never really thought about how big of a deal it was. I mean I like bacon a lot. I don't like cooking it so I always use the pre cooked stuff but that's ok. Last year I was at a party and the discussion turned to how bacon makes everything taste better. Want proof? Type the word "bacon" into this site http://www.grouprecipes.com/
and you'll come up with 1206 recipes including one for "pig candy" (sugar and spice coated bacon) that I'd like to try some day. . DON'T do as I did and just type the word "bacon" into a search engine or you'll come up with a lot of uninteresting references to Sir Frances Bacon and other guys with the unfortunate last name. Do feel free to stop at any site offering mention of Kevin Bacon. (Yes by the way I am secretly thrilled that Little Miss Teen has discovered the original Footloose movie; as opposed to the remake due out this year, which gives me an excuse to watch Mr. Bacon). If you want writings about bacon the food not the man, check out the blogosphere. There I found http://www.baconfreak.com/
it has bacon band aids, bacon flavored toothpicks, bacon scented air fresheners, and something called "man bait" maple bacon flavored lollipops. Can't decide on what to eat? Check out their bacon of the month club and of course a whole swack of recipes. Want more? http://www.baconunwrapped.com/
boasts a bacon rap song courtesy of youtube. The fine folks at http://www.iheartbacon.com/
review all things bacon including bacon peanut brittle which does sound yummy to me. There's another bacon themed blog at http://baconbaconblog.com/wordpress/tag/bacon
and over at http://baconshow.blogspot.com/
they are apparently producing "one bacon recipe per day, every day, forever." To think that Stephanie O'Dea thought she had a hard time coming up with 365 crock pot recipes.
Speaking of Steph I'll leave you with one of my favorite bacon recipes from her site: http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/06/crockpot-bacon-and-cheese-chicken.html
Here's how we got started on the topic; I was cleaning! That in itself is a miracle. Lately I seem to be on some sort of spring cleaning fling thing. Not exactly cleaning with cleaning stuff more like sorting. It's fair enough to say that lately I've derived a lot of pleasure from sorting out stuff like drawers and boxes. It's probably symbolic of an inner need to get rid of what I don't need any more and keep the stuff that matters in my new mental world order. Sooooooooo........... I was cleaning out a drawer and came across a bunch of page a day calendars that I had picked up in late January of last year for a dollar each. One was an "fascinating web site a day" calendar. I had intended to actually check each recommended site out every day, but then as we all know life happens. So the other day I pulled off all the pages of the sites that looked interesting and have been going through them; I'll give you the highlights later. That brought me to this site: http://www.thinkgeek.com/
it has a lot of cool, geekish stuff that I'll also review later. But what caught my eye first was the staggering array of bacon products.
Ladies and gentlemen may I present to you bacon salt: makes everything from vegetables to ice cream taste like bacon. I'd use it on popcorn or I could just buy the bacon flavored popcorn and save myself the trouble of shaking. There's a bacon flavored mayonnaise that I would definitely go for, but I would think twice about bacon flavored gum balls, breath mints and lip gloss. Bacon flavored jelly beans intrigue me.
I'd heard that bacon was a big deal but I'd never really thought about how big of a deal it was. I mean I like bacon a lot. I don't like cooking it so I always use the pre cooked stuff but that's ok. Last year I was at a party and the discussion turned to how bacon makes everything taste better. Want proof? Type the word "bacon" into this site http://www.grouprecipes.com/
and you'll come up with 1206 recipes including one for "pig candy" (sugar and spice coated bacon) that I'd like to try some day. . DON'T do as I did and just type the word "bacon" into a search engine or you'll come up with a lot of uninteresting references to Sir Frances Bacon and other guys with the unfortunate last name. Do feel free to stop at any site offering mention of Kevin Bacon. (Yes by the way I am secretly thrilled that Little Miss Teen has discovered the original Footloose movie; as opposed to the remake due out this year, which gives me an excuse to watch Mr. Bacon). If you want writings about bacon the food not the man, check out the blogosphere. There I found http://www.baconfreak.com/
it has bacon band aids, bacon flavored toothpicks, bacon scented air fresheners, and something called "man bait" maple bacon flavored lollipops. Can't decide on what to eat? Check out their bacon of the month club and of course a whole swack of recipes. Want more? http://www.baconunwrapped.com/
boasts a bacon rap song courtesy of youtube. The fine folks at http://www.iheartbacon.com/
review all things bacon including bacon peanut brittle which does sound yummy to me. There's another bacon themed blog at http://baconbaconblog.com/wordpress/tag/bacon
and over at http://baconshow.blogspot.com/
they are apparently producing "one bacon recipe per day, every day, forever." To think that Stephanie O'Dea thought she had a hard time coming up with 365 crock pot recipes.
Speaking of Steph I'll leave you with one of my favorite bacon recipes from her site: http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/06/crockpot-bacon-and-cheese-chicken.html
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Taking another stab at trapping a leprechaun and maybe some luck
And sooooooooooooooooo we move on......................
I remember last St. Patrick's Day. I made a Reuben sandwich thingy that the adults liked but the kids didn't. The washing machine had broken down because I had kept overloading it but we found a great repair guy to come out. We tried to catch a leprechaun in a homemade trap using Lucky Charms cereal as the bait. We didn't get him but he left us gold chocolate coins instead.
And now here we are a year later. Where we are is about as far from last year as Ireland is from Egypt. Years ago, maybe just before I found my Huggyband I was in a ladies bible study and the question arose about whether or not we truly wanted to know the future. The older ladies insisted that they were glad they hadn't known their destinations before they had started down some roads. But me? I insisted that I did want to know the future because all I wanted to know at the time was if I'd ever get married and have kids. As if just having or knowing that would make everything ok. Well............ having them doesn't make everything ok it's a whole new ball game. A year ago would I have wanted to know the truth about what was to come? Absolutely not. In the words of Jack Nicholson "you can't handle the truth." It's been a very, very, long year as if the leprechaun who visited brought us bad luck, cursed us even with the horrible, awful year. But here we are again, safe and sound for now, we're not in a worse place just a different place and the journey to get here was hard. Planning another leprechaun trap this time using duck tape. And once again I'm planning a corned beef meal that I'm sure nobody will eat. As I prepare that meal I sift through the memories of the last year; again trying not to waste the pain and see the lessons.
One of the lessons I've been thinking about is the difference between rescuing and protecting. Somebody told me a few months ago that he wasn't going to rescue me and that shame on me for always wanting to be rescued. I'm not so sure I see what's wrong with rescuing. If I force myself to see the other side then I see that maybe a small amount of struggle is allowable? unavoidable? That's where the lessons are learned? It doesn't excuse others from inaction though. If you're not going to or just can't RESCUE somebody then you must at least PROTECT them. In hospice training I learned to protect the dying. Some patients in hospice care have Do Not Resuscitate orders, which basically means just to let nature take it's course when the heart stops. For many, many reasons I won't do CPR; a skill I once used to teach. I can't rescue my patients from the dying process but I can protect them. Protect them from things like bed sores and minor infections and visits by nosy neighbors.
I think of how that applies to my own depression. Last summer when the suicidal pull was at its worst I couldn't be rescued. Nobody could make the decision to live for me; that push and pull was all my own; nobody else was responsible for it. But when my struggle with depression became public and others judged and said damaging stuff and then left I sure would have liked to have been protected. When your self loathing takes you to suicide then you need to be protected from yourself (yes I know I should have been hospitalized) but no one can do that for you. There does need to be people who will protect you from others.
When we were grieving the loss of our first son we needed to be protected; we needed somebody to run interference for us. Not to rescue us from the pain of grief but to protect us while we healed up a bit.
And then I think how that applies to how we treat others in general. What if we all just tried to protect each other? Look out for? Defend? Cover each others backs? Guard them from the rough things in life while they deal with their own stuff? Because in the end aren't we all dealing with stuff? Aren't we all just a little fragile, in danger of being hurt? And wouldn't we all benefit from people making sure that we don't feel any more pain than necessary?
I remember last St. Patrick's Day. I made a Reuben sandwich thingy that the adults liked but the kids didn't. The washing machine had broken down because I had kept overloading it but we found a great repair guy to come out. We tried to catch a leprechaun in a homemade trap using Lucky Charms cereal as the bait. We didn't get him but he left us gold chocolate coins instead.
And now here we are a year later. Where we are is about as far from last year as Ireland is from Egypt. Years ago, maybe just before I found my Huggyband I was in a ladies bible study and the question arose about whether or not we truly wanted to know the future. The older ladies insisted that they were glad they hadn't known their destinations before they had started down some roads. But me? I insisted that I did want to know the future because all I wanted to know at the time was if I'd ever get married and have kids. As if just having or knowing that would make everything ok. Well............ having them doesn't make everything ok it's a whole new ball game. A year ago would I have wanted to know the truth about what was to come? Absolutely not. In the words of Jack Nicholson "you can't handle the truth." It's been a very, very, long year as if the leprechaun who visited brought us bad luck, cursed us even with the horrible, awful year. But here we are again, safe and sound for now, we're not in a worse place just a different place and the journey to get here was hard. Planning another leprechaun trap this time using duck tape. And once again I'm planning a corned beef meal that I'm sure nobody will eat. As I prepare that meal I sift through the memories of the last year; again trying not to waste the pain and see the lessons.
One of the lessons I've been thinking about is the difference between rescuing and protecting. Somebody told me a few months ago that he wasn't going to rescue me and that shame on me for always wanting to be rescued. I'm not so sure I see what's wrong with rescuing. If I force myself to see the other side then I see that maybe a small amount of struggle is allowable? unavoidable? That's where the lessons are learned? It doesn't excuse others from inaction though. If you're not going to or just can't RESCUE somebody then you must at least PROTECT them. In hospice training I learned to protect the dying. Some patients in hospice care have Do Not Resuscitate orders, which basically means just to let nature take it's course when the heart stops. For many, many reasons I won't do CPR; a skill I once used to teach. I can't rescue my patients from the dying process but I can protect them. Protect them from things like bed sores and minor infections and visits by nosy neighbors.
I think of how that applies to my own depression. Last summer when the suicidal pull was at its worst I couldn't be rescued. Nobody could make the decision to live for me; that push and pull was all my own; nobody else was responsible for it. But when my struggle with depression became public and others judged and said damaging stuff and then left I sure would have liked to have been protected. When your self loathing takes you to suicide then you need to be protected from yourself (yes I know I should have been hospitalized) but no one can do that for you. There does need to be people who will protect you from others.
When we were grieving the loss of our first son we needed to be protected; we needed somebody to run interference for us. Not to rescue us from the pain of grief but to protect us while we healed up a bit.
And then I think how that applies to how we treat others in general. What if we all just tried to protect each other? Look out for? Defend? Cover each others backs? Guard them from the rough things in life while they deal with their own stuff? Because in the end aren't we all dealing with stuff? Aren't we all just a little fragile, in danger of being hurt? And wouldn't we all benefit from people making sure that we don't feel any more pain than necessary?
Friday, March 5, 2010
Not such a golden moment
Something happened this weekend. Who am I kidding? A lot happened this weekend, especially on Sunday and especially in Vancouver. Hockey gold! It was a day to remember! Unfortunately for me living on the other side of the other country it was also a day to remember but for much different reasons. . Unfortunately I missed the game. Being the good Canadian that I am I skipped hockey to go on a peacekeeping mission. As sure as i was that Canada would win gold that night, I was equally sure that I would step out of a meeting victorious. Reconciled. Restored. It wasn't that I wanted to win and I wanted the other side to loose, I thought for sure we'd all win. I thought we'd talk, we'd hug, we'd move on.
Well it's a good thing Canada won or the night would have been a total waste. I took a risk. Those who love me warned me that it could go horribly wrong, that it could do more harm than good. They were right, I left more wounded than when I arrived. I left the meeting in darkness and despair with the chorus of Brad Paisley's "What if she's an angel?" running through my head.
What if she's an angel sent here from heaven
And she's making certain that you're doing your best
To take the time to help one another
Brother are you going to pass that test
You can go on with your day to day
Trying to forget what you saw in her face
Knowing deep down it could have been her saving grace
What if she's an angel
Do I think I'm an angel? GOOD GRIEF NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! Do I think that God used me Sunday night (and the 7 months before it) to show a certain group of people where they need to learn compassion? Absolutely.
It got me thinking about the angels in my life that have been brought to show me my weaknesses. Jesus said "whatever you do for the least of these you do for me." How have I responded to the least of these? Have they come to test compassion and love? Are they God with skin on? Waiting to see how I'll react and fill their needs? It's the other side of what we normally think of the people who help us being angels or Jesus with skin on........ I'm afraid if that's the case then I've failed a lot of tests. Good thing God has compassion on me....
One of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given is not to waste pain. There's a German saying about paying the teachers toll. The teachers toll is the pain or experience involved in learning a lesson. I sure hope that the size of the lesson is supposed to be relative to the toll paid because I paid a lot. Last night in a hospice training session we talked about not asking "why me?" But instead, "if it has to be me what can I learn?" So what have I learned from the past 7 months of pain? Too much to write about. One of the things is learning from others mistakes. I was just going to quote a line in the following poem but it's just waaaaaaaay too good not to share the whole thing:
The Women On My Journey
Rev. Melissa M. Bowers
To the women on my journey
Who showed me the ways to go and ways not to go,
Whose strength and compassion held up a torch of light
and beckoned me to follow,
Whose weakness and ignorance darkened the path and encouraged me
to turn another way.
To the women on my journey
Who showed me how to love and how not to live,
Whose grace, success and gratitude lifted me into the fullness
of surrender to God,
Whose bitterness, envy and wasted gifts warned me away
from the emptiness of self-will
To the women on my journey
Who showed me what I am and what I am not,
Whose love, encouragement and confidence held me tenderly
and nudged me gently,
Whose judgement, disappointment and lack of faith called me
to deeper levels of commitment and resolve.
To the women on my journey who taught me love
by means of both darkness and light.
To these women I say bless you and thank you from the
depths of my heart,for I have been healed and set free
through your joy and through your sacrifice.
I know never to say never. My friends and I joke that we did our best parenting BEFORE we became parents. It sounds harsh to say that I would never treat anybody the way I was treated. So let me put it in the form of a prayer.
Dear God, let me recognize the angels you send into my life. And to treat them as if they were in fact you. To understand that hurting people hurt people and that you came for them. Help me to see past the anger to the pain and know that you're big enough to handle it. Only the hands strong enough to be nailed to the cross are strong enough to handle the weight of the world. You are not scared or threatened by anger; you don't see it or the pain that causes it as sin. You came for the sick not the healthy, the sinner not the saved. You, and me as your servant came to meet people where they're at, in all the mud and the muck that isn't of their own making even if I think it is. Besides, you'll help them clean up and you'll love them until they are. Help me to remember that Jesus had friends in messy low places, and if I want to be more like him I'd better start relating more to those low places than to clean high churches. A ship is safe in the harbour but that's not what ships are for. As a former missionary I always took the command to go into the world to mean to go overseas. Today I understand that the world may be waiting for me at the home of a divorced friend.
God help me to do more sacred listening than compulsive fixing. There's healing in listening. In all situations you would be there listening, understanding, knowing. True pull up a chair and turn off your cell phone listening. There's healing in crying with someone. Nobody should cry alone, emotions are a gift from you and they are not to be feared or shamed away. Help me to preach the gospel at all times but use words when necessary. Sometimes people need a slice of pizza more than they need a quote from proverbs. God let the gospel I preach be that of unconditional love. Help me to remember that you love the sinner but hate the sin and that it's not always my job to point our the sin but it is always, always my job to love. Help me to remember the words of 1 Corinthians 13 that tell us what love is and not remember what love is not. Forgive me Lord of all the things that I have done in what I called love.
More later. For now I'm off to reconcile with some angels.
Well it's a good thing Canada won or the night would have been a total waste. I took a risk. Those who love me warned me that it could go horribly wrong, that it could do more harm than good. They were right, I left more wounded than when I arrived. I left the meeting in darkness and despair with the chorus of Brad Paisley's "What if she's an angel?" running through my head.
What if she's an angel sent here from heaven
And she's making certain that you're doing your best
To take the time to help one another
Brother are you going to pass that test
You can go on with your day to day
Trying to forget what you saw in her face
Knowing deep down it could have been her saving grace
What if she's an angel
Do I think I'm an angel? GOOD GRIEF NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! Do I think that God used me Sunday night (and the 7 months before it) to show a certain group of people where they need to learn compassion? Absolutely.
It got me thinking about the angels in my life that have been brought to show me my weaknesses. Jesus said "whatever you do for the least of these you do for me." How have I responded to the least of these? Have they come to test compassion and love? Are they God with skin on? Waiting to see how I'll react and fill their needs? It's the other side of what we normally think of the people who help us being angels or Jesus with skin on........ I'm afraid if that's the case then I've failed a lot of tests. Good thing God has compassion on me....
One of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given is not to waste pain. There's a German saying about paying the teachers toll. The teachers toll is the pain or experience involved in learning a lesson. I sure hope that the size of the lesson is supposed to be relative to the toll paid because I paid a lot. Last night in a hospice training session we talked about not asking "why me?" But instead, "if it has to be me what can I learn?" So what have I learned from the past 7 months of pain? Too much to write about. One of the things is learning from others mistakes. I was just going to quote a line in the following poem but it's just waaaaaaaay too good not to share the whole thing:
The Women On My Journey
Rev. Melissa M. Bowers
To the women on my journey
Who showed me the ways to go and ways not to go,
Whose strength and compassion held up a torch of light
and beckoned me to follow,
Whose weakness and ignorance darkened the path and encouraged me
to turn another way.
To the women on my journey
Who showed me how to love and how not to live,
Whose grace, success and gratitude lifted me into the fullness
of surrender to God,
Whose bitterness, envy and wasted gifts warned me away
from the emptiness of self-will
To the women on my journey
Who showed me what I am and what I am not,
Whose love, encouragement and confidence held me tenderly
and nudged me gently,
Whose judgement, disappointment and lack of faith called me
to deeper levels of commitment and resolve.
To the women on my journey who taught me love
by means of both darkness and light.
To these women I say bless you and thank you from the
depths of my heart,for I have been healed and set free
through your joy and through your sacrifice.
I know never to say never. My friends and I joke that we did our best parenting BEFORE we became parents. It sounds harsh to say that I would never treat anybody the way I was treated. So let me put it in the form of a prayer.
Dear God, let me recognize the angels you send into my life. And to treat them as if they were in fact you. To understand that hurting people hurt people and that you came for them. Help me to see past the anger to the pain and know that you're big enough to handle it. Only the hands strong enough to be nailed to the cross are strong enough to handle the weight of the world. You are not scared or threatened by anger; you don't see it or the pain that causes it as sin. You came for the sick not the healthy, the sinner not the saved. You, and me as your servant came to meet people where they're at, in all the mud and the muck that isn't of their own making even if I think it is. Besides, you'll help them clean up and you'll love them until they are. Help me to remember that Jesus had friends in messy low places, and if I want to be more like him I'd better start relating more to those low places than to clean high churches. A ship is safe in the harbour but that's not what ships are for. As a former missionary I always took the command to go into the world to mean to go overseas. Today I understand that the world may be waiting for me at the home of a divorced friend.
God help me to do more sacred listening than compulsive fixing. There's healing in listening. In all situations you would be there listening, understanding, knowing. True pull up a chair and turn off your cell phone listening. There's healing in crying with someone. Nobody should cry alone, emotions are a gift from you and they are not to be feared or shamed away. Help me to preach the gospel at all times but use words when necessary. Sometimes people need a slice of pizza more than they need a quote from proverbs. God let the gospel I preach be that of unconditional love. Help me to remember that you love the sinner but hate the sin and that it's not always my job to point our the sin but it is always, always my job to love. Help me to remember the words of 1 Corinthians 13 that tell us what love is and not remember what love is not. Forgive me Lord of all the things that I have done in what I called love.
More later. For now I'm off to reconcile with some angels.
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