Health

I have not been very actively blogging lately. Partly this is because I have been very busy, being home no more than three days so far in May (and right now, I am not at home, but in Prague). Partly this is because April was taken up -- well, those few days I was home in April -- with a strange health experience. I woke up on the morning of April 10 earlier than usual, felt a little strange, had some pain in my chest, and decided to take my blood pressure. (For some time, I have had trouble keeping my blood pressure under control.) The blood pressure, it turned out, was 208/116 -- a tad high, to say the least. However, it was an hour when my doctor was still in bed for certain and even the local clinics were closed. We have no nearby hospital, so a trip to the emergency room would take a good half-hour, and I was still a little sleepy to embark upon that journey even though Donnie thought I should. My blood pressure is always the highest when I am the calmest and really shoots up when I am asleep, which I know sounds very strange, but it is also very true. So, I laid back down and pretty readily fell asleep.

After I awoke, I felt somewhat better and took off for work although I still had some chest pain. At work, I mentioned the chest pains in passing to my deputy and admin assistant, who immediately locked my office on me (both have a spare key) and insisted that I go to the emergency room. I disagreed and called my doctor, who was not available, but his nurse gave me advice: go to the emergency room.

So, okay, I agreed to allow my deputy and admin assistant to take me to the emergency room. There, the doctor measured my blood pressure, and it was down: 202/100. In spite of my remonstrance that things were headed in the right direction, the doctor admitted me, treated me for a heart attack, and scheduled me for eons of tests, some of which he could not do because I have a couple of heart irregularities (innocuous -- did not prevent me from serving in the US Army).

Ultimately, I was released with several doctors scratching their heads and saying that they had no idea what had happened to me. The enzyme test showed no heart attack. The blood pressure took a nose dive with nitroglycerin but started returning to its erratic behavior afterward. A comment made by the doctor who released me from the hospital after concluding that there was nothing wrong with my heart, however, was very helpful. He said that the MRI pictures taken showed a thickening of the esophagus and thought I should be taking Prilosac, which I am now doing. He did not know, however, that I have had a hiatal hernia for years, ever since Doah was born some 30-odd years ago. It seems that Doah was the cause of it. In any event, the hernia has slowly grown over time so that it is now rather large. Once I realized that the hernia might have been the problem, it became clear that the chest pains were from the hernia, not from the heart. The complicating factor was the seriously high blood pressure, which is now also under control, thanks to a change in medications. So, I am healthier than anyone thought, it appears, thank God!

And that, along with an impossibly busy travel schedule, is what has kept me quiet for the past while.

Believer in Waiting

My second spiritual book is out! The title, as you can see, is A Believer-in-Waiting's First Encounters with God. I will try to post some excerpts here from time to time. (Actually, I have already posted some excerpts from the draft on my Modern Mysticism blog.) The first set of books will be going to reviewers who signed up with Library Thing, but I notice that Amazon has been quick off the start and already has it available for ordering. I hope that anyone who reads either the book or the excerpts will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. It was one of those books that seems to write itself. I do hope to have copies of my own in about a week, at which time I will host a book coming out party for local friends who read the prepublication manuscript and provided feedback. If you read it, I would love to hear your feedback!!

On Feeling Rich

I woke up this morning, feeling like a princess. I had a sheet underneath me, a sheet over me, a blanket on top of that, and then, riches of all riches, a fluffy bedspread to snuggle into. Ever since purchasing a new bed in early July and moving our old bed into the empty bedroom for Doah and guests, we have had only a blanket on top.

I have hankered after a bedspread not because it is the commonly accepted way to finish a bed -- everyone knows I am eccentric, anyway, so having a blanket was sufficient in many respects: warmth, covering, etc. No, I just wanted a bedspread the way children want a ball or candy or something special. For me, the bedspread was special.

Certainly, with my income I can afford a bedspread. But there is an odd thing about my income: it disappears rather quickly. (I suppose I am not unique in that way.) First, there is Shane who needs $300 a month for special milk for Nikolina who is missing most of her intestines. Then there is Lizzie and her cat, who seems to need surgery periodically. Then Doah and Noelle, who needed scads of money to pay for medical expenses as children but need little these days, are always happy to have a small gift. And that's family. After that, there is Sula, the parish cat, who needs surgery -- I promised God's credit card in support of that cost. And the mission and the retreat center and other charities. And, the most fun of all, nearly every day someone who happens into my life who needs the money more than I do. After all, I need little and, surprisingly, I find myself post-conversion wanting little. I enjoy sprinkling my income around in this way, but somehow it did not leave any extra for a bedspread the past two months.

Until I got my recent travel reimbursement and per diem and found that I had spent considerably less on eating than my office thought I should have. Yippee! Bedspread money!

There is something special about waiting. There is something special about wanting. Instant gratification does not compare with the richness of want deferred or potential want gratification given away to someone else.

Yes, I feel rich with my new bedspread. However, I feel even richer each time I am able to take money from my pocket and give it to someone who needs it more.

(Also posted on 100th Lamb.)

Divorce

One of my young, senior managers came into my office on Thursday and told me that he wanted to let me know before I heard from another source that he and his wife were getting divorced after quite a number of years of marriage -- well, at least a dozen since they have two children in the upper grades of elementary school. I immediately felt guilty because I have sent him out of town at least twice a month for the past two years: he oversees ten of our non-local branches. At one point, I had asked him how this was affecting his family, and he said that they understood and there was no problem. Now, I wonder if his traveling schedule had been a problem.

I asked him again on Thursday, but he said again that it was other matters, not the travel, that were a problem. I know his wife and children well. They are a very nice family and seemed supportive of each other. I suppose the inside of a house looks different from the inside of a home. He says he wants to drop by my house some day this month and talk to me at length about the situation. Of course, I will listen and try to be supportive. I am not sure I will understand, but I will try.

When these things happen, they cause me to reflect on my own situation. Donnie and I just celebrated our 41st anniversary, but it has not been easy. If either of us were focused exclusively on our own happiness (the orientation that some psychologists today seem to encouraging), I don't think we would have made it this far, especially since we are so very different one from another.

Many people were surprised when we married and made the assumption that the marriage would not last -- all except for a professor of sociology of a course that a friend of ours was taking when we were into our third year of marriage. The friend interviewed us for his course as a study of a married couple, and he came to the conclusion that although we clearly loved each other, we were too different one from another for the marriage to last. He showed us the comment his professor wrote on his report: "It will last if they want it to." Clearly, we have wanted it to last and still want it to last for all kinds of reasons.

Since my employee has thrown me into a reflective mood, let me do what I do when I am reflecting: make some lists. The first list would be the ways in which we differ; the second why we want it to last; the third why it has lasted. So, here goes:

List #1: How we differ
1. Donnie is a scientist and artist (graphic arts, photography); I am a humanist and linguist.
2. Donnie is big (rotund and significantly taller than I), and I am small (could lose a few pounds, but not a lot, and could add a few inches since I would like to be able to sit in a chair and have my feet touch the floor at the same time).
3. Donnie comes from the upper middle class, and I come from a farm where the poverty line was something all the families in our farming community ogled in anticipation of some day making enough money to at least be sitting on the poverty line, not swinging from it.
4. Donnie went to an in-school university; I went to an out-of-state university (but it was the same uni, at least); similarly, the only time Donnie has been out of the USA was the two years we lived in Jordan, whereas I have lived and worked in 24 countries (while Donnie kept the home fires stoked).
5. Donnie loves outdoor leisure activities, like backpacking, kayaking, and fishing; I love indoor leisure activities like reading, writing, and taming little wild animals (i.e. feral cats).
6. Donnie was a doctors-and-teachers-know-best parent; I was a discuss-it-with-me-and-consider-my-input-or-I-won't-listen parent.
7. Personality-wise, Donnie is an ISTP (introvert, senser -- grounded in reality and actuality, thinker, perceiver -- keep all options open until the last minute and schedules flexible); I am an ENTJ (extrovert, intuiter -- floating in the realm of possibility and dreams, thinker, judger -- devoted to the production and following of schedules, planning, and deadlines).
8. If an expert tells Donnie that something is too dangerous, highly risky, and should not be attempted, and he stands back (i.e. he is risk-averse); tell me the same thing and I rush to try it to see if I can overcome the odds (i.e. I am a risk-taker par excellence; hence, the willingness to travel the world alone).
9. Donnie speaks only English and while he tolerates my friends who do not speak English, he has been unable to learn another language except for a few necessary phrases in Arabic while living in Jordan; I have studied 18 languages and easily communicate in a good many of them.
10. He likes adventure movies and reality shows related to logging and whaling; I like chick flix and spiritual movies.

List #2: Why we want it to last
1. We took an oath of "until death do us part"; that meant something -- and we are not yet dead.
2. We have children; they are now becoming spouses and parents; they need to see that marriage can last; they need an example.
3. We have children; they need a sense of stability; parents who stay married (at least, amicably married) provide that sense of stability.
4. We have grandchildren; they need the same sense of stability, and grandparents are part of the equation.
5. And we have not yet lost the love that brought us together although it has taken a different shape over time; we want to be with each other.

List #3: Why it has lasted
1. We have wanted it to last; while sometimes it seemed easier to each go our own way, neither has put our own happiness and desires above family needs;
2. By going through a lot of travail together and not taking divorce as the easy way out, we have become intertwined, imprinted on each other; we are perhaps now more like family than lovers, but whatever the nature of the love, it keeps us bonded.
3. We learned to accept each others' interests; I learned to fish, kayak, and backpack. Donnie, of course, was always able to read and write, but there was a time early one when we worked together on photojournalism activities, he as a photographer and I as a writer, publishing some things in local and national publications; more recently, he has turned to graphic arts and we run a publishing house together (he does the graphics, cover design, and typesetting, and I do the copyediting in my, hah!, "free", time).
4. We valued each others' differences and allowed each other to explore his/her interests, develop his/her talents, follow his/her own career path -- and provided support (not always perfectly, but the desire to support was always there) to each other along the way.
4. We raised children who clinically died from time to time, and that created a tremendous family bond. I thank God for trusting us with these children. I also thank God for giving us these experiences because these experiences taught us, shaped us, and bonded us.

Maybe there is something to be learned from these lists. I don't know if there is anything helpful for others, including my employee (will have to see what he has to say when he drops by), but it has been revealing for me to stand aside an look at our situation from the outside (as much as I can do that). I think the bottom line is clear: we have wanted it to last, so we have worked through the difficult times and the differences from the point of view that we are family first and last.

Now, what would be interesting would be to have Lizzie, our little professor of psychology and oldest daughter, write a post on why she thinks the marriage has lasted.

What about you? Comments?

House Blessing

I have been planning for some time to post some pictures of our house blessing a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, the only person who thought to took pictures had his camera on video. So, while I have a very nice recording of the ceremony, I do not have any stills. (Perhaps if I were more technologically astute, I could clip out some stills from the video, but I don't know how to do that if indeed it is possible.)

Lack of pictures aside, the blessing was beautiful. Padre (Fr.) Julio, about whom I have blogged from time to time, came up from San Diego, where he is currently assigned, and scooped up his brother, P. Mario, in Stockton and spent the day wihttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifth Donnie and me. We had lunch at a local restaurant that is a favorite of Padre's, then the blessing, and then P. Julio came to the catechism class I taught and talked to the kids (high school sophomores) about social justice, a particularly compelling topic for him since he founded a school and self-sustaining farm for children in a rural and impoverished area of Colombia (see his website, which Donnie and I designed, Por Amor a Los Ninos de Colombia -- there is a Spanish and an English version).

P. Julio tends to be very imaginative, and the way in which he conducted the blessing was very much in keeping with this tradition. He and P. Mario took turns reading Scripture and homilizing in English and Spanish. We also sang in English and Spanish -- most of the people in my community know both languages, and we were divided pretty much 50/50 among those whose first language was English and those whose first language was Spanish. Padre then blessed the house and the people at the blessing with holy water I had brought back from Jesus's baptismal site in the Jordan River, using a deep red rose that a friend brought for the housewarming/blessing.

About three dozen people filled our house, and I was glad that we had lots of open space so that everyone would fit. After the sprinkling of one and all, P. Julio asked each person to talk about our family, why they came to the blessing, what they wished for us, etc., etc. It was very touching. Then he asked me to say something about each there, which was not difficult, in spite of quite a variety among those who came -- neighbors, co-workers, family, parish members.

Afterward, we enjoyed a pot luck with an international flavor. We had chairs and tables set up outside, hoping the weather would cooperate. It did. The sun streamed down lightly all afternoon. One could tell that people were enjoying themselves and not just saying that to be polite.

The best part of our house blessing, at least for me, is that Padre Julio really enjoyed doing it. And he got a chance to see his brother, which, I understand, does not happen often. As far as my family is concerned, Padre Julio is a member of the clan of Mahlou, and when the clan gathers, there is much laughter and warmth. I had wondered whether it would be worth the effort to pull everyone together for such a brief event.

PS. We were able to find some stills among the video. So, below are pictures of the event:

(1) View from the window
(2) Padre Julio steps away from the blessing circle to gather holy water onto a rose.

(3) Padre Julio begins blessing the house with a rose.

(4) Padre Julio and Padre Mario in conversation after the blessing with Beth and a friend.

(5) Padre Julio in conversation with a fellow Colombian, the adopted daughter of one of our friends.

(6)The food.

(7) People eating inside.

(8) People eating outside.

(9) Donnie and one of our friends picking lemons afterward.

A Tale of Two Lords

People in Blogland generally know me as a multi-childrened mother and senior administrator of some kind of international organization. I have been quite vague about where I work because of the connection with the US government and security issues. I will continue to be vague about that out of necessity. However, there was a time a while back when I spent ten years in international educational consulting, traveling from country to country, helping minister of education after minister of education to improve child and adult experiences and learning success in that country's classrooms. In ten years, I worked in 24 countries, where I learned much about learning but not as much as I learned in raising seven exceptional children. (I kept waiting for the typical, average child to appear in my life, imagining how "easy" and "fun" that would be -- although at some level I knew that no child, no matter how "typical" and "average" is truly easy and at the same time, regardless of health, talent, or lack thereof, they are all fun, well, most of the time.) So, I may have learned as much about learning from my seven children as I did from the seventy times seven children in seven times three plus three countries.

At one point, in the mid-1990s, I wrote a book about teaching and learning any subject at any level in any location by any kind of learner that has now been translated into a few different languages and is in use in many of the countries where I consulted and in others where I did not. That book ended in an epilogue, couched in the form of a folktale, that put everything I had learned into one short story. I am departing from my usual type of post to bring this to you a decade later because I think (hope) that you will find it not only interesting but perhaps helpful with your own children.

A Tale of Two Lords

In a far-away land in a far-away time there lived two lords, each with his own fiefdom, His Excellency Dejan and His Excellency Mejan. Now Dejan and Mejan each hoped to wed the king's daughter and ensure security and riches for his own fiefdom. The price of the bride was to make a present to the king of the best honor guard in the whole kingdom, as determined by the most successful completion of an unknown task to be assigned to all contending honor guards.

In preparation, Lord Dejan and Lord Mejan each gathered together ninety-nine of the best soldiers in their fiefdom for training as an honor guard. They determined that members of the honor guard needed three skills: marching, firing, and collecting intelligence. So, each selected thirty-three soldiers with strong legs, thirty-three with strong eyes, and thirty-three with strong ears.

Lord Dejan put his chief administrator in charge of the training for the soldiers in his fiefdom. The chief administrator agreed immediately; he had a number of ability and achievement tests that his staff had been developing that he would be able to use in the service of his lordship.

The chief administrator first tested all the men nominated for the honor guard on ability and found two-thirds of them lacking in marching skills, two-thirds lacking in firing skills, and two-thirds lacking in listening skills. He immediately found three remedial instructors, one for each subject area. Soldiers with strong legs spent most of the next six months in remedial firing and remedial listening classes. They sat for most of the day, and their legs grew weak. Soldiers with strong eyes spent all day in remedial marching and listening classes. They marched to the point of fatigue, and their eyes clouded over. Soldiers with strong ears were sent to remedial marching and remedial firing classes. The noise of the weapons dulled their hearing. After six months great progress had been made. All of the soldiers tested "average" in all skill areas on achievement tests.

The chief administrator knew that "average" would not be good enough for Lord Dejan, so he implemented a motivation program, associated with periodic progress testing. For testing, he used multiple choice test items, based on a componential analysis of each of the three skills, as well as hypothetical tasks. When soldiers assigned to a particular instructor exceeded their previous percentile scores by more than 10%, the instructor received a bonus. Soon, the instructors were familiar enough with the test items that they could begin direct instruction of the soldiers in the specifics of those items and how best to handle the test questions. The instructors initiated an incentive program for the soldiers: the higher the test score, the more privileges a soldier would receive. The scores of the soldiers began to rise dramatically, and the chief administrator was immensely pleased. When the scores reached nearly 100% for all soldiers, the instructors received a big bonus, and they were immensely pleased. The instructors handsomely rewarded the soldiers with lavish benefits for their high scores, and the soldiers were immensely pleased.

Nearly a year had passed, and the time for the competition for the king's daughter neared. Lord Dejan, assured by his chief administrator that objective test results proved that these were the very best soldiers in the entire kingdom, proudly presented his honor guard to the king for the competition. As the king prepared to reveal the unknown task to the honor guard, the soldiers looked at each other nervously, wondering if the task would match any that had been on their tests and what would happen if they failed to be the best honor guard in all the kingdom.

Now, during this same time, Lord Mejan also established a training program for his soldiers. First, he approached a retired, old general, who had been known for his exemplary service and multiple soldiering skills, tested and honed in some very fine battles. He asked this old general to oversee the training program for the new soldiers. The general, at first, declined, "Sire, I am too old. I no longer walk well, let alone march. I no longer see well. I no longer hear well. How can I train your soldiers to be good marchers, good marksmen, and good intelligence collectors?"

Lord Mejan would not listen to the general's demurring. He replied, "You do not have to march or to walk or to see or to hear. I have thirty-three soldiers with the strongest legs in the kingdom; they will carry you. I have thirty-three soldiers with the best eyes in the kingdom; they will see for you. And I have thirty-three soldiers with the best ears in the kingdom; they will listen for you. You have been the best of all my soldiers. You have accomplished remarkable feats. You can share your ways of soldiering with these new soldiers. They, not you, must now do the marching, the firing, and the intelligence collection; they need you to support them in doing this the best way that they can.

And so, the old general agreed to teach the new soldiers. He knew that they would all need to be able to do all three skills well, so he organized them into groups of three. In each group there was a soldier with strong legs, a soldier with strong eyes, and a soldier with strong ears. When the soldier with strong eyes could not march well, the soldier with strong legs guided him into a marching rhythm. When the soldier with strong ears could not fire well, the soldier with strong eyes helped him aim his weapon for better marksmanship. When the soldier with strong legs could not collect data well, the soldier with strong ears showed him how to use his legs to get just close enough and positioned well to hear better.

To help the new soldiers, the old general selected the best marcher, the best marksman, and the best intelligence collector in the fiefdom and gave them roles as counselors. When individual soldiers determined that they needed extra help or simply wanted assistance, they could come to these counselors to practice under their mentorship, to receive individualized instruction, or to have questions answered. The counselors' roles were to serve as mentors and role models, as well as to be foster the growth of skills and confidence in each soldier by observing how each soldier went about soldiering, making him aware of what he still needed to know (and why he needed to know it), showing him the best strategies for improving his soldiering skills, and encouraging him to take risks and to experiment with his own training program.

When all the soldiers had improved their weaker skills, the general tasked them to complete meaningful missions. Often, these missions involved going to far parts of the fiefdom where information on subjects' living conditions could be brought back to Lord Mejan. The soldiers had to march there, use marksmanship skills to forage for food, and listen well to bring back accurate intelligence to his lordship. Sometimes, when they had done this, Lord Mejan would send a detail of soldiers back to those same subjects to bring to them the supplies and assistance they needed. The soldiers felt good about this—they were helping their countrymen, and their countrymen loved them. Their confidence grew, and they became better marchers, marksmen, and intelligence collectors.

The old general sometimes went with them, and they did carry him. Sometimes he stayed behind and allowed them to fend for themselves, debriefing them and making suggestions when they reported back to him. Sometimes he gave them detailed instructions in advance. Other times he simply provided general information and let them determine what they needed to do. What he gave them and asked of them depended upon what he knew they could do and where they still needed support. With time, he removed more and more of the support. With time, they stopped relying upon him and began relying upon themselves and their developing skills.

The old general did not check the soldiers' knowledge through standardized exams; instead, his observations served as informal "tests." He would have examined the soldiers objectively, had Lord Mejan required it, but then he would have used the test results only to supplement his observations. He watched the soldiers complete their missions. He listened to their descriptions. He evaluated their successes. He analyzed their failures. Where he found the soldiers lacking, he provided individual or group instruction or practice, as need dictated.

In a year, when the time for the competitions for the king's daughter neared, he approached Lord Mejan. "Are my soldiers the best in the kingdom?" asked Lord Mejan.

The old general answered his lordship, "Sire, "best" is a relative word. Those with strong legs are still the better marchers, those with strong eyes the better marksmen, and those with strong ears the better intelligence collectors, but all the soldiers possess strategies for accomplishing all these tasks both independently and as one unit. Sire, these soldiers are capable today, and they will not disappoint you. But more important, they have the knowledge and skills to become better tomorrow and even better the day after that. Your soldiers have competed not against peers but against their own potential. They have cooperated in helping each other become better. They have the thinking skills to handle both the known and the unknown and enough self-confidence to take any risk. They are ready for this competition."

Lord Mejan marched with his soldiers to the castle and presented his honor guard to the king. Standing at their head, carried there by the soldiers with the strong legs, was the old general. As the king prepared to reveal the unknown task to the honor guard, the soldiers looked at each other in anticipation, wondering what exciting challenge might lie in store for them today.

Now, which honor guard do you think won the competition?

Note: Also posted on Mahlou Musings. Excerpted from book on teaching, copyright 1997.

Ghosts of Halloween Past

This Halloween Nathaniel decided to go out as Dr. Who. Lemony did a great job on his costume. Somehow, the character fits him. As I take the day off (yes, really), thanks to a virus that slugged me strongly enough to lay me out all weekend (but might not have had I not worked all week while fighting it), Shane and Lemony are preparing to take Nathaniel and Neela around the block, gathering treats. Donnie and Doah are preparing to hand out candy. As for me, I am lounging about on the couch, supervising. (And gathering strength for a wicked week ahead at work.)

One Halloween brings back reminiscences of past Halloweens. Of course, some were spent abroad and, therefore, not celebrated, but most years we have been in the USA in October. It seems that each year, though, there are fewer knocks on the door. At least, here in San Ignatio, life is safe, and kids can walk the streets and knock on doors with no fear. When we lived in Salt, no one in many of the neighborhoods went out because children were hurt and/or candy was deliberately contaminated. The police started a tradition of bobbing for apples and other games at the police stations. Those games were always a part of my childhood Halloweens and induce a sense of nostalgia when I saw children and now see my grandchildren playing them. It is good that Halloween has not gone the way of May Day. Even my old childhood neighborhood no longer celebrates May Day.

Costumes blur into costumes. I never bought any for the kids; I always made them -- mice, turnips, clowns. There were original ideas, as well as the tried and true.

Perhaps the most vivid memory of Halloween, though, comes from my own childhood. I had grown old enough as a pre-teen to stay home to help with the handing out of the treats. While there were future confirming events and situations, that night was when I first learned that we were poor. We quickly ran out of treats. My father then started handing out real food, feeling bad that we had nothing to offer: crackers, even hot dogs. I wondered what we would eat the rest of the week. Then, finally, he sighed and said that we had nothing left to give except our talents. He went to the closet where he kept his violin. When the next group of children chorused, "trick or treat," he countered, "here's my trick," and he would play them a song. How embarrassing! However, the next day, everyone commented on how fun it was to get a trick instead of a treat and how they did not know my father could play the violin so well. (Somewhat after that, I asked my father to teach me to play the violin, but I never learned to play more than a few notes; Noelle played the violine in the elementary school orchestra for a couple of years, however. I guess talent skips generations sometimes.)

I learned a lot more from that Halloween night beyond the simple fact that we were poor. I learned that no matter how little you have, you do have something to give. I learned how to give beyond what is convenient to pass along and to give from one's very essence. And I learned that an intangible gift is every bit as good as a tangible one.

Differences

It has been a long while since I have written about Donnie and me, at least in terms of our relationship. There is no particular reason for me to write about that now except perhaps it is time to return to my first post and develop it more.

The odd things about Donnie and me is that 40 years ago no one gave our marriage a chance. It would never last, we were told by nearly everyone, because we were so different.

They were right about the being different part. Certainly, it is difficult to find much that we have in common except a passel of kids and easy to find what we do not share. The list is very long.

(1) Donnie is a scientist; I am a humanist.

(2) Donnie prefers to work outdoors; I prefer to work indoors.

(3) Donnie is an introvert, who likes being alone in nature; I am an extravert, who seeks out people and interaction.

(4) Donnie prefers to stay at home and speaks only English, once trying to learn Russian, that experiment ending in abysmal failure; I am on my 18th language of active study, being able to read nearly fifty and not even knowing what some of those are that I can understand, and as a result, I love to travel and live among people of differing cultures.

(5) When we travel, Donnie looks for comfort and familiarity, i.e. he likes to live at home abroad; when we select a community for settling in, I look for one where traditional American culture shares the streets and institutions with people of other cultures, i.e. I like to live abroad at home.

(6) When we travel, Donnie dreams of flying first class but has never done so; because I travel more than 100,000 miles a year, I sometimes get upgraded to first class, which is unimportant to me, and generally sleep through the whole flight anyway.

(7) In college, Donnie was a poor student, and I helped him with his studies; in college, I was a good student (which is perhaps why I initially became a teacher and then an educational administrator).

(8) Donnie likes to photograph; I like to write -- at least, there is possibility of complementarity and collaboration here (and we do collaborate on publications).

(9) Donnie is a night owl; I am awake during "normal" hours, i.e. day time.

(10) At the end of the day, Donnie would want to know that our kids' bellies were full; I would want to know that their minds were full.

(11) Donnie likes to climb real mountains; I like to climb the allegorical kind.

(12) Donnie likes to watch ball games; I like to play ball games.

(13) Donnie likes moderate climates; I like really hot ones (like Jordan and Uzbekistan where I have spent summers) and really cold ones (like Maine where I grew up and Siberia where I have spent winters) and get confused by moderate ones.

(14) Donnie collects gadgets; I collect people.

(15) Donnie grew up in the middle class in a city and attended one of the best public high schools in the USA; I grew up in the lower class on a farm and attended one of the worst public high schools in the USA (strange then that I would become the better student -- ah, right, motivation and interest...).

(16) Donnie can fix things easily, especially technological ones; I can break them easily, especially technological ones.

(17) Donnie cooks well; I cook abysmally.

(18) Donnie loves to eat; I forget to eat.

(19) Donnie likes to play; I like to work.

(20) Donnie likes to play computer games; I like to play musical instruments.

(21) Donnie wanted no children; I kept turning up pregnant and when I was done with that kept bringing home other people's children to raise.

(22) Donnie likes an empty nest; I fill it with cats since the children I have been gathering lately are fully grown young people.

(23) Donnie likes to drive; I like to be driven (hm, another complementarity, perhaps that works okay).

(24) Donnie prefers air conditioning; I get sick in air conditioning -- fans, including the kind you wave in front of your face, are my preference.

(25) Donnie forgets important dates, like our anniversary; I forget them, too. Ah, finally, something in common!

This is just the tip of the iceberg. I could go on and on and on with all the differences we have encountered over the years. People are right. We are very different from one another. Perhaps they are also right that opposites attract but the marriages of opposites don't last. There is always that possibility. Time will tell. Right now, we are at 40 and counting.

On Giving Away Everything

This year, Lizzie and Shane have needed large weekly monetary infusions due to lack of work. Lizzie's summer semester courses were cut, and Shane, as reported earlier in Clan under Siege, lost his job as a result of a threatened insurance premium hike on his employer for all employees due to the more than two million dollars that the insurance company had to pay out for Nikolina. Without going into the question of the value of life versus the value of money (I always choose life over money, and Nikolina at 18 months is showing that she has the will to make the most of the life she has been given), my son was left stranded with a wife who needed to stay home to care for a baby who could not be given care through babysitters or day care and no income.

I can state without equivocation that life fought for comes at a high cost in emotions, time, and, yes, money. So, here I am again in the position I was in when the children, especially the ones with birth defects, were small and needy, juggling bills. Now the kids are big and needy, and the bills I am juggling allow me to help them to juggle theirs. Of course, no one in the family has any savings. With million-dollar medical bills (not only for Nikolina but for three other children in the family), who would? I have to note here, though, that Stanford University Hospital, upon learning of the critical financial situation of Shane due to his summarily losing his job, told him that they wanted to keep the baby as a patient (the doctors are pretty darn proud of themselves -- as far as we know, only one other such baby, now a small girl living in Pennsylvania, has survived) and would help him however they could. They forgave every cent of the co-pay bills from birth up until Nikolina's second birthday (which will be in the spring of next year), at which point her medical expenses should taper off.

Nonetheless, living expenses remained a problem. Shane burned through his savings and withdrawn retirement funds while unemployed and took a 25% salary cut on his new job. Some day he will catch up to where he was. For now, I help him.

Some day Lizzie, too, will catch up. First, she needs to repay her student loans, and second, she needs tenure and promotion to associate professor. After that, she will be able to be on her own. I hope so since after that I would like to retire and devote full-time to writing and part-time international consulting. For now, that option is only a distant dream.

Recently, I told Lizzie, "I don't mind giving you all that I have. Just keep in mind that based on financial affairs to date, there will likely be no inheritance for you kids."

"No problem, Mom," she wrote. "I hate the idea of getting rich from your death." (Hah! No danger of that! In 2000, we moved from a 13-room house into a small RV and in the process gave away everything to the kids that they wanted, sold all of the rest that we could, and gave away all the rest to a neighbor who provided libraries in the Philippines with our books and needy families there with our household goods. We really did literally what Jesus said: "give away everything" and live for and with God. We have never missed any of it, and the joy of being unencumbered was surpassed only by the joy of all the people we were able to help with our accumulations.)

Personally, I hate the thought of my kids ever getting rich. That would mean a change in values. It would mean that they are no longer giving away all that they can, and I know that they do give away everything that they have at the moment if someone needs it more -- including what I give to them. I also know that they and my grandkids are as chronically happy as I am. I imagine it has a lot to do with not worshipping the god of money.

If the Road Comes to an End, Find a Path through the Woods

I grew up barefoot and suntanned on a farm in rural Maine, the oldest of eight children. My father was a shoe cutter in the winter and a farmer in the summer. All the children I knew in the Maine farmlands grew up barefoot, suntanned, self-confident in the country air, and a little insecure when confronted with city bustle and impersonality.

We were bussed to the city for school. Everything in the city seemed better than on the farm. Our classmates had nicer clothes, shinier shoes, and spiffier haircuts. Life seemed to move faster, and you were supposed to have toys, gadgets, candy, money, fancy book bags, and all sorts of things. The differing levels of affluence were painfully obvious to all of us.

So, when it came time for the science fair, I did not consider the possibility of entering. I loved science, but the cost of supplies was not within my reach as a single exhibitor. I could not partner with one of the city kids because I could not provide my fair share. I could not partner with one of the farm kids because even together we would have no money.

My science teacher would not listen to my explanation. He personally signed up my girlfriend and me and challenged us to figure out a project that we could do with what we had.

"You don't have to buy science," he told us. "Science is all around you."

We picked the topic of light and color, then scoured our houses and barns for anything useful: some leftover pieces of glass from a broken barn window, oddly shaped pieces of wood from the woodpile, and some scraps of wool from my mother's sewing basket. We realized that we had the makings of a display. Perhaps our science teacher was right. Perhaps we could, indeed, make something from nothing.

First, we cut the broken window glass into triangles for homemade prisms. We found, though, that the light diffracted into a multitude of directions so that we could not get the clean spectrum that we wanted. After thinking a bit, we conceived the idea of gluing black construction paper remnants from art class to the flat slides of the prisms to absorb the ambient diffusion. It worked. We made a couple dozen homemade prisms to hand out.

Next, we built a stand by hammering and sawing the pieces of wood to the approximate size and shape we needed, and we hung the scraps of wood on the stand to make a lightproof enclosure. It teetered and sometimes tottered, but it worked.

Using scrap materials was fun. It required creativity and really helped us to understand principles of light and color better than learning about them in a book. We were satisfied that we had put together a credible project that cost us absolutely nothing.

On the night of the science fair, we carefully packed our multi-piece exhibit into some old cartons we found in the barn, lining them with newspaper to keep everything clean. Arriving at the school gym, which had been set up with dozens of conference display tables, we saw the projects our classmates had assembled from beautiful, expensive science kits. Suddenly, our window-glass, black-paper prisms and our rickety stand seemed shoddy. We could not even begin to compete with the blood circulation machines and the fancy optic displays of our classmates. Without a word to each other, we both turned around at the same time and walked out of the gym. We would have gone home, but there stood our science teacher with a stern look on his face. He marched us back into the building.

We spent the rest of the evening in embarrassment, watching the judges look at the impressive, professional-appearing exhibits of the other students. We crossed our fingers that none of our classmates would walk by and poke fun at our display. They did not. They were too busy showing their displays to the judges and parents. Although we did not understand how our homemade apparati could possibly interest the judges, we were enthusiastic about our project itself and appreciative that they came back several times to ask us ever more interesting and challenging questions. We were especially appreciative that they did not laugh at our homemade displays but thanked us and pocketed the prisms that we handed out as if they were just as good as those pretty, store-bought, sparkling ones.

As a seventh-grader, I was surprised and puzzled when we won first place although our science teacher was not. As an adult, I have found many applications of the lesson I learned at the science fair. It is not what you have that counts but what you do with it. Or, when the road comes to an end, find a path through the woods.

Double-posted on Mahlou Musings and Clan of Mahlou.

Days of My Broken Back

Having had Doah at home for a couple of weeks now, once again balancing family needs and work requirements, I find myself remembering the days when all the kids were home and I was doing the same -- balancing family needs and work requirements.

At one point, years ago, I needed to have a psychologist's note for work. It was a routine type of thing, dealing with a back injury that had reared its head, something that rarely happens but was probably the result of both work stress (the reason the psychologist was involved although, for Heaven's sake, a simple doctor's note should have done but was unacceptable because this was a ten-year-old injury, not a new one) and the physical stress of caring for seven children, one of whom could not walk (due to paraplegia) and was getting pretty big for lifting and carrying. All I needed was the note, relieving me from certain activities at work for a few weeks, and in the end that was exactly what I got. However, being a psychologist, the lady felt that she should have a little psychological discussion with me. It went something like this:

She: So, tell me, how do you spend your days?

I: Well, I get seven kids ready for school in the morning, then dash off to work, where I sit in front of a computer for long hours at a stretch, answering dozens of email notes, then I run around visiting classes, counseling teachers, attending and conducting meetings, hiring people, firing people, and working together with our resource office on budgets that don't quite meet the needs of work requirements, a very stressful endeavor. The physical running around is actually great. It relieves the stress on my back, but the sitting at the computer, in the classes, and at long meetings has been problematic lately.

She: Forget the back, let's get back to your schedule.

I: Okay, well, after work, my oldest daughter picks me up because she has the car during the day. She needs it for work more than I do because I can walk to and from each of my 12 buildings, which is good for my back.

She: Forget the back for a while. Let's get back to your daily routine. What do you do when you get home?

I: Oh, well, fortunately, I don't have to make supper. My kids won't eat anything I cook, so my husband does that. While he is preparing supper, I go over the homework of my teenage son who is being homeschooled. We discuss the various papers he has written, research he has done, and any questions he might have. I also want to know what he thinks he has learned. I check his understanding of the books that are not in English, and we have some debates over the meaning of various novels and stories he has read. Then I work with the littlest one. He is retarded so the schools think he cannot learn, but he can. He just has his own way of learning. Right now, he and I are working our way through 1984, and he gets Orwell's intent. However, he explains it in ways that would not work in a regular seventh grade class because of his speech disinhibition. I know he understands much more than he communicate because when I ask him who the protagonist is, he will say "little guy, like me." Then, dinner is usually ready. I always forget to make sure that the kids have washed up. They seem to remind themselves, though, and at the table we discuss what the other kids have done during the day, any particular problems (often, we attack the problems as a group), and highlights in which to delight. Then, Noelle has to catetherize; she does that pretty well for herself but I need to ensure that she has no oncoming urine infection or body sores. If she is out of her braces because they are being repaired, then I have to do range of motion exercises on her. After that, there is a scramble for baths, one on one time with the kids, helping with homework with the kids who are still in school: Lizzie and Ksenya have graduated and help as they can. Then, often, Ksenya, who is not my birth daughter, likes to crawl up in my lap because she misses her mother in Moscow; we spend time reminiscing about Moscow in Russian. Sometimes, Lizzie joins us because she went to school in Moscow and can speak Russian; it is good for her not to forget Russian. On a school night, the kids go to bed around 10:00, but if it is a Friday night, we generally gather at that time for a family meeting to make family decisions on expenditures (money is always tight) and forthcoming activities.

She: Well, that's interesting, but what do you do for yourself?

I: Oh, right, after that, somehow I squeeze in dishes. It's only fair I do them since Donnie makes dinner, and I get some thinking time while washing them. Also, laundry and some light housekeeping. Donnie does the trash detail. The kids help, too, and the heavy cleaning we do as a family on Saturday morning.

She: That's not what I meant. I mean for yourself personally.

I: Well, I used to do some exercises to try to keep my weight normal, but I cannot do many of them lately because of my back -- which is why I need to have that piece of paper I came here for -- so that I can take a couple of weeks off and let the back recuperate.

She: We can talk about your back later. I am curious as to what you do for self fulfillment.

I: I thought I already told you. I get the delight of entering my children's minds every night and helping to develop their thinking -- both ethical and analytical. I get to discuss literature that I love with my own children. I get to shape the education of my home-schooled son. I get some one-on-one time with myself while doing dishes and laundry. I get to relax with my "adopted" daughter and my oldest daughter, reminiscing about Moscow and helping the former make the transition between cultures. Sometimes, I even get to talk to my husband before or right after tumbling into bed -- and sometimes the two of us get to talk even more while doing chores together. If I have time, I will help him with the trash, and he will help me with the dishes. (Actually, we met doing dishes, so that is appropriate.) And, if my back is okay, I spend a few minutes exercising.

She: Lizzie, you have a serious problem. When do you put your family aside and do things for yourself?

I: I don't quite understand your question. I would want to put my family aside, why? Doing things for my family is doing things for myself. That's the source of my happiness. You are right, though. I do have a serious problem. I need that note for work so I can take a couple of weeks off to heal my back!

She sighed and gave me the note. Mission accomplished. Sheesh! Why did it have to take so long? I would be late getting home and miss my reading time with Doah. Big help that lady was!

My 911 Call

Today I learned some important things: (1) we live in a small community, (2) my son is a professional, (3) I can be a dingbat at times. Now, I already know these things. I have certainly had plenty of confirmation of at least the third thing, but reminders and new experiences of them are reinforcing.

This morning I experienced small community in the gathering of some of our congregation to paint our fiesta booths a bright yellow and red for next year's fiesta. We put on an annual fiesta, open to all from near and far, as a fundraiser for Old Mission, our church. By the time we were done, the front of all the booths were painted, and the backs of some of us were painted (accidentally) by the spray gun wielded by a certain John, who supposedly knew how to use the thing. We shared breakfast before we began and lunch partway through. Fr. Ed helped out the entire time, and we were "community."

Then came Mass, after which Donnie and I headed into a nearby small city with a supermarket (we have only a country store) to get some groceries. On the way right in front of us, a car dove off the road into a tree, seemingly as if planned. Very strange, we thought, and called 911. The dispatcher took the information and asked some questions about location specifics which we were able to answer. He told us that he had already dispatched, as he had been speaking, the local sheriff and an ambulance in case there was a medical reason for the accident. (They showed up nearly instantly; after hanging up, I got out of the car, found the tree-stopped driver who was by then out of his car, too, and determined that he was okay just as the sheriff walked up to us.) Before hanging up, the dispatcher added, "by the way, you are talking to your son." Oh, my! I had not recognized Shane's voice. He sounded so professional that I never thought of the connection with Shane, with the fact that he is now back with California Highway Patrol and now doing dispatch for the two local counties. In spite of the "goofy mother" syndrome, it was quite pleasant to hear what a professional and calm response he had to someone calling in. One does not always get an opportunity in life to see what a good worker one's child is.

Similarly, years ago when Lemony was pregnant with Nathaniel, a friend, already a grandmother, told me that being a grandparent is better than being a parent because you can enjoy the kids without being responsible for them. Over the years, I have come to agree that being a grandparent is very special and perhaps even better than being a parent but for a different reason than my friend had given: the best part of being a grandparent is watching your child be a good parent. The traumas that Shane and Lemony have managed competently and calmly with Nathaniel and especially with Nikolina have been rewarding to observe (and, of course, to help with).

Paths Not Taken

Many paths can lead us through this life, but we can travel only one at any given time. Each path presents us with differing opportunities, "scenery," and "sputniki" (fellow travelers). We must choose our paths with very limited foreknowledge of any of these. Sometimes when I am in the mood of reverie, I enjoy pondering what might have happened had I chosen a different route through life, and then I have to wonder how much of a choice we really have, anyway. Here are my thoughts on a few of the paths I passed by.

(1) Physics. I loved physics in high school. In fact, I won the science fair with a physics project, and I had the highest grade in my physics class (99%), which had all of six girls (and 34 boys). There was a reason for that imbalance: girls did not study physics when I was in high school, and my physics teacher bemoaned the fact that I was a girl: "If only you weren't a girl; you would make a great physicist." I suppose if I had studied physics, or like my youngest sister (born late enough to see a change in attitude toward women scientists), nuclear physics, I might have ended up working at a place like NASA. Instead, I ended up majoring in foreign languages, through my books and my work success earned a national reputation for being able to develop highly successful foreign language programs that brought students rapidly to high levels of proficiency, and, would you believe it, ended up working at NASA for a while in order to establish the language training program for American, Russian, Canadian, and European astronauts/cosmonauts assigned to the then-planned International Space Station. Because I had nativelike proficiency in Russian, I spent time shuttling back and forth between Johnson Space Center in Houston and the Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Center in Star City, Russia.

(2) Study abroad. As a linguistics undergraduate major, I had an opportunity for study abroad in France. When I tried to budget out the opportunity, however, I realistically decided to spend my junior year in my own university, Penn State. The cost, while likely within the means of any middle-class student, was out of reach for an impoverished farm girl who was attending college only thanks to a full scholarship, supplemented by working in the university dining facility, waitressing, tutoring, and, upon occasion, go-go dancing. Having turned down what I thought was my one and only opportunity for an international experience, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that after my kids were grown, I would spend a decade as an international consultant to ministries of education, institutions, and organizations in 24 countries, let alone earn my PhD in Russia and run a university in Jordan.

(3) Going home. At one point in my marriage, when Lizzie was still an infant and Donnie had just lost his job in Montana, where we were living, I was offered a job as an admin assistant in Maine, near my relatives. It was not a teaching position as I had hoped for, but all I had been able to land in Montana was a position as a substitute teacher in the area junior high schools and high schools, not enough to feed a family of three with Donnie out of work. I accepted, thinking and hoping that I might be able to get into teaching over time. Donnie refused to move and found himself a summer job in Idaho. Tearfully and fearfully, I bundled up Lizzie and returned from my visit home, a productive visit home with the promise of full-time work, to very part-time employment as a substitute in Montana. We could not afford rent; we lived in an A-frame, unfinished cabin in a field behind a farmhouse for free in exchange for finishing the work on the outhouse and the roof of the A-frame (for a while we had to line pots and pans wall to wall when it rained). Over time, we pieced together a living. Donnie earned some extra income from selling photographs to the local paper, and I wrote some articles. We teamed up on some photojournalistic efforts for that paper and for magazines. He also worked as a bar tender at the Elks Club. I gave up teaching for organizing and running a day care center with the help of some of the community leaders. It became well known, and even Mike Mansfield helped us with obtaining funding. When we left Montana, we were no longer the outsiders. We were the people who had established the one and only day care facility there and an award-winning one to boot. The City Council took it over when we left and ran it successfully for another ten years, at which time the concept of day care became commonplace and several other centers sprang up. I learned a lot about child care in that way, including the care of a multiple-handicapped child who attended the center. I would need that knowledge not only with my own children in general but with my handicapped children in specific -- Noelle, Doah, and ultimately, Shura.

(4) Children. As for those children, Donnie and I early one decided that we would remain childless. We tried every form of birth control available -- and each form brought a new child, for a total of four. Then people started handing us their children -- Shura, Ksenya, and Blaine -- for a total of seven. An addition four "children" have attached themselves to me as adults, not entirely symbolically for they come to me for advice, visit and expect me to visit, and need maternal support from time to time. Now I cannot imagine life without those children. They have informed my work as a manager and as a teacher; more important, they have been my greatest reward and joy.

(5) Footloose and on the road in an RV. After the children grew up and left home, which they did almost all at the same time, we bought an RV. This was Donnie's dream more than mine. He wanted to travel the country, reviving our Montana efforts as a husband-wife photojournalism team. As it turned out, we never could afford the truck to pull the RV, which was a 40-foot fifth-wheeler. So, we parked it on the Arroyo Seco River in California, and from there I drove to the airport and flew around the world on my various consults if the river did not rise, literally. (We lived on the uninhabited, unroaded side of a normally almost-dry ("seco") riverbed and had to drive through a few inches of water to reach our home, the RV. However, there were times when the river ran high, and we had to cross over a long, swinging bridge to reach the other side. If too much rain fell while we were parked on the "wrong" side, i.e. the RV side, of the river, we would become marooned until all the water tumbled down the mountainside, allowing us to escape again into the outside world.) We loved the drama of not knowing when we might get marooned. We loved the irony of driving through a river to get home, and I loved swimming in the river every day that I was home. Had we had our way, we would probably still be tooling about America. That is not a bad thing, but I would have missed out on some opportunities that nearly no one gets: consulting in 24 countries to the point of becoming a redistributor of knowledge from one country to another, earning my PhD (probably would not have had the time, effort, interest, or need), and experiencing the Middle East up close and personal. These opportunities have been not only fun and rewarding; they were essential for functioning adequately where I have ended up working decades later.

(6) Professor. Much of my life I wanted to be a professor. Even when I was doing other things, I kept wishing I had followed the path through the woods of life that anyone becoming a professor takes. That path beckoned me, but I could never make it over there. Downed timber, forest fires, and boulders of all sorts precluded me from going in that direction. Yet, perhaps as a consolation prize I have had the opportunity to teach as a visiting professor at a number of institutions: Middlebury College, NYIT in Jordan and Bahrain, Bryn Mawr College, Monterey Institute of International Studies, Universidad Federale de Rio Grande do Sul, University of Pittsburgh, and Allegheny Community College, among others, and I have trained thousands of university professors and administrators worldwide. What I have learned from those experiences is that I don't really want to be a full-time career university professor at all. That experience can be accomplished by Lizzie, who currently is a university professor of neuroscience.

(7) Middle East. The last path I was on (before my current one) took me to the Middle East for two years. I fell in love with the culture and the people. The language, being self-taught, was a challenge but interesting. There I found a place where I could have settled forever (well, there or Siberia, the other place where I lost my heart and could settle forever). That was not to be. However hard I tried to continue down the path I had chosen, my way was diverted back to the path I had left in 1993. (I blogged about that on 100th Lamb: The Jobs God Would Not Let Me Have and the One He Insisted I Take and Keep.) I still go back to Jordan, however, because my current job requires occasional business trips there. It is one of our more important locations -- and I did not know this when I took my current job (uh, more honestly speaking, was forced into accepting my current job, which, again honestly speaking, I truly love).

Although I returned to the organization that I left in 1993, I came in at a much higher position, and I needed every experience I had gained in the Middle East, from my consultations in various countries, and as a result of the languages I had studied. I also needed that degree I had earned and even my mothering experience. All those paths connected to provide a route through life that led to my being in the ideal position for me (although I did not initially recognize that). There was just one more experience along that route that was needed to make it all work: conversion. While faith has changed my life deeply on a personal level, my conversion was necessary for the spiritual and emotional needs of those who work for me -- a highly ironic need, considering that I work in an institution that requires separation of church and state. Yet, the need is there, and I have to wonder if God occasioned my conversion for the good of others. He does things like that, you know.

As for all those paths not taken, I am grateful that I had the chance to taste of some of the fruits that grow along those paths even though I was not on them. I am, in fact, grateful for every step along each of the paths I did take, whether I chose them or was pushed onto them.

What about the path(s) you have not chosen? Have you ever wondered what your life might be like right now had you taken or been allowed to take those paths that beckoned you?

The Errant Suitcase

I thought I might share a tad of a touch of what I experience from the travel part of my travels. Perhaps it will lighten someone's sense of what a bad day might actually be.

My day today was spent alternating between running between buildings at work and making phone calls to track down my wayward luggage. You see, yesterday I flew non-stop from San Francisco to Baltimore. My luggage, however, went to Chicago and seemed to have taken up residency there. United Airlines originally thought it had hitched a ride on a plane Wednesday morning. Not so. Later in the day, United was certain that it had stowed away on some plane headed East and would be knocking on my door some time. Date, time, and other specifics were not available.

My bag finally showed up this evening. I have no idea where it spent its time as a stowaway and how it was directed homeward. Perhaps that is one of those things one does not want to know.

Once American Airlines lost my bag, and a janitor at the airport found it and called me, using the 800# for Stuffbak. I use Stuffbak labels, which mean I usually do get my stuff back. Except for the time that luggage going to Moscow through Helsinki disappeared into Finnair forever.

Too frequently, though, my luggage takes trips separately from me. I arrived recently in Dubai, running to catch a plane, while my luggage spent a leisurely overnight in Washington. Similarly, once, in returning from Prague, my luggage and I parted company in Frankfurt, with me coming home to Monterey while my luggage took an excursion to Moscow, perhaps a matter of habit since I was spending a lot of time in Moscow in those days.

In essence, my luggage just seems to have a life of its own, too often apart from me. My sister asks a good question: "Can you get frequent flyer miles for your luggage since it takes extra trips all by itself?" Dunno. Maybe I should ask!

Years ago when I was traveling more than now (yes, that is possible), I simply maintained a spare wardrobe in the closets of friends around the world in those cities to which I flew most often. Those clothes, which would have been available here in Baltimore in an early era, unfortunately were not available today because they have since all moved home.

In any event, the errant suitcase has found its way to my hotel room. It was a joyful reunion!

Double-posted on 100th Lamb and Clan of Mahlou.

Road Trip: The End

Early last Monday morning, awakening not too late considering the pizza birthday party the evening before, we all tumbled out of bed, prepared to ready ourselves to hit the road. While Donnie took Lizzie to the airport so that she could head back to South Carolina, Doah, Noelle, and I packed up and checked out of the hotel. There we were in the lobby, suitcases all lined up and ready for stuffing into the van when he returned.

Since there were no real deadlines to meet on the return other than for me to be at work on Thursday morning, we moved fairly easily and comfortably from state to state -- and we did go through a lot of them, Oklahoma being one of them. We had decided for reasons of finance and time not to stop overnight but for Donnie and me to take turns driving, stopping only to gas up and eat -- and perhaps an occasional sight. As a result, we had a number of "roadside meals," with some of our seating arrangements giving literal meaning to that expression.

All was fine until we reached the Mohave Desert. We stopped briefly for lunch. As we enjoyed our meal, we looked across the way at two workers. What were they doing? They were mowing that desert! Donnie said that gives literal meaning to purgatory!

It was then that the phone rang. It was my boss, asking where I was. "In the Mohave Desert." Where else would I be?

"I need you on a plane tonight to Washington. You have a meeting there tomorrow."

Oh, really? Donnie allowed as to how we could "hurry home" if my boss was willing to pay the speeding fines. However, we were able to work out a slightly different plan, one that had Donnie dropping me at home first, then taking Noelle and Doah to their homes.

All's well that ends well, as the story line goes. I made it back just in time to catch a redeye plane to Washington. (It helped that I did not have to pass since I would catch a return redeye the next day.) The kids got distributed. The van got returned on time. And Donnie got some sleep -- the next day. Ah, life continues as usual...

Road Trip: Conversations

Donnie, Doah, Noelle, and I took off on Tuesday for Delaware, Ohio to attend the wedding of our nephew, Jacob, to a young lady whom we like very much, Jessica. (Jacob is Rollie’s youngest child.) Since Noelle has long been no candidate for air travel – the airlines have to forklift her up to the plane and two baggage handlers have to wrestle her into her seat , we rented a wheelchair-accessible van and set out on the long, but quick, journey from California to Ohio. Road trip, road trip!

Now, on road trips, there are the sites and the sights, the stops and the gas (perhaps of more than one type), and the to-go snack and sit-down meal. Most interesting of all, in my mind, are the conversations. Here are snatches that I have heard over the past three days (we are now in Delaware):

Neighbor (30 minutes after we left): “Your porch lights are not on; I thought you told the Sheriff that they would be on so that he could check your place whenever he happens to be in town.”
Oops – text message to Shane: Pls turn on porch lights
Next day msg from Shane: porch lights now on.
Whew!

Doah (one hour after we left): “Are we there yet?” (This conversation repeated every 30 minutes or so the entire 2500 miles. Now settled in here in Delaware, I am certain he is busy re-winding that tape for the trip back. Oh, no!)

Lizzie (flying in, text msg, second day of our travels): “My flight was canceled. It seems that the airlines must have heard that someone related to you was planning to fly and panicked, canceling flights. I will try again tomorrow.”
Next day, Lizzie: “So where are you now?”
Me: “Enroute still. Where are you?”
She: “Made it; am staying with Cousin Shellie in Columbus.”
Whew!

Elizabeth (in response to an important meeting announcement to my assistant, who was not cc’d): “Are you planning to attend this meeting?”
He: “No.”
Me: “Huh?”
He: “I have a conflict.”
Me: “So?”
He: “Am sending my assistant in my place.”
Me: “OK.”
Whew!

Noelle: Mom! You are a bad driver!
Doah: “Ow! Yeah! Bad driver! Bad, bad driver!” (I had slammed on the breaks, and Doah had flown past Noelle’s wheelchair into the back of the front passenger seat, where Donnie was sitting.)
Me: “What happened to your seat belt?”
Doah: “Oh, yeah, seat belt!”
Me: “Yeah, seat belt! You okay?”
Noelle: “Yeah, he looks okay.”
Me: “Doah, answer me. Are you okay?”
Doah: “Can’t answer. I’m busy putting on my seat belt.”
Quick stop – Doah is fine. Whew! His seat belt is on, yes! He has not forgotten during the rest of the trip. Yes!
Doah (hungry and disappointed after miles of high chapparelle viewing through Wyoming and entering the planes of Nebraska without a pit stop in sight): “Cows, horses, and sheep; cows, horses, and sheep; cows, horses, and sheep!” (And your problem is?)

Me (text msg on Tuesday to friend we were meeting in Grand Island, Nebraska): “Miscalculated time; catheterization stops for Noelle are taking an hour, not a half hour. Will be arriving Thursday for brunch, not Wednesday for dinner.
She: “OK, but I will be in Lincoln on Thursday.”
Me: “Oh, well that is another two hours of driving, and we just lost an hour, crossing into the Mountain Time zone, so it will have to be dinner on Thursday, let’s shoot for 5:30.”
She: “OK.”
Me: “Road construction all across Nebraska; moving slowly. Let’s plan on 6:30.”
She: “OK.”
Me: “Ouch! I just noticed that somewhere we lost another hour to a time zone change – now on Central time. Let’s plan on 7:30.” (Note: We will be scooping up all those lost hours on the way back.)
She: “OK.”
Me: “We’re here….!”
She: “Wow! Really?”
It was exactly 7:30. Yes!

Donnie: “Our exit is coming up. Don’t miss it. There, right now: Indianapolis!” (I’m driving, and he thinks he is following a map, but thank goodness, I have the GPS.)
Me: “I can’t take it; it’s closed.”
Donnie: “Take the next one, then, and the GPS will re-route you.”
Me (as we approach the next one): “I cannot take this, either. It is closed, too.”
Donnie: Well, then, the next one; there must be several exits for Indianapolis from Route 74.” Me (approaching the third and final exit for Indy): This one is closed, too!
Doah: “Are we there yet?”
Donnie and me simultaneously: “Nooooo!”
Noelle (to Doah): “I don’t think this is a good time to ask that question.”
(We are still wondering why ALL the Route 74 exits for Indy were closed on Friday, just as we needed them. So, we headed south in order to go north. C’mon, that’s what the GPS told us to do, and when totally lost in unknown territory, one turns one’s life over to the GPS, whether its directions make sense or not.)
By some miracle, we made it to Ohio, losing only another hour along the way. So glad to be out of the car! So glad to have a different topic for conversation! Yes! I have been contemplating whether it is better to take that 2500-mile trip back on Monday or settle down here permanently.

Doah spent the shank of the evening at a campground party (in the rain?!) with his senior-year high-school teacher, Sue, and her two helpers, who just happened to have had a party plan when we announced our trip. The timing worked out perfectly. Afterward, Sue, her son Taylor, Doah, Donnie, and I had dinner at Bob Evans. (Noelle had to catheterize and preferred to be brought something back to eat in her hotel room.)

Then, my brother Rollie and sister Victoria showed up, swooped up Doah, and off they all went to spend the night at Rollie’s house. Doah saw lightning on the way back and wondered what was happening. Rollie reminded him about thunderstorms from the year that he lived with Rollie a decade ago, and then he remembered. (Donnie and I will never forget the string of lightning storms that plied their way up the Central Coast of California in 1999, beginning with dry lightning first without and then with accompanying thunder, followed by real thunderstorms. People who had not been outside the area were panicking. Many called the television station; someone asked if it were the end of the world. The television station stopped normal programming to allow the weatherman to explain thunderstorms to a fascinated audience. For us transplanted easterners, it was hysterically funny – and we were not worried about the world ending at all because we were busy watching a spectacular display of nature having one of her best tantrums.)

Last night, Donnie and I fell into bed with the lulling sound of fat raindrops plopping themselves onto the ground outside our window. Ah, rain! As I said, we don’t see much of that in San Ignatio, so we found the plopping delightful to hear.
This morning, we woke to a clap of thunder and flickering lights. The flicker lasted only a brief time. After that, large parts of town were in the dark. That was 10:30 this morning. Since then, we have vegged out in the hotel lobby, with others. Bob Evans, the restaurant across the parking lot, brought over food to feed us because with electricity out for hours, the food would have spoiled. We sat around the pool and had an unplanned feast. (Yes!)

Now, though, it is mid-afternoon. Hot and humid. No electricity. Therefore, also no air conditioning and no electricity. Last conversation as follows:
Lizzie: “Shellie is dropping me off at the hotel. Is 3:00 good?”
Me: “Sure!”
No way am I going to tell her that she is going to arrive to a bathroom with a glow-in-the-dark stick for lighting, no air conditioning, and no lights. She can change for the wedding in the same ambient light that we plan to use. The estimate is for the electricity to come back on some time after 3:30.

As for that thought about staying here permanently to avoid the road trip back, I’ve re-thought. I do like to have electricity on a regular basis, and I hear that lightning frequently knocks out electricity around here for hours. So, back, it is!

Views from the trip...