Greetings!
First, I bring glad tidings of great joy - Big Brother and Didi recently gave birth to a healthy baby boy! Little Pumpkin weighed in at 8 pounds, 8 ounces, and measured 21 and a half inches. We are tickled pink to be grandparents, and look forward to watching him grow. Congratulations to the happy little family!
Well, Christmas is upon us, and in true Stress Pool style, we've decorated in the usual fashion. DH brought the tree up from the garage/attic (we don't have an attic, and since the cars are too tall for the garage - well, there you go!), which sat in the living room for a week and a few days. Then, last week we put the tree together. It's a nice, new one from Balsam Hill - we got it on sale this past summer at 50% off. Pre-lit, it made a huge difference in the amount of time setting it up (and a lot less cursing!) than in years past! So, if you drove past the house, you'd see it in the window. Not decorated, but at least it was put together! Then, one holly topiary made it up. The other goes in the entry way - along with a garland with the Christmas Mice. (They are gold in color, and illustrate "The Night Before Christmas". Then, a few other things made their way in. We still haven't found the tree skirt or stockings, but there is time. But, with only a week before Christmas, I decided it was time to at least get ornaments on the tree.
After I slept through the evening news and most of Jeopardy!, I rolled up my sleeves and dug into the box of ornaments we brought up yesterday. We decided on the Santas. Yes, there are the 'meaningful' ornaments - the ones with the kids names, and some they made, and some that were given as gifts, and they're wonderful memories. But Christmas is still hard, and it can be a bit much at times. Somewhere along the line I lost the last 10 years. It isn't that I don't like Christmas, I do - but there is still a gaping hole in my heart that will probably never fill in. It is mostly covered over with a filmy layer of silk, and I've learned to put a smile on my face - even the occasional laugh. But Christmas music often makes me cry...enough maudlin. Down to business. (Wipe the eyes, continue with life.)
The box is marked 'Santas' in DH's handwriting. At one point I must have added 'Angels', 'Eskimos', 'Penguins', and 'Wendel August Forge' ornaments. The new tree is a little smaller than the old one, so I had to be choosy. There were the ceramic angels DH made in ceramics class - one dozen, cream and gold. I always chuckle getting them out of the box, because they're hollow at the bottom, and sometimes the packing peanuts get stuck inside. Yeah, I know it's a bit juvenile, but you gotta get the laughs where you can! There is a clear, acrylic angel with Eggbert's name, given to us by the funeral home the year he died. There is a Befana (which DH said was hard to come by - they were popular that year!) Santa Lucia, and many other gift-givers from around the world, including a few of Saint Nicholas. There is a Miss Piggy angel given to me by my Aunt Peg somewhere around 1980, and an angel my friend, Sister Donna, brought from Peru. Angels made from shells. There is even a buck-naked elf made out of old nylon stockings, given to me by a student my first year of teaching (back in the old days, when we had to wash the floors and stoke the fire in the stove!) Eskimos are the Hallmark 'Frosty Friends' series - we missed a few years, but there are still a lot of them, as well as the penguins, which I believe were mostly bought for Moink. I don't remember where all the Santas came from, part of the lost years, but we've picked some up on vacations to Virginia, and possibly when we went to Tennessee. All in all, a lot of nice collection of ornaments.
My favorite one, though, is the kneeling Santa. It's small, and shows Santa kneeling before the Christ child in the manger, hat off, humbled, for without Jesus, there would be no Santa, and that is a plain and simple fact. I seem to recall that Big Brother and Didi aren't going to 'do the Santa thing' with their kids. I can't wait until Little Pumpkin is older, because I hope his parents don't mind him becoming a Santa for others - something I so enjoy doing! Helping others in need is such a necessary thing, and we have so much, we are so fortunate - we need to share that with others.
So, I sit and sip a bit of pumpkin spice Bailey's, look at the lights on the tree, and remember Christmases past. Times when children decorated as high as they could reach, clamoring over who would put up which ornament. Remembering times when at last, the house was quiet, and DH and I could share a moment in the silence, admiring the gleaming lights in the comfort of each other's company. I wonder what your favorite ornament is, and why it holds a special meaning in your heart?
I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all of you and yours a Happy Christmas. My wish is for you to enjoy the magic of this joyous season. Don't stress (easy for me to say, right?!) because there's no reason to - if it gets done, it gets done. If the tree was still in the box in the middle of the living room, I might have been tempted to string lights around it and call it a day! Just enjoy the time you have with each other - after all, time is short. Children grow up too fast. People fade from our lives, either because they move on to other things, or just plain move on.
And, please come back to visit at the pool, where the water is usually warm, and where friends are always welcome. Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 17, 2018
Monday, December 10, 2018
A Mima Moment
Welcome to the Stress Pool, where everyday is sunny and the water temperature is just right!
I haven't mentioned Mima in quite awhile, mostly because she's in Senior Prison, and truthfully, not much happens there. Well, that's not really true. Apparently, a lot goes on there, and I, for one, am glad to miss most of it! Whenever anyone asks me how she's doing, my standard answer is, "She's full of piss and vinegar."
Mima had a knee replaced two years ago - almost three now. It went badly. She was inhabited by a deep wound infection that ate - yes, ate - the plastic, the tissue, the bone, and the titanium. We were fortunate that she lived. After months of IV drugs and numerous visits to doctors, all was well enough that she could have had it done again, or leave it alone. The orthopedist asked what she'd like to do. She looked at me. I looked at him. "If she was your grandmother, what would you suggest?"
Dr. Eye Candy (yeah, he's all that) patted her hand and said, "If you were my nana, I would tell you to leave it alone." He felt that it was just opening it all to another infection, and secretly, I agreed. So, we went back to Senior Prison, and Mima went to physical therapy.
But, when you're in your early eighties, sometimes you want sympathy more than anything else. "You'll be so proud of me. I stood up for two minutes today."
"That's great, mom, but you've got to work a little harder than that."
Eventually, insurance took her off the physical therapy. If you're not making progress, you don't get to keep going.
"But, I was standing."
"Yes, but you weren't walking."
"I can't. I don't have the strength. How can they expect me to do that if they don't help me get my strength up?"
"Sigh."
She is now eighty-four, and though she cannot walk (or stand), she wields power from that bed. Aides fear her. Nurses question their career paths. Directors steer clear. And, Dietary - well, let's keep that for another day! She never leaves the room, doesn't let them keep the door open, yet she knows pretty much everything that goes on. She can tell me the names of residents who scooch by on their wheel chairs. and the scrapes they get into. She can tell me about the family who visits their person down the hall. It's amazing the information she's able to get. Seriously, if the FBI ever wanted to investigate the place, she's their best bet for a plant.
As I left one evening, I mentioned to the nurse on duty that I heard of the passing of one of the residents, a lovely woman who had once been mom's room mate. "Oh, yeah, she died the other night." Then, she stopped. "Wait, how did you know?"
"Mom told me."
This sweet little woman slapped her hand to her head. "How does she know all this? She never leaves that room, but she knows everything that goes on here!"
Of course, I take my share of abuse. Every Sunday I make my way there, and the visit goes pretty much the same way each time. "Did you bring me clean pajamas?"
"Yes. I just put them in your drawer."
"Did you bring me coffee creamer? And biscuits?"
"Yes. I'm marking dates on them now." I tear off paper tape from the roll and write her name and dates on everything, then go in search of someone to put them in the refrigerator.
Back in the room. "Did you water my plants?"
"Yes."
"I didn't see you."
"I watered the plants."
Once all the business is taken care of, we can sit and talk. I usually stay a couple hours, tell her crazy things that happen at school or at home. She offers opinions, and then tells me things the aides tell her. "Don't repeat those things."
"Why?"
I frown at her. "That's gossip. Don't repeat stuff. Behave yourself."
"Hmmph."
Yup. That's my mom. It's got to be hard on her, and it's no wonder she's not accepted her station with grace. Or, maybe she has, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Whenever I get there, she's either playing on her tablet (Christmas gift last year), or listening to books on tape. Sometimes she crochets granny square afghans, but with macular degeneration, that's getting harder for her to do, too. It takes a great amount of courage to accept what she's endured. She's suffered her fair amount of hardships. She misses seeing the family during events, and in general. She often laments the kids don't come around, and I have to remind her that I don't see the older ones much, either, but I see them more than she does. In the end, it's difficult watching someone you love deteriorate and you can't do anything about it. DH's mom had Altzheimer's, but her body was fine. It seems you either get to keep one or the other. I don't know which I'd rather - some days it already feels as if my mind has gone. I swear I meet new people every day, starting with the nice people who walk around my house!
So, in this season of Advent, as we approach the bright days of Christmas, maybe take a few minutes and visit someone who might be lonely, or do something nice for an elder in your life. We all have our own little Stress Pools, even if they're only as big as wading pools. And, if you'd like, weigh in with how good it felt to brighten someone's day.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pajamas to fold. Thanks for dipping your toe in the Pool, and come back soon - I'm trying to get better at posting!
I haven't mentioned Mima in quite awhile, mostly because she's in Senior Prison, and truthfully, not much happens there. Well, that's not really true. Apparently, a lot goes on there, and I, for one, am glad to miss most of it! Whenever anyone asks me how she's doing, my standard answer is, "She's full of piss and vinegar."
Mima had a knee replaced two years ago - almost three now. It went badly. She was inhabited by a deep wound infection that ate - yes, ate - the plastic, the tissue, the bone, and the titanium. We were fortunate that she lived. After months of IV drugs and numerous visits to doctors, all was well enough that she could have had it done again, or leave it alone. The orthopedist asked what she'd like to do. She looked at me. I looked at him. "If she was your grandmother, what would you suggest?"
Dr. Eye Candy (yeah, he's all that) patted her hand and said, "If you were my nana, I would tell you to leave it alone." He felt that it was just opening it all to another infection, and secretly, I agreed. So, we went back to Senior Prison, and Mima went to physical therapy.
But, when you're in your early eighties, sometimes you want sympathy more than anything else. "You'll be so proud of me. I stood up for two minutes today."
"That's great, mom, but you've got to work a little harder than that."
Eventually, insurance took her off the physical therapy. If you're not making progress, you don't get to keep going.
"But, I was standing."
"Yes, but you weren't walking."
"I can't. I don't have the strength. How can they expect me to do that if they don't help me get my strength up?"
"Sigh."
She is now eighty-four, and though she cannot walk (or stand), she wields power from that bed. Aides fear her. Nurses question their career paths. Directors steer clear. And, Dietary - well, let's keep that for another day! She never leaves the room, doesn't let them keep the door open, yet she knows pretty much everything that goes on. She can tell me the names of residents who scooch by on their wheel chairs. and the scrapes they get into. She can tell me about the family who visits their person down the hall. It's amazing the information she's able to get. Seriously, if the FBI ever wanted to investigate the place, she's their best bet for a plant.
As I left one evening, I mentioned to the nurse on duty that I heard of the passing of one of the residents, a lovely woman who had once been mom's room mate. "Oh, yeah, she died the other night." Then, she stopped. "Wait, how did you know?"
"Mom told me."
This sweet little woman slapped her hand to her head. "How does she know all this? She never leaves that room, but she knows everything that goes on here!"
Of course, I take my share of abuse. Every Sunday I make my way there, and the visit goes pretty much the same way each time. "Did you bring me clean pajamas?"
"Yes. I just put them in your drawer."
"Did you bring me coffee creamer? And biscuits?"
"Yes. I'm marking dates on them now." I tear off paper tape from the roll and write her name and dates on everything, then go in search of someone to put them in the refrigerator.
Back in the room. "Did you water my plants?"
"Yes."
"I didn't see you."
"I watered the plants."
Once all the business is taken care of, we can sit and talk. I usually stay a couple hours, tell her crazy things that happen at school or at home. She offers opinions, and then tells me things the aides tell her. "Don't repeat those things."
"Why?"
I frown at her. "That's gossip. Don't repeat stuff. Behave yourself."
"Hmmph."
Yup. That's my mom. It's got to be hard on her, and it's no wonder she's not accepted her station with grace. Or, maybe she has, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Whenever I get there, she's either playing on her tablet (Christmas gift last year), or listening to books on tape. Sometimes she crochets granny square afghans, but with macular degeneration, that's getting harder for her to do, too. It takes a great amount of courage to accept what she's endured. She's suffered her fair amount of hardships. She misses seeing the family during events, and in general. She often laments the kids don't come around, and I have to remind her that I don't see the older ones much, either, but I see them more than she does. In the end, it's difficult watching someone you love deteriorate and you can't do anything about it. DH's mom had Altzheimer's, but her body was fine. It seems you either get to keep one or the other. I don't know which I'd rather - some days it already feels as if my mind has gone. I swear I meet new people every day, starting with the nice people who walk around my house!
So, in this season of Advent, as we approach the bright days of Christmas, maybe take a few minutes and visit someone who might be lonely, or do something nice for an elder in your life. We all have our own little Stress Pools, even if they're only as big as wading pools. And, if you'd like, weigh in with how good it felt to brighten someone's day.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pajamas to fold. Thanks for dipping your toe in the Pool, and come back soon - I'm trying to get better at posting!
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
A State of Mind
The home front isn't the only pool I manage. There is also the school pool, where I spend the majority of my waking hours during the year. And, the motto for this school year is, "I shall not be miserable today."
That sounds utterly ridiculous, awful - and maybe even a little negative. It isn't meant to be, in fact, it's quite the opposite. The past couple of years have been hard, but I realize it was I who made it that way. Approximately 175 children cross my path on a daily basis, all who ask, "What do I do next?", "What are we doing? I was in the Bahamas." Or, my favorite, "Like this?" It can drive one absolutely bonkers.
I repeat myself, at minimum, one hundred times. I repeat myself, at minimum...wait, I think I already said that! I write the directions on the board, and include them in the rubrics they put into their portfolio envelopes, just to conveniently lose them. I would no sooner get a stack of artwork assessed when another stack grew behind my back as I passed back the first stack. I sort of began feeling like a lab rat in an endless maze. By the time the third show came around where I was to send artwork to the High School art teacher, I couldn't keep track of name tags, artwork, supplies...total nightmare. I would come home exhausted, cranky, and downright miserable.
Not this year.
There are still several years to go before retirement can occur, and I woke up one morning this past summer determined to change my attitude. It was necessary for survival. "I shall not be miserable today."
Even when someone cuts through an entire ball of yarn trying to cut one piece.
Even when they don't follow the directions, no matter how many times I've explained it.
Even when I have to cover someone else's class because of the substitute shortage. (My apologies to colleagues who teach math - you don't even want me to talk to them about math! I don't math - I art.)
Even when someone 'borrows' my supplies and doesn't return them - especially the ones I've supplied myself!
Even when it's cold, and I'm tired, and want nothing more to be in my slippers and sweats.
It's all a state of mind. One of my dear colleagues also has a motto this year. It's " F@%$# it."
Also a state of mind, and not necessarily negative. Survival, people, it's all about survival.
"He who retires with sanity intact, wins."
And now, it's December. Christmas music rings in the air, and they're still eating Halloween candy - or have started on the candy canes. There is nothing like talking to a room full of nearly teens in December and May - it equals about the same result. Blank stares, or they look at me as if I've got three heads with tentacles sprouting from my shoulders. You would think that would garner interest - nope.
"I shall not be miserable today."
In this season of Advent, may we all find that inner peace that takes away the miserableness that is sometimes thrown in our way, and turn it into something joyous.
Thanks for stopping by the Stress Pool, where things are always interesting!
That sounds utterly ridiculous, awful - and maybe even a little negative. It isn't meant to be, in fact, it's quite the opposite. The past couple of years have been hard, but I realize it was I who made it that way. Approximately 175 children cross my path on a daily basis, all who ask, "What do I do next?", "What are we doing? I was in the Bahamas." Or, my favorite, "Like this?" It can drive one absolutely bonkers.
I repeat myself, at minimum, one hundred times. I repeat myself, at minimum...wait, I think I already said that! I write the directions on the board, and include them in the rubrics they put into their portfolio envelopes, just to conveniently lose them. I would no sooner get a stack of artwork assessed when another stack grew behind my back as I passed back the first stack. I sort of began feeling like a lab rat in an endless maze. By the time the third show came around where I was to send artwork to the High School art teacher, I couldn't keep track of name tags, artwork, supplies...total nightmare. I would come home exhausted, cranky, and downright miserable.
Not this year.
There are still several years to go before retirement can occur, and I woke up one morning this past summer determined to change my attitude. It was necessary for survival. "I shall not be miserable today."
Even when someone cuts through an entire ball of yarn trying to cut one piece.
Even when they don't follow the directions, no matter how many times I've explained it.
Even when I have to cover someone else's class because of the substitute shortage. (My apologies to colleagues who teach math - you don't even want me to talk to them about math! I don't math - I art.)
Even when someone 'borrows' my supplies and doesn't return them - especially the ones I've supplied myself!
Even when it's cold, and I'm tired, and want nothing more to be in my slippers and sweats.
It's all a state of mind. One of my dear colleagues also has a motto this year. It's " F@%$# it."
Also a state of mind, and not necessarily negative. Survival, people, it's all about survival.
"He who retires with sanity intact, wins."
And now, it's December. Christmas music rings in the air, and they're still eating Halloween candy - or have started on the candy canes. There is nothing like talking to a room full of nearly teens in December and May - it equals about the same result. Blank stares, or they look at me as if I've got three heads with tentacles sprouting from my shoulders. You would think that would garner interest - nope.
"I shall not be miserable today."
In this season of Advent, may we all find that inner peace that takes away the miserableness that is sometimes thrown in our way, and turn it into something joyous.
Thanks for stopping by the Stress Pool, where things are always interesting!
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