Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Christmas Letters
Trying to simultaneously work through a Christmas letter and not grit my teeth at the same time. Breathe. I cracked out a paragraph that did jokey like Christmas letters do but it was way too cynical of a jokey. Mostly because of the fact that I really don’t want to write a Christmas letter. It seemed funny to me, but I couldn’t get the voices out of my head of all the people that would be reading it and thinking,
“This really doesn’t belong in a Christmas letter.”
So I pulled back and deleted everything I wrote and then I realized that the letter may be a lot harder than I first imagined it would be. Now I’m stuck. The runway is iced over and the plane is gonna’ be grounded for a little while. And the not gritting my teeth is also not really working out.
This is really stressful.
“This really doesn’t belong in a Christmas letter.”
So I pulled back and deleted everything I wrote and then I realized that the letter may be a lot harder than I first imagined it would be. Now I’m stuck. The runway is iced over and the plane is gonna’ be grounded for a little while. And the not gritting my teeth is also not really working out.
This is really stressful.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Answering Without Listening
Richelle and her Christmas music have started their Saturday thing. I was caught trying to answer her question without actually listening to it. I’ve found that this is the great thing about yes or no questions. You don’t have to listen to a thing. You just say yes and people seem perfectly happy.
The problem is when the question comes back to visit you in another venue and you have no idea what was coming. For instance, she just came to me and said, “Can we give this to my dad and get new ones for ourselves at Costco today?”
To which I innocently asked, “We’re going by Costco today?”
“Oh my gosh!” she began yelling, “You really don’t listen to me! I asked you earlier and you said, ‘Yes. We’ll go.’”
I tried to explain the whole answering without listening concept which she found mildly interesting. But she really just wants me to get started on putting up the lights. Apparently, I said “yes” to this as well.
The problem is when the question comes back to visit you in another venue and you have no idea what was coming. For instance, she just came to me and said, “Can we give this to my dad and get new ones for ourselves at Costco today?”
To which I innocently asked, “We’re going by Costco today?”
“Oh my gosh!” she began yelling, “You really don’t listen to me! I asked you earlier and you said, ‘Yes. We’ll go.’”
I tried to explain the whole answering without listening concept which she found mildly interesting. But she really just wants me to get started on putting up the lights. Apparently, I said “yes” to this as well.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Joel Bergman has officially survived the first week of December 2009
Wow. This was a hectic week. No major catastrophes but a lot of little earthquakes that all converged on an already bustling December. Car trouble, school trouble, phone trouble, and having to deal with an overactive imagination through it all.
It actually doesn’t sound that bad now that I’m writing it out on the page and mulling it over in my mind. I’m actually trying to figure out how I can exaggerate the story a bit for inflation’s sake.
I don’t know why I do this to myself.
I think a dam breaks in my mind and the thoughts start gathering and converging into all of the possibilities of what “could happen” which has absolutely nothing to do with the likeliness of what “may happen.” Like my classroom is displaced on a day when I’m going to have to be out and I’m imagining the building getting set on fire with kids screaming, jumping out of windows; a slightly less chaotic version of Lean on Me with mixed martial arts matches breaking out for entertainment.
On the sub plan, I wanted to write, “If anything starts to go awry, just save yourself.”
But everything was fine. There were no problems. I came back with the sub report in tact and the desks all in place (apparently they were brought in mid-morning sometime). He even swept.
Also, I was driving through a gas station car wash earlier this week imagining how I can survive the wiles of everything I was going through at school when I heard a loud crack somewhere on my left; sounding like a sledge hammer pounding into the metal next to my ear. It was actually the sound of my mirror getting snapped off by the metal bars of the washer.
There are no words.
Right afterwards, a handy man started making it worse by telling me how easy it is to replace the mirror.
“It’s simple. You just pop this part out and wedge that back through there and screw it all in. It’s easy.”
I just nodded and smiled saying, “Great, cool. That’s really cool. I’ll do that Thank you very much.”
He was clearly not familiar with my version of “easy.”
I spent the early part of this afternoon trying to stay out of my overly-stressed Armenian mechanic’s way while he walked around muttering and yelling about anything and everything. It was obviously a busy time for him.
To top it off, I had made the mistake of driving into the wrong garage slot and I’d immediately set him off. I think his anger at me was throwing off the coherence of his English which made me even more timid than I already was.
“You go out! What you need?! Back this!”
“What? I… I don’t… um… my mirror. I need to get it fixed. Can you…?
“No! You go out!”
“What? You can’t? You want me to…”
Of course, here my imagination starts to take off. I started imagining that I’d finally come across the type of situation that is truly impossible for anyone to fix. The type of situation where a mechanic just shakes his head and says, “You’re screwed. This is impossible to fix.”
But, again, there was no problem.
Part comes on Monday.
It actually doesn’t sound that bad now that I’m writing it out on the page and mulling it over in my mind. I’m actually trying to figure out how I can exaggerate the story a bit for inflation’s sake.
I don’t know why I do this to myself.
I think a dam breaks in my mind and the thoughts start gathering and converging into all of the possibilities of what “could happen” which has absolutely nothing to do with the likeliness of what “may happen.” Like my classroom is displaced on a day when I’m going to have to be out and I’m imagining the building getting set on fire with kids screaming, jumping out of windows; a slightly less chaotic version of Lean on Me with mixed martial arts matches breaking out for entertainment.
On the sub plan, I wanted to write, “If anything starts to go awry, just save yourself.”
But everything was fine. There were no problems. I came back with the sub report in tact and the desks all in place (apparently they were brought in mid-morning sometime). He even swept.
Also, I was driving through a gas station car wash earlier this week imagining how I can survive the wiles of everything I was going through at school when I heard a loud crack somewhere on my left; sounding like a sledge hammer pounding into the metal next to my ear. It was actually the sound of my mirror getting snapped off by the metal bars of the washer.
There are no words.
Right afterwards, a handy man started making it worse by telling me how easy it is to replace the mirror.
“It’s simple. You just pop this part out and wedge that back through there and screw it all in. It’s easy.”
I just nodded and smiled saying, “Great, cool. That’s really cool. I’ll do that Thank you very much.”
He was clearly not familiar with my version of “easy.”
I spent the early part of this afternoon trying to stay out of my overly-stressed Armenian mechanic’s way while he walked around muttering and yelling about anything and everything. It was obviously a busy time for him.
To top it off, I had made the mistake of driving into the wrong garage slot and I’d immediately set him off. I think his anger at me was throwing off the coherence of his English which made me even more timid than I already was.
“You go out! What you need?! Back this!”
“What? I… I don’t… um… my mirror. I need to get it fixed. Can you…?
“No! You go out!”
“What? You can’t? You want me to…”
Of course, here my imagination starts to take off. I started imagining that I’d finally come across the type of situation that is truly impossible for anyone to fix. The type of situation where a mechanic just shakes his head and says, “You’re screwed. This is impossible to fix.”
But, again, there was no problem.
Part comes on Monday.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Christmas is Coming Like a Freight Train
Christmas is coming like a freight train. Richelle is busy decorating all over the house. She keeps saying things to me from the living room which I can’t quite hear.
So I say, “I can’t hear you!”
Then she says nothing.
Which means she’s either mad or she can’t hear me say that I can’t hear her.
I’m trying to make the tiny bit of wine left in my glass stretch as far as it can possibly go.
The music is taunting me.
She’s expressing worry about the Nativity scene and simultaneously hurrying me to get cheese and crackers that she wants to have with the wine.
She’s like a movie director on a deadline.
So I say, “I can’t hear you!”
Then she says nothing.
Which means she’s either mad or she can’t hear me say that I can’t hear her.
I’m trying to make the tiny bit of wine left in my glass stretch as far as it can possibly go.
The music is taunting me.
She’s expressing worry about the Nativity scene and simultaneously hurrying me to get cheese and crackers that she wants to have with the wine.
She’s like a movie director on a deadline.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Slightly Overdramatic
In the spirit of adding a little variety to my life, I walked down the cracker isle in the supermarket today. I don’t know why I like just reading the labels.
Although 99.9% of the boxes cost way too much and I start whispering the amounts under my breath. I wish we could all be on board with realizing that they are just charging way too much for this stuff. Who is paying four dollars for Chicken in a Biskit? Somebody’s keeping it out of my reach.
I’m avoiding responsibilities by turning to writing my journal right now. My mind and body are refusing to work. We all know what needs to get done. The Id and the Ego are just through with "doing things". Even my Superego is sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, with a half-gallon jug of ice cream propped up on his stomach. I'm letting him just zone out for now. The TV's not even on.
There are papers to grade. There is food to cook. But we’ve got nothing left.
I feel like Djimon Honsou in the movie Amistad where he’s stretching his chained hands out from the prisoner’s box and yelling, “Give me free!!!”
This maybe slightly overdramatizes my situation, but you feel how you feel.
Although 99.9% of the boxes cost way too much and I start whispering the amounts under my breath. I wish we could all be on board with realizing that they are just charging way too much for this stuff. Who is paying four dollars for Chicken in a Biskit? Somebody’s keeping it out of my reach.
I’m avoiding responsibilities by turning to writing my journal right now. My mind and body are refusing to work. We all know what needs to get done. The Id and the Ego are just through with "doing things". Even my Superego is sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, with a half-gallon jug of ice cream propped up on his stomach. I'm letting him just zone out for now. The TV's not even on.
There are papers to grade. There is food to cook. But we’ve got nothing left.
I feel like Djimon Honsou in the movie Amistad where he’s stretching his chained hands out from the prisoner’s box and yelling, “Give me free!!!”
This maybe slightly overdramatizes my situation, but you feel how you feel.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
An Attempt At An Explanation
5 AM. My body has a long standing rule to be perfectly willing to get up early on mornings that I don’t have to get up early and crave like the living dead to sleep longer on days that I do have to get up early.
For some reason, I started to think about my inability to maintain even a shred of normality in social situations. Or at least my perception of this.
I’m an introvert which means I look at parties or get-togethers the way many might look at war. My aim is not to have fun. My aim is to survive, keep all of my limbs in tact, keep all of my vital organs fully functioning, to not be dragged away in a straight jacket to an insane asylum, and to keep the odd misbehaviors from drawing so much attention that you don’t get invited to the next war.
From the looks I see on faces, I am absolutely sure I’ve frightened a lot of people out there. I would like to say that I don’t know myself half as well as I would like, but I do believe there is a normal person buried deep within me somewhere. The problem is, I think he’s been hog-tied by a maniac who walks around screaming “Hey!” at people while smiling too much and nodding too vigorously.
I don’t know why I get the instinct to run the other direction every time I see a room of people. I’ve always had trouble following the “just act like yourself” rule because, when the pressure is on, I can’t remember what “yourself” acts like. There's no script.
The normal guy inside me is pleading with me to just smile, shake hands, and say “How’s it goin’?” in a calm voice. The nod isn’t even necessary.
But, even before I enter the room, the maniac is already panicking and hyperventilating with sweaty palms thinking, “Oh geez, oh geez. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. We’re under attack! Abort the mission! Bravo! Tango! Echo! Pull back, men!”
For some reason, I started to think about my inability to maintain even a shred of normality in social situations. Or at least my perception of this.
I’m an introvert which means I look at parties or get-togethers the way many might look at war. My aim is not to have fun. My aim is to survive, keep all of my limbs in tact, keep all of my vital organs fully functioning, to not be dragged away in a straight jacket to an insane asylum, and to keep the odd misbehaviors from drawing so much attention that you don’t get invited to the next war.
From the looks I see on faces, I am absolutely sure I’ve frightened a lot of people out there. I would like to say that I don’t know myself half as well as I would like, but I do believe there is a normal person buried deep within me somewhere. The problem is, I think he’s been hog-tied by a maniac who walks around screaming “Hey!” at people while smiling too much and nodding too vigorously.
I don’t know why I get the instinct to run the other direction every time I see a room of people. I’ve always had trouble following the “just act like yourself” rule because, when the pressure is on, I can’t remember what “yourself” acts like. There's no script.
The normal guy inside me is pleading with me to just smile, shake hands, and say “How’s it goin’?” in a calm voice. The nod isn’t even necessary.
But, even before I enter the room, the maniac is already panicking and hyperventilating with sweaty palms thinking, “Oh geez, oh geez. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. We’re under attack! Abort the mission! Bravo! Tango! Echo! Pull back, men!”
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Grandma
Okay. I haven’t been back to this thing forever. I’ve been slacking. I admit it. There are extenuating circumstances but there are always extenuating circumstances.
As John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
I will give myself a tiny little pass on these past few weeks though. My grandmother died and I’ve been having trouble putting my thoughts into words about it. It was only about a month ago that my Dad called to tell me that she had cancer. I cried a lot that day and I think I outcried everyone at the funeral. Not that there’s any competition for these things.
But I’ve been feeling like I need to write something about it. About her. And I just can’t think of the right words.
Any words that I have to write about her just seem so trivial.
It feels like it’s so long till I’m going to see her again.
My Dad once told a story about his own grandmother when he was a child. She was coming to visit the whole family on the train and he had so much excitement to see her. But several weeks would pass by and when it came time for her to leave, she would have to board the same train and wave good-bye. Being only a child, it was difficult for him to understand that he was going to see her again someday.
That’s how I feel.
I love you, Grandma.
As John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
I will give myself a tiny little pass on these past few weeks though. My grandmother died and I’ve been having trouble putting my thoughts into words about it. It was only about a month ago that my Dad called to tell me that she had cancer. I cried a lot that day and I think I outcried everyone at the funeral. Not that there’s any competition for these things.
But I’ve been feeling like I need to write something about it. About her. And I just can’t think of the right words.
Any words that I have to write about her just seem so trivial.
It feels like it’s so long till I’m going to see her again.
My Dad once told a story about his own grandmother when he was a child. She was coming to visit the whole family on the train and he had so much excitement to see her. But several weeks would pass by and when it came time for her to leave, she would have to board the same train and wave good-bye. Being only a child, it was difficult for him to understand that he was going to see her again someday.
That’s how I feel.
I love you, Grandma.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Bad Decision
Sunday morning. The Portillo’s polish sausage last night was amazing, but combined with a few too many fries and a chocolate shake large enough to bathe in while I’m sucking it down was a bit too much.
As Miss Piggy once said, “Never eat more than you can lift.”
As Miss Piggy once said, “Never eat more than you can lift.”
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Our TV is Digging Itself a Hole in Our Backyard
Saturday morning. Our massive, big screen TV in the living room is slowly dying which is breaking my heart. You realize how attached you get to things after they start packing their bags and showing you the tickets of places their going to be traveling in the world. We had so many good times!! Don't leave!!!
I still watch a little Fox News for the political commentary but it looks as though everyone I’m seeing has just crawled out of a pool of a highly toxic pink jello. On a Saturday morning coffee high, this only increases the levels of paranoia one can experience.
I start to feel a sneaking suspicion that liberals may have something to do with the fact that O’Reilly looks like his hair is playfully on fire.
I still watch a little Fox News for the political commentary but it looks as though everyone I’m seeing has just crawled out of a pool of a highly toxic pink jello. On a Saturday morning coffee high, this only increases the levels of paranoia one can experience.
I start to feel a sneaking suspicion that liberals may have something to do with the fact that O’Reilly looks like his hair is playfully on fire.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Grief
Grief comes like throw up sometimes. Your thoughts start to bottleneck like cars on a freeway and all it takes is one unusual thing to focus on.
My grandmother has recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She’s actually been taking the news really well but it’s sending the rest of the family through a loop. We’re all in a slight-panic mode running trying to do something helpful or trying to look like we’re doing something helpful.
But my Grandma keeps saying that the only thing she wants is to go peacefully in her sleep.
My Dad called to tell me while I was at the park and I took the news really hard so I thought I’d drive myself straight home before I started to lose it. I always think I’ll take things like this better than I do.
Grandma was laughing in the background as my Dad was talking. He said, “She says she’ll take Obama care.”
I assumed that was probably a resignation toward the end since our family has always assumed that acceptance of democratic, political measures is tantamount to death and destruction in the slowest, most illogical ways known to man.
I spent last weekend with her and she is adamant that she can’t go fast enough. But I know the rest of us are not at all ready to see her go.
I’m having trouble spelling out to her how much I love her.
My grandmother has recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She’s actually been taking the news really well but it’s sending the rest of the family through a loop. We’re all in a slight-panic mode running trying to do something helpful or trying to look like we’re doing something helpful.
But my Grandma keeps saying that the only thing she wants is to go peacefully in her sleep.
My Dad called to tell me while I was at the park and I took the news really hard so I thought I’d drive myself straight home before I started to lose it. I always think I’ll take things like this better than I do.
Grandma was laughing in the background as my Dad was talking. He said, “She says she’ll take Obama care.”
I assumed that was probably a resignation toward the end since our family has always assumed that acceptance of democratic, political measures is tantamount to death and destruction in the slowest, most illogical ways known to man.
I spent last weekend with her and she is adamant that she can’t go fast enough. But I know the rest of us are not at all ready to see her go.
I’m having trouble spelling out to her how much I love her.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Nine Days
12:08 AM. Again, I can’t sleep. And I’ve run out of money to buy the sleepy generic Tylenol PM’s to guide me safely back downstairs so I’ve resorted to experimenting with 6-month-old doctor-prescribed Tylenol/ codeine pills which do not actually put me to sleep. But they do make me not mind at all. I’ve never been calmer about hearing nothing but crickets.
And they kind of slow things down a bit. I realized that I’m at a huge advantage when I can’t sleep. I literally have “all night.” Not that I want to take the entire night, mind you. A few extra half hours or a couple hours and hopefully I’ll get a heaviness to my brain which spells out that it’s time to get to bed.
Sadly, I don’t even remember what the Tylenol with codeine was for. I’ve had so many medical misadventures over my life that my brain has resorted to repressing most of them.
School starts in nine days. This is both good and bad for many many reasons. The pluses: I have a job, I have a paycheck, I have something to wake up to every morning, I can sleep at night because I have to wake up every morning, I have a schedule that keeps me busy and makes me feel relatively important in my own small square in the world, and I’m not feeling like the molecules of my body are floating out into thin air without a rigid schedule I’m chaining myself to for survival.
The minuses: well, I can see them in just about every plus I just wrote down. But it’s really a matter of perspective or choice. What am I choosing to look at? The positive or the negative. I’ll let you know about a week after school starts.
And they kind of slow things down a bit. I realized that I’m at a huge advantage when I can’t sleep. I literally have “all night.” Not that I want to take the entire night, mind you. A few extra half hours or a couple hours and hopefully I’ll get a heaviness to my brain which spells out that it’s time to get to bed.
Sadly, I don’t even remember what the Tylenol with codeine was for. I’ve had so many medical misadventures over my life that my brain has resorted to repressing most of them.
School starts in nine days. This is both good and bad for many many reasons. The pluses: I have a job, I have a paycheck, I have something to wake up to every morning, I can sleep at night because I have to wake up every morning, I have a schedule that keeps me busy and makes me feel relatively important in my own small square in the world, and I’m not feeling like the molecules of my body are floating out into thin air without a rigid schedule I’m chaining myself to for survival.
The minuses: well, I can see them in just about every plus I just wrote down. But it’s really a matter of perspective or choice. What am I choosing to look at? The positive or the negative. I’ll let you know about a week after school starts.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Crickets
Three weeks to go till school starts. I’m trying to gear up my brain but I’m having trouble getting there. Teachers who take the summer off to “relax” tend to lose themselves during the three month sabbatical
It’s like they let every molecule of their body dissipate into nothingness and scramble to collect it all again when school starts. Needless to say, this is a difficult process.
Richelle and I are cooling off from a heated argument we had earlier so the sounds of the crickets and grasshoppers right now are unusually loud. She’s right, of course. About most of it.
I'm still sitting in the Alamo of my 2% right. I won't be taken alive.
It’s like they let every molecule of their body dissipate into nothingness and scramble to collect it all again when school starts. Needless to say, this is a difficult process.
Richelle and I are cooling off from a heated argument we had earlier so the sounds of the crickets and grasshoppers right now are unusually loud. She’s right, of course. About most of it.
I'm still sitting in the Alamo of my 2% right. I won't be taken alive.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Dont' read this unless you have absolutely nothing else to do with your life.
I haven’t written anything so far in August. This is shameful. I’m like Ernest Borgnine says in the film Marty, “What I been doin’ with myself?” I want to give excuses but I don’t have any. Like you drive off a cliff and smash your body up, people will understand why you haven’t been keeping up on the letter-writing. You were a little tied up. It’s understandable.
So this is me just getting back into the swing of things. I’m writing to say I haven’t been writing. Hopefully, you figured out that you needed to stop reading this post within the first few words.
So this is me just getting back into the swing of things. I’m writing to say I haven’t been writing. Hopefully, you figured out that you needed to stop reading this post within the first few words.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
What's the term for sleepless?
2:15 a.m. Tuesday morning. Can’t knock out yet. Trying to lasso the stampede of buffaloes in my head enough to sleep. I know a lot of parents who take their kids on car rides in order to put them down. This would actually work for me except for the fact that I would be behind the wheel and probably barreling down the freeway doing eighty when I finally accomplished the task.
For some reason, I can’t think of the term for sleeplessness.
For some reason, I can’t think of the term for sleeplessness.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Garage Sale Day
Let me give you an idea: when you’re starting to fantasize about your house burning down, it’s time to have a garage sale. We did that today and there are no words to describe it. I’m making a commitment now that I will never buy something other than a house or a car for the rest of my life. I want to buy space. Not “things” but the “absence of things.”
It was going to my head today. People were trying to negotiate lower prices with me and I always automatically went with the first price they quoted.
“How much is this?”
“I don’t know. Ten dollars.”
“How ‘bout five?”
“Sure.”
It was beautiful to me. Because in my head, when they asked me the question the first time I had to fight the impulse to say, “Just take it! It’s free! Don’t you get it! It’s junk!!! I don’t want it!!! If you ask me, I’ll pay you to take it away."
I clearly recognize that this would affect sales numbers at the end of the day. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I discovered this whole garage-saling world out there today. They’re amazing how they’ll rifle through these piles of clothes and books and examine these products that look they’ve been parked in someone’s garage since the first world war.
It gives me stress to own this stuff but to actually get a chance to see people who go out and pay to take it off your hands just stuns me.
The one depressing thing I found was that we pulled out a certain amount from the garage, sold $300 worth of stuff and then, somehow, when we put things back in the garage we had more than what we started with in the first place. This is a cruel joke.
It was going to my head today. People were trying to negotiate lower prices with me and I always automatically went with the first price they quoted.
“How much is this?”
“I don’t know. Ten dollars.”
“How ‘bout five?”
“Sure.”
It was beautiful to me. Because in my head, when they asked me the question the first time I had to fight the impulse to say, “Just take it! It’s free! Don’t you get it! It’s junk!!! I don’t want it!!! If you ask me, I’ll pay you to take it away."
I clearly recognize that this would affect sales numbers at the end of the day. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I discovered this whole garage-saling world out there today. They’re amazing how they’ll rifle through these piles of clothes and books and examine these products that look they’ve been parked in someone’s garage since the first world war.
It gives me stress to own this stuff but to actually get a chance to see people who go out and pay to take it off your hands just stuns me.
The one depressing thing I found was that we pulled out a certain amount from the garage, sold $300 worth of stuff and then, somehow, when we put things back in the garage we had more than what we started with in the first place. This is a cruel joke.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Boredom Marathon/ Jury Duty
For the first time in my life, I've joined the ultra-responsible in their proverbial "civic responsibility." I'm waiting for jury selection. They haven't called my name yet and I've been waiting here for six hours!!!!!!!!!
Get a grip. Get a grip.
This is mindless.
We're all waiting in a large room for hours upon hours with very few of us actually wanting to talk to the other person. In the entire one hundred person room, I hear like four people whispering to each other under their breath. The rest of us are staring at books wishing we were somewhere else. I think I found purgatory. I'm trying to keep myself from looking at my watch every sixty seconds but it's torture. It's like time is playing a trick on me.
This is painstaking!
I wonder if any one has ever committed a crime after going stark raving mad while waiting for jury selection. All they would have to do is just transfer me from the sixth floor to the fourth floor where the inmates are being held. They're probably at least talking about something. I want to inform people behind me that there is really no reason to whisper. But I'm a hypocrite. I would whisper too.
Ah ha! Just got a text from my friend Pete. I will investigate.
Get a grip. Get a grip.
This is mindless.
We're all waiting in a large room for hours upon hours with very few of us actually wanting to talk to the other person. In the entire one hundred person room, I hear like four people whispering to each other under their breath. The rest of us are staring at books wishing we were somewhere else. I think I found purgatory. I'm trying to keep myself from looking at my watch every sixty seconds but it's torture. It's like time is playing a trick on me.
This is painstaking!
I wonder if any one has ever committed a crime after going stark raving mad while waiting for jury selection. All they would have to do is just transfer me from the sixth floor to the fourth floor where the inmates are being held. They're probably at least talking about something. I want to inform people behind me that there is really no reason to whisper. But I'm a hypocrite. I would whisper too.
Ah ha! Just got a text from my friend Pete. I will investigate.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Apologies
So I found out yesterday that my job is safe. For now, I guess I would say. From what I’ve been hearing things are bad all over the state. Money’s drying up everywhere. Nobody’s wanting to lend to us any more and Californians have resoundingly voted “no” on raising their own taxes. As Margaret Thatcher once said, “This is the problem with socialism. Sooner or later, you run out of other people’s money.”
But it feels good to be safe for now. Thank you Lord. Our cups constantly run over.
I want to sincerely apologize for the “jumping out of a one-story window” crack from my previous entry. It was a pathetic attempt to be funny, but it was wrong. I thought about it later when I found out a former student of mine ended his life this week.
It floored me to find this out. This student was one of the brightest, most determined young men I’ve ever come across. He had joined the Marine Corps and he showed so much promise. His mother worked at the school and I would constantly tell her what an incredible kid she had raised.
I just feel a deep sadness. It's hard to put this into words.
But it feels good to be safe for now. Thank you Lord. Our cups constantly run over.
I want to sincerely apologize for the “jumping out of a one-story window” crack from my previous entry. It was a pathetic attempt to be funny, but it was wrong. I thought about it later when I found out a former student of mine ended his life this week.
It floored me to find this out. This student was one of the brightest, most determined young men I’ve ever come across. He had joined the Marine Corps and he showed so much promise. His mother worked at the school and I would constantly tell her what an incredible kid she had raised.
I just feel a deep sadness. It's hard to put this into words.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Losing My Job
Trusting God was a lot easier when I was just talking about it. I recently found out that I am not going to have a teaching job after June which is not nearly as depressing as the idea that I won’t have a paycheck either. And my house has only one floor. Throwing myself out of the window would only just land me safely on the lawn. Way too anticlimactic.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Awkward Moments
I’m awake. And it’s almost 11:32 p.m. I’ve been up since five this morning. Somewhere my body skipped over getting tired and now bedtime is a little confusing.
We saw Kuya Rozel off tonight. I know I’m gonna’ miss him. He left us with an oil-tanker-sized Tequila bottle because it was weighing down his luggage to the point that they wouldn’t let him take it on the plane. I got to hold the bottle which ever so slightly eased the pain of seeing him off. Although this latest visit of his has definitely made me realize that we both drink too much. Our stomachs are starting to get that early pregnancy look to them. The dream of always being able to describe my ideal pizza as standing on the crust like the edge of a pool and diving into cheese that I’m able to swim across is beginning to darken.
Yesterday, at church, the service was drawing to an end and people were standing up to share about awkward moments that they’d had with church and other issues they’d been going through. Everything was so quiet around us and as one woman was speaking in a very low tone, Kuya Rozel’s phone started blaring a hard rock Filipino song over its MP3 player. He kept trying to turn it off but the buttons he was frantically pushing were just making it blast louder prompting Kuya to whisper a very loud and audible “Shit!” across the room. Instant classic.
We'll miss ya man. Love ya. Godspeed.
We saw Kuya Rozel off tonight. I know I’m gonna’ miss him. He left us with an oil-tanker-sized Tequila bottle because it was weighing down his luggage to the point that they wouldn’t let him take it on the plane. I got to hold the bottle which ever so slightly eased the pain of seeing him off. Although this latest visit of his has definitely made me realize that we both drink too much. Our stomachs are starting to get that early pregnancy look to them. The dream of always being able to describe my ideal pizza as standing on the crust like the edge of a pool and diving into cheese that I’m able to swim across is beginning to darken.
Yesterday, at church, the service was drawing to an end and people were standing up to share about awkward moments that they’d had with church and other issues they’d been going through. Everything was so quiet around us and as one woman was speaking in a very low tone, Kuya Rozel’s phone started blaring a hard rock Filipino song over its MP3 player. He kept trying to turn it off but the buttons he was frantically pushing were just making it blast louder prompting Kuya to whisper a very loud and audible “Shit!” across the room. Instant classic.
We'll miss ya man. Love ya. Godspeed.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Shout Out
I've been crawling through time. This is not good. You pay attention too much to the clock and the second hands start playing tricks on you. Same with the calendar.
Shout out to Stephy and Ileah. You guys are too smart for your ages.
Shout out to Stephy and Ileah. You guys are too smart for your ages.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Power Nap
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m doing all I can to just maintain my job and keep the house from falling apart. Or at least keeping people from noticing that the house is falling apart. Or that English could better be taught by someone who does not speak the language.
There’s mold growing on the ceiling in one of the bedrooms. I know I’m supposed to bring myself to look at it and check it out. Investigate the matter somehow. But I’m having the same reaction I would have if the government informed me that Iran had nukes and I personally needed to do something to take care of it. I would put one finger to my mouth, shush them quietly, and go lie down on the couch for a long, serious power nap.
There’s mold growing on the ceiling in one of the bedrooms. I know I’m supposed to bring myself to look at it and check it out. Investigate the matter somehow. But I’m having the same reaction I would have if the government informed me that Iran had nukes and I personally needed to do something to take care of it. I would put one finger to my mouth, shush them quietly, and go lie down on the couch for a long, serious power nap.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Disturbingly High Forehead Here
I just worked through $12 Japanese food with Che Che. It was magical. I don’t know why cheap food makes me feel so elated. Cheap everything makes me feel elated. Is that okay? I mean, I’ll spend on things when it comes down to the real nitty gritty. I’ll spend if my life is in danger. I’ll spend to keep the necessities is in order. I’ll even spend when I really want some things. But the thought of saving money has always been a big thrill.
I save like an old hermit hiding in the mountains. I keep shoving change in an old pickle jar that I’ve converted into a piggy bank and all of these one-dollar bills and five-dollar bills in envelopes. It’s a little bit of a bail-out fund I keep for Che Che and I. But really it just gives me a thrill to keep socking stuff away day after day. I’ve done this since I was a kid. And it’s probably not that healthy. I know the positive reasons already. But I’m thinking that deep inside, I’m putting my hope and thoughts into money instead of God for really coming through for me when I need it most.
My stomach is seriously starting to alarm me. It’s not a full-fledged beer belly but it’s at least more prominent than it was. I’m pressing the edge of my limits with the pants I was wearing. Like Santa Claus in his teenage years. I shouldn’t be worrying about this. There are so many other things to be stressing about. In fact, I stress about those things too but more in a general sense. Like stressing about the fact that I should be stressing about more things.
I’m still sore from the rock climbing wall.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Issues
I’ve been gaining weight lately and it’s disturbing to me. I know men are not supposed worry about things like this or they’re not supposed to admit they’re worried about things like this. But I guess that’s what writing inevitably does. It makes you admit the things that you’re doing your best to hide away from people.
Also I blame the fact that I’m an English teacher. We’re sensitive people, us English teachers. We read and write way too much. Or we force other people to read and write way too much and then stress about the fact that we’re not making ourselves do the same, which is usually my case.
I’m actually not allowed to be worried about a thing like eating too. Because I know there’s people out there that have weight problems that supercede my own which makes them scowl at me if I ever imply that I’m stressing about a thing like that. As though I’m implying that they should be stressing about a thing like that. But I’m not. This is purely self-evaluation. The fact that my stomach is beginning to bulge over my pants is no reflection on any one else.
I took my students on a field trip yesterday where I dared myself to climb a rock climbing wall. This didn’t start out well. If only I could accomplish things the way I’m envisioning them in my mind. Now my muscles are screaming with every little movement that this is all my fault. But this is not fair. We’re all in this together. It’s a team effort. It’s not like my muscles can just turn on me and say that I’m the one that’s keeping them from exercise. My muscles are completely willing participants in the not exercising. Explaining this to them has quieted somewhat. They’ve now resorted to a dull whimper.
Also I blame the fact that I’m an English teacher. We’re sensitive people, us English teachers. We read and write way too much. Or we force other people to read and write way too much and then stress about the fact that we’re not making ourselves do the same, which is usually my case.
I’m actually not allowed to be worried about a thing like eating too. Because I know there’s people out there that have weight problems that supercede my own which makes them scowl at me if I ever imply that I’m stressing about a thing like that. As though I’m implying that they should be stressing about a thing like that. But I’m not. This is purely self-evaluation. The fact that my stomach is beginning to bulge over my pants is no reflection on any one else.
I took my students on a field trip yesterday where I dared myself to climb a rock climbing wall. This didn’t start out well. If only I could accomplish things the way I’m envisioning them in my mind. Now my muscles are screaming with every little movement that this is all my fault. But this is not fair. We’re all in this together. It’s a team effort. It’s not like my muscles can just turn on me and say that I’m the one that’s keeping them from exercise. My muscles are completely willing participants in the not exercising. Explaining this to them has quieted somewhat. They’ve now resorted to a dull whimper.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
9:21 A.M. Still trying to talk myself into taking my dog for a walk. This requires getting myself out of the sweats and into jeans which takes a whole new level of psychology that I am not equipped to deal with.
The main road near our house has so many cars and so many lanes that I feel like Frogger as I’m trying to get across it. Jack doesn’t know any better so I always put him on the side where the most traffic is coming from. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that driving over one living speed bump might encourage them to stop before they hit the second living speed bump.
The main road near our house has so many cars and so many lanes that I feel like Frogger as I’m trying to get across it. Jack doesn’t know any better so I always put him on the side where the most traffic is coming from. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that driving over one living speed bump might encourage them to stop before they hit the second living speed bump.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Prison of the Mind
Spring break this week. No. I’m not going any where: Che Che’s still working and we’re broke. A full week. I’m trying to register the time for myself the same way I do when I’m teaching. I'm having trouble turning the teacher survivalist mode. I've taught the last two and a half years the same way a prisoner in a dungeon would notch out days and hours in his cell. He uses a large rock to keep track out how much time he’s got left; I use a planner from Walmart. Monday will be day 40, 10 weeks till the summer. 48 school days. Don't mention summer school. As Napoleon said, "We'll burn that bridge when we get there."
I know this is not healthy. You’re not supposed to count things. I know this but I do it any way which is sad. Get up in the morning and drink water and count the gulps I’m taking from a water bottle. Count the number of days I’ve got left in the week. Once I’m done, I’ll do it again. Psychiatrists say that means you’re probably depressed. Or like talking or writing about yourself in the 2nd person.
But no! No need. I’ve got spring break this week. I’m free. I’m just having a hard time convincing my brain and body to do something other than what my routine has been for the last 7 months. I’m writing this blog. A little out of the ordinary.
This is the reason for vacations, I guess. It takes a little time for the neuroticism to wear off. I have to actually logically think and plan out deliberate things that are out of the ordinary. Out of my pattern that I had built for myself. Get home from work. Dump the trash. Walk the dog. Water the lawn. Give the dog his medication. Feed the dog. Watch the O’Reilly Factor for entertainment and a little bit of knowledge about the world. Freedom is in the mind. And it helps if you’re not physically locked in chains because I bet the visual contradiction would be a bit confusing.
I just had a bean burrito from Taco Bell. Sounds like prison food to some of you, but this is actually high up on my list of things I would actually choose to eat more than anything else on earth. Sad, I know. Now, I will go read a book. Slowly easing into the recreational mode. I’m hoping to be sky diving by Friday. Or walking my dog all the way to the park and back. Something crazy like that.
I know this is not healthy. You’re not supposed to count things. I know this but I do it any way which is sad. Get up in the morning and drink water and count the gulps I’m taking from a water bottle. Count the number of days I’ve got left in the week. Once I’m done, I’ll do it again. Psychiatrists say that means you’re probably depressed. Or like talking or writing about yourself in the 2nd person.
But no! No need. I’ve got spring break this week. I’m free. I’m just having a hard time convincing my brain and body to do something other than what my routine has been for the last 7 months. I’m writing this blog. A little out of the ordinary.
This is the reason for vacations, I guess. It takes a little time for the neuroticism to wear off. I have to actually logically think and plan out deliberate things that are out of the ordinary. Out of my pattern that I had built for myself. Get home from work. Dump the trash. Walk the dog. Water the lawn. Give the dog his medication. Feed the dog. Watch the O’Reilly Factor for entertainment and a little bit of knowledge about the world. Freedom is in the mind. And it helps if you’re not physically locked in chains because I bet the visual contradiction would be a bit confusing.
I just had a bean burrito from Taco Bell. Sounds like prison food to some of you, but this is actually high up on my list of things I would actually choose to eat more than anything else on earth. Sad, I know. Now, I will go read a book. Slowly easing into the recreational mode. I’m hoping to be sky diving by Friday. Or walking my dog all the way to the park and back. Something crazy like that.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Insurance Fights
Richelle is seething right now. She’s gone through another bout with our medical insurance company over paying for these simple tests she wants to have done. I usually get lost somewhere in her play-by-play of what’s going on. But just the sheer length of the description and the fact that she refuses to skip over even the minutest detail in the on-going saga makes me break down in tears begging her to let me just pay for the “freakin” tests. She will not.
“How are we going to pay for it? With the money we don’t have?” Of course, I’m silent at this point. It would make more sense to me to pay for it with the money we do have, but I know better than to bring this up.
My wife is a fighter. She will carry this flag to the United States Supreme Court if she has to. I’ve learned this lesson all too well in the three years of our marriage. There have been times where we will have been fighting about something for hours on end. The conversation itself will have taken multiple right and left turns to the point where I will have completely lost my way. Enough time will have passed and enough complicated topics will lead into other complicated topics and eventually I will not be able to remember what it was we were fighting about in the first place. Just that I’m supposed to be mad.
I’m wanting to warn the insurance people. I don’t know who to talk to, but I just want to tell them, “It’s easier if you just go along with it in the first place.” Smile and nod. Just smile and nod.
“How are we going to pay for it? With the money we don’t have?” Of course, I’m silent at this point. It would make more sense to me to pay for it with the money we do have, but I know better than to bring this up.
My wife is a fighter. She will carry this flag to the United States Supreme Court if she has to. I’ve learned this lesson all too well in the three years of our marriage. There have been times where we will have been fighting about something for hours on end. The conversation itself will have taken multiple right and left turns to the point where I will have completely lost my way. Enough time will have passed and enough complicated topics will lead into other complicated topics and eventually I will not be able to remember what it was we were fighting about in the first place. Just that I’m supposed to be mad.
I’m wanting to warn the insurance people. I don’t know who to talk to, but I just want to tell them, “It’s easier if you just go along with it in the first place.” Smile and nod. Just smile and nod.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Terrible Post
Again. This is a terrible post. Please do not keep reading unless you have absolutely run out of things to do in your life.
I know there’s something much more constructive I could be doing right now, but there’s a certain pecking order for certain tedious activities in life. Things that originally inspired the concept of procrastination.
What I could be doing is something called BTSA which is Beginning Teacher Support- don’t ask me what the A is. See this is supposed to support beginning teachers. It’s a mountain of agonizing paperwork that takes two years to work through. This is, of course, what they’re doing to “support” teachers. Add to the workload. I keep telling them that if they want to support beginning teachers, they should hire a team of bartenders, massage therapists, and psychiatrists.
I just got through my stull last Friday. The administrator walked in and sat in my class for about forty minutes while I did my best to look as normal as possible. I have a tendency to lose my ability to speak when they walk in.
I know there’s something much more constructive I could be doing right now, but there’s a certain pecking order for certain tedious activities in life. Things that originally inspired the concept of procrastination.
What I could be doing is something called BTSA which is Beginning Teacher Support- don’t ask me what the A is. See this is supposed to support beginning teachers. It’s a mountain of agonizing paperwork that takes two years to work through. This is, of course, what they’re doing to “support” teachers. Add to the workload. I keep telling them that if they want to support beginning teachers, they should hire a team of bartenders, massage therapists, and psychiatrists.
I just got through my stull last Friday. The administrator walked in and sat in my class for about forty minutes while I did my best to look as normal as possible. I have a tendency to lose my ability to speak when they walk in.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Inspiration from Flying Rats
I was stressing about the job cut rumors the other day when I think the Lord nudged me. I was standing out on the quad talking to someone telling them all of the possibilities in terms of the layoffs. It was right after lunchtime when all of the sea gulls and pigeons come out and eat the scraps of food that students toss on the ground. As I was getting myself more and more worked up describing what could happen, a pigeon waddled by shaking a piece of cheese in its mouth. It was like a little king with its fat belly and shiny purple feathers adorning it’s neck. The cheese matched the size of his little head which made me smile watching him struggle to get the whole thing into its beak. It was then that I thought about what Jesus said in Matthew 6: “Look at the birds. They don’t plan or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable then they are?”
This has been a hard one to learn. I keep having to remind myself. At every moment of our lives, every cell, every fiber of our being is completely and utterly dependent on the Lord for its provision. It’s comical to me that a homeless, penniless flying rat had to be the thing that reminded me of this. But I guess it’s appropriate. We are sons and daughters of the Great King. We may think we’re the source of our own hope in life, but that is only an illusion. The oxygen we breathe, the water we drink, the food we put in our mouths- every bit of it is held together by Him and obedient to His command.
This has been a hard one to learn. I keep having to remind myself. At every moment of our lives, every cell, every fiber of our being is completely and utterly dependent on the Lord for its provision. It’s comical to me that a homeless, penniless flying rat had to be the thing that reminded me of this. But I guess it’s appropriate. We are sons and daughters of the Great King. We may think we’re the source of our own hope in life, but that is only an illusion. The oxygen we breathe, the water we drink, the food we put in our mouths- every bit of it is held together by Him and obedient to His command.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Joy
Saturday. Day three of rain. Jack is despondent now. Three days without a walk and his blonde head is barely visible in the window. He’s lying prostrate on the couch as though it’s the last few moments on his death bed.
I think it may be in their thirties that men start to realize that they’re never going to achieve the superhero status that they had always somehow believed that they were going to spontaneously evolve into at some point in their life. I emailed a friend not long ago with something like this sentiment. We had survived the horror of our twenties together where are goals and dreams were ranging between professional football at one end of the spectrum and President of the United States at the other end. Now, it seems like we’ve let our goals shrink down to more reachable items like bed, food, clothes, and matinee movies.
Honestly, I hear the Lord speaking through the way my dog stares at me behind the glass door leading to our backyard. It’s like he has placed pure joy in his wild, scraggly face. He doesn’t care how long he has to wait or what horrible conditions he has to endure for that one exuberant half hour he gets to walk with me through the neighborhood; it’s what he lives for. I think this is the kind of joy the Lord is wanting to approach Him with; as though nothing else matters except the moments when we can catch a glimpse of Him through the snot-spotted glass or dance in front of Him because we know we’ll be going on a walk together. And nothing else matters. No other thought can weigh our minds down in those moments. That is the joy I crave.
I think it may be in their thirties that men start to realize that they’re never going to achieve the superhero status that they had always somehow believed that they were going to spontaneously evolve into at some point in their life. I emailed a friend not long ago with something like this sentiment. We had survived the horror of our twenties together where are goals and dreams were ranging between professional football at one end of the spectrum and President of the United States at the other end. Now, it seems like we’ve let our goals shrink down to more reachable items like bed, food, clothes, and matinee movies.
Honestly, I hear the Lord speaking through the way my dog stares at me behind the glass door leading to our backyard. It’s like he has placed pure joy in his wild, scraggly face. He doesn’t care how long he has to wait or what horrible conditions he has to endure for that one exuberant half hour he gets to walk with me through the neighborhood; it’s what he lives for. I think this is the kind of joy the Lord is wanting to approach Him with; as though nothing else matters except the moments when we can catch a glimpse of Him through the snot-spotted glass or dance in front of Him because we know we’ll be going on a walk together. And nothing else matters. No other thought can weigh our minds down in those moments. That is the joy I crave.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Rain
Friday. We are now on day two of rain for Southern California which is just about as rare as our state having a balanced budget so I’m enjoying it while I can get it. I left an umbrella at school which is the first umbrella I’ve owned for as long as I can remember. I was telling one of my students that men never use umbrellas and then, after an afternoon of getting pounded by the rain as I was running from one place to the next, it really didn’t matter if I was considered in the running to be a man or not. Even by myself. Sometimes you just gotta’ do what you gotta’ do.
I said good-bye to my ninth graders today. I get a whole new set of ninth graders on Tuesday which tends to lead me to all of these differing degrees of sentimentality which may or may not be completely genuine. Some classes I will definitely miss. I would love to have them and teach them even longer than the administration is willing to give me. But some classes… and I’m trying to be as diplomatic as possible in expressing this… some classes make me want to count the number of seconds I have in each class period. My fourth period were like little brand new puppies who you want to spend all day with but my second period made me want to bring back every form of corporal punishment ever devised in history no matter how barbaric- the more creative the more therapeutic they might be.
My dog Jack is lying down outside with his nose to the glass and wagging his tail. He hasn’t been walked yet and he expects me to walk him even though it’s raining and I don’t know how to explain to him that this is not what sane people do. This is not what anybody does. I don’t even see insane people walking their dogs in the rain. But Jack clearly doesn’t understand this and he’s waiting for me which is testing my normally-strong level of guilt tolerance.
I said good-bye to my ninth graders today. I get a whole new set of ninth graders on Tuesday which tends to lead me to all of these differing degrees of sentimentality which may or may not be completely genuine. Some classes I will definitely miss. I would love to have them and teach them even longer than the administration is willing to give me. But some classes… and I’m trying to be as diplomatic as possible in expressing this… some classes make me want to count the number of seconds I have in each class period. My fourth period were like little brand new puppies who you want to spend all day with but my second period made me want to bring back every form of corporal punishment ever devised in history no matter how barbaric- the more creative the more therapeutic they might be.
My dog Jack is lying down outside with his nose to the glass and wagging his tail. He hasn’t been walked yet and he expects me to walk him even though it’s raining and I don’t know how to explain to him that this is not what sane people do. This is not what anybody does. I don’t even see insane people walking their dogs in the rain. But Jack clearly doesn’t understand this and he’s waiting for me which is testing my normally-strong level of guilt tolerance.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Caleb
1:16 A.M. I should be half-dead asleep by now but I’ve somehow confused my body by shocking it awake with a grande cup of Starbucks coffee a few hours ago in order to watch a movie with Richelle who is now half-dead asleep while I sit here levitating above my chair. I have a special blue pill for just such occasions.
Sidenote: There’s a giant open bowl of something colorful and seafoody in our fridge and I’m too afraid to investigate closely.
Most people at my school have been celebrating the new Obama administration while I’ve been intentionally trying to keep myself from certain potentially harmful things like knives and sleeping pills and tall buildings. I'll pray for him.
I have not been back to blog lately so this is just me checking back in. Hopefully I won’t stay away so long next time. I have journaled but the journal entries have only served as a painful reminder that I am painfully rusty when it comes to writing so, needless to say, they didn’t quite make the cut.
But there have been things happening lately. My sister Sara had a baby boy named Caleb a couple weeks ago. So there’s things happening in my world.
There was a huge complication with the labor where they almost lost Caleb. While Sara was trying to push, the baby’s heart monitor began to show a weak heart rate which sent the doctors and nurses rushing in to perform an emergency C-section.
Apparently, it had started early on in the pregnancy where Caleb had moved through the womb in such a way that it had produced a knot in the umbilical chord the same way a wire knots up when it gets tangled. The baby was fine as long as he stayed snugly in the womb but as he began to get pushed out in the labor, the chord began to tighten which cut off his oxygen supply. The doctors knew they had about 15 minutes to get the baby out or it would be too late. They were racing Sara down to the operating room so fast that both a doctor and a nurse stumbled and fell on the way. We were told later that Sara’s life was also in jeopardy through this process.
But I’m told the surgeons were spectacular and the C-section worked beautifully and they have a healthy baby boy to prove it.
I was trying to describe the story to Richelle’s Mom this morning and I began to tear up the more I tried to express the story. I realized that I might have lost my sister and I don’t think I’ve done that great of job of telling her how much I love her. I don’t think I’ve said this to her nearly enough.
After work yesterday, Richelle and I faced hours of cattle drive rush hour to visit them getting lost once along the way and accidentally almost visiting San Diego which I’m going to try to erase from my memory. But getting there was worth it.
I was afraid to hold Caleb at first knowing my personal history with handling breakable items. But the more Richelle was holding him and getting pictures with him, I realized I was missing out and asked them to set Caleb in my lap. He was a beautiful 8 pounds with a big shock of brown hair, chubby cheeks and rashy red skin. He squirmed and made a motion to cry when I held him. My mom stepped in and guided me into gently bobbing him up and down.
I think this is how we all are in the arms of a living God. Every cell in our bodies and every cell in the world around us is held in motion by Him. It’s a humbling thought.
Sidenote: There’s a giant open bowl of something colorful and seafoody in our fridge and I’m too afraid to investigate closely.
Most people at my school have been celebrating the new Obama administration while I’ve been intentionally trying to keep myself from certain potentially harmful things like knives and sleeping pills and tall buildings. I'll pray for him.
I have not been back to blog lately so this is just me checking back in. Hopefully I won’t stay away so long next time. I have journaled but the journal entries have only served as a painful reminder that I am painfully rusty when it comes to writing so, needless to say, they didn’t quite make the cut.
But there have been things happening lately. My sister Sara had a baby boy named Caleb a couple weeks ago. So there’s things happening in my world.
There was a huge complication with the labor where they almost lost Caleb. While Sara was trying to push, the baby’s heart monitor began to show a weak heart rate which sent the doctors and nurses rushing in to perform an emergency C-section.
Apparently, it had started early on in the pregnancy where Caleb had moved through the womb in such a way that it had produced a knot in the umbilical chord the same way a wire knots up when it gets tangled. The baby was fine as long as he stayed snugly in the womb but as he began to get pushed out in the labor, the chord began to tighten which cut off his oxygen supply. The doctors knew they had about 15 minutes to get the baby out or it would be too late. They were racing Sara down to the operating room so fast that both a doctor and a nurse stumbled and fell on the way. We were told later that Sara’s life was also in jeopardy through this process.
But I’m told the surgeons were spectacular and the C-section worked beautifully and they have a healthy baby boy to prove it.
I was trying to describe the story to Richelle’s Mom this morning and I began to tear up the more I tried to express the story. I realized that I might have lost my sister and I don’t think I’ve done that great of job of telling her how much I love her. I don’t think I’ve said this to her nearly enough.
After work yesterday, Richelle and I faced hours of cattle drive rush hour to visit them getting lost once along the way and accidentally almost visiting San Diego which I’m going to try to erase from my memory. But getting there was worth it.
I was afraid to hold Caleb at first knowing my personal history with handling breakable items. But the more Richelle was holding him and getting pictures with him, I realized I was missing out and asked them to set Caleb in my lap. He was a beautiful 8 pounds with a big shock of brown hair, chubby cheeks and rashy red skin. He squirmed and made a motion to cry when I held him. My mom stepped in and guided me into gently bobbing him up and down.
I think this is how we all are in the arms of a living God. Every cell in our bodies and every cell in the world around us is held in motion by Him. It’s a humbling thought.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Gratitude
The financial stress has been weighing down on my mind these days. I keep thinking of the thousand dollars we have left on this tax bill and I can’t seem to figure out exactly how we’re going to make the ends meet on this one. I keep bringing it up in conversations with people and it’s making them end up paying for us in social situations where it’s almost embarrassing to have that happen. Richelle was telling me tonight that I need to be grateful and I know I do but the more I try to make myself be grateful, the more ingratitude I feel. And I’m a big feeler. It’s like I want to feel things more than just think them.
We were just at the movies tonight with our friend Pete and the issue of popcorn came up which immediately made me begin the fight with Richelle.
“I want just the kid’s popcorn box,” she said.
“No no. We can’t afford it,” I said.
So Pete offered to buy it. He said he would buy a big tub and we’d all share it. I was still objecting but I could tell I was losing the fight because I too wanted popcorn so the passion was draining from my mind the more I tried to struggle away. I felt like Al Pacino in Godfather, Part III when he collapsed from a heart attack in his own kitchen, “I tried to get out, but they dragged me back in!”
So I did end up spending more money then I wanted to be spending tonight. Because I felt bad that our friend was having to buy us our popcorn at the movies. I had to help out with the process. Even though the movies somehow figures out how to charge people about twenty times the normal price of the food items. Theatres are now nice enough to allow people to pay in installment plans.
We were just at the movies tonight with our friend Pete and the issue of popcorn came up which immediately made me begin the fight with Richelle.
“I want just the kid’s popcorn box,” she said.
“No no. We can’t afford it,” I said.
So Pete offered to buy it. He said he would buy a big tub and we’d all share it. I was still objecting but I could tell I was losing the fight because I too wanted popcorn so the passion was draining from my mind the more I tried to struggle away. I felt like Al Pacino in Godfather, Part III when he collapsed from a heart attack in his own kitchen, “I tried to get out, but they dragged me back in!”
So I did end up spending more money then I wanted to be spending tonight. Because I felt bad that our friend was having to buy us our popcorn at the movies. I had to help out with the process. Even though the movies somehow figures out how to charge people about twenty times the normal price of the food items. Theatres are now nice enough to allow people to pay in installment plans.
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