Trekking to Their Turf

My daughter celebrated her 27th birthday about a week ago. As part of that celebration, my husband and I joined her and her friends at a drinking establishment in the near north area of Chicago. It was a Friday night and the place was packed, filled with 20 and 30-somethings celebrating the end of the workweek and the beginning of the weekend. My husband and I do enjoy meeting and talking with the younger generation, especially our children's friends. They are referred to as the echo boomers or generation y. They were born between 1977 and 2002. Though the serene fifties and turbulent sixties were the backdrop for my youth, the advent and growth of communication technologies are the strongest influence on this generation. They feed on this technology the way a swarm of bees would feed on a field of daffodils. Iphones, Blackberries and Ipods seem at times to be extra appendeges. I think, it is just their way of staying in touch with each other, after all life today is certainly lived at a faster pace than before.

When I am around them I really like to listen to what they have to say. Jobs seem to occupy a lot of conversation, as they learn the practices and practicalities of their particular occupational environment, whether it be business, education, medicine or law. They are finding the realities of work much different than the textbook version they encountered in college. Additional challenges include relationships, marriage and parenting. Amidst the challenges they daily face, they are meeting those challenges head on. I applaud them because being around them encourages me when I think about the future. I am bombarded daily by mostly bad news from the media. However, these young people give me hope, because they themselves are filled with hope. You can see it shining in their eyes. I would advise my fellow boomers that when you need a lift just visit a local pub and strike up a conversation with these "y'ers," they'll engage you with their thoughts and ideas, and who knows they may also listen to yours.

A Thousand Cups of Tea...and All That

On Halloween it will be the fifth anniversary of my mother's death. As I reflect on my mom's life I remember most clearly her last years. Because of dementia she moved in with me and my family. My mom was fiercely independent and definitely did not like the fact that she was not living on her own. Day in and day out she would ask me and my husband when she could go home to her, "flat," rather than her house. The memories of living in an apartment flat were apparently more vivid than living in her house.

Since she spent her life being a housewife she relished any job that I would give her around the house, from folding laundry to washing windows. She loved housework! That was hard for me to understand when I was younger, but the older I get I am surprised by the fact that I actually like housework, too; perhaps, because of the simplicity of the task and the feeling of accomplishment that accompanies a shiny, clean house. My mom embraced every task around the house, large or small. And she did everything with a strong dedication to perfection.

Because of her dementia, she had to take medication that would combat the frustration she would feel due to the loss of cognitive ability. But many times, she would still become highly agitated with her situation. It was then that I always offered her a cup of tea and some sweets and they would become a balm that would be instantly soothing. As a result, our tea time because a daily occurrence when I would get home from work. We would talk and I would tell her about my day and she hers. Her daily descriptions would be usually the same, but she did enjoy relating them and listening to the escapades of my middle school students.

She often spoke of her sisters and how much she missed them. My mom was the last of her family to pass on and this fact seemed to her a type of punishment. Though she loved her husband, children, grandchildren and especially her son-in-law (Because of his gift of humor, he always made her laugh.), she missed having someone from her own generation to kibitz with about life.

When she passed away, our friends made a card that showed her waiting for the Archer Avenue bus with her babushka on her head and her purse in hand, ready for a day of shopping in Brighton Park with her sisters at the Archer Avenue Big Store.

She had many sayings that I remember fondly, like, "Life waits for no one," "Are you dieting?" and every one's favorite, "...and all that." She was very proud of her Polish heritage and would often sing and sometimes swear in Polish. News of anything Polish would automatically brighten her day and leave her smiling. She had a very bad sweet tooth and if left alone with a poppy seed coffee cake, she would eat it all, one small piece at a time, in a day. Our Labrador Retriever would be the happy recipient of parts of her repast, much to our dismay. No cakes for dogs!

But today, my fondest memory lies in the times we had tea, sipping and smiling and sharing our day's events, while putting aside the effects of old age and dementia. A thousand cups of tea for a thousand treasured memories.

Revisiting 60's Feminism: UGH!

I belong to a book club and our recent selection, LOVING FRANK by Nancy Horan triggered memories from the feminist rhetoric of the 1960's. The novel is a fictionalized rendition of the actual affair between famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright and a woman named Mamah Borthwick Cheney. Mamah and Frank are already married when they meet and they soon fall madly in love and embark upon an affair, leaving their respective spouses and children abandoned to the care of others. They believe they have a right to do this because they are seeking a "true" relationship that mirrors their "true" selves. They travel through Europe, specifically Germany and Italy, exploring the "truth" of their relationship and their art (particularly Frank), with only fleeting moments of their parental responsibilities visiting their love nests. Mr. Wright particularly feels he is above any moral code because of his artistic gifts and what he will bring to American architecture. Mamah is an educated (university) woman, who says she loves her children but must leave them to the care of others because ultimately she will be a better mother because she left them. (?) She then becomes a disciple of a Swedish feminist named Ellen Key (actual person) who entrusts upon Mamah the task of translating her texts into American English, so American women can read about true freedom in all aspects, including sexual.

As I was reading this book, and be sure it is a good read, particularly when one realizes that it is based on fact, so many thoughts about the sixties feminist movement pummelled me.

Yes, back in the 60's I was in college and considered myself a feminist. Though I didn't burn my bra, I did have a subscription to Ms. Magazine and read a lot of Gloria Steinman. I wanted to make sure that women had every right a man did, especially in the workplace and home. Equal pay for sure. Sharing a home meant sharing household responsibilities like cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, laundry. When children came along, parental responsibilities were also to be equally shared. HOWEVER, leaving husband and children to find one's "true" self was never one of the options I ever considered. I was too busy finding my "true" self in the context of wife and mother, along with many other selves, adult daughter, friend, co-worker, neighbor, church member, etc. According to the philosophies expounded by the characters in this book I was lying to myself by allowing myself to be limited by societal structures of the female identify. Now, I realize that these characters lived at a time when women didn't even have the right to vote, but to proclaim freedom from parental/spousal responsibility in the name of true love makes me want to do more than clear my throat. Narcissism is replete within these characters, and I do feel sorry for them, because they are so caught up in living a lie rather than the truth. (No spoilers here. You'll have to read the book for yourself to see how it ends.) LOVE is suppose to be sacrificial. That is the nature of love. From Paul, "It is not self-seeking...it always perseveres and it rejoices in truth. " And what is truth? No, rather who is TRUTH? His name is Jesus, who shows us the truth of a loving father for all times and all eras.

A Better Understanding of Anatomical Complexity

The human body has 206 bones, 4,000 tendons, 640 skeletal muscles and 360 joints, and they all amazingly work together to allow us to eat with a fork and knife, blow dry and curl our hair, put on earrings, vacuum stairs, walk dogs, wash windows, play golf and tennis, water ski, bicycle, hike, jog, and lift a variety of objects including those precious little things called, "babies." A little over one month ago in the fraction of a second, I broke one of those bones and joints and displaced a couple of tendons. It is called an olecranon fracture of my right elbow. The part of the elbow that is the olecranon is what we call our "funny bone," or the pointed tip of the elbow. I had to have surgery to reattach that triangular piece back to my elbow, or more specifically the end of my ulna. No crazy glue would work, instead my surgeon reattached it with a screw and a washer. He also had to drill a couple of holes and reattach some tendons because they are needed to help my elbow bend. (see drawing)

Now I am in the throes of physical therapy, with daily exercises to try to get my right elbow to bend like it used to. When I said the pledge of allegiance this week at school and tried to place my right hand over my heart, I had to really push it and there was pain. I am still unable to cup my right hand with my left hand in order to rinse my face with water. I also look "gimpy" when I put face cream or make-up on. My therapists tell me that I have made good progress, but there is still a while to go before I regain my elbow's full range of motion. In fact, total healing time for an olecranon fracture is about 12 weeks. At some point in time, I may also have to have the screw and washer removed from the elbow if it sticks out too much.

With all that said, this experience has taught me just how complex and precise are the movements of the human body. Every bone, tendon, muscle, etc. is interdependent on each other. Nothing is able to work alone. And at the cellular level it is even more complex. The simplest living cell has over one trillion molecules. That is more than 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 times 1,000 or 1,000 times one billion. Those numbers are mind staggering.

This all leads me, more than ever, to proclaim the power, magnitude and awesome intelligence of our Creator God. Though I broke my elbow accidentally, the complexity of the human body is no accident of evolution. It was created by a supreme being in order to glorify Him and commune with Him. "Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness..." (Genesis 1:26)The current complexities of our body chemistry and construction are only a remnant of what they were at creation. Because of sin we are subject to imperfections, accidents, disease and death. However, no matter what their current state, we can, one day, count on full restoration if we know Jesus. He substituted his blood for ours, not surgically, but sacrificially. Once again let me say with the psalmist, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made..." (Psalm 139:14)

The Gift of Driving

Do you remember when you first got your driver's license? What a great feeling of freedom.

You felt like you could go anywhere and do anything. That life was yours for the taking.

Recently, as I was stricken with a broken elbow, I was sidelined from the driver's seat and boy was that a bummer. I had to be driven everywhere and I found that to be very limiting. I couldn't just run an errand or visit a friend at a moment's notice. Every trip had to to planned with an available driver, either my husband or a family friend. I felt sort of trapped and I didn't like it. I mean, this is America, I should be able to go where I want, when I want. Having this temporary inconvenience really bothered me, and I began to realize how I took the ability to drive for granted. That doesn't necessarily mean that I love all aspects of driving, like being stuck in traffic and having to go to the bathroom or driving around in circles looking for a parking place or even driving in a blizzard.

With those exclusions, driving remains a gift that I will appreciate more fully since I finally got the OK from my doctor to once again, turn on the ignition and blast my "Jesus music" as I sing to the heavens and drive to my destinations! However, the next time I'm stuck in traffic, rather than letting my frustrations fester, I will offer a prayer for those people who are denied this gift of freedom for medical, monetary or aging reasons.

Back to School...Back to Reality

For a teacher, like myself, summer is a time of fantastic freedoms. Freedom from bells, schedules, paperwork, deadlines, parents, administrators, students. Now, in a few days my freedom will be over as I begin yet another school year, my 20th to be exact. There are things I do like about going back to school. New books, fresh unsharpened pencils, blank spiral notebooks and smiling new students. It is a time to begin again that quest for knowledge and the ability to use it well. It also means for me, a reality check that my time is really not my own. It is a gift from God, and I need to use it for His purposes, rather than my own. Within my sphere of teaching I have always found His purposes to be manifested each school year in different students. You know the really, really, needy ones. Sometimes they are the outcasts, at other times they are the popular and gifted ones. And sometimes, in fact, most of the time, they are children who are suffering from neglect or abuse at home. My boss (THE BOSS), I feel has called me to minister his love and discipline to these needy ones. It is my call to reality. "Has not the potter a right claim over the clay?" (Rom. 9:21)

Pain, drugs and tears

Hello everyone. It has been a long time since I have been able to blog due to a broken elbow and surgery on my right arm. I still do not have full range of motion with my arm, but as you can see I CAN BLOG AGAIN! Here are my first thoughts about dealing with this situation.

The pain from breaking off a piece of bone from my elbow was intense, it bloody hurt a lot. I received a perscription for a pain killer, "propoxyphene-n-100" which is a generic form of Darvocet (a narcotic). WOW. The pain was gone, but so was I. I felt totally clouded and had no emotions. Since I like my emotions, I asked my doctor for alternative and he prescribed 600 mg. of Ibuprofen. I tolerated it much better. After narcotics I awoke one morning and with just thinking about my elbow, the pain, the recovery, my lost summer vacation days, the fact that I couldn't drive for awhile and would probably have pins and plates in my body forever. This wasn't a pity party, but a recognition of the fact that I had a serious injury and would have to deal with it. I cried. It was the first time since the accident happened and boy did it feel good to just cry.

This incident triggered a memory for me back to 1976 when my father-in-law passed away from a long battle with cancer. I was in my mid-twenties. My mother-in-law shared some of her tranquilizers with me and I took a Valium. She said it would make me feel better and it did, but again I didn't like the feeling. There was a two day wake for my father-in-law and I remember going back the second day without Valium and feeling tremendous sorrow and emotional pain. I lost someone I loved and it hurt and I felt it and cried. The crying continued for the funeral, but I found the act of crying (which is the human response to pain) to help. All the tranquilizer did was to rob me of my emotions.

Pain is a part of of the human condition and we all encounter it sooner or later. Now, I'm not against pain killers for any serious condition and certainly post- surgery is a time for pain relief, but the narcotics are bad. I wonder about all the people who are prescribed these drugs too easily and miss out on the human feelings of pain that cause us to turn to tears and the Healer (Dr. Jesus) for freedom from both physical and emotional pain. Are drugs the answer?
I think not.