My Sick Little Girl

I was at the emergency room with Cass til about 3:30 a.m. or so. She had been complaining of chest pain for a few days. I was going to wait til Monday for an appointment, but then she had me feel her pulse and her heart was pounding, so I went from concerned to freaked out and took her in. She has pleuricy which is not good, but I'm relieved it wasn't a blood clot (for which they did a CT scan which came out negative) or some other really dangerous thing. I was able to get her an excuse from the E.R. Dr., but I'm just gonna have to live with whatever perception my absence will cause tomorrow. Seems making excuses, however true, does more to call attention to the absence than anything else. My professor is pretty kewl anyway. Cass is sleeping soundly now, and I'm typing in my sleep. LOL 

Sometimes I Embarass Myself

It's a special talent, really.

It's one thing to mention Voc Rehab in passing, but quite another to explain. Because I mentioned it passing, I was asked to explain, which was of course akward. "So how can I qualify?" she asked. "You'll want to apply sooner than later," I explained, telling her she would need to provide documentation from acessability testing, doctors, etc. "The more disabilities you can document, the more likely that you'll qualify. I was accepted based on four qualifiers in descending order of magnitude: first, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; second, a severe math learning dissability; third, hearing loss; and fourth...fourth...what was the fourth one? That's wierd, I can't seem to remember. Well anyway, you get the idea."

Later in the conversation, "Oh I remember now! The fourth one was a memory disorder!" This, of course, resulted in both of us succumbing to an uncontrollable case of the giggles in the library.

Yes, it takes unique talent.

Buttars-Palooza, Baby!

Buttars-Palooza! Buttars-Palooza! Buttars-Palooza! 

So here's the viral publicity for Buttars-Palooza (I got the spelling right this time)! Just so you know, that's not a caracature of Buttars, but an actual photograph of his real face. Only, he's not really blue. Click on the link below to hear the invitation to the party and some of his "gems of wisdom" concerning gays from the current session. I bet you could find some from last year about African Americans too, if you checked youtube. Anyway, it's a party so if you get a chance, go down and party for me! :o)

Buttars-Palooza! Buttars-Palooza! Buttars-Palooza! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AM8yGelafRU

Buttarspalooza!

I wanted so much to go to Buttarspalooza. I had visions of creating a banner with three giant sticks of butter surrounded by a big red circle and slash. No more Buttars...get it? LOL Buttarspalooza is a demonstration at the capitol sponsored by KRCL. It will be a sort of in-Buttar's-face celebration of diversity. Oh how he'll hate THAT! Diversity, God forbid! They'll have music, dancing, games, food, etc. We may very well see people of various colors, capabilities, and convictions in attendance...ooooh scary! What next, a sinister round of Kumbiah?! It's intended to be a totally harmless, "friendly" mockary of Buttars rather than a hate-fest. Oh, don't get me wrong. A lot of people are pretty angry about this. But it is, after all, what you DO with your anger that counts. Of course it's also intended to publicize the old bigot's latest derogatory comments targeted at minority groups in our community.

I found out yesterday just how close midterms were. I swear this is the fastest semster EVER! I have to turn in my first midterm paper a week from last Tuesday! I guess it would be irresponsible of me to go to Buttarspalooza instead of researching and writing that paper and staying caught up on my studies, so I guess I'll have to blow off some steam on my blog rather than let my hair down at the big party.

I agree, Senator Buttars ought to have every opportunity to fully excercise his civil liberties, including his freedom of speech. Free speech is a valuable tool for democratic peoples. It allows ignorant (reminder: ignorance is a three syllable word which refers to a lack of knowledge or understanding, and not to an ornery attitude), prejudiced, pernicious, and dangerous people to expose themselves for what they are, thus warning the general public of their intentions and probable future actions. So you see, I don't have a problem with Chris Buttars expressing himself freely. Surely when he directed his hate politics at African Americans on public record last year, some good but misguided voters must have decided he crossed a line they weren't comfortable with. Come to think of it, I would surely hope the reason he was reelected was not because the majority of his constituents really are members of the KKK or Arian Nations (and in my back yard!), but rather that they were uninformed and voted carelessly out of habit, relying on party politcs rather than their own intellect and values. Not that I appreciate that sort of voting strategy, but the alternative is terrifying by contrast!

So, do I think a senator should be removed from office because he exercised freedom of speech? No, of course not! Do I think a senator should represent his constituent's values and act upon them in senate proceedings? Of course! BUT...our senators should represent us FIRST from within the framework of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I think language which excludes individuals and groups from civil liberties is necessarily inapropriate in our state capitol and serves as a warning of cancer within our legislative branch. I believe continued red flags such as we've seen from Buttars are just cause for...what do you call it when you fire a senator? Impeachment? Something else? Anyway, we ought to fire that biggoted old fool's ass! Come to think of it, we should fire Waddoups ass too because as our state senate president he should have fired Buttars' ass last year.

Let me tell you what Waddoups did last year when Buttars' directed his inapropriate use of free speech toward African American children. He removed him from his position as judicial committee chairman, but not his position on the rules committee. Then, when the excitement died down, he reinstated him. And that's exactly what they did again this year and will probably do next time. The really scary thing is that Buttars isn't an anomaly in the Utah senate. Waddoups, in the press conference concerning the matter, explained they were releasing him from the judicial committee in order to allow him to more fully excercise his right to free speech without being inhibited by his office. He also expressed his support, and the support of all of Buttar's peers in the state senate, saying nobody disagreed with WHAT he said, just HOW he said it. OMG! So apparently the consensus among our entire senate is that African Americans, Latin Americans, Gays and others are disgraceful, the most dangerous threat to America, comparable to radical muslims, and the meanest buggers they've ever seen. Only, they would have codified (sugar coated) it. Wow!

Some people are of the mistaken impression that if the majority vote for something, that makes it constitutional. WRONG! The constitution and bill of rights were designed to prevent minorities, both individuals and groups, from majority tyranny. Our founding fathers were trying to prevent us from doing to "others," Mormons for example, what was done to the puritans who fled Europe, especially England, to the Americas for reasons of religious and political persecution. How quickly we forget what it's like to be the persecuted minority and become a majority perpetuating injustice upon "others" within our own community. As soon as we set foot upon this continent we were persecuting and exterminating its native inhabitants. And of course the more things change, the more they stay the same. Were we all asleep in history class? Apparently!

So, one more time...senators are citizens too, and entitled to freedom of speech just like we ordinary citizens are. Democratically elected senators are obligated to represent and act upon the values of their constituents. But senators are also obligated to serve in their legislative capacities FIRST from within the framework of the Constitution and Bill of rights. When senators, through excercise of their freedom of speech, reveal agendas which exclude individuals and groups from civil liberties intended for all Americans, we ought to fire them regardless of whether or not they were elected in a democratic manner. Senators like Buttars are actually the greatest threat to the constitution and the very fabric of American life. Hate politics are never appropriate in the state senate!

Disobedience: A Thought Experiment

Saturday I attended an event connected with U of U's weeklong Strategies for Social Change Conference. It was a four-hour nonviolent resistance and civil disobedience training. Talk about interesting! I learned a ton, and I met some really great people. During the training we were organized in hypothetical affinity groups in which we practiced much of the things we learned including safety, legal issues, consensus, planning, etc. Our affinity group really bonded and we ended up sharing contact information and making a pact to keep in touch. While everyone else was leaving, we were still having a big group hug. It was hard to get break us up when it was time to go!

I attended this thing because my Psychology of Good and Evil (PSY 3850) professor passed the flyers around the classroom (She and another campus friend attended). Since Mike had the kids this weekend I thought, oh hell why not? It's certainly an intriguing facet of peace and justice, and since I'm a Peace and Justice Studies minor perhaps I ought to know more about it. I was really excited about what I learned and I look forward to putting this new knowledge and skillset to practice. I have no plans to do anything risky (i.e. dangerous or illegal and getting arrested and "going limp," but I think that along with writing my senator and house representative, demonstrations done properly are a right, a privelege, and perhaps even a responsiblity at times in any truly democratic society. Of course I've already been criticized and villianized by those I've shared my excitement with. It was suggested behind my back that wanting to make the world a better place is a nice idea, but that peace and justice are best served when people like me just shut up and obey the law of the land. Hmmm...

I'm thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr. He didn't just shut up. He took every opportunity he could to speak up loud and clear. He taught his followers to both love and disobey their enemies. He led a nonviolent movement that was anything but passive. I'm thinking of Rosa Parks.  She wasn't just some poor old lady who finally had enough and cracked down the middle. She played the key role in a carefully planned civil disobedience action, collaborating with civil rights leaders, including King.

King's mentor, Ghandi, led thousands of peasants in a march to the sea as an act of civil disobedience. They broke the law by gathering salt which was an abundant and convenient natural resource for which the British government controlled all sales and exacted an exorbitant tax, expoliting the poorest of Indians. Gandhi spent a year in prison for this action, but it marked the beginning of the end of British colonization in India.

Then there's South Africa. While Nelson Mandela is certainly a heroic figure, his committment to nonviolence, which he studied under Gandhi, failed. But there were many South African's who were stoic in their committment to nonviolence and civil disobedience. These included attorneys, both black and white, who set up secret law offices in the city limits where blacks were not permitted by law to practice so they might work near the court houses in which they provided legal defense for anti-apartheid figures, including Mandella. Bram Fischer was one such attorney, a white Afrikaner who led a life of privelege but gave up everything including his own freedom and eventually his life to fight the unjust legal system that perpetuated apartheid.

I'm just thinking that were it not for nonviolent resistance and civil disobedience, we'd still have a segregated U.S., African apartheid, and a colonized India. Were King, Parks, Gandhi, and Fischer more committed to obedience than to human life and dignity, we wouldn't have made the amazing strides toward a more just world that we've seen in the last century. In fact, there is a vast body of literature which indicates that cultures with a strong focus on obedience and authority are prime candidates for perpetuating genocide. In reverse, in all cultures where genocide has taken place, the focus on obedience and authority were key aspects of the continuum of destruction. That's something to think about.

Oh I'm not suggesting a houseful of children without rules (God forbid!), or complete social/political anarchy in a literal context, but rather the questioning of unjust laws (Missouri repealed the legal extermination order on Mormons only a few short years ago). We might do well to consider under what circumstances we might be compelled to perform an act of civil disobedience--a thought experiment, if you will.

Martin Luther King, Jr.: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.

Rosa Parks: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosa_Parks

Gandhi's Salt Satagraha: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_Satyagraha

Bram Fischer: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bram_Fischer

As If I Needed an Extra Dose of Humility!

I've been dealing with kidney stones and infections (everything from my kidneys, south) since the first weekend of Spring Semester. Two weeks after finishing my latest antibiotic, I'm still experiencing a great deal of discomfort and pain, as well as having difficulties peeing to put it indelicately. I called my Dr.'s office yesterday in an attempt to receive sympathy and validation  from an actual medical professional, so today they called me back to let me know they ordered another urinalisis for me at the lab. I went by the lab this afternoon.

I had myself a nice, large iced tea from Carles Jr. before I went over. "That'll do it," I said to myself! When they called me back they gave me my special wipe and clean catch specimine container, and of course they reminded me to follow the directions posted on the back of the bathroom door. I've done this a million times, but I carefully reviewed the directions again, being the conscientious invalid that I am. Step #3 goes something like this: begin urinating in the toilet to clear the urethra of contaminates, then collect the sample in your special cup during midstream. Yeah, that's a paraphrasing, but you get the idea. I did as told, only I could only make a little trickle. By the time I got that little cup in place to catch my sample midstream, it had stopped. My bladder felt full, but it just wasn't happening. I relaxed and waited in vain for that "here it comes" sensatoin to return. Remembering I had a bottle of cranberry juice in my purse, I got up, washed up, and chugged it down, then paced back and forth for awhile (it was a big bathroom). Finally I turned the water faucet on to a nice steady trickle and settled back in to wait. As I listened to the water I closed my eyes and imagined that cranberry juice trickling steadily down through my kidneys, through my ureturs, and filling my bladder with unbearable heaviness. I remained in meditation for about a half hour.

Finally, I put my empty sample container in the special window, washed up, and found the technitian, telling her, "I had difficulty collecting my sample and may I please hang out in the waiting room for awhile and see what happens?" "I'll just leave your cup and a new wipe here, so you can come back when you're ready," she said. I returned to the waiting area where I dug back into my reading for tomorrow's class and four 8-oz disposable cups of water from the conveniently located dispenser. I'd been texting back and forth with Mike on and off all afternoon, and found myself sending a text that read, "I'm at Dr. Nobuhara's office and for like maybe the 2nd time in my adult life I can't pee to save my life!" A few minutes later I received a reply from my boss, the Reverend Dr. Michael Minch (whose name appears in my phone list very near my former husband Michael's) saying, "I'm sorry about your pee problems. I'll be seeing you around."

The Right Tool for the Job

It's almost 4 and I have to get up at 7 to start all over again. Nevertheless, here I am, "Sleepless in 'Zion'." Since I was awake anyway, I decided to read some blogs I've wanted to follow. Now I feel compelled to make a personal assertion in regard to a post I came across. I don't want to be confrontational or direct unkind criticism at an old friend and her numerous supportive friends. It's just that I have a differing viewpoint. Now that I've found voice, I find myself wanting to use it once in a while when it's meaningful to me to do so.

 

Science Fair projects are a hellish nightmare, more so for conscientious parents than for their little scientists. I've been there and done that, believe me! Sometimes I think it's just asking way too much of us! It's so hard to get through a typical busy evening with homework, chores, dinner, events, and bedtime preparations. There just aren't enough hours in the day for all the planning, research, and preparation that goes into a project like that! If you haven't embarked on a Science Fair project with a child, you have no idea what I'm talking about. It really is agonizing and you just have to experience it to understand. I haven't boycotted the fair, myself, but I've been tempted--believe me! It's been a few years since I was a "good mommy" and undertaken a project with one of my kids. If any of them had the burning desire to do one, I would support and help in any way I could, really. But I can't even start my own homework until they've gone to bed most nights. I confess, I just don't want to do it anymore.

 

One might say, "Cammie, Cammie, Cammie! Quit 'controlling' your child and just let her do it her way. It's her Science Fair, not yours!" But one of the problems is that Science Fair projects DO have to follow the scientific method. To be quite honest, young children have a difficult time wrapping their brilliant, creative, energetic young minds around the method and staying on track. After all, there are a lot of exciting possibilities for exploring the world of nature and technology around us that are more fun and don't require a step-process and a four-dollar poster board! It takes discipline and patience (i.e. parental guidance) and a whole lot of graph paper, electrical wire, and glue stick to stay on track and do the damned thing correctly. If the project does not follow the scientific method, it doesn't qualify to place in the judging. This can be so disheartening for a child who didn't, for whatever reason, follow the method. That right there just feels so unfair! There are fewer things as upsetting to a parent as a child with a broken heart! But there is a very important purpose for the scientific method.

 

In non-scientific terms, let me explain why I understand the scientific method to be so important. We live in a culture in which the majority of friends, family, church members, coworkers, acquaintances, and even strangers we come in contact with will accept "because I believe" as a sufficient answer for any number of assertions. Normally that's just fine and, in our local culture especially, faith is a valued personal attribute. But suppose your doctor wanted to bleed you to get rid of the bad humors causing your bronchitis, diabetes, or cancer? If your doctor suggests such a treatment, you're probably going to leave her office rather quickly, then file a malpractice report. The questions you're unlikely to take the time to ask include: What are humors? Why are they making me sick? How does bleeding me cure my illness? And especially, what are the side effects of bleeding? Very few otherwise faithful people today are willing to take a doctor's word on his faith that bleeding will cure these or any serious illnesses. Does this sound like an absurd scenario? Actually, it was a rather common scenario a hundred years ago. Most of us understand now that bleeding is unnecessary and dangerous. Many people wealthy enough to afford the treatment back then died of blood loss instead of the infections and diseases we now treat rather easily with antibiotics and other conventional medicines and treatments. There are no such things in the body as humors, but doctors and their patients once believed there were. Bleeding was hypothesized as the best medical treatment, but that's where the scientific method ended.

 

The scientific method is the only method whereby that which is true in the physical world can be proven qualitatively and quantitatively. Scientific method cannot prove anything of a metaphysical nature such as the existence of God, the power of priesthood, or the truth of gospel. It's simply not the right tool for the job of validating metaphysical truth. The nature of the metaphysical world and our physical world are believed by many to have significant connections, but it's not the purpose of science to make those connections or to measure the validity of that which is a matter of faith. That's okay. That doesn't make science bad; science has it's own time and place and purposes, even if they are temporal. One of those purposes is to cure the sick and injured, and to improve the quality of lives. Without the scientific method, we would still be bleeding to death otherwise healthy patients with head colds. 

 

Another purpose of the scientific method is to aid agricultural experts in producing the variety, quantity, and quality of foods we need to live, grow, and be healthy. One of Stalin's friends, a "scientist," believed in a particular agricultural method. Stalin chose to accept this man's hypothesis when all credible scientists warned him that correct scientific method produced a different result and that his friend's agricultural "wisdom" was faulty. Stalin made it illegal to practice any other agricultural methods or even speak of them. Some scientists were sent to prison in Siberia and even died because they were so convinced of the error that they felt it would be unethical or immoral not to speak up. Because the state-sanctioned agricultural method was based on belief and not scientific method, the Soviet Union had a terrible famine in which citizens died by the thousands. Real human beings just like you and I suffered and died because faith was applied in lieu of science when the tool required to validate physical truth was the scientific method.

 

Understanding and applying the scientific method correctly is important to medical professionals and agricultural experts, among others, as well as to the scientists who develop new treatments, products, and technologies for those experts. But it's also important to consumers and patients in order to make better informed choices, as our choices evolve and expand daily. Perhaps Kindergarten or even 4th grade isn't the appropriate time to really learn and apply the scientific method. Maybe high school is a more appropriate time for understanding it, putting together complex research projects, then making that cognitive leap to applying it in our personal lives. Of course even teenagers need and/or want a little help with their school projects, but at least they're better able to work with a little more independence and focus than a seven-year-old. I find that I have to let some things go in order to make other things possible. One of those things is letting real and/or imagined implications or accusations that I'm a "bad mommy" go, along with unnecessary priorities and unrealistic expectations, in order to pursue my degree and be an example to my children of the love of learning and the value of higher education. That's why I have a personal aversion to the Science Fair!

So my computer was out of order for some time, but Mike ordered the part a few weeks ago and when it finally came Friday, he installed it for me. Yay!!!!

I'm well into my semester and enjoying my classes immensely. I'm only taking six credit hours this semester, but I'm finishing two imcompletes I accumulated last year as separation aftermath, so in a sense I'm working on twelve credit hours. I must confess, however, that the Culture of People and Places Topics in Literature class, The Lyrics of Bob Dylan, is so much fun it hardly feels like work. On the other hand, Psychology of Good and Evil is pretty challenging as compensation!

Somehow I ended up rechartering Gender Studies club (nobody else would accept the responsibility this year) and I'm contemplating a request to work with the ACLU on a Women's History conference. Also, a favorite professor has asked me to help her found a Peace and Justice Studies student journal with her as faculty sponsor and myself as student editor. Exciting developments, but Yikes!!!!

Tonight I'm all alone becuase it was my weekend with the kids but they all made plans for sleepovers at friends, tomorrow being a national holiday and school break. I was able to get a lot done, homeworkwise, and right now I'm taking a wee break from reading Lord of the Flies. It's my first reading and I'm thinking of using it for my submission to the 4th Annual Dialogue on Peace and Justice call for papers, the theme this year being Genocide. I'll be reading 1984 by George Orwell for the same paper.

Cass was accepted to the honors art program at her high school and I'm so proud of her. Her French teacher tells us she's talented with languages and ought to take Latin next year also, to distinguish herself academically. Her speech and debate coach tells us she's a very bright critical thinker. Her graphics teacher is very impressed with her artistic talent and technical skills beyond her peers. Pretty much all her professors had great things to say about her in her parent-teacher conference last week. Yay Cass! Way to go!!!!

 I'm well. The kids are well. Mike's got a nasty head cold, the poor boy.

That's about it for now. Luvs!

Short Post!

They finally removed my registration hold this evening. I've already registered for Topics in Literature: Lyrics of Bob Dylan (English Literature credit), as well as Free Expression in a Democratic Society (Peace and Justice Studies credit) for Spring semester. I'm starting to get excited. Of course I have piles of red tape to untangle so they won't drop my classes, but I'm working feverishly to prevent that.

I realized my blog posts have been insufferably long, so I'll keep this one short.

Good night.

I was on my way to playlist.com to see how I could add a playlist of my favorite Christmas songs to my blogspot when my browser somehow became corrupted and I found myself without access to the Internet for a few days. Mike had his weeknight with the kids tonight and helped me troubleshoot the problem while he gave Nate a trombone lesson. It's great to be back!

Last year I received a couple of $500 scholarships based on my brilliant essays, academic merit, and of course need. I chose to have one sent to the UVU bookstore and spent it down over the course of Fall and Spring semester for books and supplies. Several weeks ago I found out they misdirected that one to my student account and it was released to me as part of a tuition disbursment which I spent on repairs when my car didn't pass inspection last spring. While I was grateful to remain mobile, it means I now owe the bookstore $500 and merit a registration hold. After much negotiation (begging, groveling, outright weeping) they've allowed me to make my first monthly $10 payment (first they wanted $75 per month, then $20) and removed the registration hold. Now I'll be working with a finaid counselor to obtain funding to wipe the rest of it out so I won't have to endure the additional burden on my meagre budget. 

So I met with my new Voc Rehab counselor yesterday, as well as the district manager who was training her (it was her first day on the job) in the absence of her direct supervisor. It looks like things will fall into place (okay, more like be replaced with superhuman effort on my part and a little help from the powers that be) for my return to school in January. I was doubtful it were possible, but now I have hope that I'll manage to untangle miles of red tape in time to register for whatever classes are left that might be applied to my major or minor. Of course said red tape includes completing this academic year's FAFSA, which I abandoned when I decided I was taking Fall semester off this year to take care of personal business because it was so confusing in my state of marital/income tax limbo. In any case, I'm gonna be one busy little girl for the next few weeks as I iron out all these wrinkles! Ultimately an optimist, I think it looks like I'm going back to school. Yay!

I actually have mixed emotions about returning to school next month. I've missed my studies, meaningful work, stimulting campus life, classmates, professors, colleagues, etc. But I have so treasured the unhurried time I've had to spend with my kids. If there is any consolation, however, it's that I'm unlikely to be awarded work study (as desperately as I need the exempt income) this late in the year, so I'll at least only have to divide my attention between the kids and my homework for a while.

I got a call today from our Sub-for-Santa sponsor, the Catholic church. They apparently serve a lot of families, so we've been given the opportunity to come pick up their gifts on the 17th. I'm so grateful for their generosity. This has been a particularly difficult month, the first since our separation nearly 15 months ago that I haven't been able to pay all of my bills in full. I haven't figured that out yet, nor how I'll celebrate Cass and Gabe's birthdays the week before Christmas, but between the Catholic church (for the boys) and Mike (for Cass), we've got Christmas covered! That's a huge relief.

We finally made our gingerbread men and decorated our tree. There's just something magical about those little white lights, real candy canes, and homemade gingerbread men that have come to be part of our tradition. Each of the ornaments have their own significance as well, and each of us have certain ornaments which nobody else would take the liberty of hanging because of what they signify to that particular family member. Mike was here this year to hang our Mike & Cammie ornament and give me a big hug. I love to sit in the dark living room at night, after the kids are asleep, and stare at the tree while the christmas tunes drift softly from the boom box in the kitchen. So many memories come back to me like Christmas gifts from years past during this quiet time, and I find myself becoming teary eyed.

One of our most significant Christmas traditions surrounds The Christmas Box by Richard Paul Evans and The Angel Monument at the center of the story. It has become our tradition to honor Alissabeth Anne by reading the book, just six short chapters, during the first week of December and attending the candle light vigil at The Angel Monument on December 6th at 7:00 p.m. each year. Nate and his twin sister were born January 30th of 1997. Alissa lived only two bittersweet hours. I was very pregnant when we attended our first vigil at the Angel Monument aproximately ten months later. Less than two weeks after that our youngest, Gabe, was born. The following year we attended the vigil with the boys--nate several weeks short of two years old and Gabe a week short of one year--in umberella strollers. The vigil is matter of fact to the boys; they had never known a December without an angel of hope, white flowers, and glowing candles until last year. But I think of our children, the vigil is most poignant for Cass, who remembers holding her only sister in her arms and kissing her sweetly on the cheek while she still lived.

I was particularly grateful to return to the Angel Monument this year as a whole family, after missing the vigil for the first time after our separation last year. I'm grateful that Michael and I are not only getting along, but rediscovering our friendship and learning to coparent in new ways this year. Our divorce is almost final and we have no intentions of calling it off, but we can still be a family in significant ways. I reject the implication that our family is broken just because we don't all live together in one house anymore. In fact, I assert that our family is mending because of our new arrangements. We've come a long way in the last year and we've healed many painful parts of our past together by daring to reinvent our family in new and healthy ways. I think Alissabeth would understand better than anybody, and support us in our efforts to give our children parents who are kind to each other and endeavor to lead a whole family even though they can't be part of a whole marriage. Anyway, this reunion made being together for Alissabeth's vigil extra meaningful this year.

Low Cost Christmas

This is the information comes from a "Low Cost Gift Ideas" handout I received from the Sub-for-Santa program. I can't imagine they wouldn't want this information to be shared freely, so here it is:

Make a family matching game out of cardboard or cut cards out of plywood or chipboard. Glue pictures of your family or friends on them.

Print photos for cheap at www.pephoto.com

101 reasons (or less if you want) "Why I love you." Take 101 kisses and attach 101 reaasons why you love the person.

Sew an apron. It is very easy plus you can get great deals on fabrics. Fnd a large variety of patterns at: www.tipnut.com/56-free-apron-patters-you-can-make/

Buy a blank calendar or dowload one from the internet. Decorate it with personal or cute photos for someone you love.

Compile a history by gathering cool stories, historical accounts and photographs from grandparents, ancestors and other cherished family memories.

Give the gift of warmth by putting hot chocolate packets into a cool mug with a candy cane to stir. Wrapt it in cellophane and tie it closed with a ribbon.

Give a cupon book of activities you can do together or make service vouchers like a car wash.

Take a big matchbox and blue a photo on it. Buy a pretty candle and wrap it with the matchbox.

Make a picture frame out of a cereal box or other cardboard, cut it into a square with a square center removed. Cover it with your favorite paper or fabric and put a picture behind it.

@}~~~~

Hmm....some of these actually sound more expensive than just buying a modest store-bought gift. But you know, it's the thought and effort that counts, not the price, if you can afford the project. LOL

Bump in the Night

How can I sleep when I'm still trembling and my heart is still racing? Perhaps the sound of my keyboard responding to my fingers click click clicking on the keys will drown out the sounds of this old house settling and the furnace creaking and popping and my confused thoughts.

I'm reminded of something that happened about twenty years ago. Michael and I had been married less than two years at the time. His parents moved to Canada and left us to rent their five bedroom home in Payson so we could show it to potential buyers. Once we were alone in the home, we moved into the master bedroom and made ourselves comfortable. Jerry had a substantial collection of guns which he kept in the master bedroom closet. Some of them were antiques from the civil war and others were small, contemporary handguns or rifles. Due to Canadian law, he was forced to leave them behind. I was not comfortable with them in the house because I didn't grow up with guns and had what I considered a healthy fear of them. I insisted emphatically that Michael move them to one of the closets in a downstairs bedroom, out of sight and mind. He thought I was being silly, but he honored my wishes. He did, however, leave one very small handgun and a box of bullets on the shelf in the closet. He wanted me to have it for safety measures, and showed me how to hold it, point, and shoot. I was home alone most nights while he worked the graveshift.

We'd been living in the home for several months when this incident occured on a hot, humid summer night. Michael was at work and I was in bed reading. I always had trouble sleeping when he was gone at night, and this night was no exception. It must have been 1:00, 2:00, maybe even 3:00 a.m. when I heard a "clunk-clunk...clunk" just outside of the bedroom door. It's funny how the harder you try to listen, the harder your heart pounds in your ears making it nearly impossible to hear anything else. I sat upright in bed, frozen and straining to hear what lurked outside my locked door. I tried not to breathe, because breathing also obscured my hearing. A minute passed, or perhaps it was two; still it seemed like ten or fifteen minutes passed. Then it happened again, "clunk-clunk." There was no mistaking, whatever or whomever was in my house was right outside my bedroom door, just a few yards from where I sat paralized with fear in my bed. And another "clunk-clunk-clunk" followed directly afterward. I picked up the bedside phone and I called and woke my mom in Highland. Whisperng into the reciever I told her what was going on. She had my then step father use their second line, dedicated to the computer, to call 911. The dispatcher told us that I would have to hang up on my mom, my lifeline, to make the call to 911 myself. Mom made me promise I would call her as soon as possible to let her know I was okay.

I couldn't dial 911 fast enough after I hung up on Mom. The woman's voice was smooth and calm but commanding. As she asked me to describe the situation, the clunking in the hallway continued intermittently. I was sure someone was out there. I told her that there was a stockpile of collector guns and ammo in the basement and speculate that it was quite possible the intruder could have armed himself. She asked if there were any weapons in my room, and I told her about the small handgun and bullets on the shelf. She told me that it was absolutely imperative that I leave them where they are. While I waited for the officers to arrive, she asked me several times if they were still on the shelf and reminded me not to touch them. Finally, she said that the officers had arrived and that it was necessary for me to open the front door for them. I explained to her that the intruder was just outside my bedroom door, trapping me where I was. I couldn't possibly unlock my bedroom door and pass through the house where he lurked between me and my rescuers. She told me that was the only way they could help me, and she was extremely firm on that point. This was the era of corded phones, and I was forced to leave the reciever laying on the bed while I walked right into danger.

I tiptoed to the door, placed one hand on the knob, and held my breath. Could I really do it? I had no choice! I looked back at the phone lying on the bed where the dispatcher waited for me and I said a prayer for my safety. I unlocked the bedroom door, swung it open, and raced through the hallway and down the stairs to the split level entry in what seemed a single, swift motion. I fumbled with the locks and swung the front door open to reveal several officers. They rushed in with their handguns pointed upward, ready to aim should they meet with the intruder. It was like watching cops in a TV series or movie, keeping their backs to the wall and their guns pointed at the sky, moving stealthily in short, swift bursts, aiming their guns at potential boogeymen before returning to their original poses. I was frozen in place until the search was over. It was then that Chief Box asked me to show him where I was and where I heard the noise. As I led him upstairs and through the hallway toward the master bedroom, I discovered the culprit, and my embarrassment couldn't have been more complete.

Mike's parents had left many of their posessions behind, not just the guns. On the wall in the hallway Jerry left hanging a set of several plaks. Each one was stained a deep walnut with a glossy finish and had a plexiglass frame affixed with a color photograph. There was one for each of his drum majors during his career with Payson High School Marching Band. Apparently the adhesive on the plexiglass frames had succumbed to the humidity, and each in brief succession let go of the glossy finish and fell to the ground, bouncing against the wall once or twice on it's way to the floor. The hallway was littered with these plexiglass frames and the faces of distinguished drum majors. I stopped and turned to face Chief Box and told him I knew what had caused the noises. I picked up one of the frames and showed him, then dropped it again. His face never changed and he never laughed. But he did tell me I'd be safer with the guns in my bedroom closet, rather than in a separate room. The officers left and I locked the door behind them. I locked myself back in my bedroom, leaving the drum majors scattered on the hallway floor where they fell, then called my mom. You can bet I took Chief Box's advise and had Michael move the guns back to my bedroom the very next night.

Back to the present, the kids would usually be home asleep in their beds at this ungodly hour on a Monday morning. But this weekend they stayed in Sandy one extra night because tomorrow they'll miss school to attend Uncle Junior's funeral in Santaquin with their daddy. I was enjoying a sound sleep when I awoke with a start and sat bolt upright to the sound of a double bang. It didn't sound exactly like a gun, but perhaps more like the sound of either the front or back door being kicked in. I held my breath and strained to hear over the sound of my breathlessness and my heart pounding in my ears. It seemed as if a great deal of time passed, as I sat frozen in bed looking through the open bedroom door toward the dimly lit hallway. I reached for my cel phone which was plugged into the charger and laying on my bed next to me. I flipped it open and dialed 911, then held my finger over the green button, ready to place the call if necessary.

My mind raced and I asked myself if this were only a dream. But it wasn't. The bang was so loud it woke me in time to hear the second bang quite clearly. I heard the squeak of the wooden floor somewhere upstairs and decided not to wait until the intruder descended upon me to place the call. The dispatcher answered by asking me the location of my call and the number I was calling from. Then she asked me to describe the problem. I told her that it sounded as if someone may have busted either the front or back door open, or perhaps the furnace downstairs may have exploded. She told me the officers were on their way and would begin by checking the perimeter of the house. She also wanted to know if there were any obstacles in the yard they should be careful for. I described the three foot drop with a stone wall in the back yard just a couple yards beyond the back wall of the house. She then told me I would need to answer the back door. I tip toed to the bedroom door, looked down the hallway toward the darkened living room and the glow in the kitchen coming from the light over the stove. I then raced through the hallway and kitchen to the back door, fumbled with the lock and swung the door open quickly.

There were two officers with flashlights on the porch. I told them to come in. They asked me to describe the situation, then asked where I was when I heard the sound. I pointed in the general direction of my bedroom and told them I had been in bed. They asked me to return to my room, escorted me there, then ordered me to stay while they searched the house. After they closed my bedroom door, I could hear them moving through the house as their boots clunked against the wood and the floors creaked. I could hear their voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Finally they returned to my room and told me they found nothing. They asked me again to explain what happened, and as I was explaining, one of the officers walked out of the room again. When he returned, he said that there was a bottle of Ax body wash lying in the tub, beginning to leak. He suggested it may have fallen off the window sill where the bottles of shampoo and face cleanser and shaving cream were lined up. I could have died of relief and embarrassment all at once. I explained to him that it has been fixed to the wall with a suction cup accessory that came free with the purchase of the product. It had been attached to the shower wall all weekend while the kids were gone, so I was certain he was correct and that was the source of my mysterious bump in the night. I appologized profusely, but they assured me that my peace of mind was important and that I shouldn't hesitate to call again If I ever felt afraid.

I feel better having got that off my chest. My heart has slowed down to a fairly normal pace, and my breathing has evened out again. My adrenalyn rush has finally left me weak and exhuasted, and I think I can sleep now. Looks like I can get three and a half hours more sleep before I have to wake and get ready for the funeral. It's gonna be a long day.

What a Week

Dione gave me a personal blogging tutorial, but my memoy sucks and I haven't figured out the finer nuances of managing my blog yet. Of course, this is only my second entry, so I hold out hope that I'll improve with experience.

It's been a busy week. I haven't felt like getting up and getting going, but I've done it anyway. My sockets haven't healed yet and my lymph nodes are still backed up. This causes me constant discomfort and occasional pain, dizziness, nausea, and fatigue. I was supposed to see my surgeon about it last Friday so he could decide if he wanted to "clean them out." That didn't exactly sound pleasant. Well, I had been driving around for four days with my empty light on, and I ran out of fumes halfway down my own street on the way to that appointment. I got help pushing the car home from some rowdy looking but very nice boys, then called to cancel my apointment.
Dr. Park asked me to call him early the following week, but somehow time flew! I left him a voice mail on Thursday, but didn't hear from him Friday, so I'll try again Monday. I guess I have to resolve this sooner or later. Funny how it feels like I have a marshamellow stuffed in each of my cheeks.

I had two highlights this week.

When Cliss discovered I was an English Lit major, she asked me for book recommendations. I told her about a current favorite, Life of Pi by Yan Martel, which I'd read in a lit theory class about three years ago. Life of Pi is about a young, indigenous boy whose family owns a Zoo in India. When he and his family accompany some of their animals on an exchange with another zoo, their cargo ship sinks, leaving Pi the only human survivor. He becomes stranded on a lifeboat with a zebra, an orangutan, and a bengal tiger. I won't spoil the story, but suffice it to say that only one of the three animals survive! One of the book's major themes surrounds the nature of faith and whether or not faith has limits. Cliss enjoyed the book enough that she chose it as her annual selection for a neighborhood book club, which she's been a member of for the better part of the last decade. She invited me to join her last week when it was her turn to hostess the meeting in her home, and because they would be discussing Life of Pi. A few members volunteered to bring Indian dishes to sample for the refreshments, so I volunteered to bring the appetiser: some vegetable samosas with spicy ginger-mango and mint chutneys. I wish I hadn't taken my dear, long-time, Indian friend Jairaj's advice to cheat and use puff pastry from the freezer section. I've enjoyed samosas on several past occasions and I know the pastry texture turned out all wrong. Still, I think the chutneys were yummy and the samosa fillng tasted pretty authentic. One woman carried on that the food was too spicy, but I used a fraction of the spices each recipe called for becuase that was just the sort of problem I was trying to avoid. I wouldn't say the chutneys were mild, but if they'd been Mexican salsas they might have been labeled medium. They certainly left a warm glow in my mouth, though it was not sharp or unpleasant as far as I was concerned, and I have had less tolerance for spicy food in recent years. My only other regrets were that I hadn't read the book again so I'd forgotten much of it and much of our classroom discussion, I'd lent my copy out and couldn't retrieve it in time to re-read it, I couldn't afford to purchase a new copy, and I couldn't find my notebook containing my class notes. Still, I was thrilled to be invited and it was a really enjoyable evening with my sister.

The other highlight of my week was the ACLU membership meeting. I have been a member since the Utah chapter's legal representative, Marina, spoke at one our Martin Luther King, Jr./Civil Rights Week events last spring. But this was the first ACLU meeting/event I've been able to attend. It started with a one hour update to the members, including an overview of legislative issues we're currently working on. Many of them are perennial issues like immigration and LGBT issues. But one of the ones which I found somewhat amusing was a bill containing a steep "dancing tax" which our conservative Utah legislators are currently pushing. It all sounds so Footloose-esque! I realized if they actually passed this bill, it will no doubt be enforced in a completely arbitrary manner. I cannot imagine they'll tax members of the Utah Ballet company, members of the Ririe-Woodbury modern dance company, dance majors at Utah colleges and universities, high school cheerleaders and dance teams, step dancers and cloggers in summer parades, and 3-year-olds taking their first ballet and tap classes. They'll single out young people 21-26 years old who frequent dance clubs. While some peolple consider dance clubs undesirable in their state (they're generally zoned away from residential neighborhoods already), this approach is unconstitutional and yet another example of how so many people believe that the idealogical end justifies violating the civil liberties of Othered Americans. I also thought about the Eagle Club in south Salt Lake where so many middle age and senior couples go for ballroom dancing on the weekend. There is really no way to enforce this law justly. In spite of some discouraging information, I found much of the report encouraging and moving. The meeting was held at the Salt Lake Art Center one door north of the Energy Solutions Arena, and was followed by a reception and art exhibit, "Liberties Under Fire," celebrating the ACLU's 50th year in Utah. An artist from Georgia by the name of John Traubaugh was featured and we had a delightful "conversation" session with him.

Tomorrow I have to wake early to attend a Sub-for-Santa workshop. When I was assistant to UVSC's Faculty Coordinator of Academic Service-Learning two years ago, I had the privelege of being solely responsible for the giving tree project on campus, and was heavily involved with the Sub-for-Santa program as well as the Winter Warmth and Canned Food drives. It was a rewarding experience to be on the helping end of things. But I'm afraid this year the kids and I are on the other side of the situation, and I feel quite wistful about the reversal. Still, I'm grateful for the opportunity. We missed the UVU deadline, but the Utah County program is still open to applicants, so that's what the workshop is about tomorrow. UVU's program suggests $50 of expenditure per child and the application asks each child's shoe and clothing sizes as well as their gift wishes. Sponsors may go beyond the recommendations to spend more per child and even provide gifts for parents and older siblings at their discression. I understand the Utah County program is a lot more restrictive. Children ages 15 and 16 will be considered only if they have younger siblings in the home, but there is no garantee they'll be included. Parents are certainly not included, which is understandable. The Ut Co application requires a great deal of documenation. I shouldn't complain, but I confess it has been a real challenge to pull everything together in time for tomorrow's workshop. I couldn't find the kids birth certificate and/or social security cards, so I hope their medicaid "card" (the monthly printout of current benefits) and/or their library cards will do. I had to obtain CAP2 (whatever that means) and financial printouts from Department of Workforce Services, so I have to wonder why it's necessary to also provide proof of income and children's IDs. UVU goes on an "on your honor" basis. Certainly we saw abuses of the system, but we all (faculty administrators and student volunteers) felt they were small matters, easily remedied with sensitivity, in the face of all the families we were able to help. Cass will turn 17 the week before Christmas, so I guess I'll find out tomorrow if she qualifies based on the application date, or will be declined based on the date of December 25. That is, of course, providing we're accepted to their program at all. I think it's getting late to apply and sponsors may be scarce by now. Funny how two years ago when I worked with UVU's program, we had more sponsors than we had applicants, and referred our surplus to the Utah County program. Anyway, if it doesn't work out for us, it doesn't work out. One of my favorite childhood Christmas memories was that year we really had to make do for Christmas. Perhaps it's good for us to have one of those experiences in our childhood to learn from and look back on with fondness.

I'm Just a Blogging Fool!

Here I sit with my little sis Dione, at my big sis Cliss' house, creating my very own blog! Wow, this is kewl!