We are a bunch of whiners. We as in Americans. There was a visiting priest at church tonight who works in Jamaica. (He’s from Nebraska, by the way.) He talked about the slums in Jamaica. One in particular has 300,000 residents. A slum with 300,000 people. Mind boggling. They have no electricity. They live in tiny huts. They have no running water. They don’t have toilets. Their choice at dinnertime is not what to eat, but who gets to eat that day. $100 American could feed a family of 5…for a year. Just think of that. I’ve been known to drop $100 at Target on a good day (or maybe it’s a bad day). On stuff that we probably don’t even need. And yet that $100 could feed a family of 5 in one of these countries for a year? Hard to imagine. Yes we have poverty here. But poverty here is nothing like that. It’s not the abject poverty that occurs in other countries. These people have pretty much no hope of getting out of poverty. In America, I think there is always a possibility of rising above your circumstances. I dunno, I guess it just made all the problems and the worry that’s been going on just a bit less important. It really puts things into perspective. If we could use 1/10th the energy we’ve been using arguing about politics and the economy and abortion and so forth to help those who are less fortunate, what a better world it would be.

If you are interested in helping, go here.

Seven years ago today, we were united as a nation. In sadness. In horror. In solidarity.

Seven years later, we are divided again. Too many people have forgotten. We must never forget.

Life is such a fragile thing. My dad just called to tell me that she who shall not be named’s daughter died. She was only 51. I’ve never met her daughter, although I do know one of her sons and he’s a very nice man. And as much as I still do not care for she who shall not be named, I can’t imagine losing a child. And not being able to go the funeral because of your own health. It’s all so very sad. So, I guess finally I can sympathize with her on some level. And at the same time, I hope I never have to know what it feels like…

There’s this blog I read. Actually, I don’t read it very often, because thankfully, there haven’t been too many posts lately.

Let me explain. Last year I found a link to the blog somewhere. I don’t even remember where anymore. But I followed it. And then I read. And read. And read. I read the entire blog up to that point in one sitting. And I cried a lot of tears. You see, the blog is about a woman and her family. Her daughter who is not that much older than mine. Her husband who writes about what they are going through. About the baby that didn’t get to be born because the woman had cancer and they had to choose. To choose between chemotherapy to save her life and keep her with her family or a baby that would probably have to live without a mother. And how do you make that choice? Why do you have to make a choice like that? I think I’d have had to make the same choice, though. Because if you bring a child into this world, I think you owe it to that child to do what you can do to stay in this world as long as you can. Even at the cost of another unborn child. Which is not to say that it was an easy decision. It so was not. And I know how much it hurt them to make it. I don’t even know them and I sobbed as I read about it.

So anyway, they made that horrible choice. And she got the chemo. And she got better. She went into remission. And she’s been doing well. So not much to say on the blog.

But the other day there was a post. A post about the woman (her name is Leanne, by the way). A post about how she has e coli. And she’s not getting better. Maybe it’s because her immune system was so weak from the cancer fight. Who knows? Most people get better when they have e coli. And I pray that she will. But so far, she’s not. And it makes you think about how unfair life can be sometimes. If not for cancer, she’d have two children and probably be done with the e coli already. Instead, well…I don’t want to think about the instead.

Life is so fragile, you know? So very very fragile. And short. And our time with those we love is never enough. So, hug your kids. And your mom. And your dad. And your spouse. And everyone you love. And say a prayer for Leanne. That her fight was not in vain.

Friday I got a bill from the anesthesiologist who did the anesthesia for my ablation procedure last summer. Yes, a bill from something that happened in July. Stupid. And did I mention the bill was for $608? Yeah. Not happy. I tried to call about it yesterday, but oh yeah, it was a holiday so they were closed. So I called the insurance today and it seems that the anesthesiologist was “out of network”, so I am expected to pay the co-insurance on it. Um, hello? Should they not have figured all of that out before I had my procedure? Am I supposed to interview everyone in the operating room before I go under to make sure they’re all in my network? Wtf? I was in a network hospital being worked on by a network cardiologist. It is ridiculous that I should have to worry about whether or not the anesthesiologist is in the “network” or not. Just another way that insurance companies are ruining the health care system. Ugh.

And then today there was the new of the sudden death of Heath Ledger. I know people die every day. But he’s a dad. And I’ve enjoyed his movies. And he was only 28 years old. So sad.

Since I have nothing but sad and/or grumpy things to talk about, I thought I’d lighten it up a bit with a meme I found at 123Duck!. (Read on …)

Guess what? I got the head cold that LG and Mike already had. Isn’t that lovely? I feel pretty crappy, but I don’t have a fever. Have I ever mentioned that I rarely get fevers? If I get a fever, then I’m usually so sick I can’t even drag myself out of bed. I mean really really sick. I’m not quite that sick. But I still don’t really want to get out of bed so much. It stinks because I really wanted to go to church yesterday. For the first time in about a month. But nooooo. Hrmph.

And then there is the letter I got from the insurance company on Saturday that said they were denying authorization of the CT Scan on my heart (which, by the way, I scheduled on Friday, remember?). So today, in my sickened state, I had to call and try and sort all of that out. First, I tried the insurance company. Remind me not to do that again. I first spoke to member services. Who sent me to claims. Who sent me to authorizations. Who told me they didn’t talk to members, so they would give me the number to member services. Who I already spoke to, of course, so I told them I’d just call the provider, thanks for nothing. So I called the lab and they checked into it and then had me call the dr’s office. But that person wanted me to speak to my physician’s actual assistant, so I called HER and FINALLY found out that it was already authorized. There was an authorization number for July 20 - October 20. Have I mentioned how much I HATE INSURANCE COMPANIES???? Hate. them. hatethemhatethemhatethem Ugh.

And, of course, I’m sad for Marlene and her family over losing their doggie. And Mike is sad because he really loved that dog and he wishes he would have gone to see him recently. But I told him Sparky knows he loved him. Losing a pet is sooooo hard. Marlene’s post this morning about expecting to hear his tail thumping on the sofa when she got up really made me cry and brought back memories of when we lost our dogs. Bob was a shock to us like Sparky was to them and it’s so hard. You’re just not ready and you feel like somehow you didn’t get enough time to say goodbye. And then you see them everywhere in your house. And you catch glimpses of things out of the corner of your eye and you expect it to be them trotting into the room. But it’s not. And it’s just so damn hard. My heart hurts for them.

And I haven’t even talked about the bridge collapse in Minneapolis because it’s just too much. The last three weeks or so have just been too much. First my heart stuff, then Mike’s old bandmate (who, by the way, died the day after Mike visited him), then the helicopter crash here in Phoenix, then Minneapolis, and then Sparky. Too much. I’m tired of being sad. I think this summer is not going to go down as one of my favorite. I’ll be glad when it’s finally over.

I was 21 when I met Mike, which is almost 20 years ago now. Not long before we met, he met Joe, who played guitar and sang at a local bar and ran an open mic night. Mike was a 22 year old keyboard player and hung out with Joe watching his hands for the chords and following along.

One night, the bar owner said he was going to bring in bands on the weekend, so Joe asked Mike if he knew a drummer. He, of course, did, so he called Bill and lined him up for the band, and Joe brought in Jordan, another guitar player who often came to the open mic nights. Then the bar owner (as bar owners tend to do) changed his mind and decided he only wanted duos and trios, so their little thrown together band basically said eff you and went to find another gig. Which they did. At another bar not too far down the road. And that bar was the first bar I ever stepped a foot into in my life.

It was around this time as well that one of Joe’s friends brought back a friend of his from California, a 6′4″ Irish Mexican with 3 1/2 teeth named Rodrigo, who played flute and sax, and who joined the band as well. Rodrigo was a great big teddy bear with a toothless grin, a ready laugh, and a lot of talent. He was also a heavy drinker and other things that I won’t mention here. But man, when he sang…it was like velvet.

Mike still gigs with Joe and a couple of other guys now and then at the bar Joe owns, but he rarely sees the other guys, even though we’re still in email contact with Bill. We haven’t seen Rodrigo in years. Not since the band did a reunion gig at Joe’s bar.

Mike got a call from Joe today. Rodrigo is in a local hospital in a coma due to complications from cirrhosis of the liver. And he’s most likely not going to make it. Mike is off to the hospital to say goodbye. I kind of wish I could go, too, but I’ve got to rest for our outing tonight and stay with a little girl who desperately needs a nap before said outing. So I told Mike to say my goodbyes as well.

Mike is melancholy and sad, and who can blame him. So am I. If you want, say a prayer, light a candle, whatever you do, that his end comes peacefully.

Adios Rodrigo. Vaya con Dios.

Mama, take this badge off of me
I can’t use it anymore.
It’s gettin’ dark, too dark for me to see
I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can’t shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin’ down
I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door

So yeah, there I was in the hospital, in the lab room thingy where they do the electrophysiology study/ablation and they were sticking innumerable sticky pad things all over my body and I had this overwhelming desire to just get up and run far, far away. But just as I was working on getting a hold on the anxiety, the nice medicine came into the IV and I was fast fast asleep for the next 3 or so hours. I like it that way. It is strange, though, how it feels like you just closed your eyes and the next thing you know it’s three hours later. Very strange.

I have an incredibly sore throat because they felt the need to do a transesophageal echocardiogram in which they send the echo probe down your throat. Sounds fun huh? The sore throat is probably the worst aftereffect besides the incredible tiredness I’m feeling.

I wish I had really good news for you. Unfortunately, I have really complicated news for you. The good news is my heart is back in rhythm and out of tachycardia and flutter. The other part is, well, rather complicated. (Read on …)

So, the other day she fell off the couch. Next there was the burned hand incident. Then the other night she tripped and hit her cheek on the one of the chairs in the church, so she has a nice little bruise on her cheek. And today? Well, now she has a shiner. She was supposed to be taking a nap, but apparently she was jumping on her bed, because I heard a thud and then crying. I ran in there and found a nice knot forming next to her eye, and once she calmed down she told me she bumped her head on the the bedrail. *sigh*

I don’t think I was nearly that adventurous when I was her age. I’m positive she totally gets this from her father.

I dropped the sewing machine off at the repair shop this morning. They are THREE WEEKS out on repairs. Which means I might have my baby machine back by the beginning of March.

Did I mention I have two quilts to make for friends whose babies are due the beginning of April?

*sigh*

I was really too young to “know” President Gerald Ford when he was in office. But in the last few days since his death, I have come to know him much better and I have been mightily impressed with the man that he was. He may have been the so-called “accidental” president, but history is thus far remembering him as a good, maybe even great, president, and certainly what the country needed to heal in the wake of Watergate.

As I sit here watching the coverage of his funeral, just as I did Reagan’s only a couple of years ago, I find myself choked up at hearing “Hail to the Chief” and even moreso because it was played by the University of Michigan Marching Band, the place where his football jersey number was retired and where, if I remember my facts correctly, his is the only retired number. And then…then they played the fight song as they put his flag-draped casket in the limo. I think he would have like that.

Rest in peace Mr. President.

I receive an email each morning called “This Day in History” that tells of something that happened historically on whatever date it happens to be.

Today’s email talks about Pan Am Flight 103 which exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland killing all 243 passengers and 16 crew members aboard as well as 11 people on the ground.

I vividly remember this event, although I didn’t remember that it happened so close to Christmas. I was 22 years old when it happened. It was suspected to have been an attack against the United States in retaliation for either the 1986 U.S. air strikes against Libya or a 1988 incident in which the U.S. mistakenly shot down an Iran Air commercial flight over the Persian Gulf. Either way, the images we saw on television of the aftermath were incredibly horrific and poignant.

In the summer of 2000, I was able to visit Scotland and England on a singing tour along with a friend. We drove past Sherwood Crescent in Lockerbie where most of the plane’s wreckage ended up and what at least in my memory is now an empty field.

What I remember as we drove past that site was how the buzz of voices on our tour bus ceased and the only voice we could hear was the voice of our tour guide telling us the story of the crash. And then silence as we all were lost in our own thoughts and allowed ourselves to simply feel.

What did I feel? It’s hard to explain really. It’s not like we stopped the bus and got out, but even just driving past the site of such a horrific disaster, you feel something. Whether it’s the spirits of those who have died, or just the energy of their terror still there, or maybe the peace their souls have found in the time since it happened, I don’t know. But you definitely feel something. And I won’t ever forget that feeling.

So today, on December 21, 2006, I remember Lockerbie, Scotland and Pan Am Flight 103.

As Mike was getting ready to leave for work, he saw these visitors in our front yard:

Sorry, it’s not the greatest picture, but I was standing at the window using the full digital zoom because I didn’t really want to go outside while they were visiting. I’m such a bad hostess.

Mike took his truck and chased them off as he didn’t want them to make a habit of dropping by unexpectedly.

In case you are not familiar with our visitors, they are Canis latrans, more commonly known as Coyotes. And I don’t mean the hockey team. ;-)

I’ve actually never seen coyotes wandering around our property in the daylight, but I suspect that the recent construction on the hill has spooked them out of their home/hunting grounds. Just another reason I’m not at all happy about the construction. Poor coyotes. Sorry we can’t let you hang out here!

I never really know what to write on the anniversary of September 11, 2001. There will be many remembrances and tributes written today, the 5th anniversary, by those who are much more eloquent than I.

I didn’t lose anyone on September 11. We did have a friend from church who was there that day and who was supposed to have been in the Twin Towers that morning, but he decided to go to breakfast first. And that very well could have saved his life.

But the hardest part for me was walking into my classroom and facing all those little 7 and 8 year old faces and knowing that I had to be their strength. That I had to find the words to tell them they were safe and that everything would be all right even though I didn’t know that for sure myself.

I remember that morning so very clearly. I got up to send Marlene an email because The Princess was supposed to be born that day. And as usual, I had the radio turned on to the news talk station. When I heard that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, my first thought was that it was a small plane that had grazed a tower on top or something. So I quickly turned the television on. And what I saw made me say, “Oh my God” loud enough that it woke Mike up. We all know what transpired that morning, so I won’t go into all that.

I do remember driving to work, hearing about the plane that crashed into the Pentagon and thinking, “Dear Lord, what is happening? What is happening?”

And then we had an impromptu staff meeting right before school started and our principal said we needed to talk to our students about what was going on and reassure them they would be all right. Several of the students at our school had military parents because the school is near an air force base. And you could see in the eyes of the older ones that they knew that mom or dad might have to leave.

I don’t remember all that I said that morning. I do remember telling them that there were bad people in the world and they do bad things but that they were safe and nothing was going to happen to them and praying I was telling them the truth. All of the students I had that year were churchgoers, so when one of them brought up God and praying, I didn’t brush it off or ignore it like I normally would since we’re not allowed to talk about God in school anymore. Not that day. That day those kids needed to know that God was there and that praying was a good thing and that I was praying too. Sometimes you need to ignore the rules.

It’s still so vivid to me. How when any of us had a break, we’d turn on our tvs or radios and then whisper to each other in the halls as we passed to catch the latest news. Really all I wanted was to be at home with my husband in his arms and be able to cry it all out.

Hearing about that plane that crashed in Pennsylvania that day still makes me cry. They knew they were going to die. It was a matter of whether they died fighting or not. And they chose to die fighting. I hope I would choose that as well.

The firefighters and the police officers who went into the twin towers knowing they might very well not come out still blow me away. They put other’s lives before their own. And yes, it’s their job. But this wasn’t just another day on duty. This was a day that would make firefighters and police officers heroes again.

I often wonder if the fact that we make a big deal out of September 11 every year is a good thing or not. Are we playing into the hands of those who would smite us by drawing attention to it year after year? Maybe. But, all of that is overridden in my mind by the loss of almost 3000 lives. Lives that should not be forgotten. Those were fathers and mothers and sons and daughters and husbands and wives and brothers and sisters and grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. And fellow Americans.

We must move on, and we have. But we must also never forget.

This may be the worst news EVER.