Quick Thanks and a Thought

Tonight I'm thankful that I heard good things about my teaching from parents, students and other teachers.  We teachers really need to hear that we are doing a good job.  I'm also thankful that the PD tonight was organized and relevant.  Now I'm going to go crazier trying to differentiate for a diverse group of students!  Thanks Christi.

And, I'm going to bed without knowing what the election outcome will be.  I hate the predictions based on 5% of the vote being in.  I'm hoping when I get up in the morning that it's a blue day.

Hospitals Are Not Fun Places To Spend The Day

Today David went to McLaren Hospital in Bay City for a cardiac cath.  He's had a lot of these - probably close to a dozen over the last 15 years or so and he's had a lot of stents put in his arteries.  Bad genetics.  Not much can be done about that.  But last week he went into atrial fibrillation again and his cardiologist decided that it was time to do another cath to check things out.  

Got to the hospital in plenty of time and was thankful for Daylight Savings Time so I really got up at 6:00 am, rather than 5:00 am so we could be in Bay City by 7:00.  Hospital personnel were friendly and ready.  While David was prepped I visited with some neighbors from the WB were up there for some tests.  Had a good conversation about Jonathan Kozol.  Not someone I'm familiar with, but sounds like an interesting educator advocate I will look up.

Anyway, got to back and see David in his cute little hospital gown with his feet h

anging over the edge of the bed and his oxygen, IV, EKG wires running.   I said, "Looking good, big guy," and he smiled at me.  Then we sat there for about an hour until Gabe showed up and made some conversation.  About 9:30 they took him back and I went out to find coffee.  McDonald's was able to make my special blend and I was thankful for that.

David came out of the cath lab with pressure bandages on both wrists because one of his arteries spasmed so they had to use the other one.  Lucky boy!  Doc came in and said things looked good, showed us pictures, and said no stents necessary!  I said hooray and David said bummer - he was hoping that he'd get another stent and feel 18 again.  Not going to happen.  Interestingly his blood pressure was elevated.

Paula, my mom and sisters came to offer moral support and we all visited and made David crazy.  He ate a turkey sandwich (just like every time), drank some milk and then his pulse, which is usually 50 or just under, dropped to 30 and he started throwing up.  He went chalk white.  They did another BP and that was even more elevated.  So, we weren't going home right away.  And it was scary.  The same old same old wasn't quite the same.  

After the 3rd time vomiting the doctor came in and knows how to treat David - casually, as though nothing is going on.  He said, "Well, keep track of your BP a couple times a day and if you pass out, take your pulse when you wake up.  Then maybe we'll see about a pacemaker" and he left!  I took the girls out to lunch so he could get some sleep, and when we got back he was ready to go.  I knew he felt pretty crappy when they let him put him in a wheelchair and let me drive home.

He puked pretty regularly all the way home, but we made it home.  He had a nap and some soup and he's better!  Well, I'm not sure how better he is, but he hasn't thrown the soup up yet and we're watching Dexter before I go out to feed the horses.  All in all a lot to be thankful for - good hospital staff, good doc, great family and more time with my old man.

Only a Mother

Someday, when I learn how to scan and post pictures, I want to post this picture my dad used to carry in his wallet.  My mother is in some kind of dark red suit with a long pencil skirt and tight jacket with big covered buttons.  She's wearing an amazing hat and high heels and smiling into the camera.  I can't remember what's in the background because the force of my mother's personality and her sense of style make it impossible to notice anything other than her.  Her beauty and style draw the eye in any crowd at any place.  That and her height.  I think she's probably 4'8" tall, but she'll disagree with that.  She believes she's taller.  When I was growing up she would say she was, "four foot 10 and three-quarter inches" tall.  And she was the biggest thing in my world.

Growing up was a whirlwind of homemade dresses with layers and layers of slips, magical birthday cakes, and food, food, and more food.  Somehow she had three c-sections in four years and still kept on cooking, cleaning, sewing and loving.  Three daughters, two wonderful sisters for me.  

I remember 1959 when she was pregnant with my first brother.  We were getting a house of our own and we'd drive out to watch them build it.  She was so excited to pick out carpet and counters and to create the home we would live in.  

My brother was born in February of 1960.  I was 8 years old and I think it was that year or the next that she went out to work to help support our growing family.  She worked at a meat market/deli, cutting lunch meat and cheese and making sub sandwiches and pizza.  Later she worked at a bread store where customers became friends.  

My dad always said that my mother was the most giving person he had ever met.  She made beautiful crocheted gifts for friends and family, friends of friends, and sometimes complete strangers.  She still crochets hats for new babies in the hospital.  She makes crafts with a group of girls that are sold at a nunnery even though she's not Catholic.  She remembers everyone's birthday, anniversary, and other special occasions.  She is a fantastic friend and still lunches with the Grand Trunk girls she worked with in the 1940s!

The best time I ever had with my mother was when she came up to care for us when my twins were born.  At that time I had 5 other kids at home.  I was 36 years old.  I had just returned to college hoping to get my education degree.  And I was exhausted.  My mother did laundry, fed babies, washed dishes, and made me fried egg sandwiches (my favorite) when I thought I was too tired to eat.  Sometimes we would be so exhausted we'd start laughing for no reason at all and other times we'd laugh because mom kept calling the twins by some other names.  They were named Natasha and Maya.  Sometimes she'd call them Amy and Jennifer, or Jessica and Megan.  We'd look at each other and crack up.  

We spent hours on the phone calling places all over the country looking for premie diapers (something I hadn't thought of ahead of time).  We'd laugh about how little me knew about geography.  One day she was in the laundry room and I answered the phone.  A friend asked how we were doing and I said, "A little rocky..."  Mom hollered  out, "I know that one, that's in Arkansas."  Maybe you had to be there, but we laughed until tears flowed and our faces hurt.

Mom has made sure that family traditions continue.  One of the things I'm most grateful to her for doing is making sure that we always have Wigilia - Polish Christmas Eve (even though she's not Polish).  The extended Woznicki family get together at a hall and eat and laugh and cry.  Each year, as the older generation diminishes, the youngest generation increases.  

My mother has taught me what it means to be a beautiful woman and I am grateful.

Where It All Began

Some 60 odd years ago I came into this world.  I was the first born to parents who were madly in love with each other.  My mother was (and is) a little bit of nothing with a will of iron and my father was a gentle man who was passionate about his family.  I was born one week before my father's birthday and for all his life he said I was his best birthday present.  I didn't realize what a wonderful blessing that was for me until I got to be much older than I should have been because I've always been a little slow on the uptake.  I got to grow up in a house where two people were in love with each other, which is almost unheard of any more.  

My dad wasn't a talker, but every year for our birthday he wrote us a letter telling us what we meant to him. For many years, beginning with my early teens,  I took every letter as a comment on how I wasn't living up to his expectations.  They broke my heart and I could not understand why I was never good enough.  That was mostly because my father was not the kind of man who could tell me he was proud of me.  Instead he called me (and my sibs) "knucklehead," and his advice included "Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back."  I was not able to read his heart, so I took everything he said to heart.  And the heart that I nurtured was afraid and unsure.  I don't know why this was so, I only know that I believed that I was invalid in some sense and couldn't figure out how to make "me" right.

Many years later, during a very rough time for me in my marriage, my dad's letter to me was about how proud he was of me for creating the family I had made.  Did he know that I was on the verge of divorce?  That my husband and I hadn't managed to have a decent conversation in years and that I felt lost and alone and scared about the future? I was worried about my kids and the choices they were making.  I was only able to see that I still wasn't living up to his expectations and that only approval I got was when I pretended that everything was alright.  I got rid of that letter and all of the letters I had kept for so many years because i was tired of being a fraud.

Somehow, through grace, my husband and I found our way back to each other.  My dad aged, got sicker and finally died.  And now I wish I had kept those letters because I know he loved me and I just couldn't see it.  So today's gratitude is for all the love that was there for the taking, if only I could have gotten out of my own way to see it.  Fortunately, today I realize just how blessed I was by my father's love.

November.  The month of Thanksgiving.  The challenge was to create a blog post of thankfulness everyday for a month.  I probably shouldn't have waited until the end of the day on November 1 before I started thinking about it.  I mean I think about gratitude every day.  It's part of my sobriety.  And it's a major component of my philosophy of life.  As a card-carrying depressive, it's really too easy for me to focus on the negative.  When my day starts with a shot of gratitude, the next 15-18 hours goes a lot more smoothly.

So, why am I thankful?  Well, first off I'm thankful just to be here on this amazing planet that is home.  This morning was cold and windy and wet, but the sun broke through the clouds at lunch time and blessed me with it's light.  I swear I could feel the endorphins start moving around in my head and I had to smile because I just felt so darn good.  Even though the weather was pretty brisk, I rolled the windows down in the Pacer as I headed to McDonald's for my coffee and salad.  Since the radio doesn't work I was singing that old Turtles' song, "Imagine me and you, I do.  I think about you day and night, it's only right..."  You know how it goes.  And I realized that I am a very blessed individual.

Now that I've started putting words down, I'm sure the next 29 days of writing will be easier to do.  I've got a lot to be thankful for - great family, good friends, a job I love, a return to health, a pension and social security waiting for me at retirement.  For someone who never planned on making it this long, things have fallen into place pretty well.

Thank you universe, for conspiring for my benefit.  I love you.