She used to be an energetic 10-month-old, racing around the house and playing chase in the backyard. She loved walks and chew toys and could catch almost anything thrown her way, from a ball to a kernel of food.
When she was a few years old, she had her top front teeth surgically removed due to infection. That ended the days of fetch in the yard because she could no longer effectively pick up and hold toys in her mouth. My fetch buddy was gone.
I used to take her with her brother on walks around the neighborhood at night. By the time she was eight or so, I was carrying two leashes and a flashlight, which I shined out ahead of her.
Some more years passed. She couldn't walk at night at all anymore, even with the aid of a flashlight. Her canine brother and I walked alone on our usual route. The third member of our walking trio was gone.
She used to run around the dog park, playing happily with the other dogs. As the years wore on, she lost interest in the dog park and eventually the dog park became downright scary because of her failing vision. My dog park pal was gone.
She used to sleep in my room every night, either on my bed or nearby on the floor. Just before her twelfth birthday, she was diagnosed with Cushing's, a condition that, among other symptoms, made her always hot and panting. She was more comfortable sleeping on the cool tile near the kitchen at night. My roommate was gone.
In the weeks and days before her death, Mali was not the dog I had originally fallen in love with. Pieces of her were taken from us each year. In her last weeks and days, she was alive, but she couldn't play fetch, go to the dog park, join us on long walks, or catch things in the air. She didn't sleep in my room anymore and couldn't jump onto the couch or bed. She preferred sleeping most of the day over playing or looking out the window for strangers and cats like she used to. What died that day in March 2013 was not all of Mali, because much of her was already long gone.
Scout, now about 8 years old, had a bad foot when we adopted him at just under a year old. After a surgical procedure a few months after his adoption, his foot became much less painful and he has lived a relatively normal life. Lately though, he can no longer go for walks on the pavement. He can only walk on the dirt in the open space, and I can't safely walk in the open space at night. After seven years of nighttime walks around the neighborhood, my nighttime walking buddy is gone.
Except in the case of sudden death such as a heart attack or car accident, we all go through this process. We're still alive, but we can do fewer and fewer of the things we once loved. We resemble our younger selves less and less. Pieces of our lives are taken from us and our friends and family one by one, until someday the very last piece is gone and we die. It's important that we appreciate every moment we are given, whether walking with our dogs or even just the ability to stand unsupported, because someday these seemingly mundane activities might be taken away forever.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Funny and Cute Kid Quotes 2
Here are the next ten kid quotes from my collection. Check back soon for more!
trying to get the vacuum cleaner to turn on:
trying to get the vacuum cleaner to turn on:
me: Is this thing battery powered?
kids (ages 6 & 8): Ya, you just have to plug it in!
Hebrew workbook question: Can you think of a song that includes the word Shalom?
1st grade student response: No.
my dad: That's Sarah's car.
6-year-old: Oh, does your brother have one, too?
me: No.
6-year-old: He doesn't want one?
after getting "shot":
me: Help me!
3-year-old: I don't need help!
me: So your mom signed you up?
8-year-old: Ya, it's official!
playing kickball:
Child: Who is batting for Bob?
Bob (age 6): I'm batting for Bob!
after finding out that I was alive for the new millennium and for 9/11:
8-year-old: Were you alive for the Titanic, too?
Me: Did you start the pushing?
10-year-old: No.
Me: Then who did?
10-year-old: …me.
At the zoo by a special exhibit displaying real animal fur:
Woman nearby: You can touch animal fur!
7-year-old: Did you hear that? You can touch animal turd!
After walking around the zoo for about an hour:
7-year-old: Whew! That was quite a long journey!
Click here to see part 1 of the kid quotes series.
Friday, December 20, 2013
One Week Ago
One week ago, one of my best friends graduated from college with her degree in nursing. I had told her I would be there. I didn't make it.
A week and a day ago, I finished my last commitment in my college city and had mostly finished packing for my trip home for winter break. I set an alarm for 9:30 am and went to bed.
The following day, I woke up still sleepy but got out of bed and started getting ready, determined to be on time for my friend's 3 pm graduation in my home city about three hours away. After three trips from my third floor apartment to my car parked at the curb downstairs, I had loaded a suitcase full of nice clothes with their hangers, a trunk full of workout and other casual clothes as well as socks and underwear, my school backpack with my computer, some books, and the usual water bottle, wallet, phone, and keys I keep in there, a bag of laundry, a few pairs of shoes, and a box of food that would expire before I returned in January. After a quick stop at a gas station, I was ready to get on the freeway.
With 3 1/2 years of college behind me, this was easily the fifteenth or maybe twentieth time I had made this same trip back home. To a tourist, it would be an interesting and scenic drive through the desert landscape, but to me, it had become pretty boring. There are two small towns between my college city and home and I often stop in both when driving alone to break up the monotony with a snack. I couldn't that day though because I had finally gotten on the freeway just after 11:00 am and my friend was picking me up at 2:15 from my parents' house to go to our friend's graduation. I had to keep moving.
There is a section of the drive from about forty-five minutes away from school until about an hour and a half from my parents' house where there are basically no radio stations, and as I entered that dreaded zone, I switched from radio to CD. For over a year, I hadn't bought any new music on iTunes because I had been using Spotify. However, my aunt had given me an iTunes gift card for Hanukkah, so before I headed back to school after Thanksgiving break two weeks prior, I had bought some new music and burned it onto a CD for my car. I don't know if my car CD player was having issues or the CD didn't burn correctly, but only the first few songs of that CD played cleanly in my car.
After passing the first small town and hearing the same few songs several times, I reached down where the passenger's feet would go to grab my CD case. Hurtling along on cruise control, I set the CD case on the passenger seat next to me and looked back and forth from the case to the road, flipping through until I found something that looked good. I switched the CD's and refocused on the road.
About the time I passed the first town without stopping, I started to get annoyed with having to stay in the car continuously for two hours until I reached the second town, where I planned to stop briefly for lunch. Thoughts of sitting for hours at my friend's graduation crossed my mind. Of course I wanted to be there for her but I had convinced myself that it would be extremely long. Additionally, I hadn't showered the night before and felt gross, knowing that because I left later than planned, I wouldn't have time to shower at my parents' house before getting picked up to go to the graduation. Grumpily, I tilted my seat back so far that I felt a little scared at my perceived diminished control of the car. I loosely held the wheel on the bottom, blatantly neglecting the "10 and 2" hand grip from driver's ed. I just wanted to get home.
I noticed the sign announcing that I was entering the county of which the second town is the county seat and noted that I was making progress. I was still listening to that second CD I had put in earlier in the drive. It was a mix that some of my teammates had made when I played water polo my senior year of high school. I am a fan of old photos and nostalgia-inducing music, so I had enjoyed having the N Sync CD from when I was a kid in my car. One of their songs came on the mix and I remembered that I had the N Sync CD in my car and hadn't played it in awhile.
I once again reached down to grab my CD case and repeated the same routine of glancing back and forth from the case to the road, looking for the N Sync CD. I got to the last page in the case and hadn't found it, so I figured it must be in my other CD case. It was a little further forward in the passenger feet area and I reached down but couldn't quite grab it. Still flying down the road on cruise control, I grabbed the first CD case and tried to use it to move the second case forward on the floor so I could grab it. I tried a second time and then looked up. I saw where I was, panicked, and turned the wheel hard the other way.
"Oh shit," I remember thinking, realizing that I, Sarah with the lifelong accident-free driving record, was about to be in a major car crash. I braced myself and suddenly felt like I was on an extremely violent roller coaster. For the brief moment I was fully alert, I remember looking at the steering wheel.
The next thing I knew, I was still sitting in my car with my seatbelt off. The car was making the obnoxious dinging noise that indicated the key was in the car and one of the doors was not closed. People were talking to me through what I eventually realized was my completely missing back left window.
'Should we call 911?' I remember thinking. 'It wasn't that bad. Maybe we shouldn't bother them.'
I hesitantly asked the people outside my window to call 911. I did not know how bad the accident had been and was afraid of sounding like an idiot by asking them to call 911 if it had been really minor. Understanding the severity in a way I couldn't at that moment, they did call 911. Everyone kept asking me if I was OK. "Yes," I told them again and again as I cradled my head in my hands. I heard someone speaking to the 911 operator. I looked down where I always kept my phone while driving but it wasn't there. I requested a phone from the people outside my window and was soon handed one.
I intended to call my dad, but in my state of panic and shock, I dialed my own phone number. I thought about it for a moment and then was able to dial my dad's number. "Hi Dad, don't freak out, I'm OK, but I was in a car accident," I told my dad. I remember what his voice sounded like as he responded but not exactly what he said. I asked if he wanted to talk to the lady standing by the car, and they spoke. The girl outside my window, who I later learned was the granddaughter of the woman talking to my dad, told me she had EMT training "in case you need CPR". I smiled at her joke, still holding my aching head.
The lady asked my dad for his name and then for my name. I don't remember what she thought he said but she said my name wrong the first time. He must have repeated it because she then said it correctly.
Another traveler came to the passenger door and tried to open it, but it was locked, as my doors always are when I'm driving. I unlocked the door with the button and he opened it up and peered in. He looked curiously as if he wasn't sure what he would find in there. Probably ten minutes passed in which I stayed in the driver's seat. Eventually I was encouraged to try to get out of the car, or maybe I had asked if I could. The driver side door was broken so I got up and crawled out the passenger side door.
Immediately I was shivering. It wasn't even all that cold. I ended up with a zip up hoodie and my heavy winter coat on over my t-shirt. Both were covered in debris, from dirt to toothpaste.
The initial shock began to subside and I was able to see the damage. The trunk was totally smashed in and my belongings were scattered all over the side of the road, starting at my car and going back probably fifty yards. I noticed a pair of my own underwear sprawled out on the ground. Normally I would have rushed to pick them up, but in the moment, that seemed entirely unimportant.
A police officer arrived some time later. He looked at the car, asked for my license and registration, and generally acted like he had seen much worse and couldn't wait to leave. I looked and found my phone on the floor of the back seat and talked to my dad some more. I broke down sobbing as the realization that I could have just died set in. The police officer told me to stop walking around and to sit down, either in my car or in his police car. By then there were several police cars lined up behind the first guy. I was headed over to his car when the ambulance arrived.
I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance as the EMT's took my blood pressure and measured my oxygen levels with the device they put on the index finger. I seemed just fine. They took a look at my head, especially where there was a cut. Because I had yet to see my own face and had only been told about the cut and felt the bump forming, I imagined a huge gash. My parents told me to go ahead and go to the hospital in the small town nearby. My mom told me to make sure I grabbed my backpack, which had basically everything of major value that was in the car, including my computer and wallet. I crawled into the ambulance, sat down on the bench, buckled myself in, and, on Friday, December 13, experienced my first ever ambulance ride in ambulance number 13.
The EMT got a brief health history and asked where I was hurting. Then I called my friend who was supposed to pick me up for the graduation and told her what had happened. I chatted with the EMT during the approximately 20-minute drive into town. I kept my eye on the stretcher in front of me, quite aware that I could have been lying in it in much worse shape than I was in.
My mom and brother met me at the hospital. I had bruises on my calf and on my hips and shoulder where the seatbelt was, some bumps and a small cut on my head, and a generally banged up body, but I had no broken bones, no internal injuries, and a clear head CT scan. Just a few hours after arriving at the hospital, I was discharged.
We went to the junkyard where my beloved 1999 Camry had been towed. I sat in my mom's car and cried as I looked at the shriveled mess that I had been driving just hours before. We removed everything I wanted to keep from the car, including all the luggage I was bringing home for break as well as miscellaneous items like my old high school parking passes. I took a lot of pictures. I wanted to remember that moment and that great car that been my primary mode of transportation for nearly six years and that had kept me alive in the accident. While I missed my friend's graduation, I was able to make it to her graduation party that evening.
That was one week ago. I spent today with my friend's first grade class, helping and observing. Last night I went to the gym. A few days before that I went for an hour walk. And a few days before that, I survived a potentially fatal rollover car crash. I made some stupid choices while driving that day, including reaching for the CD case while the car was still moving, and I know I am incredibly fortunate that the consequence for my major lapse in judgement was not my life.
A week and a day ago, I finished my last commitment in my college city and had mostly finished packing for my trip home for winter break. I set an alarm for 9:30 am and went to bed.
The following day, I woke up still sleepy but got out of bed and started getting ready, determined to be on time for my friend's 3 pm graduation in my home city about three hours away. After three trips from my third floor apartment to my car parked at the curb downstairs, I had loaded a suitcase full of nice clothes with their hangers, a trunk full of workout and other casual clothes as well as socks and underwear, my school backpack with my computer, some books, and the usual water bottle, wallet, phone, and keys I keep in there, a bag of laundry, a few pairs of shoes, and a box of food that would expire before I returned in January. After a quick stop at a gas station, I was ready to get on the freeway.
With 3 1/2 years of college behind me, this was easily the fifteenth or maybe twentieth time I had made this same trip back home. To a tourist, it would be an interesting and scenic drive through the desert landscape, but to me, it had become pretty boring. There are two small towns between my college city and home and I often stop in both when driving alone to break up the monotony with a snack. I couldn't that day though because I had finally gotten on the freeway just after 11:00 am and my friend was picking me up at 2:15 from my parents' house to go to our friend's graduation. I had to keep moving.
There is a section of the drive from about forty-five minutes away from school until about an hour and a half from my parents' house where there are basically no radio stations, and as I entered that dreaded zone, I switched from radio to CD. For over a year, I hadn't bought any new music on iTunes because I had been using Spotify. However, my aunt had given me an iTunes gift card for Hanukkah, so before I headed back to school after Thanksgiving break two weeks prior, I had bought some new music and burned it onto a CD for my car. I don't know if my car CD player was having issues or the CD didn't burn correctly, but only the first few songs of that CD played cleanly in my car.
After passing the first small town and hearing the same few songs several times, I reached down where the passenger's feet would go to grab my CD case. Hurtling along on cruise control, I set the CD case on the passenger seat next to me and looked back and forth from the case to the road, flipping through until I found something that looked good. I switched the CD's and refocused on the road.
About the time I passed the first town without stopping, I started to get annoyed with having to stay in the car continuously for two hours until I reached the second town, where I planned to stop briefly for lunch. Thoughts of sitting for hours at my friend's graduation crossed my mind. Of course I wanted to be there for her but I had convinced myself that it would be extremely long. Additionally, I hadn't showered the night before and felt gross, knowing that because I left later than planned, I wouldn't have time to shower at my parents' house before getting picked up to go to the graduation. Grumpily, I tilted my seat back so far that I felt a little scared at my perceived diminished control of the car. I loosely held the wheel on the bottom, blatantly neglecting the "10 and 2" hand grip from driver's ed. I just wanted to get home.
I noticed the sign announcing that I was entering the county of which the second town is the county seat and noted that I was making progress. I was still listening to that second CD I had put in earlier in the drive. It was a mix that some of my teammates had made when I played water polo my senior year of high school. I am a fan of old photos and nostalgia-inducing music, so I had enjoyed having the N Sync CD from when I was a kid in my car. One of their songs came on the mix and I remembered that I had the N Sync CD in my car and hadn't played it in awhile.
I once again reached down to grab my CD case and repeated the same routine of glancing back and forth from the case to the road, looking for the N Sync CD. I got to the last page in the case and hadn't found it, so I figured it must be in my other CD case. It was a little further forward in the passenger feet area and I reached down but couldn't quite grab it. Still flying down the road on cruise control, I grabbed the first CD case and tried to use it to move the second case forward on the floor so I could grab it. I tried a second time and then looked up. I saw where I was, panicked, and turned the wheel hard the other way.
"Oh shit," I remember thinking, realizing that I, Sarah with the lifelong accident-free driving record, was about to be in a major car crash. I braced myself and suddenly felt like I was on an extremely violent roller coaster. For the brief moment I was fully alert, I remember looking at the steering wheel.
The next thing I knew, I was still sitting in my car with my seatbelt off. The car was making the obnoxious dinging noise that indicated the key was in the car and one of the doors was not closed. People were talking to me through what I eventually realized was my completely missing back left window.
'Should we call 911?' I remember thinking. 'It wasn't that bad. Maybe we shouldn't bother them.'
I hesitantly asked the people outside my window to call 911. I did not know how bad the accident had been and was afraid of sounding like an idiot by asking them to call 911 if it had been really minor. Understanding the severity in a way I couldn't at that moment, they did call 911. Everyone kept asking me if I was OK. "Yes," I told them again and again as I cradled my head in my hands. I heard someone speaking to the 911 operator. I looked down where I always kept my phone while driving but it wasn't there. I requested a phone from the people outside my window and was soon handed one.
I intended to call my dad, but in my state of panic and shock, I dialed my own phone number. I thought about it for a moment and then was able to dial my dad's number. "Hi Dad, don't freak out, I'm OK, but I was in a car accident," I told my dad. I remember what his voice sounded like as he responded but not exactly what he said. I asked if he wanted to talk to the lady standing by the car, and they spoke. The girl outside my window, who I later learned was the granddaughter of the woman talking to my dad, told me she had EMT training "in case you need CPR". I smiled at her joke, still holding my aching head.
The lady asked my dad for his name and then for my name. I don't remember what she thought he said but she said my name wrong the first time. He must have repeated it because she then said it correctly.
Another traveler came to the passenger door and tried to open it, but it was locked, as my doors always are when I'm driving. I unlocked the door with the button and he opened it up and peered in. He looked curiously as if he wasn't sure what he would find in there. Probably ten minutes passed in which I stayed in the driver's seat. Eventually I was encouraged to try to get out of the car, or maybe I had asked if I could. The driver side door was broken so I got up and crawled out the passenger side door.
Immediately I was shivering. It wasn't even all that cold. I ended up with a zip up hoodie and my heavy winter coat on over my t-shirt. Both were covered in debris, from dirt to toothpaste.
The initial shock began to subside and I was able to see the damage. The trunk was totally smashed in and my belongings were scattered all over the side of the road, starting at my car and going back probably fifty yards. I noticed a pair of my own underwear sprawled out on the ground. Normally I would have rushed to pick them up, but in the moment, that seemed entirely unimportant.
 |
| my pink toothbrush holder, laundry basket, a library book, and many other items displaced along the side of the freeway |
I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance as the EMT's took my blood pressure and measured my oxygen levels with the device they put on the index finger. I seemed just fine. They took a look at my head, especially where there was a cut. Because I had yet to see my own face and had only been told about the cut and felt the bump forming, I imagined a huge gash. My parents told me to go ahead and go to the hospital in the small town nearby. My mom told me to make sure I grabbed my backpack, which had basically everything of major value that was in the car, including my computer and wallet. I crawled into the ambulance, sat down on the bench, buckled myself in, and, on Friday, December 13, experienced my first ever ambulance ride in ambulance number 13.
The EMT got a brief health history and asked where I was hurting. Then I called my friend who was supposed to pick me up for the graduation and told her what had happened. I chatted with the EMT during the approximately 20-minute drive into town. I kept my eye on the stretcher in front of me, quite aware that I could have been lying in it in much worse shape than I was in.
My mom and brother met me at the hospital. I had bruises on my calf and on my hips and shoulder where the seatbelt was, some bumps and a small cut on my head, and a generally banged up body, but I had no broken bones, no internal injuries, and a clear head CT scan. Just a few hours after arriving at the hospital, I was discharged.
We went to the junkyard where my beloved 1999 Camry had been towed. I sat in my mom's car and cried as I looked at the shriveled mess that I had been driving just hours before. We removed everything I wanted to keep from the car, including all the luggage I was bringing home for break as well as miscellaneous items like my old high school parking passes. I took a lot of pictures. I wanted to remember that moment and that great car that been my primary mode of transportation for nearly six years and that had kept me alive in the accident. While I missed my friend's graduation, I was able to make it to her graduation party that evening.
That was one week ago. I spent today with my friend's first grade class, helping and observing. Last night I went to the gym. A few days before that I went for an hour walk. And a few days before that, I survived a potentially fatal rollover car crash. I made some stupid choices while driving that day, including reaching for the CD case while the car was still moving, and I know I am incredibly fortunate that the consequence for my major lapse in judgement was not my life.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Funny and Cute Kid Quotes 1
For the past several years I have kept a list of the funny things I have heard kids say. Here are the first ten. Check back soon for more!
Camper was unhappy with burnt grilled cheese sandwich his dad packed him for lunch. I told him that his dad made the sandwich with love.
Camper: No, he made it with burnt.
At the Natural History Museum:
Me: Dinosaurs laid eggs, but we don't lay eggs, do we?
Camper: No, we lay people.
playing Wii while babysitting:
6-year-old: I don't mean to brag, but… I'm really good at this!
Child walked in the door and immediately spilled glitter all of the floor.
8-year-old: I have only been here a minute and we have already had an incident!
2nd grader who just finished his workbook: OK Sarah, you can recycle this now!
2nd grader: Instead of saying Sarah, you can say fara, and then you can change fara into ferret!
2nd grader after several minutes of debate among the group:
This is getting in control! (He meant "out of control".)
I was confused on how to get out of the massive parking lot.
1st grader: Sarah, you don't know anything!
I was talking to a girl about how the boys in my religious school class are more antsy than the girls.
6-year-old: Ya 'cause boys have to pee all the time!
Camper: No, he made it with burnt.
At the Natural History Museum:
Me: Dinosaurs laid eggs, but we don't lay eggs, do we?
Camper: No, we lay people.
playing Wii while babysitting:
6-year-old: I don't mean to brag, but… I'm really good at this!
Child walked in the door and immediately spilled glitter all of the floor.
8-year-old: I have only been here a minute and we have already had an incident!
2nd grader who just finished his workbook: OK Sarah, you can recycle this now!
2nd grader: Instead of saying Sarah, you can say fara, and then you can change fara into ferret!
2nd grader after several minutes of debate among the group:
This is getting in control! (He meant "out of control".)
I was confused on how to get out of the massive parking lot.
1st grader: Sarah, you don't know anything!
I was talking to a girl about how the boys in my religious school class are more antsy than the girls.
6-year-old: Ya 'cause boys have to pee all the time!
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Written by Little Me: "The Unusuel Kite"
In elementary school, we had an activity called Squiggle. The teacher would draw a simple shape in each child's notebook and then the child would turn it into a picture. Depending on the children's age and grade, a word, sentence, or whole story was written to go along with the picture.
This Squiggle and story are from September 2, 1999. I was in 2nd grade.
This Squiggle and story are from September 2, 1999. I was in 2nd grade.
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One day a girl named Rachel was trying to make a kite. She was only five so it was very hard. She worked hard and in an hour she hadn't made a real kite but she liked what her unusuel (sic) kite looked like. She made it very colorful and prety (sic). She thought it was good enough to fly. She went outside and started to fly it. She named it The Unusuel (sic) Kite. She flew it for hours and then the kite got blown out of her hands. It blew farther and farther away from Rachel. She started crying. It blew a mile away and then it landed. Two days later a boy a mile away found the kite. His name was Billy. He was one so his mom was watching him when he picked it up. He tried to chew on it but his mom got him just in time. She started flying it and when it was in the air she let go of it. It blew far away. It blew all the way to Rachel's house. She found it and showed it to her mom and told her how she made it and it flew away and an hour later came back. The End
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
The Only Thing Constant is Change
"The only thing constant in life is change."I graduated from high school in 2010 thinking I had my life all figured out. I was going to be a pediatric physical therapist. I would start by attending college three hours away from home and studying kinesiology, graduating with my bachelor's degree in May 2014. I would then go on to attend physical therapy school starting in the summer or fall of 2014, completing my doctor of physical therapy (DPT) degree within a few years.
I loved the kinesiology program the first year or so. Never had I taken academic classes that taught about sports, fitness, and health like these ones. The material was engaging and I was meeting new people who shared my love for sports, health, and fitness. My skepticism didn't begin until the fall of my sophomore year when I was taking anatomy and physiology, a required course for my major. The class was alright but the accompanying lab was extremely frustrating. I ended up dropping the lab and taking it again the following spring. I began to realize that while I was, and still am, fascinated by the human body, I didn't care to learn the name of each and every nook and cranny on the bones and muscles in the body. What I really wanted to do with my life, which I had known from the beginning when I planned to go into pediatric PT, was work with kids.
I had been thinking about being a teacher for awhile but had some reservations, such as the prospect of working in an educational system that is, in many ways, broken, and the thought of not making very much money. The more I learned about PT school, however, the more I realized what a huge investment it would be. Programs usually cost $50,000-$100,000 and the salary for a PT is about $60,000. My dad calculated earnings of teachers versus physical therapists and realized that if I started teaching at 22 or 23, while a PT didn't start working until they were 25 and $100,000 in debt, it would take about 15 years for the PT to have netted more money. Basically, he proved that money shouldn't be the reason I avoid going into education.
I changed my major to elementary education at the end of the spring 2012 semester, two years into my college education. I was projected to graduate in May 2015 with a bachelor's and licensure. However, due to some mistakes I made as well as circumstances beyond my control, I missed being able to apply to the Teacher Education Program this fall as originally planned. This set my graduation date back to December 2015, a 5 1/2 year college career.
I was frustrated and decided to revisit an option I had briefly evaluated this past summer, the bachelor of individualized studies. This program requires completion of the university's general education requirements as well as the minimum number of lower division (100- and 200-level) and upper division (300- and 400-level) credits. That's it. Credits can come from any department as long as these simple requirements are met.
When I checked out this program during the summer, I found out that I only needed about 24 more credits to graduate, 22 of which needed to be upper division. I decided to stay in the education program at that time and therefore am not enrolled in any upper division classes this fall. Since I can't take all 22 upper division credits this coming spring, I will need to take some this spring and some over the summer. I will officially graduate at the end of the summer but will be able to participate in the May 2014 graduation ceremony.
I then plan to pursue a master's degree in education. Both in-state universities offer master's with licensure programs and I have been told they typically take about two years. So now instead of graduating in December 2015 with a bachelor's in education, I am on track to graduate around May 2016, just one semester later, with a master's instead.
When I was about 17, I decided I was going to be a physical therapist. I'm not. When I was 20, I decided I was going to graduate with a bachelor's in elementary education. I'm not. Now, nearing 22 years old, I have decided I will graduate with a bachelor's in individualized studies followed by a master's in elementary education with licensure. It isn't what I originally wanted and planned to do, but change is inevitable in life and I'm excited to get started on my new plan.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Must be teaching, huh?
I live in an apartment on campus which is really convenient because it's right next to everything. It can also be quite inconvenient because… it's right next to everything. Tonight I was driving home after Yom Kippur services and the break-the-fast at temple. About a quarter mile from my apartment, my university's football team had just lost to one of our biggest rivals. I encountered road blocks and heavy traffic but eventually was able to park where I usually do across the street from my apartment building.
I got out of my car and prepared to cross the street, noting how odd I must look dressed for temple when everyone else was headed home from a football game. As I walked on the sidewalk beside barely moving traffic, a guy in the backseat of a car, potentially very intoxicated, starting yelling at me.
"Hi!" he called. "Hi!" I responded, waving politely. He yelled out our university's mascot and I again waved. He then started shouting random questions which I decided to ignore. A few moments into this interrogation, he called out, "What's your major?!" As I started climbing the stairs to the front gate of my apartment building, still ignoring the guy, I heard him say, "Must be teaching, huh?!"
I didn't look back but smiled to myself. Random guess or do I really look like a teacher? Maybe it was the outfit...
I got out of my car and prepared to cross the street, noting how odd I must look dressed for temple when everyone else was headed home from a football game. As I walked on the sidewalk beside barely moving traffic, a guy in the backseat of a car, potentially very intoxicated, starting yelling at me.
"Hi!" he called. "Hi!" I responded, waving politely. He yelled out our university's mascot and I again waved. He then started shouting random questions which I decided to ignore. A few moments into this interrogation, he called out, "What's your major?!" As I started climbing the stairs to the front gate of my apartment building, still ignoring the guy, I heard him say, "Must be teaching, huh?!"
I didn't look back but smiled to myself. Random guess or do I really look like a teacher? Maybe it was the outfit...
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Sarah's Summer Summary
Well, it's been a long, mostly good summer. I worked at JCC day camp for the first time since I was 17, made good money, and got to work alongside some new people as well as some I have known since I was a kid. I joined a new gym where I learned some new exercises and a new style of strength training program and met a bunch of awesome people. I spent a lot of time with friends playing games, going out to eat, seeing movies, and just hanging out and also spent a lot of time with my family, including our sweet dog Scout. I spent a weekend enjoying the outdoors at Girl Scout Camp with my mom and many other wonderful people. I visited my friend's classroom multiple times both in May and August and continued to get a feel for what it's really like to be a teacher. It's been real; back to my "school life" in the morning!
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Dancing With the Dinosaur
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| Image via static.ddmcdn.com |
In our society today, people are for using. Every day students interact with professors only to get the grade they want and they spend time with people they don't even like because those people make them look popular. There are those who volunteer at a homeless shelter for the sole purpose of crafting a stellar college or job application and those who call their parents only when they need money. Newspaper headlines regularly highlight businesspeople who had no problem cheating and lying their way to a bigger paycheck, even if it meant hurting other people.
It should therefore come as no surprise that most individuals in my generation think using another person for whatever they desire, including sex, is absolutely acceptable. But what if people are more than objects to be used? Is it such a bold and insane idea to suggest that ourselves and our fellow humans are not objects at all, but rather carefully, purposefully made creations, full of intention, conscience, maybe even a soul?
If the student talked to their professor like a human being, they might find out a little about the professor's life outside of work. If the volunteer took the time to chat with the homeless shelter residents, they might get to hear some fascinating stories. But hearing about a professor's family or listening to a homeless person talk about their day would not have any material benefit to the listener and is therefore not appealing in our gimme gimme world.
Everyone, including me, uses people for personal gain from time to time, but it is not right. The Torah, known as the Old Testament to Christians, teaches that each human being is made B'tezelem Elohim, in the image of God. This idea comes from Genesis 1:26. As the lyrics to one of Rabbi Joe Black's children's songs goes, "Everybody's got a little bit of God in them!" So, if we're made in the image of God, perhaps even having a spark of God in us, why aren't we acting that way? Call me crazy, but I don't think human beings made in the image of God deserve to be used.
I told another friend about the aforementioned conversation and she said it reminded her of a song called Dancing with the Dinosaur. It's written by Christian musician Steven Curtis Chapman and while I'm not Christian, I think it delivers a valuable message:
Once upon a time not so long ago in a land not so far away
Right and wrong were not quite so hard to know
And black and white were not so gray
Times have changed and now it seems
Conscience has gone the way of the dinosaur
But I believe it's still alive and well today
In the hearts of those who will stand up and say
I'm dancing with the dinosaur
Living my life with conscience and conviction
I don't want to see the truth ignored
So I've gotta keep on dancing
I've gotta keep on dancing with the dinosaur
If believing that people are not objects to be used sends me back to the Mesozoic Era, then so be it. I'm strong enough to say what I think is right, even if it is unpopular. Maybe someday our society will decide that people are not for using. In the meantime, I'll just be over here dancing with the dinosaur.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
So Was I Helpful?
I was in the gym with my group of rowdy and highly competitive day camp boys. My co-counselor and I have many 8-year-olds and also some 7-, 9-, and 10-year-olds. The kids were playing Star Wars, a version of dodgeball that they absolutely love. I, on the other hand, always vote against playing this game because almost every time we play, at least one kid ends up crying. Today was no exception.
I didn't really see what happened but suddenly one of my boys was crying. I have a few boys who will cry if someone so much as pokes them, but this crier wasn't one of them. I saw him storming off to the side of the gym just as my CIT's were stopping the game due to arguing. (Like I said, Star Wars never seems to turn out well.)
The crying boy made it to the side of the gym and angrily punched the door to an adjacent office. Wanting to help him calm down while avoiding getting hit myself, I stood behind him and reached over his shoulders, grabbing his hands. This is my go-to move for upset kids as it both restrains them and feels like a big hug.
"Calm down, buddy," I whispered to him, "if you hit someone, you'll have to go to the office."
He soon ceased to seem dangerous so I let him go and we sat down against the door he had just hit.
"What happened?" I asked, but he was still fuming and did not respond. After I asked a few more times, he responded by informing me that he didn't want to tell me what happened because I would not be able to help.
"Try me!" I countered, knowing I would almost surely be able to help solve this dilemma if I knew the details.
He continued to insist I would not be helpful and that it wouldn't be worth it to "risk it". This went on for a bit. Then I remembered that I had seen a certain other child push the crier so I asked if that child was involved, already knowing he was. I suppose this led to my gaining his trust as he then told me which other boys were also involved. We walked to the nearby camp office where I sat with the four of them and let each tell his version of what happened. We eventually came to a peaceful solution and left to go join the rest of the group.
As I walked with the boys from the camp office to our group's classroom, I looked over at the original crier, who was still visibly upset and holding back tears.
"So, was I helpful after all?"
"Yes," he admitted and broke into a grin.
I didn't really see what happened but suddenly one of my boys was crying. I have a few boys who will cry if someone so much as pokes them, but this crier wasn't one of them. I saw him storming off to the side of the gym just as my CIT's were stopping the game due to arguing. (Like I said, Star Wars never seems to turn out well.)
The crying boy made it to the side of the gym and angrily punched the door to an adjacent office. Wanting to help him calm down while avoiding getting hit myself, I stood behind him and reached over his shoulders, grabbing his hands. This is my go-to move for upset kids as it both restrains them and feels like a big hug.
"Calm down, buddy," I whispered to him, "if you hit someone, you'll have to go to the office."
He soon ceased to seem dangerous so I let him go and we sat down against the door he had just hit.
"What happened?" I asked, but he was still fuming and did not respond. After I asked a few more times, he responded by informing me that he didn't want to tell me what happened because I would not be able to help.
"Try me!" I countered, knowing I would almost surely be able to help solve this dilemma if I knew the details.
He continued to insist I would not be helpful and that it wouldn't be worth it to "risk it". This went on for a bit. Then I remembered that I had seen a certain other child push the crier so I asked if that child was involved, already knowing he was. I suppose this led to my gaining his trust as he then told me which other boys were also involved. We walked to the nearby camp office where I sat with the four of them and let each tell his version of what happened. We eventually came to a peaceful solution and left to go join the rest of the group.
As I walked with the boys from the camp office to our group's classroom, I looked over at the original crier, who was still visibly upset and holding back tears.
"So, was I helpful after all?"
"Yes," he admitted and broke into a grin.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Three Strikes, I'm Out
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| Image via c1planetsavecom.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com |
You know it's serious business when you find yourself emailing back and forth with the Associate Dean of the College of Education. Ya, that's what I've been doing the past few days.
Undergraduate education majors at my university spend their last three semesters in an on-site program involving two semesters of classes and one of student teaching. Students must apply and be accepted to the Teacher Education Program, or TEP, the semester before beginning the three-semester sequence. I was planning to apply this fall, start next spring, and graduate in May 2015.
The requirements to apply are pretty simple: Applicants have to have taken or be currently enrolled in about seven specific classes and have passed the first of a series of state competency exams required for licensure. The test is offered every three months.
I thought about taking the test in January, but it fell on my 21st birthday, so I decided to wait.
I was planning to sign up for the April test but didn't get around to registering until the day after the first deadline which would have added a late fee to the cost. I decided to sign up for June instead.
I was all set to take the test in June, but because of living at my parents' house for the summer and generally being in non-school mode, I forgot to attend. It wasn't until that night that I realized my mistake.
So there you have it: three perfectly good opportunities to take this test and still I have not taken it. Course-wise I am eligible to apply this fall but rules are rules and this test is required for application to the TEP. My next opportunity to apply would be in the spring which would put me in the less awesome three-semester sequence (the same courses but the program is run by a different professor) and cause me to graduate a semester later. Now I just have to see what, if anything, the Associate Dean can do to help. Like I said, you've probably dug yourself into a pretty darn deep hole if you are emailing the Associate Dean.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Proud of All the Wrong Things
I see it all over nowadays, but maybe it's been happening for years and I am just now noticing. People are very proud and they aren't afraid to show it via Facebook posts, bumper stickers, or just flat out saying so.
People are proud of a lot of different things, too. Some are proud to be gay. Others are proud to be straight. There are those who are proud of their race and/or ethnicity. Some are proud to be Democrats while others are loud and proud Republicans. Some people are proud to be Christian, Jewish, or Muslim, while others feel great pride in claiming atheism. On the road are visible displays of proud parents of middle school honors students and proud smart ass dog owners whose Chihuahuas and Pit Bulls are apparently smarter than the aforementioned honors students.
Yes, we are a society of very proud people. But at the end of the day, do you have something to actually be proud of? You didn't do anything special to become whatever ethnicity you may be; you were born that way by random chance. In other words, you don't get any credit there. In fact, what right do you have to be proud of virtually any of the attributes from the previous paragraph? What did you do to become a Republican? Spend five minutes registering to vote? And why should you get to feel proud to be a believer in a certain school of thought? Did you do something meaningful to the world?
Characteristics such as race and ethnicity, sexual orientation, political party affiliation, religious views, and even perceived intelligence are so superficial compared to ones that are actually important. Put together any combination of the above traits and you still don't have anything to be proud of. What really matters is what kind of person you are. Are you kind to strangers as well as family? Do you stick up for the little guy? Are you ethical or a cheater? Do you spend your free time helping others or sacked out on the couch watching TV? Imagine the day when the signs and banners advertising pride in superficial things were gone and replaced simply by "Proud to be a good person". Our world would be forever changed.
People are proud of a lot of different things, too. Some are proud to be gay. Others are proud to be straight. There are those who are proud of their race and/or ethnicity. Some are proud to be Democrats while others are loud and proud Republicans. Some people are proud to be Christian, Jewish, or Muslim, while others feel great pride in claiming atheism. On the road are visible displays of proud parents of middle school honors students and proud smart ass dog owners whose Chihuahuas and Pit Bulls are apparently smarter than the aforementioned honors students.
Yes, we are a society of very proud people. But at the end of the day, do you have something to actually be proud of? You didn't do anything special to become whatever ethnicity you may be; you were born that way by random chance. In other words, you don't get any credit there. In fact, what right do you have to be proud of virtually any of the attributes from the previous paragraph? What did you do to become a Republican? Spend five minutes registering to vote? And why should you get to feel proud to be a believer in a certain school of thought? Did you do something meaningful to the world?
Characteristics such as race and ethnicity, sexual orientation, political party affiliation, religious views, and even perceived intelligence are so superficial compared to ones that are actually important. Put together any combination of the above traits and you still don't have anything to be proud of. What really matters is what kind of person you are. Are you kind to strangers as well as family? Do you stick up for the little guy? Are you ethical or a cheater? Do you spend your free time helping others or sacked out on the couch watching TV? Imagine the day when the signs and banners advertising pride in superficial things were gone and replaced simply by "Proud to be a good person". Our world would be forever changed.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
When Life Gives You Lemons (or $600 in extra meal plan money)
This past year was my third year of college and after eating virtually all my meals in the dining hall my freshman year and most dinners there my sophomore year, I had had enough. I do live on campus, though, and there is a Subway in one of the classroom buildings in which I have several classes, so I decided to sign up for a meal plan that was exclusively dining dollars. These credits spend like cash at any of the restaurants and food courts on campus. I found out that I could get a 400 dining dollar plan for $350. I called my parents and they agreed it was a good idea, so I signed up.
I bought Subway for lunch a couple times a week and occasionally bought food from other venders. Toward the end of the school year, I started noticing that the receipts I received when I used my dining dollars showed I had quite a bit of money on my card, even more than the $400 I had originally signed up for. Assuming it was an error, I continued to ignore the ridiculously high numbers until about two weeks before school ended when I finally made my way into the ID card services office to find out what the deal was.
To my surprise, it turned out that the $600+ credit still on my account was not an error. I had thought I was signing up for $400 for the year, but actually the plan was $400 per semester. Could I cancel the credit from the spring semester and just use up the leftover from the fall? Nope! I left the office pretty upset about the money I was wasting because of my mistake.
Soon after, I had an idea. While most of the venders who accept dining dollars are on campus, Papa John's pizza also accepts the credit. So, the Tuesday of finals week, just days before my huge credit was to expire, I went onto the Papa John's website and ordered 33 extra large pizzas. I was called shortly after by an overwhelmed pizza maker to inform me that my order would take longer than the promised fifteen minutes. I assured him that was just fine.
I showed up at the restaurant about an hour later to pick up my pizzas. When they were all loaded up, my trunk was pretty full...
About fifteen minutes later, while following my phone GPS, I found myself in an area of town I had not frequented. I pulled into the parking lot of the soup kitchen and unlocked the car doors and trunk to allow the pizzas to be carried into the kitchen. Several hundred hungry people, many of them homeless, ate Papa John's the next day for lunch. Extra dining dollars well spent!
I bought Subway for lunch a couple times a week and occasionally bought food from other venders. Toward the end of the school year, I started noticing that the receipts I received when I used my dining dollars showed I had quite a bit of money on my card, even more than the $400 I had originally signed up for. Assuming it was an error, I continued to ignore the ridiculously high numbers until about two weeks before school ended when I finally made my way into the ID card services office to find out what the deal was.
To my surprise, it turned out that the $600+ credit still on my account was not an error. I had thought I was signing up for $400 for the year, but actually the plan was $400 per semester. Could I cancel the credit from the spring semester and just use up the leftover from the fall? Nope! I left the office pretty upset about the money I was wasting because of my mistake.
Soon after, I had an idea. While most of the venders who accept dining dollars are on campus, Papa John's pizza also accepts the credit. So, the Tuesday of finals week, just days before my huge credit was to expire, I went onto the Papa John's website and ordered 33 extra large pizzas. I was called shortly after by an overwhelmed pizza maker to inform me that my order would take longer than the promised fifteen minutes. I assured him that was just fine.
I showed up at the restaurant about an hour later to pick up my pizzas. When they were all loaded up, my trunk was pretty full...
…and so was my back seat!
About fifteen minutes later, while following my phone GPS, I found myself in an area of town I had not frequented. I pulled into the parking lot of the soup kitchen and unlocked the car doors and trunk to allow the pizzas to be carried into the kitchen. Several hundred hungry people, many of them homeless, ate Papa John's the next day for lunch. Extra dining dollars well spent!
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Declined!
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| Image via us.123rf.com |
My mom and I soon realized what the problem was. You see, Scout operates a permit service for those wishing to visit our neighborhood. Applicants must submit a request and pay their fee, then wait for Scout to make a decision. Those construction workers had failed to apply for a permit!
Oh, and does the Scouty Permit Service actually approve anyone? Nope! Scout spends his days in the office with a big DECLINED stamp, pounding it on application after application. We humans think we are in charge, but the dogs know who really runs the neighborhood!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Mali is… Everywhere?
Because my dog was a mix and not a purebred, I really have never seen a dog that looks just like her. But that all changed today, thanks to Google! Just for fun, I searched "beagle springer". Wow, Mali may have passed away, but I now know that Mali has a whole army of mini-me's running around. Check it out!
Here are some shots of Mali for reference:
And here are the Mali mini-me's:
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| Cinco photo via www.dogsindepth.com |
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| Bailey photo via www.flickr.com |
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| Ricky photo via www.flickr.com |
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| Pepper photo via www.adoptpetrescue.org |
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| Buster |
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| Buster and a sibling this photo and previous via www.pethavendogs.blogspot.com |
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| Michael photo via www.recycler.com |
So fun! Which "mini-me" do you think looks most like Mali?
Monday, April 29, 2013
It's Really Not That Radical
Nearly a third of individuals in this demographic have tried it. In fact, people in this demographic are two to six times more likely to try it than the general population. It is estimated that more than 1500 individuals from this demographic die from it every year, making it the leading cause of death for this demographic.
The fact is that nearly half of gay teens will attempt suicide and it's not that hard to figure out why. 90% of them have been harassed at school and they are bullied 2-3 times more than straight teens. Gay teens may come out to their parents only to be kicked out of the house, abused, or made to go through processes designed to rid them of their gayness. Being excommunicated from their religious group and/or told they are destined for hell doesn't help, either.
There is a teaching in Judaism that to save just one life is as if you have saved the entire world. Stopping these suicides will not take any radical changes in your beliefs. You don't need to support a hook-up culture; you can maintain your current value of saving intimacy for commitment, but just extend that value to include people of all orientations. You can continue to support strong, two-parent families, but just allow your picture of a perfect family to be headed by any two individuals who are in love and have committed their lives to each other, whether they are a man and a woman, two women, or two men.
If people were choosing to be gay to cause an uprising, I can see how people would be upset and unsupportive. But they're not. Honestly, why would anyone choose to be gay? Because they think being bullied and denied rights sounds like fun? More and more scientific research is showing a correlation between biology and sexual orientation. God made everyone a little bit differently, and some people happen to be gay. Let's move our culture toward being more accepting off these people who are so much more similar to us than different.
Statistics from speakforthem.org and nyaamerica.org
The fact is that nearly half of gay teens will attempt suicide and it's not that hard to figure out why. 90% of them have been harassed at school and they are bullied 2-3 times more than straight teens. Gay teens may come out to their parents only to be kicked out of the house, abused, or made to go through processes designed to rid them of their gayness. Being excommunicated from their religious group and/or told they are destined for hell doesn't help, either.
There is a teaching in Judaism that to save just one life is as if you have saved the entire world. Stopping these suicides will not take any radical changes in your beliefs. You don't need to support a hook-up culture; you can maintain your current value of saving intimacy for commitment, but just extend that value to include people of all orientations. You can continue to support strong, two-parent families, but just allow your picture of a perfect family to be headed by any two individuals who are in love and have committed their lives to each other, whether they are a man and a woman, two women, or two men.
If people were choosing to be gay to cause an uprising, I can see how people would be upset and unsupportive. But they're not. Honestly, why would anyone choose to be gay? Because they think being bullied and denied rights sounds like fun? More and more scientific research is showing a correlation between biology and sexual orientation. God made everyone a little bit differently, and some people happen to be gay. Let's move our culture toward being more accepting off these people who are so much more similar to us than different.
Statistics from speakforthem.org and nyaamerica.org
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Cheater
I'm sitting in the back of the classroom, staring at one problem minute after minute. Nothing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I panic. It's the last test of the semester before the final and I need to do well. I look up. Most of the forty or so heads in the room are bent over a test in concentration. The professor is at the front of the room, sitting. She looks up occasionally but is mostly occupied with catching up on grading.
I notice a guy a few seats ahead of me on the right. He's hunched over like everyone else and from the professor's viewpoint so far away, he looks like every other test taker in the room. But from where I sit, I can see that he's not. Yes, he is focused on something on his desk, but it's not always the test. He looks at the test for a moment, then spends some time scrolling through his smart phone before going back to working on his test. Maybe he's just using it as a calculator, which would be alright except that calculators of any kind are prohibited during tests in this class. Is he Googling formulas? The professor handed out a formula sheet, and information not on the sheet is expected to be in our heads. Maybe he's logged on to a tutoring website and is working through the problems with an unsuspecting teacher. Maybe he's texting someone for answers. I don't know what he's doing. All I know is the only thing I see on anyone else's desk is a test, but this guy has his smart phone.
I look back at my test. I know how to do most of the problems but I'm stuck on just a few. My smart phone is in my backpack, powered off. I could pull it out and she wouldn't even notice, I start to think. I could do a quick Google search and put it back. It wouldn't even be that big of a deal. Yes it would, my conscience counters. You're not a cheater. But it's not fair, I whine to myself. Because I didn't study quite enough, I can't ace this test. That guy may have studied even less than I did, but he's probably going to do pretty well.
I replay in my head what I've been told for years: It'll catch up to him eventually. Oh ya, when exactly? When he keeps a scholarship and I don't because my GPA falls just below the cut-off? When he gets hired and I don't because he had an A-average and I had a B?
I turn back to my test and finish what I know how to do, which is most of the questions. I then look back over the few I am stuck on. If only I could just look this up real quick…nope, not going to happen. I sigh and get up to turn in my not-quite-completed test. Having a conscience sure is inconvenient sometimes.
I notice a guy a few seats ahead of me on the right. He's hunched over like everyone else and from the professor's viewpoint so far away, he looks like every other test taker in the room. But from where I sit, I can see that he's not. Yes, he is focused on something on his desk, but it's not always the test. He looks at the test for a moment, then spends some time scrolling through his smart phone before going back to working on his test. Maybe he's just using it as a calculator, which would be alright except that calculators of any kind are prohibited during tests in this class. Is he Googling formulas? The professor handed out a formula sheet, and information not on the sheet is expected to be in our heads. Maybe he's logged on to a tutoring website and is working through the problems with an unsuspecting teacher. Maybe he's texting someone for answers. I don't know what he's doing. All I know is the only thing I see on anyone else's desk is a test, but this guy has his smart phone.
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| image via www.varsitycollegeprep.com |
I replay in my head what I've been told for years: It'll catch up to him eventually. Oh ya, when exactly? When he keeps a scholarship and I don't because my GPA falls just below the cut-off? When he gets hired and I don't because he had an A-average and I had a B?
I turn back to my test and finish what I know how to do, which is most of the questions. I then look back over the few I am stuck on. If only I could just look this up real quick…nope, not going to happen. I sigh and get up to turn in my not-quite-completed test. Having a conscience sure is inconvenient sometimes.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Eight Thousand Every Day
Nearly one month ago, Mali, our family's 13-year-old beagle/springer mix, was euthanized. Mali was part of our family for nearly twelve and a half years and had been diagnosed with Cushing's disease a little over a year before. At the time of her death, she was quite senile and for about a month had spent most of her days lying on the tile in the kitchen. When I picked her up and put her on the table in the exam room at the vet's office, my mom started scratching her cheeks and talking to her and before she was even injected, Mali was quite relaxed and potentially even asleep. She didn't move from her relaxed, sleepy position at all except to twitch her leg slightly at the moment the needle entered her. She didn't squirm or fight; she was exhausted after a long, happy life, and was ready to move on.
Somewhere in the U.S. that day, a similar scene was unfolding, but actually that scene was much more gruesome. A young dog, maybe one year old, maybe five, was also in an exam room. He was not elderly and sick like Mali, but rather happy, lively, and energetic. He excitedly sniffed around the room and wagged his tail as he waited for the vet. When he was placed on the exam table, he definitely did not fall asleep. In fact, he didn't even lie still. He fought the sturdy hands charged with holding him in place as the vet sighed and injected the dog's vein. Within seconds, the struggle was over and he was dead.
I cried and cried as my little Mali was euthanized, but looking back, it was also beautiful. She gave us so much; she deserved to leave this earth with at least some of her dignity still intact and before she suffered the painful effects of old age and Cushing's disease that were starting to overtake her and would surely become much worse in the days and weeks ahead.
In contrast, the young dog's death was nothing short of horrific. In fact, 3 to 4 million dogs and cats in shelters are euthanized every year. That means that the day Mali died, a minimum of 8,219 dogs and cats were needlessly put to sleep. Yes, you read that right: more than eight thousand potentially adoptable dogs and cats are euthanized in the United States every day. Sure, some are sick or old, but the majority are cute, loving, adoptable dogs that shelters just don't have the resources to continue to support.
Despite this horrifying statistic, breeders continue to facilitate the making of new dogs and people continue to purchase dogs from breeders; in fact, over a quarter of dogs and cats owned in the United States were bought from breeders. Many animals are acquired from the litter of a friend or family member's dog. A small percentage of dogs and cats are bought from pet shops, which are known to sell dogs that come from puppy mills. It's a harsh reality, but the fact is that for every animal that is obtained through any of the above methods, another shelter dog who could have been adopted is not.
Euthanasia of sick, hurting animals is a gift; euthanizing healthy animals is disgusting. It would be so simple to drastically reduce the euthanasia rate of healthy dogs and cats in the United States. All we need is more people to be on board. Spay and neuter your animals; the cost of spay or neuter surgery is less than the cost of caring for a litter of puppies or kittens for just one year and many shelters offer low-cost or free spay/neuter surgeries to qualifying pet owners. Regardless of what kind of dog you are looking for, check shelters first. If you are set on a specific breed or just a purebred in general, there are many breed-specific rescue organizations and a whopping 25% of dogs in local shelters are purebred. With the acquiring of any dog, you run the risk of it being wild or aggressive, and shelter dogs are no different. Just like breeder dogs, shelter dogs can be mean, but the majority are loving, trainable, and friendly.
I hope that I can honor the memory of Mali by raising awareness about this important issue. Won't you join me?
Statistics in this post are from www.aspca.org.
Somewhere in the U.S. that day, a similar scene was unfolding, but actually that scene was much more gruesome. A young dog, maybe one year old, maybe five, was also in an exam room. He was not elderly and sick like Mali, but rather happy, lively, and energetic. He excitedly sniffed around the room and wagged his tail as he waited for the vet. When he was placed on the exam table, he definitely did not fall asleep. In fact, he didn't even lie still. He fought the sturdy hands charged with holding him in place as the vet sighed and injected the dog's vein. Within seconds, the struggle was over and he was dead.
I cried and cried as my little Mali was euthanized, but looking back, it was also beautiful. She gave us so much; she deserved to leave this earth with at least some of her dignity still intact and before she suffered the painful effects of old age and Cushing's disease that were starting to overtake her and would surely become much worse in the days and weeks ahead.
In contrast, the young dog's death was nothing short of horrific. In fact, 3 to 4 million dogs and cats in shelters are euthanized every year. That means that the day Mali died, a minimum of 8,219 dogs and cats were needlessly put to sleep. Yes, you read that right: more than eight thousand potentially adoptable dogs and cats are euthanized in the United States every day. Sure, some are sick or old, but the majority are cute, loving, adoptable dogs that shelters just don't have the resources to continue to support.
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| photo from www.occupyforanimals.org |
Euthanasia of sick, hurting animals is a gift; euthanizing healthy animals is disgusting. It would be so simple to drastically reduce the euthanasia rate of healthy dogs and cats in the United States. All we need is more people to be on board. Spay and neuter your animals; the cost of spay or neuter surgery is less than the cost of caring for a litter of puppies or kittens for just one year and many shelters offer low-cost or free spay/neuter surgeries to qualifying pet owners. Regardless of what kind of dog you are looking for, check shelters first. If you are set on a specific breed or just a purebred in general, there are many breed-specific rescue organizations and a whopping 25% of dogs in local shelters are purebred. With the acquiring of any dog, you run the risk of it being wild or aggressive, and shelter dogs are no different. Just like breeder dogs, shelter dogs can be mean, but the majority are loving, trainable, and friendly.
I hope that I can honor the memory of Mali by raising awareness about this important issue. Won't you join me?
Statistics in this post are from www.aspca.org.
Friday, April 12, 2013
My Dog Came Home in An Urn
I asked my mom to go pick up Mali as soon as possible after she informed me that the vet's office had called to say that Mali was ready. I saw on video chat what my mom brought home. It's a pretty little container, but there is no way my little girl is in there. No, she's not there. She left her body the moment her heart stopped beating on March 26. I have to believe that.
What lay lifeless, probably in some sort of box, for four nights was her body.
What was transferred to an animal crematorium was her body.
What was burned to ashes on March 30 was her body.
And what is in the urn is not Mali. It's only the remains of her body.
It hurt me to think of my dog lying alone, not eating, moving, or even breathing. I hated to think of her being set on fire in the crematorium. But really, it wasn't her. She left as peacefully as one can exit the world. The horror that her body went through had no effect on her whatsoever.
My mom explained it like this: You're driving in your car, day after day, year after year. The parts start wearing out, but you keep driving the car anyway. As the years pass, more and more parts break or stop working properly. The car is still running, but barely. Eventually, trying to get the car to work is so difficult that the best option is to get out of the car, so you step out of the car. Whatever happens to the car after that point does not affect you, because you are no longer in the car.
It's hard to think of Mali not in her body because before her death, every time I saw her, she and her body were one. But as she was injected and drifted to sleep, the Mali that we knew and loved stepped out of the car. She had been spending so much energy lately just to turn on the motor and the engine didn't run smoothly like it used to. It was hard for us to see the car that used to go from zero to 60 in three seconds just putter around at 25. We knew the car was no longer useful for Mali, and she knew it, too. When the time came, she willingly got out of the car, off to explore new things. The car was destroyed, but Mali was long gone by then.
What sits on the shelf is not my dog. When I return home from college for the summer, we plan to spread the ashes at a favorite hiking spot. Initially, I was bothered that Mali would sit on a shelf for a month waiting for my return. But then I realized that what we will be spreading is simply the remains of the car. The driver is somewhere else, probably having a wonderful time chasing lizards and napping.
What lay lifeless, probably in some sort of box, for four nights was her body.
What was transferred to an animal crematorium was her body.
What was burned to ashes on March 30 was her body.
And what is in the urn is not Mali. It's only the remains of her body.
It hurt me to think of my dog lying alone, not eating, moving, or even breathing. I hated to think of her being set on fire in the crematorium. But really, it wasn't her. She left as peacefully as one can exit the world. The horror that her body went through had no effect on her whatsoever.
My mom explained it like this: You're driving in your car, day after day, year after year. The parts start wearing out, but you keep driving the car anyway. As the years pass, more and more parts break or stop working properly. The car is still running, but barely. Eventually, trying to get the car to work is so difficult that the best option is to get out of the car, so you step out of the car. Whatever happens to the car after that point does not affect you, because you are no longer in the car.
It's hard to think of Mali not in her body because before her death, every time I saw her, she and her body were one. But as she was injected and drifted to sleep, the Mali that we knew and loved stepped out of the car. She had been spending so much energy lately just to turn on the motor and the engine didn't run smoothly like it used to. It was hard for us to see the car that used to go from zero to 60 in three seconds just putter around at 25. We knew the car was no longer useful for Mali, and she knew it, too. When the time came, she willingly got out of the car, off to explore new things. The car was destroyed, but Mali was long gone by then.
What sits on the shelf is not my dog. When I return home from college for the summer, we plan to spread the ashes at a favorite hiking spot. Initially, I was bothered that Mali would sit on a shelf for a month waiting for my return. But then I realized that what we will be spreading is simply the remains of the car. The driver is somewhere else, probably having a wonderful time chasing lizards and napping.
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| Mali enjoying the sunshine, fall 2009 |
Monday, April 8, 2013
Grandpa Jux and the Singing Michigan Pen
Julius, whom everyone called Jux, was my dad's mom's dad, my great-grandfather. I never met him but have been told that he was a funny, funny guy and that he and I would have gotten along well. Grandpa Jux loved his family and took my dad and his brothers on special one-on-one outings when they were kids. Also, he was a huge fan of his alma mater, University of Michigan.
I was in town visiting my grandparents one time when I was about fifteen and my grandma had recently received a bunch of pens from a friend. They came in different colors representing various colleges and would play the college's fight song when the top was pushed. She planned to gift them to friends who attended the colleges.
My grandma, Jux's daughter, goes to visit his grave on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death. I don't remember which one, but one of those days fell during my visit and I decided to tag along. Before leaving, I had an idea: We should take a Michigan pen to Grandpa Jux's grave! My grandma thought it was a great idea and off we went, pen in tow.
During our visit at the grave, we pushed the top and played the Michigan fight song for Grandpa Jux. I then noticed the holder at the top of the grave designed for flowers. I pushed the button and quickly set the pen into the holder, letting the song play. My grandma and I both got a kick out of that! She says she now takes a Michigan pen with her every time she visits her father.
Kansas is my family's main men's basketball team. But they're out of the tournament and so are both teams from my home state. Tonight, it's Michigan versus Louisville. I think you can guess who I'll be rooting for! Grandpa Jux would be very proud of his school!
I was in town visiting my grandparents one time when I was about fifteen and my grandma had recently received a bunch of pens from a friend. They came in different colors representing various colleges and would play the college's fight song when the top was pushed. She planned to gift them to friends who attended the colleges.
My grandma, Jux's daughter, goes to visit his grave on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death. I don't remember which one, but one of those days fell during my visit and I decided to tag along. Before leaving, I had an idea: We should take a Michigan pen to Grandpa Jux's grave! My grandma thought it was a great idea and off we went, pen in tow.
During our visit at the grave, we pushed the top and played the Michigan fight song for Grandpa Jux. I then noticed the holder at the top of the grave designed for flowers. I pushed the button and quickly set the pen into the holder, letting the song play. My grandma and I both got a kick out of that! She says she now takes a Michigan pen with her every time she visits her father.
Kansas is my family's main men's basketball team. But they're out of the tournament and so are both teams from my home state. Tonight, it's Michigan versus Louisville. I think you can guess who I'll be rooting for! Grandpa Jux would be very proud of his school!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Top 10 April Fools Jokes
Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow is April Fools Day! You have all your pranks perfectly planned out by now, right? No?! Well never fear, because today I present to you….
The Top 10 April Fools Jokes for 2013!
10. When someone pulls (or attempts to pull) an April Fools joke on you, chuckle quietly for a moment, as if you are really embarrassed for them. Then, calmly tell them that the date is March 31.
9. Tell your parents that you are pregnant. Be sure to print off some ultrasound pictures from Google to be extra convincing.
8. Take a nap in your roommate's bed while they are away. When discovered, look confused and tell them this has been your bed all semester.
7. Change your religious views on your Facebook profile to something that doesn't exist. Post several times about your new beliefs. Act offended when anyone claims they have never heard of your new religion.
6. Create a Facebook event for a free ice cream social. Invite all your friends. Cancel event at the end of the day.
5. In the middle of class, throw something at your professor. Immediately stare disapprovingly at the person next to you.
4. Set your Facebook relationship status to single. Don't tell your significant other why.
3. If asked to show your ID for any reason, complain loudly about how fat you look in your photo. Then ask the person ID'ing you if they agree.
2. Write a blog post promising your readers ten April Fools jokes. Only give them nine.
Well, there you have it! Happy April Fools!
The Top 10 April Fools Jokes for 2013!
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| Image retrieved from profilebrand.com |
9. Tell your parents that you are pregnant. Be sure to print off some ultrasound pictures from Google to be extra convincing.
8. Take a nap in your roommate's bed while they are away. When discovered, look confused and tell them this has been your bed all semester.
7. Change your religious views on your Facebook profile to something that doesn't exist. Post several times about your new beliefs. Act offended when anyone claims they have never heard of your new religion.
6. Create a Facebook event for a free ice cream social. Invite all your friends. Cancel event at the end of the day.
5. In the middle of class, throw something at your professor. Immediately stare disapprovingly at the person next to you.
4. Set your Facebook relationship status to single. Don't tell your significant other why.
3. If asked to show your ID for any reason, complain loudly about how fat you look in your photo. Then ask the person ID'ing you if they agree.
2. Write a blog post promising your readers ten April Fools jokes. Only give them nine.
Well, there you have it! Happy April Fools!
Monday, March 25, 2013
When is it ever time?
When is it ever time? When is quality of life so low that I must let my little girl slip peacefully into an eternal sleep, never to see the light of day again? When is it time to let that dog go?
The dog who is 13 years old and has had Cushing's Disease for over a year;
The dog who has been part of my family for over 12 years, more than half my life;
The dog who walked me to elementary school and was there at the street corner waiting to walk home with me when the bell rang at the end of the day;
The dog who ran around the yard with a toy soccer ball while 8-year-old me chased her;
The dog who I took running when I was in middle school;
The dog who could always play with visitors and friends and be trusted to behave nicely;
The dog who was a member of a secret club with my brother and me in the backyard one summer;
The dog who came to visit me at college my freshman year;
The dog who watched out the front window as we drove away and ran as fast as she could to the front door when we returned home;
The dog who was my very first passenger after I got my provisional license;
The dog who joined our family on a two-day road trip to my grandparents' house when she was 2 years old;
The dog who went to show-and-tell in 4th grade and again when I was a senior in high school;
The dog who has been the quintessential childhood dog...
Who am I to play God and decide the date of her death? Then again, who am I to let her suffer until her natural death? At what point does senility become suffering?
If she still wags her tail when talked to, does that count as happy? Or does her spending most of her days lying around in the kitchen mean she's unhappy? Does the fact that she can still go for walks constitute quality of life, or does taking twice as long as it used to take to complete the route mean she's too sick? Does enjoying her meals make up for the unpleasantness of bumping into walls and objects because of her blindness and dementia? Is it fair to ask my parents to continue to care for her as her health declines? She's given us so much; what do we owe her: more time, or a comfortable exit?
This is absolutely the hardest decision a dog owner will ever make.
The dog who is 13 years old and has had Cushing's Disease for over a year;
The dog who has been part of my family for over 12 years, more than half my life;
The dog who walked me to elementary school and was there at the street corner waiting to walk home with me when the bell rang at the end of the day;
The dog who ran around the yard with a toy soccer ball while 8-year-old me chased her;
The dog who I took running when I was in middle school;
The dog who could always play with visitors and friends and be trusted to behave nicely;
The dog who was a member of a secret club with my brother and me in the backyard one summer;
The dog who came to visit me at college my freshman year;
The dog who watched out the front window as we drove away and ran as fast as she could to the front door when we returned home;
The dog who was my very first passenger after I got my provisional license;
The dog who joined our family on a two-day road trip to my grandparents' house when she was 2 years old;
The dog who went to show-and-tell in 4th grade and again when I was a senior in high school;
The dog who has been the quintessential childhood dog...
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| Mali in the backyard, 2006 |
If she still wags her tail when talked to, does that count as happy? Or does her spending most of her days lying around in the kitchen mean she's unhappy? Does the fact that she can still go for walks constitute quality of life, or does taking twice as long as it used to take to complete the route mean she's too sick? Does enjoying her meals make up for the unpleasantness of bumping into walls and objects because of her blindness and dementia? Is it fair to ask my parents to continue to care for her as her health declines? She's given us so much; what do we owe her: more time, or a comfortable exit?
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| Mali snoozing in her bed, 2013 |
Sunday, March 24, 2013
End the R.I.P.
I'm a typical college student in that I enjoy spending some time each day on Facebook keeping up with friends and acquaintances. While most of what I see is light-hearted and fun, I have noticed that a certain three letters appear too much on my Facebook news feed: R.I.P. By themselves, they can be part of many different words with many different meanings, but together in that order they mean only one thing: Another death of someone my age. They are three letters that a 21-year-old should not see plastered all over an acquaintance's Facebook page at least once every few months. Knock on wood (or whatever other superstition you subscribe to), I have not had a close friend pass away. However, I regularly learn of the deaths of friends of friends, old classmates, and distant acquaintances. The number one cause of these deaths? Drugs, and more specifically, heroin.
Over a year has passed since I learned of the death of a young man I used to know. We weren't friends, but he was a grade ahead of me in school and we had math class together when I was in ninth grade and he was in tenth. He was a bright kid, popular, funny, a star athlete. I learned after his death that due to a sports injury, he had to have shoulder surgery during high school. To cope with the pain, he was prescribed some heavy-duty painkillers. I don't know all the details, but at some point he got hooked. He started heroin not long after when it was offered to him at a college party and soon became addicted to the deadly street drug. He struggled with the addiction for some time before his parents one day found him dead in his bed. I can't even imagine.
After learning of his death and intermittently the deaths of other people I once knew, I became interested in learning more about this drug taking so many young lives. One thing that stood out to me: Many, many kids struggling with heroin addiction or dead from heroin overdose experimented with prescription painkillers before starting heroin. Also, many were good kids and only started taking the painkillers because of a sports injury or surgery. After being exposed to painkillers, their addiction to heroin came much more easily.
About two weeks ago, I was experiencing some pretty intense chest pain. I'm young, so I knew I probably was not having a heart attack or anything serious, but the pain was rendering me unable to sleep, so I eventually visited a clinic. The PA spent some time listening to my breathing, looking in my nose and throat, and squeezing my chest, trying to discover the source of the pain. She even ordered a chest X-ray just to be safe. Ultimately, a specific cause was not found. I did, however, leave the clinic with a prescription for some moderately heavy-duty painkillers. I expected to receive maybe 4 or 5 pills to get me through the next couple days until whatever was going on with my chest was able to heal. I left the pharmacy that night with 20. As I expected, my chest pain went away within a few days so I only used a few of the pills. I had been prescribed at least 15 pills more than I needed.
You see, it seems that this is far from uncommon. Doctors are taught to overprescribe to avoid having to see the patient again for a refill. The unfortunate side effect of this practice is it leaves powerful painkillers lying around people's houses where risk-taking teens and young adults have free access. A portion of them will go on to become dependent on the pills and will do anything to have them. They will eventually realize that buying heroin on the street is much cheaper than pills and will make the switch. From there, their fate is sealed.
Please, please, please, guard your prescription painkillers and take unused extras to prescription pick-ups. Keep tabs on your friends and speak up if you notice changes in their behavior. Hang out with people who find ways to have fun without hard drugs. Encourage doctors to limit the prescribing of painkillers, especially to young people. Educate yourself about this serious issue that is killing our peers and together we can take steps toward ending the R.I.P. posts.
Over a year has passed since I learned of the death of a young man I used to know. We weren't friends, but he was a grade ahead of me in school and we had math class together when I was in ninth grade and he was in tenth. He was a bright kid, popular, funny, a star athlete. I learned after his death that due to a sports injury, he had to have shoulder surgery during high school. To cope with the pain, he was prescribed some heavy-duty painkillers. I don't know all the details, but at some point he got hooked. He started heroin not long after when it was offered to him at a college party and soon became addicted to the deadly street drug. He struggled with the addiction for some time before his parents one day found him dead in his bed. I can't even imagine.
After learning of his death and intermittently the deaths of other people I once knew, I became interested in learning more about this drug taking so many young lives. One thing that stood out to me: Many, many kids struggling with heroin addiction or dead from heroin overdose experimented with prescription painkillers before starting heroin. Also, many were good kids and only started taking the painkillers because of a sports injury or surgery. After being exposed to painkillers, their addiction to heroin came much more easily.
About two weeks ago, I was experiencing some pretty intense chest pain. I'm young, so I knew I probably was not having a heart attack or anything serious, but the pain was rendering me unable to sleep, so I eventually visited a clinic. The PA spent some time listening to my breathing, looking in my nose and throat, and squeezing my chest, trying to discover the source of the pain. She even ordered a chest X-ray just to be safe. Ultimately, a specific cause was not found. I did, however, leave the clinic with a prescription for some moderately heavy-duty painkillers. I expected to receive maybe 4 or 5 pills to get me through the next couple days until whatever was going on with my chest was able to heal. I left the pharmacy that night with 20. As I expected, my chest pain went away within a few days so I only used a few of the pills. I had been prescribed at least 15 pills more than I needed.
You see, it seems that this is far from uncommon. Doctors are taught to overprescribe to avoid having to see the patient again for a refill. The unfortunate side effect of this practice is it leaves powerful painkillers lying around people's houses where risk-taking teens and young adults have free access. A portion of them will go on to become dependent on the pills and will do anything to have them. They will eventually realize that buying heroin on the street is much cheaper than pills and will make the switch. From there, their fate is sealed.
Please, please, please, guard your prescription painkillers and take unused extras to prescription pick-ups. Keep tabs on your friends and speak up if you notice changes in their behavior. Hang out with people who find ways to have fun without hard drugs. Encourage doctors to limit the prescribing of painkillers, especially to young people. Educate yourself about this serious issue that is killing our peers and together we can take steps toward ending the R.I.P. posts.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Just What I Needed
I don't usually believe in divine intervention. OK, that might be a little misleading; I don't believe in divine intervention. The God I believe in is not one who swoops in to save one person while simultaneously letting someone else die. People die because germs attack their body or because their car happens to be the one the drunk driver hits, not because God lets them die.
I feel this way about less serious situations as well. I have friends and acquaintances who pray or ask for prayers before a big test or job interview, and while I absolutely respect their beliefs, that's not how I think God works. God gave me a brain that works, but that is the extent to which I believe God is involved in my test outcomes. Whether I study or not is up to me and ultimately that will be the biggest factor in my grade.
Last night, a song came into my head that I hadn't heard in awhile. I typed the line of lyrics that kept replaying in my head into Google and subsequently found the track on Spotify. The tune is catchy and I listened to the song several times before heading off to bed.
When I woke up this morning, my body was immediately pumped full of adrenaline. I had my second astrobiology midterm in an hour and a half and didn't do great on the first one. I got some studying in the night before but was still less than confident. I had trouble getting going with my morning routine because I was so anxious.
Then I remembered the song I had been listening to the night before:
Where will my help come from?
My help will come from God, maker of heaven and earth.
-Esah Einai by Dan Nichols
Based on Psalm 121
I turned the song on and was amazed how quickly a calm fell over me. Everything was going to be alright. I replayed the song probably four times as I got dressed and ready for school. As I got on my bike and headed to print my homework and then to class, I kept the song in my head. It was in my head as I sat down in class, and it was still in my head as I walked out of class after successfully completing the exam. The combination of soothing melody and comforting lyrics was just what I needed this morning.
This line from Psalm 121 is something I can believe in. In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold S. Kushner suggests that one's belief in God should not go against their common sense. My common sense tells me that if I don't study, no amount of prayer is going to make me ace a test. But this line doesn't say God will ace the test for me; it says God will be my help. God will be there with me as a take the test, not doing the work for me, but just being there, cheering me on, calming me down, helping me focus. I like that idea.
P.S. I have been checking online almost neurotically looking for a spot in a certain mini-semester class that filled before I was able to register. I kept waiting for a spot to open from someone dropping the class. Today when I logged onto my student account, there was one spot available. The randomness of the universe was good to me today.
I feel this way about less serious situations as well. I have friends and acquaintances who pray or ask for prayers before a big test or job interview, and while I absolutely respect their beliefs, that's not how I think God works. God gave me a brain that works, but that is the extent to which I believe God is involved in my test outcomes. Whether I study or not is up to me and ultimately that will be the biggest factor in my grade.
Last night, a song came into my head that I hadn't heard in awhile. I typed the line of lyrics that kept replaying in my head into Google and subsequently found the track on Spotify. The tune is catchy and I listened to the song several times before heading off to bed.
When I woke up this morning, my body was immediately pumped full of adrenaline. I had my second astrobiology midterm in an hour and a half and didn't do great on the first one. I got some studying in the night before but was still less than confident. I had trouble getting going with my morning routine because I was so anxious.
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image retrieved from http://jewishrock.com/music/ |
Then I remembered the song I had been listening to the night before:
Where will my help come from?
My help will come from God, maker of heaven and earth.
-Esah Einai by Dan Nichols
Based on Psalm 121
I turned the song on and was amazed how quickly a calm fell over me. Everything was going to be alright. I replayed the song probably four times as I got dressed and ready for school. As I got on my bike and headed to print my homework and then to class, I kept the song in my head. It was in my head as I sat down in class, and it was still in my head as I walked out of class after successfully completing the exam. The combination of soothing melody and comforting lyrics was just what I needed this morning.
This line from Psalm 121 is something I can believe in. In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold S. Kushner suggests that one's belief in God should not go against their common sense. My common sense tells me that if I don't study, no amount of prayer is going to make me ace a test. But this line doesn't say God will ace the test for me; it says God will be my help. God will be there with me as a take the test, not doing the work for me, but just being there, cheering me on, calming me down, helping me focus. I like that idea.
P.S. I have been checking online almost neurotically looking for a spot in a certain mini-semester class that filled before I was able to register. I kept waiting for a spot to open from someone dropping the class. Today when I logged onto my student account, there was one spot available. The randomness of the universe was good to me today.
Friday, March 15, 2013
The World's Best Babysitter
I watched from the driver's seat of my car as the 8-year-old I was babysitting trotted off toward the public restrooms at the park. I had driven him there for soccer practice when he suddenly informed me that he needed to go to the bathroom. Second guessing my decision to let him go all by himself, I got out of the car and followed him. As I got nearer, I could tell the gate surrounding the restrooms was locked.
"Is it number one or number two?" I yelled to him. He held up one finger. "Just go right there," I said, gesturing toward the many bushes surrounding the locked gate.
"Everyone will think I am weird!" he countered. I assured him nobody would even notice and, after some persuasion, I turned around as he did his business behind one of the bushes. When he was done, he jumped back into my car and I drove him down to his practice at the other end of the park. "Chau!" he called back to me as he ran off to join his teammates.
"Is it number one or number two?" I yelled to him. He held up one finger. "Just go right there," I said, gesturing toward the many bushes surrounding the locked gate.
"Everyone will think I am weird!" he countered. I assured him nobody would even notice and, after some persuasion, I turned around as he did his business behind one of the bushes. When he was done, he jumped back into my car and I drove him down to his practice at the other end of the park. "Chau!" he called back to me as he ran off to join his teammates.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
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