You're Not That Powerful

"No, you're not that powerful," my mom told me, "you're not that powerful".

On Monday night I received multiple texts and emails about my 86-year-old grandfather who had suffered a TIA, also called a "mini stroke", and was spending the night in the hospital. He and my grandmother live nearly 1,000 miles away from me, so I was powerless to be of much assistance. He arrived home the following afternoon with no complications but was soon severely sick due to some new medication he had been given. My grandmother took him to the doctor today and his medications were sorted out. Now he is home and fine, but because he had a TIA five years ago and another one this week, his risk of full-blown stroke is much higher.

After processing all of this, I remembered something I had been thinking just a month or so ago: Wow, my grandfathers are 86 and 87 years old and are both still alive and in relatively good health. How lucky am I! After recalling these previous thoughts, another thought hit me: Did I do this? Did my thoughts of gratitude just weeks ago cause my grandfather to go through this turmoil of medical complications the past few days?

And then I remembered a conversation I had with my mom several years ago. It was over something similar; I had been concerned that I had caused something bad to happen with my thinking. "No, you're not that powerful," she assured me. And while recently the thought did cross my mind that I somehow did this to my grandfather, I have since remembered that while my thoughts, hopes, and prayers are important, they do not "jinx" the universe and cause bad things to happen. I'm just not that powerful, and for that, I am grateful.

Through the Eyes of a Child

I have a new phone and it sucks. Yes, that is a very "first world problems" thing to say, but it's the truth. I had the same flip phone for over two years, and while I was admittedly sometimes envious of my friends sporting smartphones that put all of the knowledge in the world right in their pockets, I was very happy with that phone. As is to be expected, it broke a few months after its exciting second birthday and I switched to my dad's old phone which happened to be the exact same model. That phone had already seen better days by the time it got to me and it broke after about six months. The next upgrade on our family plan for me is in April and I have been planning for quite awhile to use it to get a smartphone. So, to avoid spending hundreds of dollars, I reactivated an old phone that's been lying around the house.

This phone was really cool. It's one of those "TV phones" from four or five years ago. It was my brother's, then it was mine, and then it was no one's for two and a half years as it lay in my parents' house. Now it's mine again. Text and graphics on the screen are difficult to decipher, especially in the sun, because it is so beat up from use. It turns off randomly, sometimes when I'm in the middle of typing a text message. It's a working phone and for that I am grateful, but it's nothing exciting and I can't wait to get rid of it in April.

Image copyright www.dwholesale.com. Retrieved via Google.

Last night I was out for dinner with friends and happened to run into a family whose children I babysit. They have two boys, ages 11 and 8. I went over to their table to say hello and was quickly bombarded by a request to show their mom my "new" phone. The boys had both seen it the day before when I was driving them home from school. Before I had a chance to find my phone, the younger boy had already discovered it at the other end of the table and snatched it. He and his brother excitedly showed it to their mom, who ooohed and ahhhed supportively. They were bubbling with excitement over this awful old phone. Everyone my age has probably seen a phone that spins open the way this one does, but to them it was brand new and SO cool.

Getting to see and experience life vicariously through the eyes of children is one reason I have chosen to work with children in nearly every job I have ever had and am studying to become a K-8 teacher. I've seen the Grand Canyon, ridden a horse, and built a snowman. Never again will those experiences be new to me.  I've already lost my first tooth and had the training wheels removed from my bike. I will never experience these big moments again. But by spending my life working with children, I get to experience infinite firsts and the excitement that goes along almost as if each was really happening to me all over again. What a perspective.

Some People

Some people are just so damn kind. They listen to your pointless story and then laugh at the dumb punchline. They come way out of their way to visit when you're lying in bed sick. They take the time to listen to you rant and then tell you everything will be just fine. They remind you that you you're a good person with good qualities that they then go on to list. They stand up for you when you're being picked on and are unable to defend yourself. They go out of their way to make sure you feel welcome. Gosh, I sure hope these people know how much they are appreciated.

An Empty Hand

Tonight while taking my dog Scout for a walk, it became clear to me that something was missing. Something important. Or rather, someone.

All through high school I loved to take my dogs for walks, often after dark and sometimes while sporting my heavy winter coat. Mali liked to walk right next to me while Scout liked to walk way ahead, as far as his retractable leash would allow. Both dogs walked on the sidewalk and I walked in the gutter. Because of where they walked, Mali's leash would be in my hand closest to the sidewalk, Scout's in the other. When we crossed the street, I traded the leashes between my hands to keep this arrangement.

Mali's eyes aged much faster than the rest of her body, so eventually I was carrying two leashes and a flashlight while walking the dogs. The flashlight would be in the same hand as Mali's leash so I could shine it right in front of her. I'm not sure if this helped her much, but it gave her human family some peace of mind.

walking in the foothills with Mali (right) and Scout circa 2008

Now, Mali goes for a walk almost every day, but not with Scout. Her eyes have failed her and she can no longer walk on the sidewalk without falling off, so she walks in the middle of the street. When I am home, I am often the one who takes her on these strolls, much shorter and slower than our nighttime walks used to be.

It makes me smile to watch Scout enjoy our long walks, still usually staying at the very end of his retractable leash. He knows the routes by heart even though we don't walk together nearly as often now that I am in college and don't live at home most of the year. He's a fun walking buddy, but I still can't help to realize that although Mali is still alive, she is no longer able to join us on our nighttime adventures. Regardless of which hand I use to hold Scout's leash, I am always left with an empty hand that reminds me of someone very special.

Beautiful Camping Pictures

I spent my weekend camping and it was SO beautiful. These first pictures were early on Saturday morning (maybe 6:30am). It had been raining and raining, so there was beautiful mist in the morning.

The sun did finally come up!

the little stream by our campsite

looks like something from a calendar...

High Holy Day Memories

Sitting in Erev Rosh Hashanah services tonight, I started thinking about what I missed about being home this time of year and realized I have quite a few memories related to the High Holy Days. Some are funny… well, actually, most are funny! Without further adieu, I present to you my High Holy Day memories:

• my little brother Greg rushing out of the sanctuary headed for the oneg, weaving his four-foot self in and out of the adults slowly working their way out of the room as my mom tries desperately to get him to stand in line and wait like everyone else
• my dad playing football with all the kids at second day services in the mountains while the service is still in progress and getting reprimanded on the microphone by the rabbi for being too loud
• my mom being invited to read the same passage every year for Yom Kippur morning services; her sitting on the bimah while we waved at her from the congregation; her not waving back but smiling at us; my dad explaining that she cannot wave at us during the service while she is on the bimah
• Greg and I blowing our shofars all over the house for weeks before the High Holy Days
• leaning my head on my mom's shoulder during the never-ending sermon
• whispering with my dad during services and getting a glare from my mom
• my dad offering me food seemingly every five minutes on Yom Kippur when it was already difficult for me to fast as a teenager 
• building forts in the woods with the other kids during second day services in the mountains
• taking breaks from services to hang out and chat in the lounge
• being bewildered by the number of extra chairs set up that extend all the way to the back of the social hall
• being rushed to school after morning services; changing from temple clothes to school clothes in the car
• smiling at my mom every time a certain line was read that she doesn't like

Smokey Cooking

Tonight while cooking dinner, I nearly burned down my apartment building. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but I definitely feared setting off the fire alarm, which probably would have been just as annoying to my fellow residents as if I burned down the building.

I was cooking spaghetti, as I often do, so I put a chunk of defrosted ground beef in a pan and turned on the burner. Then I filled a pot with water and started cooking the noodles. I wandered off for a moment, checking a text on my phone while I waited for my food to cook.

As usual, the beef began to sizzle. But then, the beef REALLY began to sizzle. I suddenly realized I had turned the burner on high instead of medium and was burning my food. Soon the pan started emitting thick campfire-like smoke, and I quickly turned off the heat and moved the pan to another burner. This did not solve the problem.

With smoke now filling my entire apartment, the thought of setting off the fire alarm was hot on my mind. I grabbed the sizzling, smoking pan and ran out the front door, all the while hoping I would not hear the dreaded blaring sound signaling evacuation. My resident advisor was walking across the grass on the first floor and looked up at where I was standing on the third floor, wondering what the sizzling noise was. I yelled down to her that I was fine and just trying not to set off the fire alarm. She smiled and kept walking.

I stood out there for what seemed like an eternity before the pan finally stopped smoking. When it did, I rushed back inside, put the pan on a cool burner, and opened all the windows in the apartment. Then, I waited.

The smoke eventually cleared, and I was able to return to cooking dinner. About half of the beef was burned, so I threw that part away and continued cooking the un-burned portion. The noodles soon finished cooking, and, with no fire alarm after all, I sat down to enjoy my spaghetti.