127/365 Let The Games Begin

He's all better now. He remarked yesterday that he doesn't recall when it happened, but he's forgotten all about not feeling well. Now he's just back to being a 40-something guy, with his usual aches and complaints. Happy day! But the reminders of his spinal episode will be long with us. Having fronted hundreds in copayments before we had any diagnosis, we were late to the whole workers compensation game. Now we're swamped with bills from the specialists, phlebotomists, nuclear radiologists, physical therapists, and any other "ists" with access to bookkeeping software. We've filed the comp claim, and I don't expect to get any of our copays back unless hell is fore casted for an ice storm. Paying anything else is simply out of the question. Now we wait for the gears of bureaucracy to turn. Faxing, calling, mailing, documenting, duplicating - what fun.

126/365 That's all I have to show for it.

41 race t-shirts.

125/365 A bad case of the giggles

Checking the fridge for milk yesterday, I noticed that one of the bulbs was out. On my way to Home Depot anyways, I threw the dead bulb into my purse to be sure I purchased the right replacement. The fridge has been restored to its full illumination, but I guess I forgot to take the bulb out of the purse. Later, during a break at an evening rehearsal, I saw the bulb in my purse, so I turned to IG and said, "I have a great idea!" We couldn't stop laughing for an hour!

124/365 Do Unto Others

I'm the one in the little chair today. To prepare myself to become a presenter on a new topic I'm attending a local seminar on Differentiated Instruction in a Whole Group Setting. Just like the lovely sites I've had the pleasure of visiting, a Holiday Inn meeting room houses the training for today. Maybe it's because I know the program pretty well, as I've already thoroughly reviewed the presentation material and participated in a 2 day training on this topic, but I find I'm lousy at being a participant. I have little interest in "getting-to-know" you activities, I don't want to get up and vote with my feet, I don't care for clever ways to applaud for classmates, and I cannot sit still. We're only 90 minutes in and I've already doodled 2 1/2 pages of notebook paper. I'm listening, and I'm trying not to be a distraction, but I think I understand why people often tell me that they like my presenting style. I'm a meat-n-potatoes person. That's what I want for myself, so that's what I like to serve. Certainly a topic like Differentiated Instruction in a Whole Group Setting has more than enough meat in it, and I'm ready to serve it up.

123/365 Ordinary, Extraordinary Sunday

More than 1/3 into my project 365, and I'm trying to make a conscious effort to snap a picture each day. Sometimes I have an epiphany, and I can come up with a photo to match. Sometimes I have a decent picture, and I needn't say too much. Today I have had neither, and it's after 7 PM. The only picture I snapped was the family loading the small trunk of the convertible with our loot after a Costco run. We love to ride with the sun and the wind. The cool, aloof, teenage daughter actually pitched in with the schlepping, and then did a great job practicing piano and voice, making for a pleasant afternoon. The recovered husband and I undertook a 16 mile bike ride this morning, definitely adding to the "pinch-me-I-live-here" feeling we've had lately. We worked diligently to memorize our scripts as we sat in the shade of the bottle brush trees beside the pool. A little grill action for dinner, and the Starbucks Espresso Roast is grinding as I write this. No epiphany. No great photo. Just a day filled with many blessings.

122/365 Nobody is immune (Don't worry, this has nothing to do with Pigs or Viruses)

She's grown up so much, so fast. Watching little ones toddle on the beach today reminded me of times not long ago when she dared not let go, all five of her pudgy baby fingers wrapped so tightly around one of mine, fearing she'd be swept away by the waves. She was too frightened be near the water alone, yet she roared with laughter when her daddy carried into the crashing waves. Our trips to the beach were fun but so much work, with every step a danger as we watched over this precious, young gift we were given. Today she walked and waded with a friend and tossed a football with some teen boys they met. She had her own day at the beach. When she was little and everything was such hard work I'd imagined this day. I pictured myself snoozing contentedly, lulled to sleep by the delicious rhythm created by the dance between the moon and the earth's water. It wasn't to be, though. Instead I spent my time on the beach today thinking of two encounters yesterday, both hearkening back to a fourth grade class I had so many years ago.

One student was quiet, humble, strawberry blond and all girl, who seemed to struggle with nearly everything I gave her. Except her writing. She wrote with complete abandon, and at ten years old she scratched out descriptive prose that I tasted, heard and smelled when I read it. Struggles with spelling, grammar, and other particulars didn't interrupt her expression. Each assignment was a tribute to her trust in me to use a gentle hand and to wield the red pen with discretion. She's grown now. Working a punch-a-time-card job, and living with a boyfriend because one parent abused drugs and the other kicked her out. This quiet, humble, strawberry blond girl hasn't quite been able to make college work as she scratches out a living, she told me. Sitting outside her job, she surprised me with a Popsicle and she caught me up. I found myself wishing that someone had perfected the damned time machine. But then what could I have done, nearly a decade ago, to have helped her to avoid the hardships she's already faced?

Another student, a brilliant, witty, clever kid with wonderful and supportive parents, but who never seemed to get it together as a fourth grader. This child would take a Spelling Quiz and then lose the paper as it traveled from his hand to mine. I was challenged to challenge him, with his incredible brain and his incredibly indifferent attitude toward all things school-related. I'd imagined that this would be the kid to grow up and find the cure for cancer, or design bridges, or possibly negotiate a lasting peace in the Middle East. He's that brilliant. I saw his mother yesterday, and she told me about his struggles. College hasn't inspired him, dropping out of one, and barely scraping by at another. He's still a brilliant, witty, and clever kid, but nothing has inspired him. He has moved out and then back home, and his wonderful and supportive parents are worried.

So today at the beach, looking at the little girl who held me so tightly, I wondered what story her teachers will hear during a chance encounter in another half a decade. Will hers be another story of struggle and pain in a young life? Nowadays I'm the one who wants to hold on tight, but the time is coming, much too soon, when I will have to start letting go.

121/365 In the words of Brother Manilow, "Looks Like we Made It!"

Two weeks ago we were waiting to see if the radioactive isotope indicated the location of the torn dura, the cause of the leaking cerebro-spinal fluid, and the resultant postural headaches and diplopia. Yesterday he taught 7 classes, then prepared the stage and dressing room areas for a perfomance by 80+ elementary kids. Preparations included an attempted unassisted lifting of chorus risers (we can all kill him for that one). He accompanied the 85 minute show on piano, delivered closing remarks, greeted the audience, and then helped to move tables and chairs to return the performance venue to its daytime cafeteria status. A stop for a Sonic treat and a couple of hours of channel surfing finshed the day. Not bad for a guy who couldn't sit up for a month.