sometimes i just listen

patients often just start talking to me whilst i am doing some nurse procedurey type thing on them/near them, and i usually like listening to them, for various reasons. first of all, it keeps them calm to keep them talking and keeps their mind off what i'm doing to them. second, it's usually entertaining for me. most patients are elderly and they don't have any problem speaking their mind or telling crazy stories - stuff like that. third, i often walk away with a story or a memory they have held that i will remember for a long time.

i miss working with the military sometimes because the VA patients tend to have colorful stories of war times or just their youth in general was interesting. old guys just have cool stories, you know? a lot of my really elderly patients up here where i live now are more of the farmer/pioneer/fisherman/oil-men types who moved up here back in the day when there was just mountains and trees and eskimos and whatnots and they were still speaking dutch and german. not saying stories about tulips and cows aren't interesting, because they are. but it's ain't no south pacific tale.

anywho, excerpt from this AM, 0910, me starting an IV in a new place in this patient's arm and pushing a few IV drugs through it:

"Yeh, so anyway I told my oldest one there that I didn't need no doctor's visit, but he was right 'cause here I am gettin a heart valve replaced. But the doc said that it'll last 10 years so now my son is sorry i betcha cuz he won't git rid of me for a long time now! Hey, YOUCH! What're you doin in that arm anyway?"

"I just put in the new IV, the needle is out now its just the plastic cannula in your vein."

"Okay, so anyway I tell 'em last night I wanted some ice cream, but they didn't bring me any."

"I could go for some ice cream right now."

"what! you kids! it's 9 in the morning!"

"Well I'm 5 months pregnant so I can have ice cream when I want to."

"Aw well I guess I that's true. Can't argue with that logic. When I married my wife she had 3 children, an' I had 2 childrens, and then we had another children, and they was an army. I mean an ARMY. 3 girls and 3 boys. Yessir that was my oldest son I was tellin you about. And that was 39 years ago we got married, and we're still married, so we did something right. You know when you can stay together with that many kids and trying to merge two families you doin something right. And then we had a baby. You know I'm not a religious man, you know I'm not like some where I go off believin' in some myth about some thing or someone or some religion, but babies, I mean, wow, babies are just... just... "

"A miracle?"

"Yah! Babies are just miracles. I mean, you got you there, a person, and your husband over there, a person, and then you mess around, doin' married people thing, and BAM! a new life. I new formed separate person. Just like made and different and unique and just a new person. there is just no explanation for that anywhere, how that happens to be, well except for maybe.... but like I said I'm not religious. but there's just no denying those sorts of things when you look at a baby."

(i switch vials to the next injection)

"Yessirree and those birds in the nest, they do whatever birds do to make eggs, I don't know how birds do it, but they do their thing and there is precious little eggs up there a few days later. And then cute little baby birds come out. So don't you forget (he shakes his finger at me with his free hand) that that baby is a special, special thing. there is just nothing like that, and it is special."

"Yes sir!"

"Yup, my kids are an army. they are alright now though. i don't mind them so much now. it's kind of nice having so many when you're an old feller like me."

goodbye 2009

goodbye 2009

my favorite thing about this year was making memories and learning how to use a camera so i can remember those times later on!!






saying goodbye to the worst, iciest, snowiest winter my area has seen in many years...



enjoyed spring!!





celebrated independence with friends







enjoyed the company of friends



got WAY more into gardening than i thought i would!



loved seeing my husband enjoy ministry and his job



partied





loved youth ministry and summer events with the youth



HAD WONDERFUL FOOD --- i love living in the pacific NW








had some family time....








enjoyed vacations











celebrated engagements





enjoyed my grandparents





mourned the loss of a family pet



celebrated accomplishments of friend's



hugged my husband as much as i could






this new year, 2010, holds some big changes ahead for us. i am excited, terrified, hopeful, courageous, and my heart is full of love and thankfulness.

josh i can't wait to walk into our new life together this year - i love you

september

RIP Grumps

books

I was running my hand across an old, dusty, leathery-pleathery hardcover of an old friendly book the other day. The smell of the stacks brought back a flood of memories in less than a second.

These memories make me wonder if the valley, Little Valley, my family lives in, if it misses children coming to visit. For at least 20 years, every summer, it could count on 3-4 children running around in the pastures, hiking through the forest and trudging up and down the creek that runs through the middle. Pulling out strands of it's long grass and trying to make whistling noises, shredding seeds off the long rye, moving sticks from one end to the other, counting "baby salmons" in the shallow areas of the crick.

I remember me, Yvette and Lynnae spent hours running from one side of the culvert bridge to the other watching our "Pooh Sticks" come to the other side. Half the game was the fun of finding newer, better sticks to send off under the bridge.

We made at least twenty treasure maps one summer, inspired by a book series we read where the heroine goes off to find treasure. Another summer we solved mystery after mystery like Nancy Drew. Other times we would hike around the woods looking for "clues" and making animal friends (like white kittens) and imaginary handsome boyfriends, hoping a real one would come along like the companions Mandie had in The Carolinas. For a month we all wanted a long braid to flip over our shoulder like the girl in the Northwoods series (I think that was the name).

One time we tried to convert the back40 tractor and parts shed into a boxcar, so we could live in it like the Boxcar Children. Damming off a creek was much harder in real life, the book made it sound easier. I had a little plastic cup that was "my own", God knows what else we stole from the Farm kitchen that is probably still missing. I remember at least three ceramic jars we swiped to hold all our "food and supplies" (like the blueberries we picked and some juice boxes) we needed to survive on our own. We were orphans, you know, living in a Boxcar.

Poor, poor orphans. Left at The Farm with Gramma for three whole months. We wouldn't even pretend to be sorry to leave smelly, polluted, congested, crowded South Seattle for a ferry ride to The Farm. The time passed quickly, and in a flash, the leaves were falling, the canning was done and we were back playing hopscotch in the street while our friend's older siblings smoked and talked about the other gang impeding on their turf. We would take solace in the next book series, maybe one about gymnast girls who had cool adventures, or a Sci-Fi series about the post-nuclear war future. In any even, we would go from car to inside, never spending more than a minute outdoors, and fight for space in the small two bedroom. The rain and fog seemed unending. The sunshine, sweet smelling pastures, corn on the cob, animals, big porch and 4-bedroom farmhouse seemed so far away. The dreary rain, unending buildings and pavement seemed much more real.

Is it a lonely valley? Was it lonely in the decade-long gap between my father running there in every summer of his youth until I came for my summers? Will it still be there when my children need the perfect canvas to paint what is in their imaginations?

legacy

When I first moved out of urban Seattle and into the country in junior high there wasn't a lot to do. In the middle of town was a large (well, big for a small town, not really that large) AG (Assemblies of God) church that had a youth group where most of the kids at the public school went to on Tuesday evenings. The youth leader at the time was really into "Leaving a Legacy" for whatever reason, and it was The Nineties, so everything had a Hip Name, and Sweet Posters and Graphics that All Match. And the College Age Guys with their Electric Guitars and Amps would play Rock Music for an hour to kick off the service (while half the teens went behind the church to smoke up pot or meth). So everyone at 3:15 pm after school would be like "Hey man, are you going to Legacy(tm) tonight?" and their friend would be like, "Yah man, totally." and someone else would be like "Me Too."

I went for like a year. I really hated it, but I needed friends and socialization so I went every Tuesday. I didn't really understand the small-town kids, because let's face it, they're weird and country-bumpkiny and very "Christian"ized with being Christ-like. Yah, I know, confusing. Also, having rock music at church, people praying out loud whenever they felt like, dancing around, that was all weird to me and I'd never heard of such a thing before. My spanish catholic grandma was like rolling over her in grave is what I kept thinking to myself as I sat there listening to a 23-year old strum his guitar while pushing his long frosted tips out of his face as he repeated "Love you so muuuch! Yeah!" about 25 times (NOT kidding!). The only part I enjoyed was the 12 minute message at the end of the night (and before that you had to endure a 25 minute "Dear Jesus God Jesus OH Father Holy Jesus We love You Oh Jesus" prayer from some hyped up 20 year old) where the youth leader got up and preached his Legacy Series (insert flashy powerpoint graphic zoom with Fancy Legacy Logo here). What he said made sense to me - what I was doing and planning in junior high was already starting my legacy. What choices I made would affect the people after me. It seemed he would almost touch on some scripture, which I was really thirsty for at the time, but then instead he would end the message. I always left disappointed about that, but it started a path that led me away from just thinking of my self ME ME ME only, to a better path where I thought about seeking God first. And I found a small, small Bible-based church where I was taught uhm, like, The Bible. And they didn't have a logo, which I appreciated. AND they called youth group, Youth Group - wow! What a concept.

Anyway, I was reminded of the silly Legacy nights today because I was thinking about Josh's grandpa. Or Grumps, as he is called by his kids. This guy was cool - he has a lot of kids, which I always think is the bestest, and tons of grandkids, and they all came to visit and care for him when he was dying, and really out of a great love and respect. I can tell just from knowing his children and grandchildren and their stories about him that he was a man who loved God and loved his family - he served his country in the military, and when he retired he served his church and community in really big ways. I don't see how he made money on a military retirement and living in Oklahoma where there isn't a lot of money, but it seems like he did because there are funds to take care of his widow and they have a nice house and things like that, just really responsible. I was just really impressed.

Josh was mentioning briefly to me about how his dad is now the Man of the household, of the head of the family, or whatever language he used I forget, and how it kind of hit his Dad finally that like, hey, I'm responsible now. Now it's my job to watch over my mom, my sisters, little brother, the finances, the summer house, etc. How strange and surreal that must feel. At this point in my young life, I can't imagine one or both my parents being gone, their house empty, and me trying to figure out what to do for holidays or who is going to take who to the doctor...making big decisions for people who used to make big decisions for you. And when the people are gone, where is going back home then? I guess it makes your house the "home" the everyone comes "home" to.

So, I was really feeling for Josh's dad, and Josh, and his family, but it's so peaceful to think of how wonderful Grumps was, and how much his family loves him, and that God loves him, and that he's in a better place, in God's grace.

In contrast, I think of my mom's dad, and how vile and evil he has been the whole lot of his life, how he has spent the last 70 years drunk everyday noon-7pm, how he cursed me as a very young child and left my grandma before my mom was even born, and even when I met him for just the 2nd time in my life a few months ago, I still disliked him - and I don't usually dislike 90 year olds who are kind of cute-ish with the white hair and the angelic face, and near-deaf. I know that God loves and cares for him, and has kept him living so long maybe in hopes of his repentance? Who knows. God knows. I don't. For many years I thought he must've died, because whose liver could survive 70 years of alcoholism? But then he showed up in our lives again for a brief time. If he dies I will probably find out much later, from a distant cousin who would mention it a few months after the fact. How DIFFERENT from Josh's Grumps! What have I learned from my mom's dad? Nothing. What not to do. And in the four short years I've known Josh's Grumps I've learned invaluable things. What's more, without him living a good life, and teaching his son to live a good life, I probably wouldn't have the good husband I have today. And the stories me and Josh will tell our children about Grumps! How he danced a hole in his shoe at our wedding reception in the Summer of 2006 - and he just laughed about it and kept on dancing. How he loved Jesus and what a difference that made for all of us - how happy we are that our kids have a Great-Grumps who left a legacy for them. These are the stories I want to tell. These make up what a good Legacy is.

love and marriage

119/365, originally uploaded by heidini.

happy valentines day to us.

we were engaged on a valentines weekend just like this... not too long ago....

Featherticks and Air Mattresses

I love air mattresses. I always have. When I spend the night at a friend's house or somewhere, and they're like, oh, sorry, all I have is an air matress, I'm like, it's ok!! I like air mattresses!!

My parents, if you didn't know, are typical Seattle people. Both raised in the crazy hippie downtown Seattle 1960s, my dad was raised whitebread Boeing innercity, my mom raised uhm, how do I say without using the typical offensive slang we used at home, ethnic? innercity. Either way, it's about the same. Same economic status, same immigrant types yelling at you from the doorways, well - ok, different druggie preferences, but still most of your neighbors on drugs.

Anyway, when we lived in Seattle we were surrounded by family, even though they were still in different neighborhoods. These neighborhoods were much the same since my parents grew up in them, and probably are still the same now even though I'm grown up from them. I would get to stay at different houses of relatives since I was a good house guest, but annoying to live with 24/7 (homeschooled!!), apparently. Mostly it was my cousin's house or they were at mine since we were all homeschooled, us three girls crammed into a tiny room wherever we were sent. I remember fighting over who got a certain mattress for the floor - if an air mattress could survive long enough without getting a hole so that we could each have a turn - that was rare.

For the summer we were always sent to the Farm (what we considered Kid Paradise HQ) where Grandma was much more practical. She had WWII cots with squeaky rusting springs and very very thin mattresses on top, and "Feather Ticks", which I'm sure came over from Eastern Europe on the boat with my Grandma Martha. Oh, Feather Ticks, nothing at all like the sleek, modern air mattress. I would lay one feather-stuffed cotton sack on top of another, but it always felt like I was sleeping on the floor. Additionally, 70 years of goose feathers, dust and mold made my small lungs very ill, although no one made the connection at the time. For goodness sake, my dad had slept on them, maybe even my grandma, as a child. My younger cousins must've thought I was generous in later summers, letting them have three feather ticks while I slept on one or none - but it was just that I knew there was no point, no matter what, I was still really sleeping on the bare floor. I have never had a cushion of chubbiness, so these bony prominences need to stay away from the floor.

But there was always hope of an air mattress at the end of the summer. My mom would cook for the youth retreats for our church in Seattle, and would take me for a week or two to the ocean, or one of the lakes in hot, sunny eastern Washington or Oregon. Not only did I get to see most of gorgeous spots and sights of the Northwest during those summers, but all from the comfort of my air mattress. If only I would've known sooner that my mom bought those at the dollar store (for only a dollar!) in the pool toys section, I would've saved my own money and bought 12. I could lay my sleeping bag on top of that air mattress and drift comfortably into dreamland wherever our tent was laid, even if it was on top of pointy rocks.

The past few weekends, actually every weekend since Christmas, we've had houseguests. Last week we blew up the air mattress for extra sleeping space. After the guests had left I was starting to deflate it. I suddenly felt sad. All that air, comfy, cozy air, only slept on one time, what a waste. I pushed my hand down on it - it was still a tensile structure. As it started to deflate it wheezed nooooo. I stopped deflating, stood up, turned around and just fell back into it with complete trust the air mattress would cushion my fall. All those happy summer memories flooded back to me in an instant. The bright stars above Moses Lake, the warm air at the Crossing at Keller's Ferry, three girls giggling about pancakes late at night in a stuffy room, and the small space in between the 2nd floor stairs and the wall at the Farm that is just room enough to sleep in.

I declared to Josh later in the evening that the air mattress was staying in the living room fully inflated and that even though it was a Thursday night and I have to get up early to work the next day, I was going camping, and he is welcome to join me (it is a queen size air mattress anyway). We stayed up late sitting on the air mattress, eating snacks, watching funny TV shows (The Office AND camping?! Yes please!), and I felt the general giddiness of sleeping out in a different space, with different blankets and different surroundings, and the naughtiness of being up past bedtime on a worknight for the sole purpose of having Summertime-like fun.

I woke up in the morning refreshed, and half-expecting the smell of evergreen trees and the sound of a propane stove heating water for coffee in a tin can. I bounced around the kitchen getting ready for work, and Josh must have noticed the huge grin on my face. He asked, "You had fun camping, didn't you?" Yes I did.

"You want to go camping again tonight?". I felt a smile run across my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck as my way of a thank you for him sharing silly things like air mattresses with me (which I'm sure hold little to no interest or sentiment for him). I whispered to a response to him, YES, Yes I do want to go camping again tonight.

lenticular clouds

Okay kids, time to learn about lenticular clouds. An important part of living in the Pacific Northwest. Where you can see an amazing mountain from wherever you are.

Where I grew up in Seattle, Mt. Rainier was in view from my front yard; a daunting, beautiful sight. Now we live in the shadow (literally) of Mt. Baker. If you live in the south, Mt. St. Helens (scary!) is in your horizon

I remember as a kid watching the "caps" of the mountain form and then sail away in the sky. I would spend a whole morning just staring at the mountain from the front porch. Even then I felt so lucky to grow up in such an amazing area of the world.

Makes me think about that one verse, (uhm, wheres pastor husband to tell me where it is when i need him??), that talks about how creation itself speaks of it's Creator. People wonder, oh, do I believe there's a creator God? They know there is. Look at the creation. Do I believe there's a living, powerful God? They know there is. Look at the erupting volcanoes. Is God loving? They know he is. Look at the care for creation, feel the love you feel for the fluffy kitten, or the loyal dog, or the garden you tend. Are people really sinful? We don't really need a savior, Jesus, do we? Look at the destruction and violence around you. Or if not that, the mess you can easily make of your own life, going your own way.

Today is definitely one of those days - I'm a child again, sitting on my back porch, watching the clouds float by - pondering God's love for His creation - and that creation includes me.


**Pastor husband is back at home - yay!
:: Romans 1:20 For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse. :: Psalm 19:1 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. ::

jiggity jog

My Great-Aunt Freda used to sing a song to me when I was little when she was cooking lunch (usually peas, ham and some sort of something in a pot) on the stove after we had gone to the morning market:

"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog."

She was a plump woman, who always looked no more than 70 years old to me, even when she was 80, 90, etc. She would babysit me when my mom was at work. She would stand on the orange and white linoleum floor and stir the pot singing or humming to me. Her house was 1930s South Seattle in all senses of the term, post-World War boom frozen in time. On top of the buffet in the small dining room held her favorite 1920s costume jewelry and her brother's harmonicas from one of the great Wars, I'm not sure if it is I or II, she had so many siblings in which she was the youngest. I loved slobbering and blowing in and out of the harmonicas, probably not realizing how obnoxious I was for hours on end, but I never remember her asking me to stop or be quiet. She would stay in the kitchen putting peas in everything (yuck! I would think to myself) including if we were having Top Ramen, which was my favorite thing (minus peas!). She also made hearty bean soups that I thought were quite strange, made of whatever was on hand I am quite sure. Everything had ham in it. Her split pea soup had both things she seemed to like, ham and peas, two things I hated. But I wanted her to want me to stay there, so I grimaced through each sip.

Mostly we had Top Ramen since she figured out quickly I was going to starve myself if she kept making pea soup. We ate off the wobbly card table that was positioned on the thick shag carpet, her folding chair positioned in view of the television, my back to the TV. As we were finishing the noodles she would lean over with a twinkle in her eye and say, "Now don't tell anyone, you have to do this when no one is looking!" and drew the bowl up to her lips and SLURRP! the remaining broth and swallow it down quickly. I would follow in suit, swinging my short legs under the card table and giggling for minutes afterwards.

Then Aunt Freda would put the bowls away and clean up the kitchen, and I would pet the kitty and chase kitty around the green shag carpet living room. Kitty was a nearly deaf siamese cat, which are loud and vocal as it is, but this cat was pitifully deaf and would almost howl. I remember the cat never, ever shut up, would always meow, even while sleeping it seemed. I like the kitty because it reminded me of a cat from a Disney movie ("We are Siamese if you please! Meow! ba-doom-boom-boom. We are Siamese if you don't please! Meow! boom boom."), and also I loved it's pretty blue eyes.

Then Aunt Freda would turn up the volume on the television (The Andy Griffith Show or Matlock), sit on the davenport (couch), and promptly fell asleep within minutes. I wonder how much of her life she really missed out on. She was never able to drive, she had narcolepsy (excessive sleepiness). She was never tired, but if she stayed still long enough she would be asleep straight away. I would watch from the back of the church Sunday morning, waiting for her head to drop a few minutes into the minister's sermon. Like clockwork, her red 1930s style hat drooped forward, chin dropping to her chest, making her almost completely out of view from behind the pew.

That's another thing that fascinated me about Aunt Freda's house, all the hats. She had a hundred hat boxes, most of them stacked on a large shelf in the bathroom that overhung the cast-iron white clawfoot tub. If I was spending the night, I would take a bath before bedtime, I would sit in the clawfoot tub, which never seemed to be warm no matter how warm the water was, and stare up at all the beautiful hat boxes. They were out of reach for my height, but close enough to see all the beautiful victorian women painted on them, or the beautiful flowers. I would take long baths.

She had beautiful hats she made and decorated herself, she was a proficient seamstress. My favorite thing she made, and I think hers too, were the Raggedy Ann (and Andy) dolls. I don't recall ever reading the books, but she knew the stories for Raggedy Ann. Other than sewing and church, I never saw her anywhere else except her garden, even into the last years of her life. She had a grand garden, looking quite well for the weather we have in the Seattle area, and could grow any flower or vegetable. My nickname for her was Freedy Weedy - I thought I was pretty clever. I explained to my dad many times on the car ride, "It's 'cause she's always WEEEDINNNG. WEEEDINNG. Get ittt??? Daaad?" I must've been an exhausting child.

My aunt was one of those old school frontier women, who was raised on a large ranch started after her parents, german/irish immigrants, had settled in Oregon after reaching the end of the long Oregon trail. I've seen black and white pictures of her as a young, thin little 20-something, riding a motorcycle to and from work "while the men were away at war." Auntie Freda lived to her nineties and died not too long ago. Her older sister, who died more than a decade ago and was much older, was named Eunice. Gotta love those immigrant names. Eunice raised my mom during the early years of my mom's life while my grandma was at school and my mom's sisters were at Catholic boarding school. Later, Freda was a part of my life raising me. I would watch Freda and Eunice play pinochle or bridge for hours at a time, bickering with each other about the rules or whatever sisters bicker over, while they snacked on sugar cookies.



It's funny how I remember sub-conciously little childhood things like this when I feel like I'm truly at home. I found I was singing to myself this morning, as I was cleaning up the house, "home again, home again, jiggity jog..."