Summer is going by so quickly and before I know it, it will be back to school time. Next week to be precise. This summer I was able to go to Minnesota to see my in-laws because my mother-in-law was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, which is a type of blood cancer. I went with Sarah and baby Joshua and we met up with Rachael who had flown there from San Francisco. We only stayed about 4 days, but it was long enough for a nice visit and to catch up with everyone and see that my mother in law was doing well in spite of it all.
Isn't it funny that women usually end up holding up their partners emotionally and not the other way around? My in-laws have been married for 61 years and have raised 6 sons and been through good times and hard times. Somehow though, my father in law has not learned to take care of himself. His wife has been cooking, cleaning and literally dressing him, or at least putting out his clothes when she wants him dressed properly, for all these years. Therefore, he is an emotional wreck at this point. He wants to take charge and tell my MIL to take it easy and not to strain herself, but in the mean time, he doesn't have a clue in the kitchen much past boiling water. He tends to overreact to everyone and everything. Joan, my MIL, has times when she feels weaker, especially after her infusions, and times that she feels pretty good. Don, my FIL, has a really hard time distinguishing between the good times and the bad, so he overreacts by yelling at Joan and everyone else. He wants her to sit down, to not get up and go to the kitchen, to rest, to relax, but how can you rest when someone is yelling at you? On Joan's part, she simply wants to be allowed to do what she has always done, which is to determine for herself what she can and will do. I tried to have a little conversation with Don about backing off when she is feeling better, but I don't know if he can hear that right now.
I returned from Minnesota and a few days later I was off to San Francisco for 11 days to spend some time with Rachael and her husband Misha. Rachael was in the throws of fertility treatment, which I knew little about. It was very advanced and high tech with many tests, injections and oral medications to be taken in preparation for the ultimate event which is the actual embryo transplant.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Finishing up the year.
As any teacher can tell you, the last week of school before the holidays is the home stretch. There is so much to do to wrap up the semester, but then there are a host of expectations that you have for yourself. Some of these might include: Do I get a gift for everyone I work with and if so what will it be this year, Do I plan some special activities with my braille students and this one gets a resounding YES. I went to Target today and looked around for awhile to see what might inspire me. I'm thinking of buying gingerbread boys at the panaderia and getting frosting and sprinkles to decorate them with the kids. This has been a favorite activity in the past, although the kids don't seem to love eating the gingerbread. Maybe the taste is too strong.
On the grandbaby front, Joshua is 6 weeks old now and getting cuter by the day. His little social smiles are starting to come more frequently and he is getting more alert to things like Christmas lights. We went to the park tonight; Joshua's mom Sarah, Joshua and me. The park has holiday miniature houses which have different themes like a bank, a school house, a church, a library etc. It was fun to walk around with Joshua and it seemed that he was getting glimpses of Christmas lights and music.
After several health scares and numerous tests, all is either well or inconclusive. I'm continuing to struggle with neuropathy , which basically means that my legs and arms usually feel tingly, numb or like they're on fire. Walking is difficult, but I do the best I can because I want to continue working for as long as I can. I still don't know the cause of it, and I may never know. I've certainly expended time, energy and money looking for a cause and hopefully a treatment, but its been elusive. Well meaning friends will often say "aren't you glad its not....(name the disease)? But somehow, I dont feel so glad that I have a mystery disease that is sapping my strength and ability to walk. To me, no diagnosis equals no treatment.
This Christmas my older son and daughter will be here for the first time since they were married. They're bringing their little pug Pistachio and will be staying in a hotel because we weren't sure how the dogs would behave with a new dog in the house. Nolan, our 11 year old Miniature schnauzer is very territorial. In fact, when Sarah came over to the house with baby Joshua, Nolan was not happy and started bark with a strange high pitched bark. My in-laws are also coming down from Minnesota right after Christmas so it should be a festive time. Everyone is excited to meet and get to know baby Joshua.
On the grandbaby front, Joshua is 6 weeks old now and getting cuter by the day. His little social smiles are starting to come more frequently and he is getting more alert to things like Christmas lights. We went to the park tonight; Joshua's mom Sarah, Joshua and me. The park has holiday miniature houses which have different themes like a bank, a school house, a church, a library etc. It was fun to walk around with Joshua and it seemed that he was getting glimpses of Christmas lights and music.
After several health scares and numerous tests, all is either well or inconclusive. I'm continuing to struggle with neuropathy , which basically means that my legs and arms usually feel tingly, numb or like they're on fire. Walking is difficult, but I do the best I can because I want to continue working for as long as I can. I still don't know the cause of it, and I may never know. I've certainly expended time, energy and money looking for a cause and hopefully a treatment, but its been elusive. Well meaning friends will often say "aren't you glad its not....(name the disease)? But somehow, I dont feel so glad that I have a mystery disease that is sapping my strength and ability to walk. To me, no diagnosis equals no treatment.
This Christmas my older son and daughter will be here for the first time since they were married. They're bringing their little pug Pistachio and will be staying in a hotel because we weren't sure how the dogs would behave with a new dog in the house. Nolan, our 11 year old Miniature schnauzer is very territorial. In fact, when Sarah came over to the house with baby Joshua, Nolan was not happy and started bark with a strange high pitched bark. My in-laws are also coming down from Minnesota right after Christmas so it should be a festive time. Everyone is excited to meet and get to know baby Joshua.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Older and Wiser
It's an exciting time in my life. My newest grandchild is due in two short weeks. I'm really excited about the impending birth because my daughter actually lives in my town. She's asked me to come with her to the hospital when she's in labor and I'll actually see my grandson being born.
Ive been thinking about retirement lately, not as in permanently never work again, but more like a change of venue. My daughter is going to be staying home for a while to take care of her newborn son, but after she goes back to work, I may take care of Joshua. I'm excited to be able to do it and kind of sad at the same time because I didn't get to stay home with my own kids at that age. I was too caught up in the "got to work to pay the bills" cycle.
On the health front, things have been a bit crazy for me lately. I had lumbar fusion surgery last December 2012, and have been healing well from that. I've had much less back pain lately and can actually bend down to pick something up. So I thought that it was going to be all uphill from there, recovery and then back to my normal life, if there is any such thing. But no, there wasn't to be any easy recovery for me. It started with abdominal pain in the spring, continued with numbness and weakness in my arms and legs and has continued with many odd symptoms which don't seem to add up to anything, according to the many tests I have had. It's really frustrating to be in the this limbo of testing and not knowing what's next. Sometimes, as it happens to other people, one test leads to a completely different set of tests unrelated to what you thought you were looking for. So I'm not sure that I'm any closer to a diagnosis than I was three months ago, but I've spent a lot of money looking. I'd like to get off this testing wagon, but pain and numbness have a way of keeping you seeking relief. It just doesn't quit!
Sometimes I get really sad and feel like I won't be able to do all the things in my bucket list. While you work, you dream of the time you retire as a kind of Disneyland where all your dreams will come true. I'm grateful that I've been able to travel throughout the years, both in the US and outside in other countries. I think about the trips I took with my mom;Mexico, Guatemala, Ghana, and I wonder whether I'll be able to travel with any of my kids. I did get to go to San Miguel de Allende with one of my daughters and I went to Ireland with another daughter. My older son and I went to Ghana with my mom through Global Volunteers when he was only 13 years old. I'm so glad we did it.
I've got to keep up the positive attitude in order to face each day. Going to work actually helps with that, because I have responsibilities that have to be met no matter how I feel. I have to put on a sunny face and go do my job.. The kids bring me joy and a sense of pride in their accomplishments anyway. People will often say to me in amazement that they've never seen a child read in braille or that they didn't know a blind child could be so independent. I'm amazed too sometimes, because of their progress, and I know that I had a big part in making that progress possible. It's a sense of pride that all teachers share.
Ive been thinking about retirement lately, not as in permanently never work again, but more like a change of venue. My daughter is going to be staying home for a while to take care of her newborn son, but after she goes back to work, I may take care of Joshua. I'm excited to be able to do it and kind of sad at the same time because I didn't get to stay home with my own kids at that age. I was too caught up in the "got to work to pay the bills" cycle.
On the health front, things have been a bit crazy for me lately. I had lumbar fusion surgery last December 2012, and have been healing well from that. I've had much less back pain lately and can actually bend down to pick something up. So I thought that it was going to be all uphill from there, recovery and then back to my normal life, if there is any such thing. But no, there wasn't to be any easy recovery for me. It started with abdominal pain in the spring, continued with numbness and weakness in my arms and legs and has continued with many odd symptoms which don't seem to add up to anything, according to the many tests I have had. It's really frustrating to be in the this limbo of testing and not knowing what's next. Sometimes, as it happens to other people, one test leads to a completely different set of tests unrelated to what you thought you were looking for. So I'm not sure that I'm any closer to a diagnosis than I was three months ago, but I've spent a lot of money looking. I'd like to get off this testing wagon, but pain and numbness have a way of keeping you seeking relief. It just doesn't quit!
Sometimes I get really sad and feel like I won't be able to do all the things in my bucket list. While you work, you dream of the time you retire as a kind of Disneyland where all your dreams will come true. I'm grateful that I've been able to travel throughout the years, both in the US and outside in other countries. I think about the trips I took with my mom;Mexico, Guatemala, Ghana, and I wonder whether I'll be able to travel with any of my kids. I did get to go to San Miguel de Allende with one of my daughters and I went to Ireland with another daughter. My older son and I went to Ghana with my mom through Global Volunteers when he was only 13 years old. I'm so glad we did it.
I've got to keep up the positive attitude in order to face each day. Going to work actually helps with that, because I have responsibilities that have to be met no matter how I feel. I have to put on a sunny face and go do my job.. The kids bring me joy and a sense of pride in their accomplishments anyway. People will often say to me in amazement that they've never seen a child read in braille or that they didn't know a blind child could be so independent. I'm amazed too sometimes, because of their progress, and I know that I had a big part in making that progress possible. It's a sense of pride that all teachers share.
Friday, March 16, 2012
It Gets Better
I just watched a video Cesar Milan made for the It Gets Better project. I so related to a lot of what he expressed in his video. But I have not become a media super star, have not become someone who can easily share information that might be shocking to some people. So mostly I just think to myself.
I was bullied miserably from about 3rd grade on, that I can actually remember. Most of it came from one main reason- that I lived on a farm in a time and place where farm kids were not the norm and that I smelled like a farm when I went to school. For the longest time, throughout my childhood and adolescence I simply thought that getting ridiculed for smelling like the farm was one more lie they told about me. It was only later, when I returned to the farm after having been gone for a while, that I realized that my clothes really did smell bad. It was a mixture of scents that filled my house; manure, urine and wood smoke. These smells combined for a scent that wouldn't quit.
I remember a time with my mom when she got so hurt by her father because she was attending a funeral of an old family member in newly purchased clothes, and he told her that she smelled like cows. She just couldn't believe or accept that there might be some truth to that, so she internalized it as one more hurtful thing her father said to her.
During my high school years, I rode the private school bus with students from various private schools in the Capitol District. Those students were particularly loathsome to me, and made every effort to ridicule me on the bus, even resorting to using a little sister to come from behind me and slap my face. Of course if I said anything, I was labeled a bully because after all, she was only in 3rd grade and I in was a high schooler. Even the bus driver was complicit in this, ignoring what they did to me and reprimanding me if I said anything to the little girl. And so it went on and on. I would always sit by myself and often just put my head against the window to pass the time.
It wasn't until I got to college that bullying really stopped. I was still shy and had difficulty making friends because of my years of being isolated, but no one knew about the farm and I didn't tell them.
I was bullied miserably from about 3rd grade on, that I can actually remember. Most of it came from one main reason- that I lived on a farm in a time and place where farm kids were not the norm and that I smelled like a farm when I went to school. For the longest time, throughout my childhood and adolescence I simply thought that getting ridiculed for smelling like the farm was one more lie they told about me. It was only later, when I returned to the farm after having been gone for a while, that I realized that my clothes really did smell bad. It was a mixture of scents that filled my house; manure, urine and wood smoke. These smells combined for a scent that wouldn't quit.
I remember a time with my mom when she got so hurt by her father because she was attending a funeral of an old family member in newly purchased clothes, and he told her that she smelled like cows. She just couldn't believe or accept that there might be some truth to that, so she internalized it as one more hurtful thing her father said to her.
During my high school years, I rode the private school bus with students from various private schools in the Capitol District. Those students were particularly loathsome to me, and made every effort to ridicule me on the bus, even resorting to using a little sister to come from behind me and slap my face. Of course if I said anything, I was labeled a bully because after all, she was only in 3rd grade and I in was a high schooler. Even the bus driver was complicit in this, ignoring what they did to me and reprimanding me if I said anything to the little girl. And so it went on and on. I would always sit by myself and often just put my head against the window to pass the time.
It wasn't until I got to college that bullying really stopped. I was still shy and had difficulty making friends because of my years of being isolated, but no one knew about the farm and I didn't tell them.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
To Be of Use
To Be of Use
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
~Marge Piercey
This poem was read at my mom's memorial service by one of her granddaughters. I was reminded of it when I went to the Rio Grande Valley live stock show on Monday. I loved seeing the kids with their animals, whether they were feeding them, leading them, washing them or just hanging around them. It reminded me so much of my childhood days spent at the fair, that feeling of being one with your livestock. Its hard to explain the feeling to people who have never owned or shown animals. The closest chance many kids will get to that is reading Charlotte's Web, especially the part about going to the fair. Its not all about days gone by, because there are kids that still experience the joy of raising an animal and showing it at the fair.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Perhaps you knew Sheila
My Mom died a month ago. I wrote this the day of her memorial service. The theme kept coming to me every night after she died. I thought about all the different facets of her life and how, if you weren't part of her immediate family, you probably wouldn't understand all of her many parts. Even if you were part of her family, it was easy to forget that she had all these different sides of her that didn't necessarily go together and yet they did.
My daughter Sarah read the tribute at my mom's memorial service. I wanted to do it, but I didn't think I could get through it. It was really nice to have her speak anyway; to hear the strength of her voice and to know that she was there.
Mom was quirky. Mom was an enigma. Mom was eccentric in her own special way, although she didn't fit most people's definition of eccentric. I'll be thinking about Mom for the rest of my life.
Perhaps you knew Sheila- A tribute to our Mom, Granny
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a graduate of The Chapin School, Harvard University and Russell Sage College.These were the educational institutions that shaped her thinking and inspired her love of anthropology and education.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a teacher. She taught 2nd and 4th grade at Waterford-Halfmoon Elementary for 31 years. Her love of education and her love of children merged there and she taught and inspired many children to love reading and writing. She was immensely proud of the many students who came to her, telling stories of how she had influenced the paths they had taken.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a member of Grace Episcopal Church, as a person of faith. Sheila's faith was not easily defined for she found God in relationships with people and animals. She found joy in a newborn grandchild, peace in a lamb that had recovered from the effects of cold weather and hope in waiting for the arrival of grandchildren adopted from Korea, Haiti and Honduras.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a farmer. Her love of the land and farm animals took her far from the path of her own siblings. Sheila was a person who marched to the beat of her own drummer. When she decided to leave Troy and buy a farm in Melrose with Anthony, there would be no dissuading her from purchasing cattle, sheep and goats so that all five of her children could be involved in the farm. Hayfield's farm would be no gentleman's farm, but rather a full blown family farm with a herd of milking cattle, dairy goats and over 600 sheep at its peak. Every child had their own breed of cattle and sheep and all were involved in 4-H throughout their childhoods.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a world traveler. She began traveling with her own father when he was in his 80's and continued traveling the world with organizations which would allow her to be a participant in the lives of the people she visited. She fought for human rights through Witness for Peace, helped educate teachers and students through Global Volunteers and worked with underprivileged people throughout the world with Elderhostel programs.
Perhaps you knew Sheila in the final years of her life. Her strength of character and determination to be independent allowed her to rebound from a brain injury in 2004 caused by a fall on ice. She returned to her farm after some time in rehab and resumed her life on the farm, with assistance from her children . After a fall and broken hip in August 2009, she could not return to her beloved farm and resided in the Eddy Village Green until her death. The nurses and caretakers there continued to enjoy her stories of children and travel and the farm for the duration of her life there.
Sheila was a caring, giving person who loved learning and sharing anything she could with those who needed it most. We will miss her and and will forever remember the beauty she brought to our lives.
Sheila Forster Morris
May 9, 1928-December 16th, 2011
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a teacher. She taught 2nd and 4th grade at Waterford-Halfmoon Elementary for 31 years. Her love of education and her love of children merged there and she taught and inspired many children to love reading and writing. She was immensely proud of the many students who came to her, telling stories of how she had influenced the paths they had taken.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a member of Grace Episcopal Church, as a person of faith. Sheila's faith was not easily defined for she found God in relationships with people and animals. She found joy in a newborn grandchild, peace in a lamb that had recovered from the effects of cold weather and hope in waiting for the arrival of grandchildren adopted from Korea, Haiti and Honduras.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a farmer. Her love of the land and farm animals took her far from the path of her own siblings. Sheila was a person who marched to the beat of her own drummer. When she decided to leave Troy and buy a farm in Melrose with Anthony, there would be no dissuading her from purchasing cattle, sheep and goats so that all five of her children could be involved in the farm. Hayfield's farm would be no gentleman's farm, but rather a full blown family farm with a herd of milking cattle, dairy goats and over 600 sheep at its peak. Every child had their own breed of cattle and sheep and all were involved in 4-H throughout their childhoods.
Perhaps you knew Sheila as a world traveler. She began traveling with her own father when he was in his 80's and continued traveling the world with organizations which would allow her to be a participant in the lives of the people she visited. She fought for human rights through Witness for Peace, helped educate teachers and students through Global Volunteers and worked with underprivileged people throughout the world with Elderhostel programs.
Perhaps you knew Sheila in the final years of her life. Her strength of character and determination to be independent allowed her to rebound from a brain injury in 2004 caused by a fall on ice. She returned to her farm after some time in rehab and resumed her life on the farm, with assistance from her children . After a fall and broken hip in August 2009, she could not return to her beloved farm and resided in the Eddy Village Green until her death. The nurses and caretakers there continued to enjoy her stories of children and travel and the farm for the duration of her life there.
Sheila was a caring, giving person who loved learning and sharing anything she could with those who needed it most. We will miss her and and will forever remember the beauty she brought to our lives.
Sheila Forster Morris
May 9, 1928-December 16th, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
And the walls came tumbling down
Daughter #1 arrived back in Texas rather unexpectedly. We had tried so hard to convince her that staying in California was the best thing for her to do, seeing that she wasn't going to be able to bring her daughter here. I guess we were trying the tough love approach, hoping that somehow it would sink in and have a positive effect on the rest of her life. We explained that she didn't need to go to school this semester, she could just work and get to know her daughter better. We explained that she could go to any one of a thousand schools in California, that they would welcome her and her GI bill money into their school.
What made the arrival even more shocking was that she had been here already for almost a week before she appeared at the door. There was no hi or hello, no apology or explanation, but just an "I'm here to pick up my stuff" kind of attitude. Really all she could say was that she had told "Daddy" that she was going to come. Of course she forgot the part where he told her that it wasn't a good idea and that we couldn't support her if she came.
So she's here, but not in communication with us. She's here and living with a neighbor's cousin. She's here, but it's as though she isn't here. Except that our granddaughter has lost her mother. Precious little girl knows that she has a mother, but her mother has never taken care of her, never taken her home, never been a 24/7, 365 days a year kind of mother. It goes against everything that I ever believed about having a child or being a mom. But then I have to face the music, that I am not in charge and my daughter is an adult who is making her own decisions. It hurts really badly when I think about it too much, so I have to lay it aside and think that Precious Girl's Nana( her other grandmother) loves her and takes care of her and supports her like a mom should and maybe that's OK.
What made the arrival even more shocking was that she had been here already for almost a week before she appeared at the door. There was no hi or hello, no apology or explanation, but just an "I'm here to pick up my stuff" kind of attitude. Really all she could say was that she had told "Daddy" that she was going to come. Of course she forgot the part where he told her that it wasn't a good idea and that we couldn't support her if she came.
So she's here, but not in communication with us. She's here and living with a neighbor's cousin. She's here, but it's as though she isn't here. Except that our granddaughter has lost her mother. Precious little girl knows that she has a mother, but her mother has never taken care of her, never taken her home, never been a 24/7, 365 days a year kind of mother. It goes against everything that I ever believed about having a child or being a mom. But then I have to face the music, that I am not in charge and my daughter is an adult who is making her own decisions. It hurts really badly when I think about it too much, so I have to lay it aside and think that Precious Girl's Nana( her other grandmother) loves her and takes care of her and supports her like a mom should and maybe that's OK.
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