For Whom the Doorbell Tolls

I’m a friendly person. I really am. I’m easy to get along with, because there are very few things that bother me. Even at that, I realize the things that bother me don’t necessarily bother others. I guess I’m a live and let live kind of person. You do your thing and I’ll do mine.

You don’t have to agree with me for us to get along. Most of my friends are polar opposites of me. In fact, so is most of my family. So is my husband. I’m used to being the odd one out, and having a sense of humor about it.

Being the friendly sort, I like people. All kinds, all colors, all faiths, all beliefs. You don’t have to be like me. In fact, there’s an excellent chance you won’t be, which is probably a good thing for you. Having said that, I’m feeling a little less than friendly lately.

The reason? My hyperactive doorbell. It’s not my family and friends that I’m opposed to, and it’s certainly not the pizza guys and gals, who are welcomed with open arms. It’s the others, and they are starting to make a nuisance of themselves. They fall into three broad categories. If I were the unfriendly type, I would post a notice by my doorbell. It would go something like this.

"If you are a salesman, we don’t want any. If we wanted it, we would have already bought it." This category would include the vacuum salesman that stayed for almost three hours, in spite of the fact that we told him, repeatedly, we weren’t interested. I have hard wood and tile through most of my home. The one room with carpet doesn’t need a vacuum that costs thousands of dollars. Which we told him, over and over. He had apparently been dropped off, and was waiting on a ride. We finally got him back out of the door, and he had to wait for a ride. Mean of us, yes, but so is not taking no for an answer.

"No, we do not want you to rake our leaves, cut our grass, or trim our trees. We have a yard service for that. If we get desperate, we have a 12 year-old son for that." This one really gets to me. We have someone ring our doorbell just about every single day offering to do yard work. First of all, I frankly just don’t care if I have leaves in my yard. I have two giant oak trees in my yard, so I’m going to have leaves, even if the yard guy has just come. As soon as the wind blows, there are going to be more leaves.

Neither do I care if the grass is an 1/8 of an inch above where it should be. I pay handsomely for someone to do my yard, but admittedly we are easygoing about it. He gets to us when he can. We just aren’t that picky. When the day comes that I have only the leaves on my yard to stress over, that will be a joyful day indeed.

And, last but not certainly not least: "I am a firm believer in my faith. You are not going to change my mind. Please don’t try." I am apparently doomed to damnation, at least in one sweet lady’s mind. She is sincere. She is faithful. She has been to my door probably a dozen times in the last three months. I think she is truly concerned for me, but she just will not accept that I am strong in my faith and she is not going to sway me. I like her, and wouldn’t mind getting to know her or having a cup of coffee with her.

But I’m not going to argue about my faith with her. She doesn’t agree with mine, and I happen to believe hers is a cult, not a religion. I haven’t told her that, because it would offend her, and that is not what I want to do. She really is sweet. So is all of the others that want me to switch brands to their particular version of their particular religion.

I don’t believe there is only one true faith, only one brand that is the chosen one. People are individuals, and different types of churches that worship in different ways appeal to different people. I think God is a lot more concerned about whether or not we worship Him than how we choose to worship Him. There are a few absolute truths that a church must believe in order to truly be a church, but other than that, I just don’t think it matters what name is over the door.

We each have our individual styles of worship and our individual preferences of churches. God made us as individuals, so I believe He understands our need to have different churches.
My sweet little lady calls it being divisive. I call it being unique, the way God made each of us.

I’m a friendly sort, to all sorts. But if you are a salesman, a itinerant yard worker, or in the mood to convert someone, I would prefer you go be friendly to someone else. Unless you’re bringing pizza. In that case, you can ring my doorbell anytime.

Looking Back To Go Forward

Several weeks ago, I was at the Mayo Clinic. One of the things I was required to do was attend a two day Pain Clinic. This is not something I wanted to do. I had to do it as a step to getting ready for surgery later on this year.

When I told my doctor that I felt like I had the coping skills the pain clinic would teach me, he explained that it was a requirement. Since the surgery will not fix my problem and will not take away all of the pain from my problem, the team of doctors on my case require the two day seminar. As my doctor put it, if nothing else, I had to attend it so we could check off that little box on the list of things I had to do to get ready.

So I went, with a not so good attitude. I absolutely hate being required to do something, and especially dislike doing something that seems like both a waste of time and money.
I know how to relax. I know how to breathe. I know how to talk to my family, how to tell them when I am and am not capable of doing something. I know how to exercise and eat right and do things in moderation. I don’t abuse narcotics, because I don’t take them. I’m not depressed. I’m not stressed.

I did learn, though. One of the most important things I learned is that I have come a long, long way in these almost six years. The things I know to do didn’t just come naturally. It came by trial and error and mistakes and what didn’t work and what, finally, did work.
It would have been nice if five years ago or so someone would have mentioned a seminar at the Pain Clinic. The other thing, the most important thing, I learned is that other people on the journey I am sometimes lose their way.

Other people in the seminar were stressed. They were depressed. Some severely. They were addicted to pain killers. They didn’t have the support of their family and friends. Some of those folks were desperate for help, and needed that help right now.

It reminded me of darker days, of days when the pain was all encompassing, when I could think of nothing and no one else. It reminded me of when I did take narcotics, and it reminded me of why I no longer do. It reminded me of the awesome family and friends I have, and that I absolutely could not do this without their help and support.

I looked into the sometimes frantic eyes of the other group members, and I saw my past. They looked at those of us who have managed to come a little further, and they saw their future. There is hope, there is help, and, amazingly enough, there was something to be learned.

I started out thinking I would learn nothing of value at the Pain Clinic. I was wrong. I learned the most valuable lesson of all. I learned to appreciate what my life is now, because I had forgotten what it had been.

Waiting and Wondering

We got the call Saturday. A friend has a son in Iraq. His platoon had been hit. There was a fatality, and there were injuries. He was not the fatality. Otherwise, we would just have to wait for more information. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Through all the rest of Saturday. Through all of Sunday. Who knew a day could be so long, could drag on and on and on? His wife was getting updates every hour on the hour, yet still his name wasn't coming up. Going on the hope that no news was good news, the waiting went on. And on. And on. Through Sunday night and into the early hours of Monday.

And then, finally, Monday morning, a short phone call. He is fine. Tired, dirty, dejected. And he can't talk about what happened or what is about to happen, what has his family and friends praying yet again for his safety. He can tell them it's not yet over, and so the waiting goes on. And on. And on. But so does the praying, for this man we love to be safe yet one more time; for all of them to be safe yet again.

And so we wait, and so we pray. Again and again, over and over, until the next phone call.

In Memory of Milo

We lost our dog Milo in the fire. It has been heartbreaking for us. He was our dear friend and a very special part of our family. Milo was a 13 year old maltese and has brought us a lot of joy and happiness. My heart goes out to all the families who lost their pet's.
Sincerly
Betty Jerome

In Loving Memory

I feel the loss as if mine had been there in that fire. Last week, Chance spent six days at Dr. Cato's home away from home, living in the doggy hotel until we got back from Minnesota. So easily, it could have been mine. It was some of yours. There is, quite simply, nothing that can be done to ease the pain and the sorrow. But I would want a way to remember my beloved pet if he had gone on, and so I would like to offer a way for anyone affected to do the same.

I would like to be able to memorialize the pets lost. If you will post your thoughts, your stories, your memories or whatever you would like, I will put them all together on this blog, and we will rejoice in their lives and the love and joy they brought to us. We might be able to upload pictures, too. I'm still not sure about that part.

For now, this is your page, to honor the lives and the memory of your pets. If you have questions or comments or concerns, email me at tfurnish@sbcglobal.net.

Horror

My first thought was "Oh, Dear God, have mercy." My next thought was of the horror, the tragedy, and the loss, both human and not. Dr. B.R. Cato's veterinarian office burned down early this morning. That in and of itself would be a tragedy, for he is a good man and an excellent vet.

But it couldn't be just as simple as a tragedy to a good man. There were animals in there, about 40 of them. None of them, not one, could be saved. And so, the horror. There isn't blame here. I'm sure the Fire Department did all they could do. The building was blazing when they got there. There was, quite simply, nothing they could do for the animals.

And Dr. Cato? I can't imagine what he is going through right now, but I know that he takes excellent care of my cherished pet. He is compassionate and understanding and loving, to each of his patients. So I would think that the word grieving doesn't cover it. Horrified, devastated... there just are no words.

If this seems personal to you, let me assure it is. Last week my fur baby would have been there, and today he would no longer be with us. So, yeah, this hits home for me. My pet wasn't there, but someone's was, and they loved their pet just as much as we love ours. Their loss was as devastating as our loss would have been.

For Dr. Cato, that loss is magnified times forty. He has lost his business, but I would think that would pale in comparison to the loss of life. Every time I see him, I am struck again by his gentleness, and I just can't imagine the suffering he will endure in the coming weeks.

So, the horror. If your pet was there, I am so very sorry for you. I know it doesn't help the loss, but I am so very, very sorry. If you want to tell your story, or share a cherished memory, feel free to do it through this page, in the comments section. You can contact me, and I'll share my space with you. I know it's not much, but I feel helpless and would like to be able to do something.

Home Again

We survived it all. Again. Thursday morning started off sticky, literally, with needles going into my brain. Yes, it hurts. A lot. It got kind of interesting when the doctors couldn't find a pulse in my brain for a while. You pretty much need one of those pulses to be, well, alive. I was obviously alive, but they really, really wanted to find that pulse. We all breathed a sigh of relief when they found it, faint, but there. When I mentioned that my husband has always thought I should donate my brain to science when I die, the doctors agreed that it would be a service to mankind. I don't think they were joking.

Thursday afternoon was even more needles. Sigh. But then we packed up and left, on our way home. Yea! Our feeling of euphoria was short lived. We hit Iowa, and Iowa hit back with a nasty snowstorm. What falls silently at home was hitting our windshield so hard it sounded like hard rain. It looked like dense fog. Yes, we know better than to schedule a trip in January. It was getting dark and slick. We pulled off at a hotel, only to learn it was shut down. Lovely. We got back on the interstate, diligently praying for our safety and for a hotel to magically appear.

We made it to Cedar Rapids, and then got totally twisted around in downtown. We could see the hotels, but we couldn't get to them. They have an amazingly twisted version of one way streets. We managed to accidentally get back on the interstate going north, the direction we had just come. Not a good thing. My husband was not using his happy voice. The streets were slick, the traffic was heavy, and we were exhausted.

We got back off, got twisted and untwisted and finally just made a illegal u-turn to avoid going where we didn't want to go again. We found a hotel, found a room, and rejoiced that we were out of that mess. It snowed for hours, and for inches and inches. What the locals called "just a dusting" and what amounted to about half a foot when it was all said and done.

Friday morning we waited for rush hour to clear off the roads, then got back headed South where just a dusting of snow is not half a foot, but half a inch. My kind of snow. My kind of place. Around Here. Thank God.

Day Three- Free Day

Today is my birthday, and the best gift was that we had a free day at Mayo. That means no needles, a very good thing. Tomorrow there will be lots of needles, a not-so-good thing. We love exploring up here. It is so different from home, and we have seen some amazing things in the years we have been coming to Minnesota.

Today we went east, to a community called Harmony. Wouldn't it be nice to live in a place called Harmony? It is an Old Order Amish community. Horse and buggies, no electricity, very strict rules. We passed a horse and buggy with his rider, and while the rig went faster than I had imagined, I also felt sorry for the man. It's cold up here, and that open air rig couldn't have been a comfortable drive. We browsed in some of the shops, and the attention to detail and workmanship was incredible.

While I think I would go crazy living that life-style, I can see the benefit of a community of like minded people working together and pulling together in times of need to help each other. Gary thinks that if you could get accustomed to the life style, it would eventually be relaxing. No debt, less stress, people that you knew you could count on.

We also drove to the small community of Lanesboro, probably what our downtown Main Street would like to grow up to be. Shops, restaurants, theaters, galleries and other attractions are in old historic buildings that have been restored. The town is nestled into the bluffs along the Root River, which meanders its way lazily in around and through town. A foot bridge crosses over the river and leads to a lake with a gazebo on it. The lake is frozen now, and shows signs of foot and snowmobile traffic across it. We watched eagles fly and land in their nests in the cold, clear air, and looked out over the snow covered hills and valleys.

When we got back to Rochester, I went to my favorite Italian restaurant, Victoria's. It's almost worth the twelve hour drive just to go there. Even Gary likes it, high praise from my picky husband. They make a great steak for those non-Italian lovers among us, husbands included. The hotel shuttle driver sang to me on the way to the restaurant, so all of the rest of the passengers on their way back to the hotel from their various appointments at Mayo joined in. It was a .... unique....experience.

So this has been an excellent day, filled with new sights and sounds and wonders. I would prefer not to spend a birthday, or any day when it comes down to it, at Mayo. But since I had to be here, we made the best of it.

Day One - Monday

Day One is over and done, another one down and survived. It was a looong one. But it's over. I'm sore from so much walking. Mayo is a huge place, actually a complex of quite a few buildings spread out over several city blocks. One appointment today was at St. Mary's hospital this morning; a continuation at St. Mary's from 1 p.m. to about 3; then another appointment at Mayo, which is actually just one building in the whole complex. St. Mary's is probably a mile or more from the Mayo building.

There are shuttles that take you from building to building and wheelchairs if you need them, but even just going from one appointment to another in the same building requires covering the equivalent of several city blocks.

We went to Fridays to eat my favorite thing...fried green beans. I know it sounds gross. It is actually a lot better than it sounds. It has no nutritional value whatsoever, but I really like them, and we don't have a TGIFriday's at home. After that we went to the mall to use one of my Christmas gifts from my mother-in-law, a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble. I love to read, and could literally spend hours in a book store. I never get to spend as much time as I want, because there is always something else that needs to be done. But up here, after we are done for the day, we have nothing but time to kill. Gary got a magazine and just sat and read while I browsed and browsed and browsed. I loved it. Gary tolerated it.

Tomorrow it is back to St. Mary's hospital for another full day, but then we get a break Wednesday.

We're Here

Here we are in Rochester, and I must say it was an...interesting trip up. About eight hours into the twelve hour journey, Gary and I renewed our vow to never, ever, ever come to Minnesota in January again.

We meant it last time we made that vow. I'm pretty sure we aren't going to have to learn this lesson a third time. It's not fit for man or beast up here. I stick by the theory I made a few years ago that the reason people stay up here during the winter is that something freezes up in their brain during the brutal weather and they forget how horrible it is from winter to winter. Then they are stuck and can't get out during the worst of the weather, but then it gets nicer and they don't remember how horrible it was. It is a vicious cycle. These poor folks have three seasons to escape but don't.

This time, it was fog that made the trip interesting. Not just any fog, though. Warm fog. I'm not sure what a weatherman would call it. It is unusually warm up here (for this part of the country). Most of Iowa was in the fifties on our way north, and Minnesota was in the high thirties. That warm air was hovering over literally feet and feet of piled up snow over the fields and at the edges of the roadways. It created this monster fog from the warm air over the cold snow. You just couldn't see at all, and you couldn't see for hours. It cleared up about 15 minutes before we got to the hotel. Sigh.

And it gets better. Freezing rain and sleet and snow tomorrow. But at least we don't have to drive in it, since I will be at the hospital all day. Inside is about the only way I want to deal with Minnesota weather. It is pretty to watch, because it can snow a whole lot in just a little bit of time. But all in all, I'm glad I'm just a visitor.

Forgetfulness and Other Diseases

Wow. Long time no blog. Sorry about that. My editor is too. I'm not quite used to having a blog yet, and I got caught up in the holidays and sort of, well, forgot. Memory is not one of my best things.

I used to have a memory, then I developed a brain with swiss cheese-like holes in it. My theory is that the memory was the first thing to start leaking out. The medication I take has memory loss as a side effect.

Which means that I pretty much forget everything, all the time. We live on post-it notes and dry erase boards at our house. There is one in every room and by every telephone, plus a Master Board of sorts on the refrigerator. If you want me to do it, it better be written down. If you don't write it down, you never said it. Even if you said it a dozen times, it just didn't happen if I can't see it in writing.

It's frustrating, but it is also a fact of life. It's easier to just learn how to cope than it is to fuss and fume and wish otherwise. I have one place, and one place only, that I always put my keys. They never go anywhere else. Therefore they never get lost and I never forget where I put them. If I put them somewhere else, my family puts them back where they go. My husband has one place for his keys and wallet. My son has one place for his backpack, and the hated belt he has to wear to school everyday.

It sounds organized and efficient, but what it really does is save a lot of fuss and bother. If I don't have one place for the important things, I will never remember where I put them. If I don't have one place to write down things for me to remember, I will never know where to look for important messages.

It started out as a necessity to keep us from killing each other and has evolved over the past five and a half years as a routine that saves a lot of grief and searching and "don't you remember that I told you about that?"

Because at my house, the answer is always No. I don't remember. Not even five or ten minutes later. It is frustrating, and I try to remember, and I wish I could remember, but there is just a black hole in there some where. Maybe all those jocks in high school that accused me of being an airhead, based on the fact that I was petite, perky and a natural blond, had it right all along after all. There may just be air in there. What is not in there is any sort of short term memory.

Since we've all settled down from the holidays now and have gotten back into some semblance of a routine, perhaps I'll do better with the blogging. SantaBaby (otherwise known the rest of the year as my husband) brought me a laptop for Christmas, so perhaps it will be easier now. It won't help the memory any, but it might make it more convenient. I'll try to do better. Maybe I'll write a note to myself. That usually works. Until I lose the note.