Friday, November 30, 2007
Since I made that promise, I have learned that I am scheduled to work December 23, 24, 25, 26, and 27th. I'm not really sure when I'm going to celebrate Christmas.
Grandpa went to be with the Lord on Thanksgiving, so now I guess it's a bit of a moot point. (Toss in the fact that this is probably the last week that the airlines will allow me to fly, and you've got an interesting situation.) So instead of flying back for Christmas, Brian and I flew back to Washington for his funeral.
The funeral was Friday, and I've rarely had such a good time. I shed some tears when they sang "The Way of the Cross Leads Home," but it was alright. I know that Grandpa is with the Lord, and few things can compare with that. I miss him horribly, but he was in such poor health these last few months that I'm glad he's finally at peace.
When my friend Travis was killed in Afghanistan two years ago, I had a great deal of trouble understanding his death: What does it mean to say that someone is "with the Lord?" The traditional imagery of clouds and harps and insipid angels left over from the Victorian era didn't help in the slightest.
Then I had a dream where I saw Travis and some of my other friends who'd died playing poker with Jesus. And while that metaphor undoubtedly would make many people a bit queasy, if you knew Travis at all, you'd know that it fits.
Grandpa was never one for cards, but he loved hunting and fishing. I don't know what forms of entertainment there are in heaven, but I do know he is enjoying himself immensely.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I got to spend lots of time with the "parents" (Mom and Aunt Tig.)
And the obligatory grandma and baby-to-be picture:
Since these pictures are all a month old, (baby) Shirley is now much more obvious. I had to go pants shopping again this week. Tomorrow, I plan to go shirt shopping, as I'm down to three long sleeved shirts that still fit. (And I refuse to wear scrub tops out in public if I'm not working.)
Brian's sister Meegan quit smoking 25 hours before this picture was taken!
(My somewhat manic expression is explained by four plane flights in five days.)
We're slowly but surely getting the house set up. The living room looks quite nice right now.
We've still got many boxes of books to unpack, but the two large bookcases really helped make the place feel more like home.
And unlike any of our previous residences, we have a BACK YARD! (This is the view from our bedroom window.) I was so excited I went out and bought books on gardening.
I'd love to make it look like the neighbor's yard. Hopefully the plants will feel the "peer pressure" and decide they want to live.
One nice thing about working the floor is that being on my feet and moving for eight hours generally rocks Shirley to sleep. Unfortunately, sitting still for six to eight hours each day this week during orientation keeps her awake. And when she's awake, she likes to kick my internal organs.
This has caused me to realize something: I have the bladder capacity of a gerbil. Between the fact that Shirley takes up a surprising amount of space in my abdomen (leaving me with the uncomfortable realization that I have enough room for her, a full stomach, or a full bladder, but certainly not all three at the same time) and her regular karate kicks to my bladder, I had to go pee every hour and a half!
Every so often I start to wonder if catheters are really as uncomfortable as the patients claim. Sometimes, I think they'd be really convenient...
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Remember this picture?
It is the result of reading Debbie New books late at night and thinking, "Hey, that could be fun!" The final product looks like this:
And now it lives at one of my favorite online magazines.
The new job is going well so far. I worked my first shift on the floor yesterday. And because I still (a) occasionally have to dash to the bathroom when I'm worried I'm going to throw up suddenly and (b) grimace and spasmodicly clutch my abdomen when Shirley decides to perform a complete 360 degree sommersault, I was up front about the fact that I'm five and a half months pregnant. (I'm not going to be able to hide her much longer, even if empire waisted shirts are back in.)
"I don't believe it! You don't look pregnant!" was what several of them said.
"Just because you don't see her, doesn't mean she isn't kicking my bladder," was my response.
And on the drive home, it struck me that with a bit of tweaking, this is a pretty standard response for believing in God or other spiritual things. (Without tweaking, it's a very scary comment on God.) I shared this with Brian.
"You're right love, it does work as that. But it's also an argument for pretty much anything you can't see--like the existence of elves."
Maybe I can convince the Keebler elves to bring me some cookies....