The robins are fat

They're about to pop

With eggs

And then the eggs will pop

With babies

Baby birds

The ground is also popping

With earthworms

Making the robins fatter

And eggs bigger

And babies-to-be grow strong

Time out for a brief moment of Optimism

I thank God for 26 years of a wonderful life, as well as
A loving family
A great husband
A wonderful church community/surrogate family
Thoughtful friends
Supportive co-workers
A stimulating and exciting job
Provision
Health
The beautiful, beaming sun this morning
Warmer temperatures
Fresh air
Three-day weekends
My kitty-cats
Food
The color blue
And I suppose I could go on for quite some time with random blessings, but I'll stop here.

"Praise God from Whom all blessings flow...."

Nit-picking twittiness

I'm really worn down. I am getting tired of being picked-on for little insigificant mistakes, and not even purposeful mistakes, but mistakes born out of mixed information from authorities.
Truth be told, I have a tendency to be critical myself, but at least I can be loving and gracious about it sometimes.
I feel that most people are out to one-up those around them. To look better than the next person. "Well at least I didn't do that."
I have those tendencies as well. I think it's only natural of our human, sinful selves.
All I'm asking for is a break. A long hiatus. And mostly from just one person.
Because it's always her.
She's always the one to find my mistakes and point them out.
And of course she's perfect.
Thin.
Perfect hair.
High-paid position in her workplace.
Perfect family of 2 kids and a husband.

Maybe she has all these things because she has made sure of it.

I wonder if she's an angry person.
If she's really just a big ball of tension stored up inside.
Slowly cutting off her intestines and overloading her heart.

All I know is that it makes me cry.
Because of my own hurt and because of how she is.

There's no winning in this situation. Not unless something changes....
Meaning her, not me.

Yes, that's me screaming at Chris Martin

I have recently realized that I am prone to get caught up in hype. But, I must qualify by saying that it must be quality hype. Or at least hype that seems interesting to me.

For example:

A few years ago, Chris and I went to a Coldplay concert in St. Louis. We had a great time, were able to stand in the front row, and I participated in fan frenzy. At the end of the show, Chris Martin stooped over as if reaching to touch us lucky women in the front row. So what did I do? I screamed and jumped and attempted to leap past the 3 foot barrier in front of me to reach him. Of course, nothing happened, except that I made a fool of myself, along with half a dozen other women. In that moment, I have no idea what came over me. I was not in control of my actions. I became like the women that you see in those old Beatles footage. Screaming and crying and passing out. Well, I wasn't that extreme, but it sure felt as if the same craziness overcame me.

Now, growing up in the 80's and 90's, I watched a lot of game shows. From "Press Your Luck" to "Price is Right" and "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." I wouldn't mind winning a million bucks, or even just a cheesy bedroom suite from Drew Carey. If I could just spin the wheel on "Wheel of Fortune" I think it might cure the bug. Or flip one of the letters for Vanna. That's really all I need to do.

Insomnia

I'm going mad

I can't sleep

I'm tired

I can't sleep

I'm awake

I can't sleep

I can't remember

I can't sleep

I can't concentrate

I can't sleep

I lie down

I can't sleep

I move around

I can't sleep

I can't get comfortable

I can't sleep

I need to close my eyes

I can't sleep

I keep thinking

I can't sleep

I see black

I can't sleep

I see lights

I can't sleep

I hear snoring

I can't sleep

I see you asleep

I can't sleep

Experiences of the surgical kind

When I wake up from anesthesia, I usually cry. A lot. I usually sob for quite a while.

Like after I had my adenoids taken out (adenoidectomy) and tubes put in my ears at 6. That would've been in 1988. Both were done because of my breathing problems and frequent ear infections. The tubes fell out on their own. I remember feeling something on my ear, then I looked down to see a large ball of yellow with a white spindle-type structure in the middle. It was about the size of a lentil. After that surgery I woke up in a room with curtains all around me, 2 strange women looking over me, and my mouth dry as a crusty towel. So they gave me a semi-damp washcloth to suck on. And I cried.

Then, there was the time I had my tonsils taken out (tonsillectomy). In 1995. The last thing I remembered as I was going under was, "It smells like garlic and gas." Plus, I had people holding me down from the 5 failed attempts to find a vein for the anesthetic. I woke up, once again to some strange people, extending a semi-damp washcloth to my blood-caked, dry lips. And as they wheeled me to the elevator, down to my room, I threw up. And I continued to cry.

A few months ago I had my wisdom teeth taken out. I was told it would be pretty easy. But, since I'm fair-skinned, there would probably be a lot of bruising. The IV was placed as if a textbook example. I woke up to 2 women helping me out of the chair and into the hallway, where my husband was waiting with a concerned look. Though I held two icepacks to my cheeks and the gauze inside my mouth was nearly choking me, I sobbed. Nearly uncontrollable. I got home, attempted to take my pain medicine, choked. I said, "I think I want to cry more." I got 2 dry sockets. And nerve pain from a cut nerve. And I cried. Oh dear, did I cry.

Then I set the date for the excision of a right wrist dorsal ganglion cyst. Outpatient surgery. First on the day's list.

The nurse anesthetist, Francesco, was a nice fellow. He had a student, Ryan, with him that day. They assured me that all would go well. I assured them that things usually don't. We discussed superficial things, like how ironic it would be for a physical therapist to get therapy post-op. He was the last one I talked to before I drifted away. He told me as I woke up that all was well. I watched as the team bandaged up my hand and forearm, then removed the tourniquet from my arm. I slowly became more aware of my surroundings, my thoughts, my body. Francesco said I kept talking during surgery, but I remember none of it. I asked if I said anything that would lessen his opinion of myself. He laughed and replied, "no."

As I was wheeled back to my room, I realized that I wasn't crying. I was actually smiling. Attempting to cheer up those that passed as I floated by. I laid in bed, watching Price is Right, sitting next to my husband. I laughed, took a bite of my bagel and drank some absolutely wonderful apple juice.

Realization

I like to write about my experiences in nature.
I really love nature.
God's creation around me is so beautiful,
so inspiring,
so humbling,
so peaceful.
Especially when it snows, or rains.
To the extreme, usually.
Like the last few days.
Love it.
Give me more.
2 feet of snow.
So we can't go anywhere.
Can't do anything,
except look out the windows in awe and wonder and amazement.
Just that.
Simply.

Peace and snow

Last night, Chris and I went for a walk around 10:30. It had been snowing for quite some time by then, so we layered up, zipped up our big coats, and put on our boots.

As we were walking through the streets, it was amazing to feel the pure, quiet, serenity that was present even on streets that are bustling come daytime. There were only a handful of cars on the streets, struggling to make their way home.

As Chris and I continued to walk toward Sheridan Rd, we crossed a large field, used for sports and other Northwestern activities.

We frolicked.
And played.
And Chris drug me in the snow.
And I spelled "I {heart} U!" in the snow.
And I ran a little.
And then we walked home.
Through Kendal College Haunted Indian Burial Grounds, as Chris and I like to pretend.
Tracking the deer, and rabbits, and dogs that went before us.
Following the footsteps of those who walked before us.
Saying, "Thank you" to someone shovelling the snow off the sidewalk, and given the cold shoulder.

Then returning home, stripping off the layers of cold, wetness.

And warming up with our kitties.

It was lovely.

So, getting back to the bumper sticker

To remind you:

"If animals could talk, we'd all be vegetarians."


Here goes....

I'm a vegetarian. And I don't like that bumper sticker.

First, I like animals. I LOVE animals. Not as much PETA, most likely, but I do really enjoy watching, interacting with, reading about animals (etc). Especially my own. If they could talk, that would definitely change part of my reasoning for abstaining from meat. But, since they don't speak the English language, or any human-contrived language for that matter, thinking about eating meat doesn't equate barbarianism-in my opinion.

Second, if my broccoli talked, I think I would freak out a bit and refuse to eat it (I wonder if kids are scared to eat tomatoes, or asparagus, or peaches after watching Veggie Tales. But, that's for another blog....). If my mashed potatoes bled and cried as I cut them up, that would definitely change things.

But, the truth of the matter is:
animals don't talk.
animals never will talk, unless God totally recreates them physiologically.
i'm a vegetarian because I don't like the way my stomach feels after eating meat. and it's kind of gross to eat something with blood still dripping out of it.

to wrap it up:
this is a stupid bumper sticker.

i suggest:
"If meat made everyone expel foul-smelling gas, we'd all be vegetarians."

in my opinion, that is.

Veggie to come

I have a blog that I will soon be posting over a bumper sticker that I keep seeing tootling around Evanston....it's going to be a good one. Stay tuned....

I don't/can't/wish I could understand.

Lately, I have been noticing when people call me the wrong name. This isn't new, but it's starting to irritate me. Especially when I politely correct them, and they still get it wrong. I mean, up to dozens of times-if not more. Currently, at one of the facilities I work at, there's me-Elisa-then there's two Elsa's. For some reason, I keep getting called Elsa, even though I look completely different than the Elsa's, am much newer, and have a different name. Granted, it is similar, but even when they know that my name is Elisa, they pronounce it totally wrong. After multiple corrections. And it's not the fact that they pronounce it wrong that annoys me, but the fact that after I politely correct them, they wave a hand and say something to the effect of, "Oh I'm never gonna get that right." As if I should feel guilty for having a different name. And not even that different of a name. It's not like it's Shaniqua, or Hui Liu, or Vladlena or something totally foreign (literally).

Anyway, it's a constant irritation, and something that I will be forever stuck with unless I put an 'A' in front of my name or add another 's'. Bah!!

Little boys don't always grow up

Since I got my new haircut, I have felt a bit more sassy. Maybe it also has something to do with meeting up with my old friend, Mandy. Either way, I've got a bit more gusto/confidence/brazenness in my system....

As I was walking home from work yesterday, I noticed a younger man (maybe 19 or 20), practicing on a unicycle. This is interesting to watch, plus he kept falling off, so I kept watching. As I got closer, I noticed that this young man did not have a shirt on, which is quite normal for the summer and boys his age. This was not disturbing....until I noticed that his shorts sagged down more than could be called an accident, revealing pink BVD's. I became a little frustrated. As I got closer, and this young man noticed me looking at him, a smirk spread over his mouth.

I became a little more than frustrated, probably on the level of antagonized. The feminist in me would not put up with this male chauvinism, this repugnance that was before me. Mrs. Sassy, the introvert, still had half a block to think of the right thing to say....

I thought: I can't be mean-that's not "WWJD". Then I thought, well I never say what I wish I could say and I always regret it. Like Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail. So, I gathered up my gumption, and out came:

"You're underwear's sticking out."

To which the boy smiled at me and replied, "What?" Having a look on his face as if he had conquered another woman. Gained the approval and desire of the opposite sex once more.

I said, a little louder, "You're underwear's sticking out!"

And the boy sheepishly grinned, lowered his head and tugged at his shorts to hoist them up.

VICTORY! VICTORY AT LAST!

It was a wonderful thing to revel in.

Not enough

I got my thunderstorm. But it wasn't exactly what I wanted. No sirens. No whirling wind or circling clouds. The torrential rain didn't even come on the same day as the fantastic thunder and lightning. It came the day before. Yes, our power was knocked out, but that wasn't enough. I need to see damaged cars, or at least downed branches....

So, now I want to go somewhere. I want to go to the ocean. I suppose I could walk down the street and go to the Lake. But, then I have to pay to simply walk on the beach or go swimming. And I would much rather do that somewhere exotic, or at least a bit more beautiful than the murky waters of Lake Michigan. Paying to enjoy God's creation. Quite ridiculous....

Thunderstorms

I terribly miss thunderstorms.

I wish for rain and thunder and lightning.

Really big.

Really loud.

I want to see crooked rain, and swirling debris,

and birds flying sideways.

I wish I could see a tornado, if it be possible.

I've always wanted to.

I love to hear the sirens go off.

The excitement that it brings.

The thought that something dreadful,

or amazing

could happen at any moment.

I wish for a storm soon....

City folk

TODAY I was sunning myself near the Lake, reading a bit of Lauren Winner and the Trib, when I heard a strange noise. It was complex. I heard two people screaming-out of surprise-and birds screeching-the kind of screeching when a cat is nearby. I looked up from my book, and watched. What unfolded in the next two hours was a great example of how ignorant city people can be about nature.
As I continued to watch, the couple that were making noise were also ducking and covering their heads as they pushed their stroller and child along the trail. The birds were "attacking". The people did not run away, or even simply carry on as normal. They kept attempting to reach a certain point near the edge of the trail. I realized that they must have found a fallen nest, eggs, or baby birds.
I could not believe my eyes, but I watched as the man grabbed a windbreaker, waved it over his head to hit away any swooping birds, and bent down to do whatever he intended to do. Then I saw the woman bend over as well, then open a Tupperware container and scatter what must have been leftovers from a kid's snack. They continued their ducking, until they walked out of the general vicinity of the birds.
During the next 30 minutes, people would walk along, not noticing the birds cackling or swooping, but merely walking or biking along.
Until, another couple came along, stroller in front, windbreakers wrapped around the waists. This time, they were more courageous. The man braved his way without his windbreaker, picked up whatever object was on the ground and headed for a tree. The woman clasped her hands to give the man's foot a boost, and the man climbed a few feet up the tree to return what "belonged" there. Then, they proceeded on their way.
Out of these two circumstances, I realized the positives and negatives:
Positives-The two couples were doing what they thought was right. They were trying to protect nature. They were trying to save a life, perhaps. They were being compassionate toward God's creation.
Negatives-They were foolhardy in their attempts. They possibly hurt the situation more than helped. They possibly cut that object off from the birds by touching it.
Now, who knows what preceded this event, or what will happen as a result. I was always taught to never touch a bird's egg or nest, or the bird will be unlikely to return to it. But, I was also taught to have compassion for God's creation. This causes conflict within me.
I have two cats. They are tame. They love being around people. Yet, they are drawn to the outside world. Is it wrong of me to isolate them from the rest of creation by taming them? I'm not sure. As in the words of Antoine de Saint-Exupery, in "The Little Prince": "You risk tears if you let yourself be tamed."