Confessions of a Chia Bomber

When I first started planning my trip to Washington State to help Allyson settle into her dorm, I was thrilled to find I'd earned enough frequent flyer miles for a free flight. The only problem was that Allyson didn't have her move-in date, so I had to delay making the reservations. Then, time got away from me and before I knew it, I was under three weeks out from my departure. At this point, there were no available reward flights. 

Unperturbed, I searched for a flight on Spirit, the budget Airlines we used on our $55 flights to Indiana in August. My hopes were dashed, though; there were no Spirit flights listed for Seattle. The only airline remotely in my budget was Frontier, which has an even worse reputation than Spirit. Still, the cheapest fare on Frontier was $276, a decent price, but a far cry from $55. 

Allyson Just Before She and Bill Embarked on the Very Long Drive

It occurred to me to skip the trip because I didn't know how helpful I'd actually be. But Allyson had said it was very important to her that both of her parents be there for this milestone. All of this frantic searching occurred during my trip to lovely Vermont to visit a Girl Scout friend, Allison, whom I have known since first grade. As we trekked from one quirky tourist attraction to another on what her family lovingly calls The Death March of Fun, I had a cell signal approximately 25 percent of the time, and I was desperate to secure the tickets before they were gone. So I turned to my personal travel agent, my budget-savvy little sister, Emily. Over a series of sporadically delivered texts and phone calls between myself, Emily, and my other travel companion, Diana, we managed to purchase the tickets. 

"Are you sure you're okay with just a personal item?" Emily asked. "It's over $50 each way if you take a carry-on." I said that for a four-day trip, I figured I could manage with a standard backpack, just as I had on the longer Indiana trip. 

I made up some of this unanticipated travel cost by booking a shockingly cheap Airbnb, a single room with a shared living area, kitchen, and bathroom(!) for just $56 a night. I'd never stayed in a facility with a shared bathroom, but the next cheapest option would have cost more than double. After reading every single one of the reviews, all positive, I clicked Reserve, resolving not to mention the details of my accommodations to my mother until after my safe return. 

Finding a cheap rental car was easy. I used my American Airlines AAdvantage membership to secure the discounted rate of $242.10 for four days—a steal! 

The final phase of my budget travel planning was the most challenging: planning a menu consisting of cheap food that I could pack into a lunch bag the size of an average purse. On the Wednesday night before my departure, I made Buffalo chicken in my mini slow cooker while I boiled two eggs, baked my favorite gluten-free sandwich bread, and whipped up a batch of chia pudding, which I topped with some frozen pomegranate arils. While the bread baked, I carefully tucked a pair of casual pants, a hoodie, a pullover sweater, two nighties, some socks, and a stack of panties into my backpack. I figured I could wear the cardigan and the fleece jacket that I would need in the much cooler Northern climate, rather than carrying them in my bag. 

Muchos Niños Lloran / Many Children Cry

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO...

[This is the third in a series of bilingual travelogue entries, a record of my progress in a Spanish Immersion program.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS...

En mi tercero día en Costa Rica, escuela comienzó. Estaba nerviosa sobre el autobús, pero mi mamá Tica caminó conmigo y le dijo a el conductor donde yo necesité ir.

En el bus hubo tres profesoras de mi escuela, CISA. Caminamos en la misma vía del día pasado. El edifício sirve para escuela, misión, y iglesia.

Aquí encontré a 11 perros que viven con el director, Héctor. Ellos siempre entran a escondidas. ¡A veces trepan por las ventanas!

Inicié en una clase intermedia con cuatro otros estudiantes. Todas las instrucciónes estuvieron en español. Estuvo como el sermón de Hector en el día pasado. Las palabras fluyeron sobre mi cabeza pero no entraron mis pensamientos. Sin embargo, hoy debí concentrar. ¿ Cómo pude aprender si no entendí las instrucciones?

Quise llorar, pero no. Sólo me senté en la silla y sonreí.

Después almuerzo, asistí un clase intensiva. Nosotros practicamos verbos reflexivos.

Después mi clase, yo fui a la parada con una profesora, Malli. Llegabamos diez minutos después el bus salió. El proximo bus fue a llegar en cincuenta minutos, y yo debí esperar sola.

Pregunté a Malli, "¿Cómo le digo el conductor donde necesito ir?"

Malli me explicó, pero no comprendé porque estuve inquieta. Ella repetía sus instrucciones, pero yo todavía no entendí. Ella escribía en mi cuaderno:

Yo dije, "¿Debo...?" Me levante el brazo y bajé un cable imaginario.

"Sí," ella contestó.

"¿Cómo sé cuando necesito...? Todavía no sabía el verbo.

"Después del puenta."

"¿El puente? ¿Dónde?"

Inicié llorar. "Disculpe," dije, y cubrí mis ojos. "Tengo miedo."

"Es normal," ella me dijo. "Quizás puede llamar un taxi."

"Pero no sé cómo que decir dónde la casa esta. Quizás camino. Pienso que puedo encontrar la casa si camino."

"Pero esta lejos, y esta lloviendo."

"¿Llovi... la lluvia?"

"Sí."

A mí me parecía que la carretera fue peligrosa. Fue estrecha y los carros manejaron rápidamente. Normalmente, disfruto caminar, per no quise mormirme en este día.

"OK. Por favor, me ayuda que llamar un taxi."

Malli  llamó a Ariel, el nieto de Macha, y él llamó un taxi.

"Sólo diga, 'La casa de Doña Macha, por favor,' " Malli me dijo.

No necesité decir algo porque el conductor llegó en cinco minutos. Malli le dio las instrucciónes.

Después tres minutos, estuve en mi casa.

En la cocina, dije a Macha, "A mí me hace falta mi autobús." Estuve orgullosa para usando un estructura de mi clase intensiva. Ahora, sé la correcta oración: "Perdí mi autobús."

"No sé cómo que decir dónde..." Lloré de nuevo. "Disculpe."

"No llore," Macha dijo. "Es normal. Es su primer día." Ella me abrazó.

Ahora yo reí, tan duro que casi no puedo hablar.  "Sí, muchos niños lloran en su primer día en escuela."

Soy normal.
=========================

On my third day in Costa Rica, school started. I was nervous about the bus, but my Tica Mama walked with me, and she told the bus driver where I needed to go.

On the bus were three teachers from my school, CISA. We walked the same route from the day before. The building serves as school, mission, and church.

Here I encountered 11 dogs that live with the director, Hector. They always sneak in. Sometimes they climb through the windows!

I started an intermediate class with four other students. All of the instruction was in Spanish. It was like Hector's sermon on the past day. The words flowed over my head but did not enter my thoughts. However, today I must concentrate. How could I learn if I could not understand the instruction?

I wanted to cry, but no. Instead, I sat in my chair and smiled.

After lunch, I attended an intensive class. We practiced reflexive verbs.

After my class, I went to the bus stop with a teacher, Malli. We arrived 10 minutes after the bus left. The next bus was going to arrive in 50 minutes, and I must wait alone.

I asked Malli, "How do I tell the driver where I need to go?"

She explained it to me, but I did not understand because I was very anxious. She repeated her instructions but I still did not understand. She wrote in my notebook:

To La Selva (The Jungle), please. You can stop where Aldemar or after the La Selva bridge." [I still don't quite understand the instructions.]

"Must I...?" I raised my arm and pulled an imaginary cable.

"Yes," she answered.

"How do I know when I need to...?"  I still didn't know the verb.

"After the bridge."

"The bridge? Where?"

I started to cry. "I'm sorry,"  I said, and covered my eyes. "I have fear."

"It's normal," she said. "Maybe you can call a taxi."

"But I don't  know how to say where my house is. Maybe I walk. I think I can find the house if I walk."

"No, it's far. And it's raining."

It appeared to me that the road was dangerous. It was narrow, and the cars drove rapidly. Normally, I enjoy walking, but I did not want to die on this day.

"Okay, please help me call a taxi."

Malli called Ariel, Macha's grandson, and he called a taxi.

"Just say, 'Doña Macha's house, please,' " Malli told me.

I didn't need to say anything, because the driver arrived in five minutes. Malli gave him the instructions.

I dried my eyes and hugged Malli.

After three minutes, I was in my house. In the kitchen, I said to Macha, "To me it happened that my bus was missing."  I was proud for using a structure from my intensive class. Now I know the correct sentence: "I lost my bus." [It is an idiom that we don't use in English.]

"I don't know how to say where..." I cried again. "I'm sorry"

"Don't cry," Macha said. "It's normal. It is your first day."

Now I laughed, so hard that I almost couldn't talk. "Yes, many children cry on their first day of school."

I am normal.

El Peor... y El Mejor

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO.

[In this series of blog entries, I am writing about my experiences in a Spanish Immersion program in Costa Rica. I write first in Spanish, and then I translate it as faithfully as possible into English. This way, we can see my progress. You may notice that I am now using past tense. I must confess that the Spanish portion alone took me about five hours to write.  This is great practice for me. I can write much better than I can speak. In conversation, I typically move back and forth between present and past tense, and my speech is painfully slow. I am having the time of my life! I have three more stories to tell you so far.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS

En mi segundo día en Costa Rica me llevanté muy temprano porque la luz comienza que brillar antes las cinco. Antes desayuno,  me senté en el porche y leí mi nueva Biblia bilingüe. Fue mi primera vez que leer la Biblia en español, y ahora yo me di cuenta como glorioso es que escuchar la voz de Dios en otra idioma. Esto versículo tocó mi corazón:

Te alabaré, oh Jehová, entre los pueblos; a ti cantaré salmos entre las naciones.

"¡Es cierto!" yo pensé. " Hoy, voy a cantar con mis hermanos Ticos."

Corrí a Macha y la mostré el versículo. Ella me abrazó.

A las 9:30, fuimos para autobús a la iglesia.  Debemos caminar en una colina y en una calle con muchas rocas. Con la humedad, me sentí muy caliente.

En la iglesia, me tomé mi segundo taza de café y me comí unos postres. ¡Que rico!

Mientras nosotros cantamos, comprendí casi todo porque hay palabras en una pantalla. La primera canción tiene una oración sobre la gente cantando ante las naciones.

Toque hombro de macha y señale a la pantalla. Pienso que ella tenía lágrimas en sus ojos, como yo. ¡Dios estaba hablando conmigo!

A mí me parací que Dios eligió todas las canciones para mí. Una tenió frases de mi favorito capítulo: Salma 139. El mensaje era que Dios me conoce mejor que cualquier otro, y Él está conmigo en cada lugar. No estaba sola aquí, donde la idioma es diferente. Yo estaba tan feliz. !Que bueno, esto día!

Cuánto el sermon comienzó, no comprendí nada. Hay no palabras que leer. El pastor decía muchas cosas, y después unos pocos minutos no traté de comprender. Sólo pensé sobre necesitando agua. Me sentí caliente y fría, y también más y más mareada.

Fui al baño y oré, "Por favor, no me permite que vomitar. Aquí no, en esta iglesia desconocida."

Me senté en el piso por un tiempo muy largo, hasta Macha vino a la puerta con su hija Vicky.

Ella dijo "¿Sarah, está enferma? Abre la puerta, por favor."

¡Ay! No quierí ver nadie, solo quizás mi mamá. ¡Que malo, esto día!

Fuí en mis rodillas al puerto. Macha me da manzanilla, un té por ayudar de digestión.

"¿Me causar vomito?" yo pregunté.

"Quizás," ella contestó.

"Necesito vomitar, pero no puedo."

Tomé un poquito. Entonces dije, "¡Go!" (No podía recordar cómo hablar español en ese momento.) Moví mi mano hacia la puerta.

Ellos cerraron la puerta.

Mi cuerpo tratío y tratío de vomitar, pero nada. Gemí, y agua llenó mis ojos. "Esto día no puede ser peor," yo pensé.

Por supuesto, podria ser peor.

¡El pastor, Hector, entró el baño! Con papel de baño, suavemente limpió el maquillaje aldredor mis ojos - cómo la máscara de un mapache. Habló conmigo en inglés.

"Voy a manajarla a la casa. Su va a ser más cómoda allí.

Hector en la iglesia (y escuela)

"No puedo ir," contesté en español. "Estoy muy inferma."

Él continuó hablar en inglés. "Voy a darla algo que se sienta mejor."

"Necesito una bolsa porque quizás vomito en su carro."

Él me dio una bolsa de plástico.  Me senté en una silla.

Él puso unos aceites esenciales en mis manos. "Huela profundamente."

Inhalé unas veces. Después cerca 30 segundos, corrí al baño. Vomité y vomité hasta no quedó nada.

Después unos minutos, salimos. La calle fue tan áspero, pero no vomité más.

Muchas vezes durante la tarde, dormí y entonces me desperté. Me llevanté unas veces, pero me sentí náuseas de nuevo.

A las siete, tuve hambre pero tuve miedo que comer. Quieré galletas de soda, pero no sabía cómo describirlos.

¡En la cocina, Macha me ofreció galletas de soda! También me da agua de gelatina. Cuando era una niña, mi mamá me da estos dos cosas por enfermedad.

Dios es muy bueno. Él me dio otra madre cuando más la necesitaba.

Sí, era un buen día.

Yo y Mateo, nieto de Macha.
Su fiesta fue en misma noche

On my second day in Costa Rica I got up very early because the light starts to shine before 5. Before breakfast I sat on the porch and read my new bilingual Bible. It was my first time to read the Bible in Spanish, and now I realized how glorious it is to hear the voice of God in another language.

This verse touched my heart:

I will praise you, oh Jehovah, among the peoples;  I will sing praises to you among the nations.

"It is true," I thought. Today I'm going to sing with my Tico brothers and sisters. [Costa Ricans are called Ticos and Ticas.]

I ran to Macha and showed her the verse. She hugged me.

At 9:30 we went by bus to church. We had to walk on a hill and on a road with many rocks. With the humidity, I felt very hot.

At the church I drank my second cup of coffee and ate some pastries. How wonderful!

While we sang, I could understand almost everything because there were words on a screen. The first song had a sentence about the people singing among the Nations.

I touched Macha's shoulder and pointed at the screen. I think she had tears in her eyes, like me.

It seemed to me that God chose all of the songs for me. One had phrases from my favorite chapter: Psalm 139. The message was that God knows me better than anyone else, and he is with me in every place. I was not here alone, where the language is different. I was so happy. How good, this day!

When the sermon began, I comprehended nothing.  There were no words to read. The Pastor said many things, and after a few minutes I did not try to understand. I only thought about needing water. I felt hot and cold, and also more and more dizzy. I went to the bathroom and prayed, "Please, don't let me vomit. Not here in this unfamiliar church."

I sat on the floor for a long time, until Macha came to the door with her daughter Vicky.

She said, "Sarah are you sick? Open the door, please."

Aiyee!  I didn't want to see anyone, except maybe my mama. How bad, this day!

I went to the door on my knees. Macha gives me manzanilla, a tea that helps digestion.

"To cause me vomit?" I asked [in broken Spanish.]

"Maybe," she answered.

"I need to vomit, but I can't."

I drank a little. And then I said, "Go!" ( I could not remember how to speak Spanish in that moment.)  I moved my hand toward the door.

They closed the door.

My body tried and tried to vomit, but nothing. I moaned, and water filled my eyes.

"This day cannot be worse," I thought.

Of course, it could be worse.

The pastor, Hector, entered the bathroom! He knelt beside me. With toilet paper, he gently washed the makeup from around my eyes--like a racoon's mask.

He talked with me in English. "I will drive you home. You will be more comfortable there."

"I cannot go," I answered in Spanish. "I am very sick."

He continued to talk in English. "I will give you something to make you feel better."

"I need a bag because maybe I vomit in your car."

He gave me a plastic bag. I sat in a chair. He put some essential oils in my hands. "Breathe deeply," he said.

I inhaled a few times. After about 30 seconds, I ran to the bathroom. I vomited and vomited, until nothing remained.

After a few minutes, we left. The road was very rough, but I did not vomit more.

Many times during the afternoon, I slept and then I woke up. I got up a few times, but I felt nauseated again.

At seven, I was hungry, but I had fear to eat.  I wanted soda crackers, but I did not know how to describe them.

In the kitchen, Macha offered me soda crackers! Also gelatin water. When I was a girl, my Mama gave me these two things for sickness.

God is very good. He gave me another Mother when I needed her most.

Yes, it was a good day.

Great Expectations

Oh, I've missed you! I'll try not to wait so long before my next post. No promises, though. 

Two Christmases ago (2013), I shared with you how God amazed me with literally my most beautiful Christmas season ever. Here, this may jog your memory:

That was my first Christmas after the divorce, and I'd been dreading it, struggling to muster up any Christmas spirit. God, my friends, and my family had more than enough Christmas spirit to share, and it really was the best Christmas of my life--all the more so because it was such a delightful surprise. 

After such a wonderful Christmas, I was actually looking forward to Christmas 2014. I wasn't at all worried about being depressed even though I knew both of my kids would be with their fathers on Christmas day. Although there were many blessings that Christmas season, I was surprised when I spent a good portion of Christmas day in tears, which led to a week or two of mild depression. 

So this year, I didn't know what to expect. I just decided to focus on enjoying family traditions. But things were different this year. Allyson and Bill went to Canada before Christmas rather than after, and we didn't get to do several of our usual pre-Christmas rituals, like making marshmallows. For the first time in seven years, we just didn't get around to it. But we did make banana bread and hand that out to our friends in the neighborhood.

They Don't Miss Nothin'

Disclaimer: This story might shock a few of you. Feel free to bail out if you feel uncomfortable at any time. However, chances are that none of you is more of a prude than me, and if I survived the  actual experience, you can probably survive reading about it. I'll go easy on you, which is more than I can say for my masseuse yesterday. But I'm getting ahead of myself....


On Friday we celebrated my sister Amy's 50th birthday. True to form, I didn't even think about what I might buy for Amy until that morning. On the way to Allyson's summer day camp, I asked her for ideas.


"Gently used kids' tattoos?" [Leftover from her belated birthday party the night before; more on that soon.]


"Um... no."


I thought about it off and on through the day, but all I could come up with was a massage. The only problem was that, according to Amy, I promised her a massage for another birthday a couple years back and then forgot about it. So how could I promise her another now?


I prayed about it, but still came up with nothing. Before long, I was off to the party empty-handed.


While Amy opened the presents that other people so thoughtfully purchased or even made, I stood around feeling like a pretty crappy little sister. Okay, so I'd offer her a massage, and we'd schedule it right on the spot. But when? The next several weekends were booked....


Just then, I tuned into a conversation between my sister Melody and her friend Dana. They planned to go to the King Spa the next day. Melody and her husband Joe had been talking about this Korean bath house for years, and I'd always been curious about it, but not curious enough to spend the money.


The gears spun in my head for a moment. Hmm. What if Amy and I went along? It could be a sisters' day. A sisters' and friends' day. But I could hardly buy Amy a massage and not also buy myself one. What would I do while the rest of them got pampered?


"It isn't in the budget," I thought.


"Be quiet, Dave Ramsey," I answered. "Amy only turns 50 once. And I could use a massage, too."


"...and it's pretty cheap," Melody told Dana.


Those were the magic words, though I later learned that "cheap" is all a matter of perspective.

Dennis! Oh, Dennis!

Over the last few months, I've been ridiculously scatterbrained. For example, there was the time a few weeks ago when I dropped my boarding pass three times before my return flight from Portland--and then dropped my keys in the park that same afternoon. (Thankfully, a kind citizen saw the YMCA key fob and returned them to my gym.)

And then there was this past Monday. Because I know I'm prone to forget my keys when I leave the house, I have a longstanding habit of checking my purse and verifying, aloud, "Got my keys." That's exactly what I did before I left to pick up Allyson. Keys in hand, I pivoted in my tracks when my stomach growled savagely. A quick glance at the stove clock told me I had time to grab the heel from a freshly baked loaf of whole wheat bread (from fresh ground flour, of course). I tried to wrestle open the bread canister with one hand but finally gave up and set the keys down so I could release the four locks. After an agonizingly slow squirt of ridiculously thick honey, I grabbed my purse and the bread and ran for the door, twisting the lock and slamming it behind me.

At the car, I realized the keys were missing and gave an exasperated groan as I fished through the inner zipper compartment of my purse for my car's valet key. Yes! No need to sprint a mile to Allyson's school and get the bad mother of the week award for being 15 minutes late. (Yes, it would take me at least that long to "sprint" a mile. Cardio just isn't my thing.)

I ran a few errands, trying to kill time until Ethan came home, but it turned out he had band practice after school. Not that he would have been much help. Too bad he'd lost his house key just a few days before. And too bad the last working garage door opener had quit just two weeks earlier, and both doors were firmly locked. But surely one of the back doors would be open.... Nope.

I thought back to the time Bill had been locked out. "Didn't Daddy climb through Ethan's window?" I asked Allyson. "How did he get up there?"

"Maybe a ladder," she said.

"No, the ladder's in the garage."

"I dunno."

"If he found a way up, so can I."

I dragged the picnic table under Ethan's window and retrieved a metal chair from the shed.

"Shouldn't you just call Daddy?" Allyson asked. "You might fall and get hurt."

"I'm not asking Daddy for help." I climbed up onto the quite sturdy table and then onto the chair. Gripping two of the horizontal supports of the pergola, I gingerly lifted one foot onto the left arm. The chair just about flipped, and I had to jump back onto the seat. Undaunted, I did a partial pull-up on the pergola and jumped my feet onto both arms at the same time. Nope, way too wobbly to be any help. I climbed back down and thought hard. Maybe if I stacked all four chairs, they would be more stable. Certainly they would make a taller tower.

I dragged the other chairs out from the shed, one by one, and stacked them on the table top. Once I'd caught my breath, I sighed with satisfaction. Much sturdier! I found I could easily balance on the arms of the top chair, but it was a lot harder than I expected to shimmy onto the pergola. The beams were too close together, and way off center compared to the chairs. And they were kind of splintery. I wished I had weight-lifting gloves.

Slowly, slowly I pulled myself up, careful to put weight only on the support beams and not on the netting between them. Allyson, who evidently wasn't that worried about my safety, called from the swing set. "Ha, ha! You're flopping like a fish."

"Uh huh." Grunting, I pulled myself onto my stomach and wiggled my legs up behind me. Sweating now in my fleece jacket, I lay spread-eagle for a moment atop the beams, glancing over my shoulder to the corner of the overhang under Ethan's window. I hadn't realized it was so steep! But I'd come too far to stop now, plus I wasn't entirely sure how to get back down. So I pulled up onto my knees, distributing my weight between two beams--and getting my very first knee splinter, I later discovered.

I carefully maneuvered myself into a squat and then grabbed the corner of the roof as I eased over onto the shingles. I then found I could not stand, let alone walk; my worn walking shoes scrabbled over the surprisingly slick asphalt. So I rested on my left hip, clutching the corner of the roof with one hand and wrestling with the screen with the other.

After breaking three nails without getting the screen loose, I was thinking of aborting the mission--until Allyson called out, "Mama, you're not a boy!"

"Girls can climb, too," I said, just as one corner of the screen pulled free. "Got it!"

I pressed my sweaty palm against the glass and tried to slide it to the right. It didn't budge. What? Surely it couldn't be locked. Ethan's window had been open for a couple of days, up until the latest cold snap, anyway. But surely he'd be too lazy to lock it.

"Find my phone, Allyson," I hollered. "Call Ethan and ask if his window is locked. I'm not getting down until I'm sure it's locked."

As she fumbled with the phone, it dawned on me that I wasn't getting down at all. The roof was way too steep, and I didn't think I could get onto the pergola and back down on that stack of chairs without seeing what I was doing. To make matters worse, my butt was burning. Who knew that shingles could get so hot when it was only in the 60s? I shifted to my knees, carefully shed my jacket, and threw it on the patio.

Just then I saw the neighbor's white truck pull into the driveway behind our house. I heard the door open but couldn't see over the hedge. "Dennis!" I hollered. "Dennis-Dennis-Dennis!"

No answer. Surely he could hear me. I took a deep breath and screamed myself hoarse, "DENNISSS!" Now the whole neighborhood could hear me. Everyone but Dennis. I hollered again.

A tiny voice answered. "It's Leticia."

"Oh. This is Sarah. Do you have a ladder? I'm stuck on the roof."

God bless her, Leticia didn't ask any questions or express any surprise. "I'll be right over," she said. Two minutes later, Allyson let her into the gate with her extension ladder.

She extended it and leaned it against the overhang, right at my feet. "Come on down," she said.

"Let's try to get Ethan first," I said. "I want to make sure this window really is locked." I then walked Leticia through finding Ethan in my contacts, which was about as hard as climbing up onto the roof had been. I'm about the last person left on earth who doesn't have a smart phone. (Even my mom has an iPhone!) At last she and Allyson figured it out, but it went straight to voicemail.

I was pretty scared to climb down, but Leticia calmly talked me through climbing down to squat on the pergola and then sidestep onto the ladder. I descended on shaky legs.

Safely on the ground, I finally got ahold of Ethan, only to learn that yes, he had locked the window and no, he still hadn't found his house key.

"Call Daddy," Allyson urged for perhaps the tenth time.

"Oh-kayyy!"

I humbly explained the situation to Bill, who was just as gracious as Leticia had been. "I'm still at work," he said. "It'll be at least 30 minutes."

"I'm sorry," I said, on the verge of tears. "I'm just being... me."

"What can you do?" Bill answered. "It's no big deal."

The last bit of the adventure was returning the ladder, which we could not figure out how to collapse. I convinced Ethan to carry it for me, but he was inexplicably humiliated over carrying a 12-foot ladder in public. As I lifted my hand to knock on the door, he hissed, "Wait! I don't want them to see me."

I shrugged as he disappeared back around the corner. He has no idea what embarrassing is, I thought. He should try sitting on the roof and shouting "Dennis!"

Oh well. It could have been a lot worse. The only thing bruised is my pride.

P.S. Yes, I am getting two extra keys made and hiding one in a safe place.

Speaking of Cruise Ships...

When I told you recently how I learned I was pregnant while we were on a cruise, I was reminded of another cruise ship story that I just have to share. It's a favorite with my family, especially my Aunt Becky, who always says, "Tell that story about the cruise" when I see her in Indiana. So here it is...
Back in the spring of 1998, my ex-husband Byron and I went on a Caribbean cruise with our friends Thomas and Julie. Eleven-month-old Ethan stayed with Aunt Emily.

It was a budget cruise line, on a relatively small refitted military ship that seemed gigantic to me. It was rather spartan, but the entertainment was good and the food was phenomenal. It was a smaller group than you find on the larger lines, more relaxed and personal. You could actually get to know people, or at least recognize them--as we would find out later.

Me (age 27) and Byron

I immediately developed a raging allergy attack or perhaps a cold. I paid a ridiculous sum for allergy medication in the gift shop and then spent the rest of the trip in a fog. For example, I fell asleep during a high-stakes bingo game where I could have won big money. Here's what I do remember about our trip...

One of the stops was in Jamaica, where we took a raft ride down a lazy trickling stream surrounded by lush greenery. The rafts were propelled by wiry, sweaty young men with long poles.

Thomas and Julie--I Suppose They Have the Matching Pic of Us

We rode docile horses and battled mosquitos on a trail ride in the blazing Mexican sun. We browsed through outdoor markets where you had to haggle over prices with proprietors who followed you down the street. I came home with a beautiful tanzanite ring; it was the first time I had ever seen that lovely purple stone.

The highlight of our trip was supposed to be the stingray excursion in Grand Cayman. We went out in a boat on the shallow water to a spot where a school of tame stingrays came for daily feedings. My heart pounded as I climbed down the ladder. I have an irrational fear of all fish, let alone fish whose sting can be fatal.

See that girl in the yellow bikini petting the stingray? No, that's not me. Are you crazy? See that other girl with both hands up, looking nervous? No, that's not me either.

Where was I? Back in the boat with the old ladies and the little kids. I'd made it about ten feet away from the boat. My legs almost went out from under me when I saw hordes of sting rays swirling around us. But it was all over when I stepped on one--almost, but it darted away, brushing against my foot with one velvety smooth wing. I would have drowned had the water not been waist deep. I spun around and tried to climb out of the water on an imaginary staircase. I might have even climbed over the nearest strangers in my scramble for the ladder.

So there I sat, woefully watching other people have the time of their lives while I berated myself for my cowardice. Byron tried to coax me out, but I wouldn't budge. He stayed out there until the guide shooed everyone back into the boat. He petted stingrays, swam with stingrays, and took lots of pictures of stingrays.

Just before we left, one of the guides lured one of the biggest rays over to the boat and held it while the tourists petted it. I watched one person after another take a turn, even the little kids and the old ladies. Just before it was time to head back, I forced myself down the steps and ran a trembling hand over the silky surface of that gentle sting ray. It wasn't gross or slimy at all. It felt like wet satin, and was not much thicker than satin at the wings.

As memorable as that experience was, it was nothing compared to what happened on the next stop. Each morning when we left for the excursions, the ship's staff would have us synchronize our watches to the latest time zone, and they would repeat the ship's departure time over and over. "Do NOT be late," they warned. "We will not wait for you, and you'll have to make your own travel arrangements to get to the next island or back home. It will not be cheap."

I shuddered at the thought of being left behind. No way I would ever let that happen. Usually, there was no worry anyway because if you went on an organized excursion, they brought everyone back to the ship in plenty of time.

But by the time we reached Cancun, we were running low on funds and decided to spend the day on our own. We did a bit of shopping and then lazed around at a famous bar whose name escapes me. The whole time, I kept eying my watch and getting more and more antsy as the 3:00 deadline approached.

Around 2:00, I insisted on heading back. "Relax. We have plenty of time," Byron said as he stopped and admired little trinkets in the street market. We bought a couple of things along the way and arrived back at the port by 2:30.

It took us a moment to notice that the port was empty. "This is the wrong place," I said.

Byron looked around. "No, this is where we docked this morning. I'm sure of it."

My heart started pounding, and my chest felt so tight that I could scarcely draw in a breath. "Wh-where's the ship?" I sputtered.

"I don't know," he said. He noticed some sort of guard hut at the water's edge, and we hurried over.

A uniformed officer spoke to us in Spanish.

"Where's the ship?" Byron asked.

"No hablo Inglés," he answered.

"The ship," I repeated, spreading my arms out wide and then pointing at the water. "Where is it?"

He pointed out to the horizon, where the ship was a tiny speck.

"What are we going to do?" I wailed, tears streaming.

"Un momento," the officer said, holding up one hand as he spoke into his radio.

A couple of minutes later, a tiny motorboat pulled up to the wooden dock, and the officer herded us over. He spoke to the driver and another officer, probably telling them about these foolish Americans who were too careless to get back to the boat before it embarked. The driver gestured to Byron, who clambered into the boat and held out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, but then the officer on the dock took my elbow and helped me down onto the bobbing boat.

I huddled next to Byron on the hard bench, my heart fluttering as we chased after the ship through the choppy water. Shouldn't we be wearing life jackets?

At last we pulled alongside the ship, so massive next to this toy motorboat. "How on earth will we get onboard?" I asked no one in particular.

Just then, a hatch swung open about halfway up the ship's hull, about 25-30 feet up. Next, a rope ladder unfurled down the side of the ship. No way!

Yes way. Our driver maneuvered the boat right up to the ship and pointed at the ladder, which moved up and down just like our boat, only not at the same time. I stood up on rubbery legs. "Wait!" I said, leaning to whisper in Byron's ear. "Do you think we need to pay them?"

"Vámanos," said the officer, taking my arm and nudging me toward the ladder.

I slung my shopping bag over my shoulder and grabbed a rung with both hands, my knuckles brushing against the cool metal. Holding my breath, I groped for a lower rung with one flip flop and then the other. I clung to the ladder for a moment, stock still against the solid, relatively stationary hull. 

"Come on up. You'll be fine."

I looked up into the eyes of a man leaning casually out the hatch and reaching a hand down toward me. And then I saw some fellow passengers watching us from the deck railing, laughing and shouting and pointing.

I inched up that ladder and into the hatch, almost collapsing in relief when I stepped inside. But the man didn't even wait for Byron to make it up the ladder before commencing his lecture. I honestly didn't hear much of what he said but it was something about "Do you know how much money you cost us?" and "Did you not hear that we were departing at 3:00?"

As soon as I could get a word in edgewise, I said, "B-but I don't understand. It was only 2:30. They said 3:00."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "No-o. It's Three-forty-five now."

I looked at my watch. "No, it's 2:45."

"You forgot to set your watches back this morning," he said as he led us through the bowels of the ship, past twitching boilers and humming gears, to an elevator.

"No one told us to set our watches back," I said. "And I don't think it was in the bulletin. How were we supposed to-"

Byron took my arm. "Come on, Sarah."

"But we didn't forget. No one told us," I repeated.

"Just don't let it happen again." The man turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.

I leaned against the side of the elevator and sobbed.

"It's okay," Byron said. "We're fine. We didn't get left behind."

"I just need a n-nap," I said.

After a nap and a warm shower, I felt ready to face dinner. But I was not prepared for our reception up on deck. Some passengers laughed and slapped us on the back while others just pointed and whispered. "That's the couple who missed the boat!"

Over dinner, Thomas and Julie explained that at least two other couples had been late for the same reason; not all the groups had been informed about the time change. They'd had to let the gangplank back down twice. This was very lucky for us; without that delay the boat would have been out to sea.

For the rest of the trip, we were greeted like celebrities. After I'd had a good night's sleep, I had to admit that I rather enjoyed the attention.

I wonder if even the captain knew about us. If he did, he didn't say so.

So now you know what it feels like to miss the boat. May it never happen to you!

Smelly Dog, Smelly Dog... What Are They Feeding You?

Remember that time I just about killed our dog Lola when Bill went out of town and left her in my care? Well, I probably should have disclosed that story to our neighbors when they asked if I could take care of their dog, cat, and fish while they went on vacation.

The first day, Friday, went very well. I almost forgot to go over that morning, but remembered by 9:00 or so. No harm done. But Zeus, a beautiful German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, looked pretty mournful. I asked him if he wanted to come play with Lola, whom he'd met the night before, but he just cowered on his bed in the master bathroom. "I'll be back this afternoon," I promised as I pulled the door almost closed--just the way I'd found it when I arrived.

True to my word, I came back after work and brought Zeus over to our backyard. Lola was ecstatic. She circled Zeus, did lots of sniffing (I won't say where), and basically dogged his every step. (Sorry, couldn't help myself.)

Lola on Left, Zeus on Right

Zeus endured her enthusiasm patiently as he methodically explored the backyard. On the way back to the neighbors' house a couple hours later, I marveled at how well behaved Zeus was on the leash. Not only was there no pressure on the leash ever, but he also stopped and waited politely whenever I fell behind.

On Saturday morning, all still seemed well. I mounded up the food in Zeus's bowl and watched with satisfaction as he gulped it greedily. Next, Allyson and I played with the cat for a few minutes before heading off to Ethan's football playoff game (more on that later).

Everything was wonderful until Sunday afternoon, when I was hosting a little gathering for my missionary friend, Melissa. While I sat and nibbled meatballs and finger-sized desserts with my friends, I sent Bill over to pick up Zeus for a playdate. Noting that he was gone an exceedingly long time, I figured he'd put his feet up on their couch and was enjoying the peace and quiet.

When he returned without the dog nearly an hour later, I mouthed, "Where's the...?"

He just shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly, as he passed through the living room. Once the party was wrapping up, he beckoned me to the kitchen and quietly debriefed me.

"That dog is SICK," he informed me.

"Oh no! What's wrong?"

"There was crap and puke all over the bathroom, and some in the bedroom too. That's why I was gone so long."

"Oh no! You had to clean it up?"

He shrugged. "Well, I couldn't leave it there, could I? I wiped everything down with bleach spray and put the dog in the backyard until the fumes dissipate."

[Is my husband a saint, or what? But if you've read this blog long, you already knew that.]

Back at the neighbors' house that evening, I thought about how Zeus had polished off two full bowls of food each day. Was I overfeeding him? Elizabeth had assured me that he self feeds, so I should just give him a full bowl. Maybe he was overeating because he felt insecure without his owners, I reasoned.

I gave him just a tiny bit more food and closed him in the bathroom, this time shutting the door tightly. "I hope you feel better, Zeus." I called over my shoulder.

This morning there were four more piles of diarrhea in the bathroom. Ugh! I needed to run an errand before work, so I put Zeus in the yard and left the mess to deal with later.

About 3:30 this afternoon, later rolled around. I took a deep breath of clean air and asked Bill for pointers on cleaning up the mess, which thankfully was limited to the bathroom tile this time.

"Just mop it up with paper towels and spray the heck out of it with bleach spray," he advised.

I thanked him and asked if he could run to the store for me to pick up some cream cheese I needed for the meatball sub casserole I planned to make with leftover meatballs from yesterday's party.

"The store?" Bill groaned. "I don't feel like going to the store."

"Oh, and the bank," I added. "I didn't get to go on Friday because of Veterans' Day, so we need money before you can go to the store."

"Never mind," Bill grumped. "I'll go take care of the mess and you go to the bank."
I tilted my head and studied him, my eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you'd rather clean up dog crap than go to the bank?"

He shrugged. "I don't feel like going to the bank."

"Suit yourself," I said, traipsing off to the bank with a spring in my step.

While I was in line at the bank, my cell phone rang. It was Bill. "Did you say you were feeding the dog out of the little bag inside the big plastic bin?"

"Ye-es," I answered cautiously.

"The one with the picture of the cat on the front?"

I put a hand over my mouth and rolled my eyes up at the ceiling. "Oh my gosh..."

"The bag that says, 'Specially formulated to prevent hairballs'?" he continued.

"No way. Oh my gosh."

Now for all you dog (and cat) lovers out there, be assured that I do realize this is NOT funny. Not at all. I don't think either Bill or Zeus saw any humor in the situation. But I couldn't help laughing at myself, howling actually, right there in the teller line. "I swear it said dog food when I looked at it on Friday," I choked out as tears streamed down both cheeks. "I just don't understand how-"

"You are something else, woman!"

"I gotta go," I said. "Talk to you later."

The two tellers in earshot were intrigued, so I told them the whole sad story. All three of us laughed ourselves silly. "Oh that poor dog," my teller said ruefully.

"Yes, poor dog," I repeated, thinking back to how I'd been congratulating myself for winning Zeus's trust--all the while trying to poison him with cat food! (Speaking of the cat, Charlie scarcely ate any of the dog food I mounded up in the bowl. Hopefully she suffered no ill effects.)

After eating some of his actual food (the big pieces of food in the giant plastic bin, as opposed to the tiny pieces of food in the little bag), Zeus seemed quite chipper. He stayed with Lola in our yard until Shawn came for him just before dinner.

Shawn listened to the whole story quite graciously, but I rather doubt I'll be asked to keep those pets again. Can you blame him?

Four Weeks and Counting...

...until my 3-Day Walk. I don't know whether to be excited or nervous. A little of both, I guess. Here's an update on my progress.

On average, I walk around 30 miles a week now, but sometimes I walk more than that in just one weekend. I typically do my longest walks on Saturday, anywhere from three to seven hours, and slightly shorter walks on Sunday. And then I try to get in at least two shorter walks during the week, about one or two hours at a time.

I had to slow down for a couple of weeks after I fell down the stairs. I could walk only an hour at a time, and I was only able to walk a little over two miles an hour, when previously I could walk up to four miles an hour. That was frustrating, and rather painful but not unbearable.

Saturday before last was my first long walk after the injury, and I was ecstatic to be able to complete the 18 miles with a large group of 3-Day participants. It was both easier and harder than I expected: easier because my sore hip did not bother me at all (though I did take Advil, and I did have to walk at a relatively slow pace); harder because my feet go SO sore on my second lap around White Rock Lake. What surprised me the most was how utterly drained I was after walking 6.5 hours. I had to slap my cheeks repeatedly on the one-hour drive home to keep myself awake. And when I got home, I collapsed in an easy chair for a two-hour nap. After that, I was STILL tired. In fact, I was exhausted for three days!

Waking up early the next morning and slipping into my Five Finger shoes for another 10 miles took all the discipline I could muster. My calves were tight, my feet still hurt, and I felt like I'd been rudely awakened in the middle of the night even though it was 7:00, two hours later than I'd risen the previous morning. But I drug myself out of bed and walked 7 miles, which was all I had time for before church. My feet had felt bruised, but walking actually seemed to loosen them up. Same thing with my leg muscles.

I've got another 18-mile walk scheduled this Saturday, followed by 15 miles on Sunday. That will be the peak of my training. After that it will wind down in preparation for the event--walking 60 miles in three days.

I should also share that I have exceeded the minimum fundraising amount for the walk, for a total of $2432.79. Thank you to everyone for your generous donations, your prayers, and your support. And thank you to God for blessing my recent garage sale fundraiser not only beyond what I expected, but beyond the beyond.

I can't wait to share the story of my 3-Day adventure. In the meantime, here are a few tidbits about my training so far....

Training Buddies
Here are pictures of some of my training buddies over the last seven months. This is by no means an exhaustive list.

My Hubby
(For a Couple Blocks Some Nights, If I Sweet Talk Him)

Sister Melody, Me, Aunt Sue, Sister Amy, Sue's Dog Miley, Allyson

Elizabeth and Daughter Abigail

Gentle, My 3-Day Partner

Ethan, If I Beg

Lori with Daughter Abigail (Now age 4)
Abigail always says, "Are we walking with Sar-wah today?"

Pamela, the Girl Who Saw the Angel When She Was Sick with Appendicitis

New Buddies That I Met at White Rock Lake
On that walk, I saw three couples on tandem bikes, a man on a unicycle, two cross-country skiers on wheels, and a sexy girl perched on a pink Vespa scooter in leopard skin pumps pretending to read a book (no photographer in sight). Plus about a hundred cyclists who kept whizzing past us.

Allyson and Me at a Charity Walk, Two Weeks After My Injury
I walked so slowly we were almost dead last. Even a barefooted toddler passed us up.

Sweet Laura, Of Course 
Man, I Miss That Grin

I didn't think to take a picture, but on Saturday I walked 10 miles with Kelly, the friend of Laura who mailed me the book on angels. She also plans to walk with me part of the way at the 3-Day event, though she is not an official participant. I think we will be good friends.

My Most Faithful Buddy 

There's one more walking buddy, the most faithful and enthusiastic of all. Guess who? Yep, Lola. Her new harness makes her almost manageable. 

Notice anything unusual about the picture? Look closely at the leash. That's right: there's slack in the leash! We've never had that before. 

In a world without other dogs, she'd be a great walking partner. The harness really works miracles in averting her natural instinct to pull against the leash--except when another dog is within five feet or so. Lola is strong enough to just about pull me off my feet when she lunges at other dogs. We follow a circuitous route, avoiding all the fenced dogs in the neighborhood. But we can't go to the park at all; it's teeming with dogs on a mild day. I don't know which is worse, the embarrassment of dragging my naughty dog past other people with their perfectly behaved dogs, or trying to separate her from other naughty dogs who hurl themselves at her. 

A More Noxious Problem

The most embarrassing problem of all is one I never expected to face. In the four years we've had her, Lola had never, ever pooped anywhere except our backyard. But I guess our frequent long walks have made her more comfortable outside her own turf because last Wednesday she dropped a big load when we were still about a block from home. Uh oh! 

I'd been so presumptuous over Lola's sense of propriety that I hadn't even brought a plastic bag along. For a moment I was seized with the temptation to slink away and pretend my dog had nothing to do with the steaming pile of dung, but my conscience wouldn't let me. The poop was in the worst possible spot, at the edge of the road right next to the front door of a parked car. (Don't worry, I didn't take a picture!)

We hurried home for some plastic grocery bags. On the way back, I silently prayed that no one would come out of the house and find that poop before I could clean it up. God must have thought I needed some humbling, though, because when we got back my worst fear was realized. A woman was in the front yard! 

I skulked past and walked a few more houses down, then casually retraced my steps. Whew! She'd just shut the front door. I knelt on the sidewalk and tried not to breathe as I did my very first pooper scooper duty. It wasn't so bad, I guess, except that I had to carry that smelly poo over a block. I felt so ridiculous carrying a grocery bag full of crap down the street. 

On yesterday's walk, Lola blithely pooped not two minutes after we'd left the house. I think she's enjoying this. 

Oh well. She is a dog, after all. And I have to say, it's most gratifying the way she dances with joy and whines in expectation when I bring out the leash. None of my other walking buddies do that.

I'm thankful for all my walking buddies, many of whom would not even be my friends were it not for my 3-Day training. I've been blessed in so many ways, and I look forward to seeing where this adventure will lead. 

The Last Obstacle

In about 45 minutes, I'll be starting the prep for my second colonoscopy, which of course reminds me of the nightmare that was my first colonoscopy prep--but also reminds me of my love story with Bill. How? I'll get to that. But first, a disclaimer: yes, this is going to be yet another poop story. Feel free to bail out if you like.

After less than a year of marriage, Bill and I started talking about having a baby. I might have preferred to wait a bit longer, but I was almost 33 when we got married, and Bill had said if he was going to become a father he wanted it to happen before he was 35. That gave us about three years to work with, but with my history of unexplained infertility with my first child, we thought it best to get started right away. My gynecologist, however, had other ideas. My thyroid was enlarged, and she wanted me to see the endocrinologist first to get the green light for a pregnancy. And due to my brother's history of colon cancer at age 42, she also wanted me to get the colonoscopy that his oncologist had suggested for each of our siblings.

It took three months to get my appointment with the endocrinologist, but I made it past that hurdle with no problem. He adjusted my hypothyroid medicine and said I'd be fine.

But I had to wait much longer for the colonoscopy. We were changing our health insurance to a different plan and had to wait for the enrollment period, and then I had to get a referral, and so on. And that's why, about a year after we wanted to start our family planning, I was actually a little bit excited about my colonoscopy. (Oh, the ignorance!)

The timing was absolutely horrible: Bill's sister Lisa had come down from Canada for a few days with her three-month old daughter Katie, whom we'd never met. As luck would have it, the second day of her visit was the dreaded prep day. For that entire day, my diet was restricted to clear liquids and Jell-O, but I didn't want to miss out on the sightseeing we'd planned for Lisa. So I sipped my water with lemon and felt sorry for myself while Bill and Lisa enjoyed the best Mexican food around. And then I traipsed along behind them, feeling faint, while they toured the Fort Worth Stockyards.

Lisa and Katie

Baby in a Basket!

But the real misery began around 5:00, when I drank the first 8 ounces of the prescribed gallon of GoLytely solution. My brother Rick had warned me that I wouldn't go lightly, and also that it would take effect very quickly. "Just don't stray far from the bathroom," he advised, telling me about a mishap he'd had while trying to do laundry during his first bowel prep. Not that I planned to do any laundry, but I figured if I did I'd be fine since our laundry room is literally ten feet from the toilet. Man, was I naive.

I chugged the first glass of the cherry-flavored, salty, slimy liquid with no problem. This isn't that bad, I thought triumphantly, and then I sat on the couch to wait 15 minutes for my next dose. The leaflet that came with the solution said it would take 30-60 minutes to work, so you can imagine my surprise when, not 10 minutes after that first dose, I felt a violent urge. I sprinted the 15 feet to the bathroom and BARELY managed to get my pants down in time.

Bill and Katie on the Couch Where My Adventure Began

I emptied what surely must have been the entire contents of my colon and waited about two minutes before pulling up my pants. I hadn't even finished washing my hands when it hit me again. And again, I just BARELY made it the 1.5 feet to the toilet.

I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I soon figured out there was no point getting off the toilet at all. This invoked quite a dilemma since it was past time for my second dose, and I really hated to drink it on the toilet.

"BILL!" I hollered. "Bring me another glass please."

That second glass took about 15 minutes to drink. And the third glass took a full hour, sipped through a straw. And the fourth glass, well, I started gagging the moment the cup touched my lips. I couldn't swallow another drop. But based on the constant water that had been passing through for about four hours now, I figured maybe it didn't matter that I'd only finished a third of the solution. It had obviously done its work, and it kept right on working up until nearly midnight.

Bill and Lisa had taken baby Katie off somewhere; I don't remember where. And Ethan was with his dad that weekend, so I was all alone in the house, with only my self pity to keep me company. I was finally off the toilet, but I was so sore I couldn't even sit down properly. So I lay on my side in the recliner and cried.

When they got home, they both laughed over my woes, which infuriated me, especially since I couldn't help laughing myself. Around midnight, I fell into bed utterly exhausted.

When Bill drove me to the endoscopy center the next morning, I was too exhausted to care about my sore bottom or the piteous growls of my gapingly empty stomach. I was just so relieved that the ordeal was coming to an end at last. Or so I thought.

Wheeling my gurney into the procedure room, the nurse asked cheerfully, "So, did you finish your GoLytlely?"

I laughed ruefully. "Wow, that was rough stuff! I only got about a third of it down, but-"

The gurney screeched to a halt. "You didn't finish your prep??" she repeated incredulously.

"No," I answered in a tiny voice. "But it really worked. I had diarrhea for SIX HOURS STRAIGHT. I couldn't even leave the bathroom."

Her mouth set into a firm line as she resumed the short trip. "That doesn't matter," she hissed after a silence so loud I could hear my own heart pounding. "Your colon has to be completely clear."

"It was," I protested. "The diarrhea looked like water."

She went on as if she hadn't heard. "Because if there's any fecal matter in there.... You realize that the procedure might have to be postponed? And you'll have to do the prep again?"

At those words, I burst into tears. I don't mean those silent tears that you hope no one will notice. I mean the kind of sobs that shake your whole body.

And that's what I was doing when she parked me in front of the doctor. At his raised eyebrows, she muttered, "She didn't finish the bowel prep."

I was sobbing so hard I didn't even hear his response. But I heard her all too plainly when she said, "Now calm down or we won't be able to start the IV."

I felt like a little girl again, being scolded by my beloved daddy. I sobbed harder.

And then I felt a gentle hand on my temple, brushing the hair from my eyes. It was the nurse anesthetist, whom I hadn't even noticed standing behind me. "It's okay," he whispered, and I thought maybe he was afraid of the Big Bad Nurse too.

"Sh-she said I'd have to do the p-prep ag-gain," I wailed.

He ran his fingers through my hair, patting my head the way I would pat Ethan's head after a nightmare. "We don't know that," he said softly. "And there's nothing you can do about it now. Just relax. Everything will be okay," he promised. "Just breathe deeply. I'm going to give you a sedative now, and you'll be asleep by the time I've counted backward from 10. When you wake up it will all be over."

My sobs faded into hiccups, and grateful tears splashed into my ears. When the kind man started counting, he only made it to 7 before everything went blissfully black. From that point, I vaguely remember odd splooshy sensations and the faraway sound of  reassuring male voices. I think they kept saying, "It's okay. We can see what we need to see." So I surmise that I might have been crying throughout the procedure.

I was definitely crying when I came out of it. "It's okay," the nurse reassured me as I opened my eyes. Thankfully, it was a different nurse, and she apparently knew nothing of my meltdown, or if she did she was decent enough not to mention it. She turned to Bill, "You never know how people will react to the medication. Some people laugh, some cry... Your wife, she's obviously one of the cry-ers."

She squeezed my hand. "But you don't need to cry any more, sweetie. The procedure went just fine, and everything was normal." To her chagrin, fresh tears rained down my cheeks then, but they were tears of joy. I hadn't realized until that moment how worried I'd been during all those months of waiting. I'd been afraid that I would go through what Rick had gone through, and that I wouldn't be able to have another baby.

In a moment, I was released from all that worry, and the last obstacle had been removed. We could start trying for a baby!

There's just one more thing I'd like you to know. When I read the doctor's report that evening, this is what I saw: "Quality of prep: Excellent." Yes, the quality of my prep was "Excellent" with a capital E! Take that, Big Bad Nurse.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to start my bowel prep.

Looking a Little Worse for the Wear, Day After the Procedure (Aren't the Glasses Awful??)

Some Crazy Lady

Remember the time the Christmas before last when the kids and I handed out candy canes? We had so much fun that time that we meant to make it an annual tradition, but somehow we never got around to it this past Christmas. I thought of it again last Tuesday night, after a woman named Phyllis knocked on our door.

I was frantically trying to finish my fish tacos and get the kitchen cleaned up before Bible study, and I figured it must be Gentle arriving early to pick me up. When I saw the kind blonde stranger on the porch, I felt momentary relief, but when she held out a flyer my stomach sank. Ugh. A door-to-door salesperson. I don't have time for this!

"I'm starting a morning prayer meeting in my home, and I'd love it if you could come," she said with a warm smile.

I took the flyer and smiled back at her. But I frowned when I saw the time: 6:00 in the morning! 

"I made it early so people could come before work," she explained. "You can come and stay for a few minutes, or for the whole hour."

Gesturing to Allyson, who was clinging to my leg, I told her I didn't think I could make it that early.

"Well, I take requests," she said, pointing out her phone number on the flyer. "If you have any prayer needs, please let me know."

I thanked her and went back to frying the tilapia with a grin on my face. I'd just been asking God to help me relax and rest in His presence, to make me ready for Bible study, and then He sent Phyllis. My spirits were instantly lifted.

I couldn't stop thinking about her for two days. I was amazed at her boldness, to knock on a stranger's door and invite her to a prayer meeting! I wondered how many people were meeting in her home each morning. What if no one came? Maybe I...? No, it was way too early in the morning.

Then I remembered Priscilla Shirer's admonition on the videos at the Jonah Bible study. She urges us to "go to the Nineveh in our neighborhood," to show God's love to people who need Him. Hadn't I been asking God to show me how to love the people in my neighborhood?

I phoned Phyllis on Thursday to tell her I'd come at 6:30 on Friday morning, and she was ecstatic. She told me she'd handed out 30 flyers that Tuesday. "On Wednesday morning, I told God how disappointed I was that it was only me," she admitted. "But then He said, 'You're not alone. I'm here. Jesus is here. The Holy Spirit is here. That makes four of us.'"

In the morning darkness on Friday, I walked to her house, about eight houses down. We prayed for our neighborhood, and for our families. I loved the instant connection we felt as sisters in Christ. I told her I'd come back on Mondays and Fridays.

The way Phyllis had reached out to me brought to mind the candy canes, and I started thinking about what we might do for Valentines Day. On that same Tuesday, Gentle had given us a treat bag with a card that said, "We love because He first loved us." She said she was handing out bags to her neighbors.

So today I baked triple ginger cookies and filled six Ziploc bags with six cookies each. I took six of Allyson's leftover Valentines and wrote, "We love because He first loved us... The Broad Family... Bill, Sarah, Ethan & Allyson."
 
Allyson was of course excited to come; the candy canes back in 2009 had been her idea. I wasn't too sure about Ethan, but he agreed readily. When Allyson invited Bill, though, he said, "I think I'll stay here and clean the kitchen."


By the time everything was ready, it was nearly 8:00 and getting dark. We slipped on our flip-flops, and I put on a light jacket despite the unseasonably warm temperature today--in the 70s this afternoon after last week's dip into the teens.

We followed the same route we'd covered with the candy canes, so it wasn't so scary as the first time. Allyson rang the bell when we got to the house of the family who gave us the pumpkin pie. The moment the door swung open, she whispered, "Happy Valentines Day," and handed the man the cookies.

"Oh, you guys are so good to us always!" he exclaimed.

I blushed. "They're ginger snaps," was all I could think of to say.

"Well Happy Valentines Day!" he said.

The door was already half closed when I asked, "Is Elizabeth home?"

"Yes, she's right here," he said, pointing to the dining room table. I realized that once again I'd interrupted their dinner, but I plowed on, telling her about Phyllis's prayer meeting.

Apologizing for being in her pajamas, Elizabeth nevertheless came to the door with a tablet in hand. I told her the address and the time, as well as my phone number. She thanked me warmly and we wished them a good evening.

We had one more house left, an addition to last year's list. I wanted to take some cookies to Phyllis even though I knew I'd be seeing her at 6:30 in the morning. I wanted the kids to meet her, and I wasn't ready for our little adventure to end yet.

Her house was brightly lit, and there were two cars in the driveway. "She's home!" I said. "Now, Allyson, this time you need to say 'Happy Valentines Day' really loud, okay?"

Allyson rang the bell, and we waited for what seemed a long time. "She's probably looking out at us and not opening the door," Ethan said.

"No, she wouldn't do that," I argued. I knocked on the door, and Allyson did too. A moment later the door opened, and we were face to face with a strange man who looked to be in his 30s or 40s. Phyllis had told me she lived alone with her son, but this man seemed too old. For a moment I thought I might have the wrong house, but this was definitely it.

The man cocked his head and eyed us in confusion. Oblivious to the awkward silence, Allyson handed him the bag, shouting, "Happy Valentines Day!" He glanced down at the cookies, and there was another heavy silence. Then he sputtered, "Well, thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," I murmured. "Um, good night."

Back on the sidewalk, Ethan asked why I didn't tell him we were looking for Phyllis. "I was expecting her to answer the door," I said. "I was so surprised to see him that I just froze. I couldn't even remember Phyllis's name at that moment."

"Well, you should call her or something," he said. "He's probably telling her right now that some crazy lady is going around the neighborhood handing out cookies."

I burst into laughter. "Yes, he probably is," I choked out. "Oh well." And we laughed all the way home, just like we did when we handed out the candy canes. When we told Bill the story, he just shook his head.

I'll tell her in the morning. It was only a matter of time before she figured it out, anyway: yes, I am a crazy lady. It sure is fun!