Spasm & Reflection

Four days ago my spine went out of alignment.  This is nothing new for me.  It seems to happen once or twice a year when I get overly confident on the limits of what my body can lift, do, or perform.  So, for the past three days the pain has intensified.  I have tried nearly every position known to man to try and get comfortable.  I have sat cross legged on the floor with my back against the wall.  I have laid flat on my back on the hard wood floor in the kitchen staring up at the recessed lighting and wondered why the builder of my house chose to install the can lights asymmetrical in the ceiling.  (Disappointing to discover this five years after the house was built.)  I also noticed a few cob webs, but they only serve as a reminder about how much I don’t like cleaning.  I have laid on my back with both knees brought up to my chest for cycles of three minutes up and two minutes down over the course of an hour. I have lain on top of a swimming pool noodle on my bedroom floor hoping to relieve the pain.  I learned this trick from a physical therapist a number of years ago.  Her claim is that this noodle provides enough resistance to your spine so that your shoulders will fall back to touch the floor, thus stretching your core. I always hope it works, but end up feeling like I am five because I start rolling back and forth on the noodle until the spasms are so intense I howl out in pain.  Laying and being still has never been one of my strong suits.

Last night I feverishly searched the Internet while lying on my stomach on the floor propping my head up with one hand in an effort to “stretch” my spine.  I was looking for any video, article or suggestion for how to alleviate the intense spasms and the sciatica that has joined the intense spasms that jolt through my body like 240 volts of electricity.  I found an interesting technique which didn’t seem to come with any endorsement from a physician.  I threw caution to the wind and tried it out anyway.  It calls for you to get into an empty bathtub and slowly move your back up and down the edge of the bathtub.  It looked twice as strange it sounds.  I didn’t know if you were supposed to have your clothes on or off.  So, I opted for on since there wasn’t any water in the tub. Why would I need to disrobe? Getting into the tub was a fifteen minute expedition.  Raising your leg high enough to get over the edge of the tub sent waves of spasms throughout my back.  I howled some more with the hopes that noise will somehow lessen the pain. It doesn’t.

After the less than miraculous tub experience I realize how thirsty I am.  So, I slide down the stairs on my bum step by step.  I don’t recommend this on hard wood steps, sans carpet. I arrived on the main floor of my house and rustled up a glass- staring out the window as I pour a glass of cranberry juice.  Refreshing!  The spasms began and I took the cue to lay down on the floor again.  I stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long watching the smoke detector blink every few seconds.  I wondered if my dragon breath could set the alarm off if I blew upward hard enough to send the fire-like breath upward to the sensor.  It did not.

So, in between all of my efforts to quiet the physical pain I am forced to be here with my thoughts.  Driving has been out of the question because getting in and out of the car would require an act by Houdini.  Here I am, stuck at home.  I’ve pondered a lot of things this weekend.  I can’t busy myself enough to stop the flow of thoughts I have had the past three days.  With reluctance I’ve worked on answering some questions that I typically manage to push aside when I have the freedom of easy mobility.  You know, things along the lines of “What really matters to you in life?” and “Where are you going?  What goals do you have?” – None of those questions should be asked when you have nothing but time on your hands. Trust me. You’ll end up hating yourself.

After three days I am confident of these things… The cob webs need to be knocked down in the kitchen, the hard wood steps in my house are not comfortable to slide down on and I am sure that nobody in the world has ever realigned their spine using the edge of the bathtub.   The light in the smoke detectors in my house blink 8 times per minute and they truly must only detect smoke, not dragon breath.

Looking forward to joining the work world again tomorrow provided the Motrin and heat pads will get me through!  Here’s to personal reflection time.  Do whatever you can to avoid it.  J

Maybe I Should Do Something Nice For Someone?

God only knows why I think I can achieve a state of physical fitness and good health.  I have yet to achieve such a state in my thirty-nine plus years on Earth.  Yet, for the last seven months I have stomped into the fitness center close to my home in an effort to achieve this goal.

I waltzed into the center this afternoon and hopped on the treadmill.  This part has become routine.  I flip the channels on the connected TV, punch the wide range of hieroglyphic picture buttons and await the magic of when the treadmill begins to move.  Often times it tips backwards to provide a more rigorous workout with an incline.  Those aren’t my favorite runs when this giant contraption of metal, plastic and hieroglyphics tips backwards, but I am dealing with it as I can’t quite figure out how to make the thing operate with a more level plane.  Of course I could ask someone for help, but at the age of nearly forty I figure I should be able to figure this stuff out.  Seven months into this quest I still haven’t managed to master the buttons.  All in good time, right?

After my run I stomped over to the weight machine and free weight area.  This is where the real show begins.  I weave between the muscle heads and yoga girls to take my turn at a variety of machines, the likes of which remind me of some space-age looking contraption that could transform into a robot at any second.  I am convinced that my carefree operation of these machines brings much amusement for the other gym goers.  Am I a gym-goer?  I am not sure I can technically fall into that category as my time there is spent attempting to look like I know what I am doing, but none the less I am there, I go there. So, maybe I am a gym-goer.

This afternoon had plenty of humor evoking moments.  Take for example my time on the leg press machine.  I hurl myself aboard the contraption, select the weight and heave my body backwards to move the weight off of the floor.  Audible sounds of exerted energy fill the air and ears of those around me. – It is on the first set and eighth repetition that I feel it happening.  My body temperature rises instantly.  I begin to sweat profusely.  Then it is confirmed with the narrowing of my field of vision.  I am on the verge of passing out.  It is by some stroke of luck that I manage to throw my self off of this machine and onto the floor.  By now I am crawling to the pillar in the middle of the area so I can lean against the thing and put my head between my knees in a weak attempt to regain my faculties.  Sweat is running down my face, neck and back.  At least I look like I have been working out hard.  Nobody needs to know it is the physical response to my lack of physical fitness and overdoing it.  My field of vision has nearly closed completely by this time and I see a large object moving toward me.  Yep, one of the muscle heads comes over and says, “Dude, are you gonna be alright, buddy?”  Now, I should be appreciative that someone gives a rip enough to check in on the tall, lanky, clearly ill prepared gym goer who is in a heap on the floor.  Oh, no.  Instead I am embarrassed and muster a thumbs up sign and say, “Oh, yeah, I’m cool here.” – I’m cool here?  Who says that? – Apparently I do.  The guy stood there for a minute.  It is at this time that a cute yoga girl slid over to check on the goings on.  Maybe she is his girlfriend.  I think they look like a good couple, but I am taken off guard by this growing group of gym goers who is focusing on my clear inability to manage the workload.  It is only by a whim and a prayer that my tunnel vision begins to widen, my breathing slows and color comes back to my face.  The yoga/muscle head couple smiles at me and ask for assurance that I am really going to be OK.  I am.  Yet, they continue to keep a close eye on me for the rest of my time at the gym.  As I scurry through the remaining exercises I am sort of appreciative that some one- actually some two- took time to notice me in my hour of need.  Chivalry is not dead, people…. It inspired me to be on the lookout for someone else in need.  Now let’s see if I do just that.  With any luck there will be someone in need that I can pay the kindness forward to this week.

Memory Lane

I remember the time my mom, my brother, Heidi our Yellow Lab, and I drove to the Popcorn Stand in the middle of our town square.  I must have been all of ten years old.  My mom pushed the accelerator of the blue Cadillac Sedan Deville to the floor.  We all sunk into the seat backs and howled with excitement.  My mum is the WORST driver, as is evidenced by her countless fender benders.  Yet, we love the anticipation of wondering if today's adventure will result in the Cadillac having any rearranged parts.

We whizzed by the Dairy Queen - another of our favorite hot spots for a mid-summer night treat with fixed determination to get to the Popcorn Stand before they close for the evening.

My mum squeals the tires of the Cadillac around the corner of the parking entrance to the town square.  It feels like we might have been two wheeling it, but who really knows.  We flee the car and stomp up to the Popcorn Stand window.  The aroma of the freshly popped corn makes me feel like I am in the movie theater.  We all start salivating.  Rounds of snow cones and buttered popcorn are ordered for all, including Heidi our Yellow Lab.

We sat barefoot in the grass in the town square sucking down hand fulls of popcorn and snow cones.  The feeling of satisfaction overpowers us as we have beat the clock once again with my mother's crazy white knuckle driving.

Yet, as I take this walk down memory lane I smile and wish that as an adult, all these years later, I still had some sort of connection with all of the core members of our family.  I have a connection with my oldest brother who sees things similarly to the way I do when it comes to some of the members of our family.  For that I am grateful, but for an instant I wonder how the desire to be close to the other members of the family has faded away.  Though I believe it is healthy to distance yourself from some people, even if they are family, it still strikes me as odd that I feel so disconnected from some of them.  Then I am reminded that you don't owe anyone anything, even if they are a family member.  Trust, respect and unwavering love are earned, aren't they?  Or is it that they have clipped me and I am under a false illusion that I am the one who has clipped them?  Too deep of a topic to ponder now..... I need lunch.

Digital Age

A student came in from recess one day this week sobbing.  I swung into action thinking there must have been an altercation on the playground.  I was ready to take this on and seize that teachable moment to help these young learners resolve conflict by arming them with a few strategies for how to handle frustration. 

Too soon! - When I inquired as to what all the hub-bub was about I couldn't help but smile.  The child in tears managed to say the following through the sobbing.  "My cousin went to Washington D.C. and now we can't Skype."

We are living in the digital age.. How do I know this?  When a five year old is stressed out over when they are going to be able to Skype a relative you know it is for sure. :)

You Know School is Back in Session When....

You know you are back at school with Kindergarteners when….

-          You need toothpicks to keep your eyes open at 7:45 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

-          You come home with Scotch ™ tape stuck to your rear end.

-          You think a bug is climbing up your leg but look down to realize a five year old is “petting” your leg while sitting at your feet during a read-aloud.

-          You have indigestion mid-afternoon because you crammed down half of a cantaloupe, an apple, a few slices of chicken and a bottle of water for lunch in the span of 6 minutes.

A Nibble



It was the summer of 2004.  I flew back to the Midwest to see my family. (Who knows why?  The only member of my family that I like is my oldest brother. He is worth the effort, though.)  It seemed a necessary evil to go spend time with these people.  It was my duty.  I checked into my brother's house upon arrival. (The one I like).  Staying at his house is like staying at the Hyatt.  He always wants to make sure they have your favorite things on hand.  What soda do you want?  Any special snacks you prefer, etc? There are near nightly invitations to take a ride to the Dairy Queen. - Yes, thank you I will go!   I do like good hospitality and thus he wins the Gold Standard award for hosting family members.

It was July.  It was hot.  My oldest niece has been booted out of her room so I could have her bed for my stay.  I think she and my other two nieces like my visit.  They like to do risky things when I am around. (Insert - crack the lock on the bathroom door when I am in the shower and then scream, shove things under the bedroom door to rouse my attention, jump out and scare me as I come around the corner, etc.)

It must have been the second night of my stay when the following occurred.  I awoke in the morning feeling hot.  I wrote this off to the humidity and stomped to the bathroom to get ready.  What to my wondering eyes should appear?  A huge red bump on my bum!  It was the size of a quarter or so and hard like cement.  Where does such a thing come from I wondered.  Two days later it was the size of a baseball, bright red and extremely painful.  If you want to be knocked down a few pegs and humbled, this is what you do: Waltz into the emergency room and tell the agent behind the desk that you have a problem with your bum.  There must be some special training for hospital workers so that they know how to curb their laughter when people like me stumble in with a red bum.  It gets worse...

After swallowing every last shred of dignity and pride that I had by telling the intake desk personnel about my troubles I was then whisked away to a triage area.  I proceeded to tell the nurse assigned to my case the trouble.  She wanted a look.  The next level of humility happens here.  I drop my drawers and show her my bum.  It has a protruding red ball from the right cheek.  Her look of horror told me everything.  She rescinded into the hallway and rounded up a doctor.  Soon the doctor zipped in with a Sharpie in hand.  Mmm Hmmm.... You know where this is going, don't you?  Circles were drawn on my bum by the doctor while the nurse and some other people, who I assumed were emergency room personnel, looked on.  I don't mind helping the world of science and letting people examine my ailments, but there is something about having your ailment be on your bum that makes this cooperative attitude die instantly. He wanted his colleagues to see the fang marks in my bum so as to have confirmation that it was in fact a spider bite.  There was much concurring by the small crew of professionals gathered around and hunkered over my bum.  I was craning my neck as best I could to look back there behind me to see what they were seeing.  Try it. It's hard to lay on your stomach and see your own bum- You'll be surprised.

For the next four days I was to receive IV anti-biotics to fight this infection, which turned out to be a spider bite from a Brown Recluse. - Apparently some hungry Brown  Recluse slid up my boxer shorts and took a nibble of my rear end during my sleep in my niece's bed. - (I had no interest in hopping back in that bed I tell you.) - Each day the doctors and nurses would want to examine the "progress" on my backside.  They always had a Sharpie in hand and drew circles around the area as it grew larger and larger. By day three I had shown nearly every person in the hospital my bum and thought nothing of it when a new nurse or doctor would stop in to have a look.  Why not?  It's only a free show, right?  Finally the infection began to subside.  Visions of a rump-ectomy flashed through my head from time to time during these few days and wondered if such a procedure had been attempted before now.

So, when I told my brother and his wife what had happened we had to make an agreement not to tell my niece or she would never sleep in her room again.  Though we did tell her in time. 

You can imagine the number of "Spider Man" and "Spidey" names I was called for the duration of my stay.

My Mother is Rollin' Into Town

You know that feeling.  It’s a mix of dread with some sort of whimsical anticipation?  Yes, of course you do.  It is when one or both of your parents are rollin’ into town to pay you a visit.  Even though you are an adult who has lived on your own, or made your own family, for years you still find yourself reverting back to that ‘ I hope I don’t get caught” feeling from childhood.  Not that you are hiding anything or that you have done something wrong.  No, not at all.  It is just that as you have matured and experienced much in your adult life there is still an element of your mom or dad being omnipotent. Remember being a kid and getting caught doing who knows what. (Insert stealing a buck from your mom’s purse to load up on some candy at the Quik Trip, or for forging his or her signature on a letter from school that needed to be returned to the school principal, etc.) See…..You feel the memory yet?  Good.

So, my mum is rollin’ into town on Thursday of this week.  All I can think is, “Lord, give us strength.”  The flight of the bumble bee will begin Wednesday evening around 9 pm.  I will reacquaint myself with the vacuum. (God only knows where I last put it) I will do a thorough inventory of the linen closet and kitchen cabinets to be sure that I haven’t left anything in there that might be incriminating.  You know, copies of my work evaluations, letters from a long lost love or anything else that would give her any glimmer of ammunition to launch into a full on ambush of questioning.  Oh, your mum does that too?  Yes, the questions come fast and furious when a parental unit come to town.   I will wash the linens on the guest bed, which is really a futon.  (It is fun to feel like you are still in college.)  I have already bought plenty of caffeinated beverages for her.  We don’t want her any more cantankerous than necessary.  Long bouts of absence from caffeine tend to do this to people.  I will alert the neighbors that my mum is storming the city this weekend and invite them to go into lock down mode. She would surely hold them captive with her line of questioning to try and keep tabs on my “goings on” since the last time she flew across the country to visit.  It feels like only yesterday that she was here, but as I crunch the numbers I am shocked that it has been over two years.  I resign to the fact that I am due for a visit and convince myself that it is easier for her to come here than it is for me to go to the Midwest to see her. Your own turf makes it easier to tolerate your “loved” ones. Further, it is quite satisfying to leave as many lights on in my own home as I want.  This action is satisfying because I am using that tried and true strategy of passive aggressiveness to refute what my mom used to announce when coming home to a house with nearly every light burning.  “We are not supporting IE!” (IE: Iowa Electric Company) – Well, we WILL be supporting Seattle City Light this weekend!

The fury of Internet searches has begun! What can I cook up to do with her to keep the action moving and avoid as much down time as possible?  I congratulate myself that I have cooked up a full 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper (college ruled) with ideas.  I am good.  We will hit the ground running from the airport Thursday afternoon.  The agenda includes a casino stop, lunch in downtown, a concert in a local park and a movie. (Movies are always good because you can’t talk without getting kicked out of the theater.  That coupled with shoveling massive amounts of popcorn in your pie-hole guarantee a conversation-less evening out.) 

As I cleaned off the top of the refrigerator this afternoon to be sure she doesn’t sift through any of the last year’s paperwork up there I was thrilled to find several gift certificates. These are ones students have given me in the last year for the holidays, teacher appreciation and the end of the year gifts.  We will be going out to eat for every meal thanks to the generosity of the students who have been assigned to my tutelage.  I hope mum likes Italian.

So, as I gear up for a weekend of dodging any deep conversation with my mum I can feel my blood pressure rising and the desire to put up the emotional walls so that I can deflect any and all uncomfortable conversations that will inevitably creep in during the tightly planned, action packed weekend………Though I suppose this only reflects my own immaturity.  Wish me luck!