For English, Press 1

Lately I have spent an inordinate amount of time in hell – of the automated phone system variety. It started several weeks ago when my Comcast internet service “went down,” as they say, causing me to make repeated calls to an 800 number, all of which resulted in a recorded message stating that Comcast was experiencing “issues” (I kid you not) and suggesting that I would get quicker results by using my internet!

I will skip over the fact that we then had to wait an entire week for a technician to come out, and move on to the other opportunities I had to experience the full array and variety of automated phone systems. Among those I sampled were:

Medicare – trying to sign up for Part B.
Church Pension Fund – trying to get Medicare Supplemental Insurance.
V.A. – to say that $7,711 was probably not the correct amount for Kevin’s May visit.
McClatchy Company – to ask why they notified me that a bank we don’t use will no longer accept direct deposit of a payment we don’t get.

Other technological challenges came when the necessary forms from Church Pension Fund failed to arrive via either FAX or the internet (when it was fixed) and not being able to open the attachments from the Herald for Kevin’s health insurance.

I am not alone in these challenges, I know. Every one faces them. What I am thinking about is my own response to them.

My first reaction is, of course, annoyance. That something isn’t working right and that I have to deal with it.

My second is frustration. That the system doesn’t make much sense to me and that I can’t just get a person to talk to.

My third is the one that I wonder about. Someplace there is a little voice that says (not literally), “You’ll never be able to fix this.” I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true.

I think that is the voice of a very little child, who really can’t take care of very much, not my grown-up 65 year-old voice. But why do I hear it, and what can I do differently? Well, experience tells me I can handle things – many things, complicated and difficult things. Maybe I can piggyback on that, and make a plan for the next time.

I’ll say to myself:
1. I really hate dealing with this kind of detail and I resent that I have to do it.
2. But these kinds of things occur in everybody’s life and need to be dealt with.
3. I have done this successfully in the past, and I will now calmly do what needs to be done.

As I re-read the above, the rebellious part of me objects, but the mature part says, “Yes, that’s what grown-ups do.” I guess anyone who wants to be Cruisin’ at 65 ought to just cruise on through and be grown up.

Getting Ready

My approach to this pending surgery on my head is to trust that the operation will be straightforward and totally successful, and also to leave a few things noted and organized.

For example:

• The flowers in pots around the yard need deep watering at least once a week.
• So does the indoor hibiscus.
• The wax for the kitchen butcher block counter is mostly mineral oil, with a little paraffin melted in.
• The reason I have so many unopened pairs of stockings is that I foolishly signed on with one of those companies that automatically sends you several pairs every few months
• There are some delicious chocolates (thanks, Sarah!) that I’ve hoarded away. Hint: some people think behind the plates is a fine hiding place.

Oh, and incidentally - because I am the one who keeps track of these things:

• My Really Important Papers are in the top drawer, front, of my little file cabinet.
• The cost basis of a house in California is recalculated when one spouse dies, in a way that is of significant tax advantage to the survivor when s/he sells.
• My church pension pays the same amount to Kevin, if he survives me, as it pays to me now.

What else? Just to say that I love the life Kevin and I have made, and I expect to continue living it. I am deeply thankful for my life companions - my friends and siblings. I cherish my children as distinct, gifted individuals and amusing companions, as well as creative and wise resources for the challenges of life. I have the most adorable, interesting, and fun grandchildren anyone could have. And, I thank God for giving me meaningful work that I love.

Okay, I’m done. Time to go outside and enjoy the beauty of this new day! Oh, and water the pots around the yard instead of writing about them.

Sleeping With Ray

Ray spent the night with me last night. Ray Charles, that is. So did Elvis Presley, Enya, the Cowboy Junkies, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and even Lars H.U.G., all the way from Denmark. To name just a few.

With the increasing vibrating and thrumming sensations caused by the growth in my head, it’s been difficult to sleep. I turn this way and that, but still the thrumming continues. I don’t fuss really – I just lie there. It’s boring and uncomfortable after awhile, and it means I’m not at my best in the morning.

I had an inspiration yesterday – the thought that it’s hard to fully experience two kinds of sensory input simultaneously. My theory was that listening to music on my iPod might allow me to focus on the tunes and not on the vibrating. I’d like to report that I slept eight hours non-stop, but I didn’t. I did, however, sleep a lot more than in previous nights. The bonus was that when I was awake, I had the music to sooth and amuse me. I could still feel the thrumming, of course, but I was able to choose the music most of the time.

Thanks Ray and fellow crooners! Tonight once again I will have Georgia on My Mind, and all sorts of other pleasant thoughts.

Easier Said Than Done

I love what I call the Preaching Life. Monday mornings I hurry to my lectionary book, eager to see what the Bible lessons are for the next Sunday. Maybe the seed of an idea sprouts right away, but always, I carry the words around in my head and heart all week, waiting to see what will turn up that fits. Of course, I also pay attention to the historical and theological contexts. But my real question is “How do these lessons relate to the lives of the people who will hear my sermon, and where is God in it all?”

The funny thing is, even though the words I preach are mine, in the middle of saying them, I often realize that I need to pay attention, too. That the things I’m laying out as possibilities for others are possibilities for me, too.

I preached and celebrated Communion at the local Episcopal Senior Community today – Thanksgiving Day. The deacon read these words from the Gospel of Matthew:
Jesus said, "I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?

And I said to the people, “Easier said than done, isn’t it?” They laughed. I did, too. Because it’s true. It’s hard not to worry when you are in pain or having trouble breathing. It’s hard not to worry when your beloved has died or is in early stages of Alzheimer’s. When you have something that’s keeping you awake at night, it’s even hard to pray – no matter how good your intentions or how sturdy your faith.

But I also said this morning:

• We can try to set trust in God alongside fear of the unknown.
• We can remind ourselves, as Matthew says, “. . .indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”
• We can breathe in God, breathe out doubt.
• We can cling to God’s promises, such as, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

And, on this Thanksgiving Day, we can thank God for all the sweet blessings of our lives.

Squeaky Wheel

I have always tried to do what I’ve said I’ll do, and I assume other people will, too. But sometimes that doesn’t happen, and then you have to figure out whether to be a squeaky wheel. Maybe that comes easily to some people, but not to me. I guess I feel that it makes me look whiny and demanding. On the other hand, sometimes the thing you want to squeak about is really important, and that’s the spot I’m in now!

Besides telling the people I love that I have a benign tumor (emphasis on benign) that will have to be removed surgically, I have been trying to get the referral I need to actually meet with the brain surgeon. It should be easy, but it has gone this way:

Me: (on Friday to the neurologist’s secretary) “Hi, I met with Dr. X yesterday and he told me you would send on a referral to Dr. Y.”

Secretary: “I think I can do that by Monday.”

Me: I don’t say, “Not til Monday! For pity sake, this is my brain we’re talking about!” I do say, “Thank you. That would be great.”

Secretary: I’ll try.

Me: (on Monday) “Hi, I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to send that referral over to Dr.Y?”

Secretary: “No, I’m looking for your file now.”

Me: I don’t say, “I am going crazy with this tingling and vibrating in my body. What do you mean you’re looking for my file?” I do say, “This is making me very anxious. I know you have other anxious people, but will you please do it today.”

Secretary: “It’s just that I have a big pile, and we are short one person. But I’ll try.”

Me: “Thank you.”

After much agonizing the next morning (six days after I have been told I have to have surgery on my head) I decide that yes, I’ll be a squeaky wheel. I call the secretary again.

Secretary: (proudly) “We faxed that over yesterday.”

Me: (calling Dr. Y’s office now) “Hi, I understand Dr. X’s office has faxed a referral for me to meet with Dr. Y.”

Secretary: “No, we don’t have that yet.”

And so it went. Me offering to hand deliver the file from Dr. X to Dr. Y. Me trying not to come out of my skin, so that they could say, “That crazy woman. You can tell she has a brain tumor!”

I am happy to report that the file finally arrived after three faxings, and I now have an appointment for December 7.

Moral of the story: Sometimes it is really important to squeak!

It's All in My Head

As I've been discovering in the past week, there’s no easy way to say this. The tingling/ vibrating in my legs and lower body, which I had thought came from riding my bike, are actually all in my head. Literally, I’m afraid. There is a growth under my scalp, which the neurologist says is, “On your brain, not in it.”

It’s not what I expected to hear. I’m not the type to have a brain tumor. In-grown toenails, maybe. Varicose veins. But a growth in my head – it’s way too dramatic. It’s also scary and a pretty rough thing to tell your husband, children, and friends.

“Remember the word ‘benign,’” I say bravely, before I say the actual words “growth in my head.” I have to say it over and over, as I have family here, but also in Oregon, Maryland, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and even Denmark. Some become very quiet. Some may be crying. Some of them remain hopeful. “There are ways besides going into your skull, aren’t there?” No, I say calmly. I hope I say it calmly.

Some people rush quickly to how lucky I am. I am lucky, since the tumor is 99% likely to be non-cancerous and is not in the deep dark recesses of the organ that allows me to think and move and talk. On the other hand, I don’t feel totally lucky. In fact, I feel a little unlucky.

Life is rarely what you think. I thought I’d be wobbling along the bike path on my pink Cruiser by now, but instead I’m facing another kind of challenge. What I want now is to cruise through even this, acknowledging that it’s hard but not overwhelming. I want to do this with grace and tenderness and love.

Doing Things Properly

My dearest friend’s son is getting married, and the invitation has arrived. I sit staring at the beautiful little reply card, with its fancy M_________________. What am I supposed to write? And how can I can I express my excitement and affection on this tidy little card?

My first awareness of the mysterious world of Doing Things Properly came at the hand of my grandmother when I was seven. I excitedly showed her the neighbor girl’s birthday party invitation, decorated with balloons. She sat me down with a blank sheet of paper. “Write this,” she instructed. “Miss Wendy Louise Salisbury accepts with pleasure your kind invitation. . .” I was mortified, knowing even at seven that my friend’s mother would probably laugh.

My own mother, although she rejected most things her mother had done, was just as strict about Doing Things Properly. She ordered wedding invitations, informals, and birth announcements – properly engraved, mind you! – from Garfinkle’s in Washington, D.C. Even today, non compos mentis as she is, the fog will clear and she will say to me, “You didn’t get proper birth announcements for Sarah!” In the past I tried to say (for all the good it did) that Miss Manners declared what I sent – hand written announcements – are perfectly proper. Now I just take it. I only seethe a little bit.

After my terrible lapse, Mother began to give engraved wedding invitations and birth announcements as her gift to all her grandchildren as they married and procreated. It was the only way she could insure things were done according to her standards. Her granddaughters accepted the baby announcements good-naturedly, although I know of at least two who sent the proper ones to family members and cute ones to their friends.

Wedding invitations posed a problem, however, as Mother declared, “Those dreadful little reply cards are not proper,” and so the brides could not use them. (Need I point out that my mother ruled with an iron hand?)

Sometimes, however, unexpected things happen, and no reply cards meant my daughters received the most amusing and charming collection of RSVPs. By far the sweetest was a note to Jennie from an old family friend of her husband’s, who described in loving detail the happiness she had felt caring for John as a new-born baby 30 years before. My personal favorite was the tiny sticky note that Sarah had to search the envelope to find, adhered to the inside.

So I ask – if a reply card is not really proper, must one still use it properly? Also, is it not possible to be proper and personal simultaneously? May I not find a way to express affection along with my tally of who will attend?

Here is what I will write:
“Mr. and Mrs. Kevin Howe accept with pleasure and love!”