- My son drove the SUV (our primary family vehicle) into a utility pole. It was entirely preventable. He wanted to see how fast he could go. Now he knows.
- When I bought our insurance policy a couple years ago online, I neglected to get collision insurance. I thought it was covered under comprehensive. My husband was working incredibly long hours, at the beginning of an extremely difficult year during which I rarely saw him and when I did he was exhausted. I intended to have him look over the policy and forgot. Big oops.
- The body shop got to $16,000 worth of damage and stopped counting. The SUV is dead, and we're only half-way through the expensive payments.
- My husband was laid off yesterday--the third layoff in just over two years.
- On the way to the body shop yesterday, our car stalled with some kind of transmission problem. We got it started again, but it was touch and go for a couple minutes.
- Summer is always an impossible time of year for us financially, as I don't get a regular paycheck then.
- Yesterday was our anniversary.
- Blah.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
no words for my feelings
This is a hard, hard week for our family. How do we struggle? Let me count the ways:
Saturday, April 25, 2009
the big arms of God, part 2
How ironic that I wrote my last blog post about how the internet allows us to nurture and support each other. At that time, I was thinking about how the internet has allowed me to offer support to others. Little did I know that I was also writing about how those others can in turn support me.
Tonight, my son drove the SUV to a place he hadn't been, one town over. I've had an uneasy feeling about it all day, but I couldn't figure out why. He's been a good driver. He had to call several times on the way there because he couldn't find the place, but he eventually made it. I was incredibly relieved when he called to say he was on the way home. Around the time I was expecting him back, I got the call: "Mom, I had an accident." As hard as this was to hear, it was better than, "Ma'am, your son has had an accident."
Matt was anxious to get home and was taking a turn at 40 mph instead of the posted 25. He hit a utility pole. We have no idea what the damage is. And stupid, stupid me. Several years ago when I set up this account, I got the coverage we could afford to pay at the time. I fully intended to have Doug look at the coverage and update it if needed, but I completely forgot.
So our primary vehicle is undrivable and is being towed (as soon as the utility pole is repaired). I have no idea how we'll begin to pay for it. But my baby is okay.
While Doug was on the way to be with Matt, I quickly posted something on Facebook:
Within half an hour, eight of my friends had posted good wishes and prayers for us. These included the friend who used to babysit my kids, a woman I work with, my brother and his friend, and four women from HysterSisters who I've never actually met before. What a wondrous support. I am freaked out but feeling so supported and loved.
Tonight, my son drove the SUV to a place he hadn't been, one town over. I've had an uneasy feeling about it all day, but I couldn't figure out why. He's been a good driver. He had to call several times on the way there because he couldn't find the place, but he eventually made it. I was incredibly relieved when he called to say he was on the way home. Around the time I was expecting him back, I got the call: "Mom, I had an accident." As hard as this was to hear, it was better than, "Ma'am, your son has had an accident."
Matt was anxious to get home and was taking a turn at 40 mph instead of the posted 25. He hit a utility pole. We have no idea what the damage is. And stupid, stupid me. Several years ago when I set up this account, I got the coverage we could afford to pay at the time. I fully intended to have Doug look at the coverage and update it if needed, but I completely forgot.
So our primary vehicle is undrivable and is being towed (as soon as the utility pole is repaired). I have no idea how we'll begin to pay for it. But my baby is okay.
While Doug was on the way to be with Matt, I quickly posted something on Facebook:
My son has had an accident, hitting a utility pole. Sounds like the car is totaled, but he is okay. Police car and fire truck are there. He's very shaken up. His dad's there with him now.
Within half an hour, eight of my friends had posted good wishes and prayers for us. These included the friend who used to babysit my kids, a woman I work with, my brother and his friend, and four women from HysterSisters who I've never actually met before. What a wondrous support. I am freaked out but feeling so supported and loved.Friday, April 24, 2009
the big arms of God
I said it on Facebook. I said it on Twitter. I'll say it here:
Our species, I think, is not intended for solo life. We are part of community; we need community. When I am grieving or festering or bouncing off the walls, there is nothing so centering to me as the physical presence of a friend. Having the arms of someone who loves me (or even the arms of a total stranger) wrapped around me is such a deep comfort. Seeing into someone's eyes, seeing a smile, hearing a chuckle, and just being with a person can heal.
I have moved away from the town in northwestern Illinois where I grew up, as have most of my friends from that time. After earning my master's degree, I moved to the St. Louis area to teach. My husband and I stayed there for eleven years. We married, had children, had careers thrive and shrivel, joined church communities, and did all the things a young family does. When we moved to southeastern Wisconsin, the hardest thing was disconnecting from the physical presence of people we loved and who loved us. We stayed in touch through email with some. Here, we have new friends, and we have been supported and loved here as well.
Yet I am intrigued by how the internet gives us different arms for reaching out, to hold and uphold others. The hysterectomy support website I am part of, HysterSisters, is a big part of my thinking about this. HysterSisters has over 160,000 registered members, most of whom have drifted away as they have healed and resumed normal lives. Last night, however, we had a live online chat. Approximately 25 women, none of whom had ever met in person, gathered together through the internet to share experiences, fears, laughter, and joy. We laughed out loud together, in our own homes, at the silly typing errors we made. We cried with a young woman who faces cancer. As our fingers flew across our keyboards, we joined together in support and nurture. It was a powerful experience.
The internet has also helped me be with friends in their struggles. I've reconnected with someone I trusted enough to babysit my children. As she struggles with infertility and surgery, we chat online to realize that good friendship never goes away, even when friends move. Another friend is drowning under waves of family and professional stress. I have been honored to read her messages and send cyberhugs. And one friend, a HysterSister I've never met, informed us through our shared website that her husband had suddenly passed away. Through the internet, many of us have been able to reach out, to encourage, to cry with her, and to accompany her on her new journey from afar.
Although there is nothing that comes close to physically being with someone, the internet is so very powerful. Unlike a letter or email, that I read when I receive it and then cry in response to a friend's sorrows, the immediacy of the internet allows me to cry with them. And when I share my own struggles, I know that I will be lifted up by friends around the world. And that, my friends, is one of the ways God wraps His big arms around us.
I continue to be awed by the way the internet allows us to expand our capacity to nurture and support our fellow humans.
I have moved away from the town in northwestern Illinois where I grew up, as have most of my friends from that time. After earning my master's degree, I moved to the St. Louis area to teach. My husband and I stayed there for eleven years. We married, had children, had careers thrive and shrivel, joined church communities, and did all the things a young family does. When we moved to southeastern Wisconsin, the hardest thing was disconnecting from the physical presence of people we loved and who loved us. We stayed in touch through email with some. Here, we have new friends, and we have been supported and loved here as well.
Yet I am intrigued by how the internet gives us different arms for reaching out, to hold and uphold others. The hysterectomy support website I am part of, HysterSisters, is a big part of my thinking about this. HysterSisters has over 160,000 registered members, most of whom have drifted away as they have healed and resumed normal lives. Last night, however, we had a live online chat. Approximately 25 women, none of whom had ever met in person, gathered together through the internet to share experiences, fears, laughter, and joy. We laughed out loud together, in our own homes, at the silly typing errors we made. We cried with a young woman who faces cancer. As our fingers flew across our keyboards, we joined together in support and nurture. It was a powerful experience.
The internet has also helped me be with friends in their struggles. I've reconnected with someone I trusted enough to babysit my children. As she struggles with infertility and surgery, we chat online to realize that good friendship never goes away, even when friends move. Another friend is drowning under waves of family and professional stress. I have been honored to read her messages and send cyberhugs. And one friend, a HysterSister I've never met, informed us through our shared website that her husband had suddenly passed away. Through the internet, many of us have been able to reach out, to encourage, to cry with her, and to accompany her on her new journey from afar.
Although there is nothing that comes close to physically being with someone, the internet is so very powerful. Unlike a letter or email, that I read when I receive it and then cry in response to a friend's sorrows, the immediacy of the internet allows me to cry with them. And when I share my own struggles, I know that I will be lifted up by friends around the world. And that, my friends, is one of the ways God wraps His big arms around us.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
cemetery musings
The black marble has been carved into the shape of a tractor tire. On one side of the stone are the names and birthdates of my husband’s parents, the date of their wedding, the cross-and-flame symbol of the United Methodist Church, and a picture of my father-in-law’s beloved John Deere tractor. On the reverse side are the names of others I love: my husband, my three children, my brother-in-law, and his children. It is the gravestone for two people who still live, although time and health will change that all too soon.
I have always had a fascination with cemeteries. There is something very sobering and life-affirming about walking through a cemetery. I look at the very old stones, thinking about people living full lives so long ago. Or maybe I think about the shortness of their lives as I see the birth and death dates of children or of young women who surely died in childbirth. I am struck by the overlapping of lives; people come and go, all part of this one same community.
In the farmland of central Illinois, the windows blow in from the west, picking up power across the plains. The cemetery is at the edge of town, between the state highway and the corn and soybean fields that have sustained this town for generations. It is a community I married into. I still feel like an outsider, although I have been welcomed with open arms.
My daughter is also fascinated by cemeteries, especially the very old stones and clusters of graves of people in the same families. Yesterday we drove down to the farm. My husband’s brother lives there with his family—the third generation of Taylors to live there. Typically when we come down, it’s a big occasion, with all sorts of relatives gathering because we don’t see them very often. The original plan was that tomorrow, Easter Sunday, would bring my mother-in-law’s family all together. Sadly, her brother died last week and all the relatives are traveling to Connecticut for the funeral. So this time, it’s just us with my brother-in-law and his family. As a result, this is a very low-key and laid-back visit. Instead of having to make preparations for a huge family gathering of 20 people, it’s just our two families and we’ve had a lot more down-time than usual. My daughter asked me to take her to the cemetery so she could look at the stones.
After I pointed out the graves of some of her ancestors and relatives, Becky wandered off to look for old gravestones. I stayed with the relatives and remembered the people I’d known and regretted the fact that I had never known a few of the relatives buried there. I thought about how my husband and children were part of this community. Their names were on someone’s gravestone, and they were connected to these people. I, on the other hand, was not. I was a visitor, a passerby. But then I looked around at some of the names. I realized that I had written thank-you notes for my wedding shower and baby shower gifts to many of the women buried there. In fact, some of the dish towels I received from those women are worn but still in use in my kitchen. At that point, I realized that even though I wasn’t part of this community, the community was part of me.
As I looked back at my in-laws’ gravestone, I realized that I was part of this community after all, if only in a peripheral way. Every time my mother-in-law shared a story about our life events—pregnancies, job changes, baptisms, school events, health issues, and more—our lives became part of the fabric of the community. My children are Taylors—a family that has been here more than 100 years. We helped pay for the stained glass window in the narthex of the church—finished just the week before our wedding.
I stood in the cemetery yesterday at the age of 44, feeling very sobered. For a few moments, I felt more connected to the history of the community than to the present and future. My life is more than half over, and there are times I wonder if I’ve made any difference at all while I’ve been here and if there’s any time left to make up for lost opportunities. Then I looked at my 14-year old daughter in her young woman’s body, with all the hope of the future in her soul even while she looked back into the past. And I knew that there in the place of loss and permanence was the miracle of life and living. Right next to the gravestones marked with my family’s names, where I will bring flowers in just a few years, were two graves where someone had hung windchimes. I untangled the windchimes and listened to the beautiful music brought to this cemetery by the winds from the west and knew that we make a difference one moment at a time.
I have always had a fascination with cemeteries. There is something very sobering and life-affirming about walking through a cemetery. I look at the very old stones, thinking about people living full lives so long ago. Or maybe I think about the shortness of their lives as I see the birth and death dates of children or of young women who surely died in childbirth. I am struck by the overlapping of lives; people come and go, all part of this one same community.
In the farmland of central Illinois, the windows blow in from the west, picking up power across the plains. The cemetery is at the edge of town, between the state highway and the corn and soybean fields that have sustained this town for generations. It is a community I married into. I still feel like an outsider, although I have been welcomed with open arms.
My daughter is also fascinated by cemeteries, especially the very old stones and clusters of graves of people in the same families. Yesterday we drove down to the farm. My husband’s brother lives there with his family—the third generation of Taylors to live there. Typically when we come down, it’s a big occasion, with all sorts of relatives gathering because we don’t see them very often. The original plan was that tomorrow, Easter Sunday, would bring my mother-in-law’s family all together. Sadly, her brother died last week and all the relatives are traveling to Connecticut for the funeral. So this time, it’s just us with my brother-in-law and his family. As a result, this is a very low-key and laid-back visit. Instead of having to make preparations for a huge family gathering of 20 people, it’s just our two families and we’ve had a lot more down-time than usual. My daughter asked me to take her to the cemetery so she could look at the stones.
After I pointed out the graves of some of her ancestors and relatives, Becky wandered off to look for old gravestones. I stayed with the relatives and remembered the people I’d known and regretted the fact that I had never known a few of the relatives buried there. I thought about how my husband and children were part of this community. Their names were on someone’s gravestone, and they were connected to these people. I, on the other hand, was not. I was a visitor, a passerby. But then I looked around at some of the names. I realized that I had written thank-you notes for my wedding shower and baby shower gifts to many of the women buried there. In fact, some of the dish towels I received from those women are worn but still in use in my kitchen. At that point, I realized that even though I wasn’t part of this community, the community was part of me.
As I looked back at my in-laws’ gravestone, I realized that I was part of this community after all, if only in a peripheral way. Every time my mother-in-law shared a story about our life events—pregnancies, job changes, baptisms, school events, health issues, and more—our lives became part of the fabric of the community. My children are Taylors—a family that has been here more than 100 years. We helped pay for the stained glass window in the narthex of the church—finished just the week before our wedding.
I stood in the cemetery yesterday at the age of 44, feeling very sobered. For a few moments, I felt more connected to the history of the community than to the present and future. My life is more than half over, and there are times I wonder if I’ve made any difference at all while I’ve been here and if there’s any time left to make up for lost opportunities. Then I looked at my 14-year old daughter in her young woman’s body, with all the hope of the future in her soul even while she looked back into the past. And I knew that there in the place of loss and permanence was the miracle of life and living. Right next to the gravestones marked with my family’s names, where I will bring flowers in just a few years, were two graves where someone had hung windchimes. I untangled the windchimes and listened to the beautiful music brought to this cemetery by the winds from the west and knew that we make a difference one moment at a time.
Friday, April 10, 2009
reality bites
I've found lately that I'm really disturbed by many reality shows.
I religiously watched the first three seasons of MTV's Real World. I reluctantly watched the second half of the first season of Survivor and got hooked for the next two years. I felt guilty and voyeuristic at every episode, so I made sure to critically analyze the changing relationship dynamics of these total strangers who lived together and competed against each other in various ways. It was fascinating for a time, but it didn't keep my attention long-term.
Then we came into an era of American Idol. I watched five minutes of it and got bored. Fear Factor? Ick. Then there were shows about nannies, and I've never understood the appeal of them. Is it to make us see how much worse it could be so we'll feel better about our own lives and our own choices? I really don't get it.
Recently, my husband has begun to watch a couple shows that really disturb me. The name of one escapes me now, but it's kind of a Candid Camera show. People are presented with a contrived situation that forces them to make a difficult decision. The other one is Wife Swap. I've been trying to figure out what bothers me so much about them, and it's this: they change people's lives. The Candid Camera-type show had one situation in which people witnessed racial discrimination at a fast food place, and the idea was to see whether they would join in, walk away, or stand up against it. Some situations require a great deal of courage to do the right thing. When people do what they feel they should in a difficult situation, it takes something out of them. Likewise, many times it's hard to find the strength and courage to do the right thing--in which case someone has to live with that knowledge. Creating that situation intentionally, with the purpose of forcing someone to have this experience that they have to live with, feels wrong. It's one thing to have a reality show that people choose to participate in; it's entirely something else to put them into a situation that could harm them emotionally.
Wife Swap is the same thing, except here, the adults do have a choice. The kids don't. Two completely different types of women move in with the other one's family. For the first week, they follow the existing rhythms and rules of the family's life. The second week, they put their own guidelines in place. Twice, I've seen a swapped mom make a kid give away a cherished object. I just do not think that's okay. Meanwhile, the husband and the kids are learning some new ways from the swapped wife as they develop new ways to see their lives. This isn't necessarily bad--but after the wives return home, what happens? The woman has had her ways validated by watching the other family benefit from her guidance. Meanwhile, her own family has undergone changes. How can a show do this to families?
t truly bothers me that there is an industry that makes money by damaging lives.
I religiously watched the first three seasons of MTV's Real World. I reluctantly watched the second half of the first season of Survivor and got hooked for the next two years. I felt guilty and voyeuristic at every episode, so I made sure to critically analyze the changing relationship dynamics of these total strangers who lived together and competed against each other in various ways. It was fascinating for a time, but it didn't keep my attention long-term.
Then we came into an era of American Idol. I watched five minutes of it and got bored. Fear Factor? Ick. Then there were shows about nannies, and I've never understood the appeal of them. Is it to make us see how much worse it could be so we'll feel better about our own lives and our own choices? I really don't get it.
Recently, my husband has begun to watch a couple shows that really disturb me. The name of one escapes me now, but it's kind of a Candid Camera show. People are presented with a contrived situation that forces them to make a difficult decision. The other one is Wife Swap. I've been trying to figure out what bothers me so much about them, and it's this: they change people's lives. The Candid Camera-type show had one situation in which people witnessed racial discrimination at a fast food place, and the idea was to see whether they would join in, walk away, or stand up against it. Some situations require a great deal of courage to do the right thing. When people do what they feel they should in a difficult situation, it takes something out of them. Likewise, many times it's hard to find the strength and courage to do the right thing--in which case someone has to live with that knowledge. Creating that situation intentionally, with the purpose of forcing someone to have this experience that they have to live with, feels wrong. It's one thing to have a reality show that people choose to participate in; it's entirely something else to put them into a situation that could harm them emotionally.
Wife Swap is the same thing, except here, the adults do have a choice. The kids don't. Two completely different types of women move in with the other one's family. For the first week, they follow the existing rhythms and rules of the family's life. The second week, they put their own guidelines in place. Twice, I've seen a swapped mom make a kid give away a cherished object. I just do not think that's okay. Meanwhile, the husband and the kids are learning some new ways from the swapped wife as they develop new ways to see their lives. This isn't necessarily bad--but after the wives return home, what happens? The woman has had her ways validated by watching the other family benefit from her guidance. Meanwhile, her own family has undergone changes. How can a show do this to families?
t truly bothers me that there is an industry that makes money by damaging lives.
Monday, April 6, 2009
traffic deaths
I just saw an article on CNN that says that traffic deaths in 2008 were the lowest they've been since 2008. Somehow, I don't think that is any comfort to the families of the 37,313 people who were lost. One of those lives belonged to the nine-year old child of some people we used to know from Cub Scouts. Does it help his parents to know that their child was part of such a wonderful statistic?
Saturday, April 4, 2009
boys really are weird
Son #2 just informed that he can crush a soda can against his head, suggesting that I am supposed to be impressed by that accomplishment.
He is now telling me all the things that taste better with bacon.
He is now telling me all the things that taste better with bacon.
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