It's been two weeks now that my husband has been gone. And two weeks plus a few days still until he comes home. I miss him.
I know we talked about this and knew that it was a long time, but that there are reasons that long trips are better than short, but it is a long time.
It is not like when I was home with little kids and lacked adult conversation. I do see people - picking up and dropping off at school. Coworkers at the nursing home I work occasionally in. Friends at church. But here is such a different place. People do not drop in and visit. Dropping in on others to visit is considered unusual. As a result, visits are planned and formal. Because of that, they are less.
I miss my husband. I miss sitting down at the end of the day and talking about what happened, who did what, what we thought, what we plan for tomorrow. I guess there are places I could do that. I have friends I could phone or write, but I'm saving that spot. I don't want to fill his spot so that when he comes home I have to readjust, having been fine without him. Saving him a seat.
But I am lonely without him.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
When I am Old, I will Wear Purple
This was the name of a poem we had to read in nursing school. I wear purple anyway. It is my favorite color. The idea was that when we are old, we will throw off inhibitions and just do as we like. Sounds great, but when you think about it, it is only as great as what lies beneath those inhibitions. If all it is is a desire to wear purple, you've got it made.
We watch this extremely boring video series in a group we are in right now. It is so boring that when we have guests, I want to apologize to them! But, one thing the man did say recently was that he has often heard that once people get to a certain point that their faculties don't work so well, what is really inside them comes out with no filter.
That might be true. I've seen cases where I knew that that was true. I have worked with dementia patients for years now. Then there are other times that I wonder if that was really inside of them or if it is just the brain disintegrating. It is an intimidating thought, though.
I've had two nurses recently who have been my patients. One was a head nurse, and boy was she awful! Demanding, critical, impatient, angry. The one who took her place when she passed away is a delight. She is just a total delight. She tells me, "whenever I fit into your schedule, dearie, just let me know." I told her that at 99 years or age, she is allowed to tell me what she wants and I will fit that into my schedule.
Then I had the "sweet Christian man" who would read the Bible and sing hymns with his wife every afternoon, but when I gave him a bath every Tuesday - whoa! I have never heard such vile things come out of my most wicked male patients! I once tried to stop him by telling him I was married, but he answered, "That is ok. I won't tell my wife, and you don't need to tell your husband." His contrast between holy and vile made me cringe. Then there was the day he was tired of my stock answer of no. (believe me, I tried many different types of no - "no, I am just not attracted to men in diapers." "yup, seen that before. I've got four boys at home." "shut up." Nothing worked.) So one day he attacked me. I kicked him, mid transfer, just booted him into bed. (no, not abuse, just a hey, get off me and get into bed, and not gently, either!) After that, he got cold baths. Doctor's orders were to soak for thirty minutes for a sore rear, but no doctor told me it had to be hot. The guy needed a few cold showers!
I think of this man when I battle with thoughts in my head that no one sees. Whether it is irritation, impatience, or anything worse, I think of him. There may come a day when I still am with it enough to have these thoughts, but not with it enough to have a filter between what I think and what I do. Sobering thought.
Then there is the downright hilarious that happens at work. We have a 103 year old lady. She is a bit obstinate. I have this theory about old people - they don't get to 100 without being a character! Well, we were trying to convince her to swallow her pills. She didn't want to. We kept trying. I tried to get her to drink chocolate milk. It is a treat, so perhaps the pill would go down with the milk. Nope. She didn't want that at all, and quick as a wink, grabbed the glass from my hand and threw it in my face and down the front of my uniform! Then she laughed. I served supper that evening in my skimpy little tank top I wear just because under my scrub top. Rinsed my top and left it to dry. And it is COLD! She giggled all supper when she saw me. So did many other of the old people. Funny how dementia didn't take away their sense of humor! And it is amazing how the sight of a skimpy tank will wake up sleeping men! I put my scrubs back on as soon as they were remotely dry.
At dinner, we had a problem with two ladies. One has a mental problem and she talks to herself. Talks, answers, giggles, laughs... it is a bit odd. She will get herself into a belly laugh for hours at times. Then we have another lady who is always worried and always talks. She makes some sense in that she talks about what she sees or thinks, but she just never quits. She is the "please help me" lady. We solved the problem - put the two of them at one table. They both talk and are both thrilled. Well, "Please help me" lady was worried about her pie over the weekend. She kept muttering about it. "It was cold. It was a cold pie. My pie is cold. It is a stone cold pie. Pie is sometimes hot, but this pie is cold." This went on for at least five minutes until I heard from her corner, "well, I've eaten cold pie before, and I'm still here." So she began to eat.
So, if you ever wondered, cold pie will not kill you.
One of my saddest patients is a lady named IC. She used to go to church where I used to go. We were in Bible study together. But then dementia began to set in. Two years ago, I took my son with me to work just to hang out with the old people and visit. IC spent the whole evening witnessing to him. She couldn't remember what she said thirty seconds ago, so she just kept having the same conversation over and over. Got to hand it to my boy - he stuck with it.
"So, boy, do you know Jesus?"
"yes"
"And are you a Christian?"
"yes"
"Oh, that is wonderful!"
five seconds later, "So, boy, do you know Jesus?"....
IC was a great lady. But now she has declined more. She has also developed an interest in a older man who also lives in the home. Unfortunately the man, while very polite, does NOT have dementia, and he is married! But IC likes to sit beside him and hold his hand or stroke his leg.
I tried last week to get her to stop. I went over and whispered in her ear, "Oh, IC, don't do that. That man is married." She giggled up at me, "but I don't have that philosophy!" and reached over to pat him some more. I decided I would intervene - the poor guy looked uncomfortable and not sure how to handle it. (besides, he has other issues, and punched another patient's lights out the day before, so I didn't want to take chances!) So, I took IC's hand, and pulled her up to walk with me. She looked over at me with disappointed conspiracy and said, "oh, I wish you didn't. I was almost to it."
Ummm, yeah... ummm... that is why we are walking the halls hand in hand right now. To keep you away from it!
But after a few steps, she turned to me again and asked, "Are you getting yours?"
Hoping she wasn't asking what I thought she was asking, but following my normal pattern of answering dementia patients in whatever vein of thought they are in for that second in a vague and cheerful way, I responded, "Yes, I am."
She then smiled a huge smile, and swung my hand up and down wildly a few times like two girls skipping, and said, "Well, goody for you! Goody for you!"
I give up. I think wearing purple will be mild. If that is all I do when I am old, I'll be delighted!
One last one. My Scottish gentleman who used to be a doctor. He is alternatively very with it and also hallucinating - but knows he hallucinates, so he is fun. He has a dry fun sense of humor and has always been very respectful of us helping him. But he also has one of the worst cases of diaper rash I have ever seen. It hurts. Washing it is very painful, and he tries to grit his teeth and take it. But every so often, he reminds me, "Be careful. That is a very delicate piece of equipment, you know." I'm used to that by now, but when this week he then looked down, clicked his tongue, shook his head slightly, and said in the sad tone of someone talking about a favorite car, "It hasn't seen much action recently, though, no it hasn't.", I almost lost it!
yup, I'll be happy if I just wear purple when I am old! One of my coworkers says we could write a sitcom based on a nursing home.
PS - my daughter is in bed with me, so she just sat up in her sleep and said, "we should flee... we need to flee from..... " Stretched a little more and groaned, and then said, "...doggies."
Ok, at least I should be dead by the time she hits a nursing home!
We watch this extremely boring video series in a group we are in right now. It is so boring that when we have guests, I want to apologize to them! But, one thing the man did say recently was that he has often heard that once people get to a certain point that their faculties don't work so well, what is really inside them comes out with no filter.
That might be true. I've seen cases where I knew that that was true. I have worked with dementia patients for years now. Then there are other times that I wonder if that was really inside of them or if it is just the brain disintegrating. It is an intimidating thought, though.
I've had two nurses recently who have been my patients. One was a head nurse, and boy was she awful! Demanding, critical, impatient, angry. The one who took her place when she passed away is a delight. She is just a total delight. She tells me, "whenever I fit into your schedule, dearie, just let me know." I told her that at 99 years or age, she is allowed to tell me what she wants and I will fit that into my schedule.
Then I had the "sweet Christian man" who would read the Bible and sing hymns with his wife every afternoon, but when I gave him a bath every Tuesday - whoa! I have never heard such vile things come out of my most wicked male patients! I once tried to stop him by telling him I was married, but he answered, "That is ok. I won't tell my wife, and you don't need to tell your husband." His contrast between holy and vile made me cringe. Then there was the day he was tired of my stock answer of no. (believe me, I tried many different types of no - "no, I am just not attracted to men in diapers." "yup, seen that before. I've got four boys at home." "shut up." Nothing worked.) So one day he attacked me. I kicked him, mid transfer, just booted him into bed. (no, not abuse, just a hey, get off me and get into bed, and not gently, either!) After that, he got cold baths. Doctor's orders were to soak for thirty minutes for a sore rear, but no doctor told me it had to be hot. The guy needed a few cold showers!
I think of this man when I battle with thoughts in my head that no one sees. Whether it is irritation, impatience, or anything worse, I think of him. There may come a day when I still am with it enough to have these thoughts, but not with it enough to have a filter between what I think and what I do. Sobering thought.
Then there is the downright hilarious that happens at work. We have a 103 year old lady. She is a bit obstinate. I have this theory about old people - they don't get to 100 without being a character! Well, we were trying to convince her to swallow her pills. She didn't want to. We kept trying. I tried to get her to drink chocolate milk. It is a treat, so perhaps the pill would go down with the milk. Nope. She didn't want that at all, and quick as a wink, grabbed the glass from my hand and threw it in my face and down the front of my uniform! Then she laughed. I served supper that evening in my skimpy little tank top I wear just because under my scrub top. Rinsed my top and left it to dry. And it is COLD! She giggled all supper when she saw me. So did many other of the old people. Funny how dementia didn't take away their sense of humor! And it is amazing how the sight of a skimpy tank will wake up sleeping men! I put my scrubs back on as soon as they were remotely dry.
At dinner, we had a problem with two ladies. One has a mental problem and she talks to herself. Talks, answers, giggles, laughs... it is a bit odd. She will get herself into a belly laugh for hours at times. Then we have another lady who is always worried and always talks. She makes some sense in that she talks about what she sees or thinks, but she just never quits. She is the "please help me" lady. We solved the problem - put the two of them at one table. They both talk and are both thrilled. Well, "Please help me" lady was worried about her pie over the weekend. She kept muttering about it. "It was cold. It was a cold pie. My pie is cold. It is a stone cold pie. Pie is sometimes hot, but this pie is cold." This went on for at least five minutes until I heard from her corner, "well, I've eaten cold pie before, and I'm still here." So she began to eat.
So, if you ever wondered, cold pie will not kill you.
One of my saddest patients is a lady named IC. She used to go to church where I used to go. We were in Bible study together. But then dementia began to set in. Two years ago, I took my son with me to work just to hang out with the old people and visit. IC spent the whole evening witnessing to him. She couldn't remember what she said thirty seconds ago, so she just kept having the same conversation over and over. Got to hand it to my boy - he stuck with it.
"So, boy, do you know Jesus?"
"yes"
"And are you a Christian?"
"yes"
"Oh, that is wonderful!"
five seconds later, "So, boy, do you know Jesus?"....
IC was a great lady. But now she has declined more. She has also developed an interest in a older man who also lives in the home. Unfortunately the man, while very polite, does NOT have dementia, and he is married! But IC likes to sit beside him and hold his hand or stroke his leg.
I tried last week to get her to stop. I went over and whispered in her ear, "Oh, IC, don't do that. That man is married." She giggled up at me, "but I don't have that philosophy!" and reached over to pat him some more. I decided I would intervene - the poor guy looked uncomfortable and not sure how to handle it. (besides, he has other issues, and punched another patient's lights out the day before, so I didn't want to take chances!) So, I took IC's hand, and pulled her up to walk with me. She looked over at me with disappointed conspiracy and said, "oh, I wish you didn't. I was almost to it."
Ummm, yeah... ummm... that is why we are walking the halls hand in hand right now. To keep you away from it!
But after a few steps, she turned to me again and asked, "Are you getting yours?"
Hoping she wasn't asking what I thought she was asking, but following my normal pattern of answering dementia patients in whatever vein of thought they are in for that second in a vague and cheerful way, I responded, "Yes, I am."
She then smiled a huge smile, and swung my hand up and down wildly a few times like two girls skipping, and said, "Well, goody for you! Goody for you!"
I give up. I think wearing purple will be mild. If that is all I do when I am old, I'll be delighted!
One last one. My Scottish gentleman who used to be a doctor. He is alternatively very with it and also hallucinating - but knows he hallucinates, so he is fun. He has a dry fun sense of humor and has always been very respectful of us helping him. But he also has one of the worst cases of diaper rash I have ever seen. It hurts. Washing it is very painful, and he tries to grit his teeth and take it. But every so often, he reminds me, "Be careful. That is a very delicate piece of equipment, you know." I'm used to that by now, but when this week he then looked down, clicked his tongue, shook his head slightly, and said in the sad tone of someone talking about a favorite car, "It hasn't seen much action recently, though, no it hasn't.", I almost lost it!
yup, I'll be happy if I just wear purple when I am old! One of my coworkers says we could write a sitcom based on a nursing home.
PS - my daughter is in bed with me, so she just sat up in her sleep and said, "we should flee... we need to flee from..... " Stretched a little more and groaned, and then said, "...doggies."
Ok, at least I should be dead by the time she hits a nursing home!
She's Turning Into A Girl!
Amazingly, my daughter of the "Mom! Can't I just wear jeans?!" is turning into a girl. No, she still will not wear skirts or dresses without a fuss, but there are signs of hope. I saw a knitted pink shawl with flowers on the bottom and showed her expecting the "aww, mom!" remark again, but she liked it. I bought it. And she actually wears it! She likes it. She takes care of it, and decided not to wear it on the playground "so it won't get wrecked". Knock my socks off!
So today - I wished the camera had charged batteries! I would have at least snapped a photo from the back. She was all decked out. Long black waist-length hair tied in a low pony tail with a bright orange print ribbon. (Orange looks great on this kid!) Pink and purple striped shirt with the pink flowered shawl over that. Embroidered jeans. Black and neon purple shoes. Topped off with a deep red cowboy hat! Wow, she was all that!
She's impressed with her cowboy hat. See, we had a visitor recently who wore bright red cowboy boots.... yeah... well... I'm a Texan by birth (don't go trying to place me on that... there are at least six states that I could lay claim to being my "home state".) and I love boots as much as other Texans... but... there are rules about boots. Umm... there just are. Primarily with what you wear them with... for example, not sweats and a dress together.... umm... yeah. And not usually garish red boots... not unless you are dressing as the rodeo queen for a day with a matching deep red shirt. But, they did make me smile. I love boots, but don't wear them here. I wanted to have time to find mine this summer thinking I might just thumb my nose at everyone and wear my boots - but with jeans! At the very least a jean skirt! I didn't have time, though to find them in our storage.
Anyway, my daughter was impressed. She looked at herself in the mirror with her "I'm all that and then some" attitude, smiled, and said, "I look like Auntie ******!".
Yup. She did bear an uncanny resemblence right then. But I did not laugh. No. Any, any steps she takes towards being feminine are highly appreciated. We can sort out her fashion sense later on.
That saying - I do like this lady. Really like her, in fact. But,... just the boots! They made me both cringe, giggle, and rejoice all rolled into one.
So today - I wished the camera had charged batteries! I would have at least snapped a photo from the back. She was all decked out. Long black waist-length hair tied in a low pony tail with a bright orange print ribbon. (Orange looks great on this kid!) Pink and purple striped shirt with the pink flowered shawl over that. Embroidered jeans. Black and neon purple shoes. Topped off with a deep red cowboy hat! Wow, she was all that!
She's impressed with her cowboy hat. See, we had a visitor recently who wore bright red cowboy boots.... yeah... well... I'm a Texan by birth (don't go trying to place me on that... there are at least six states that I could lay claim to being my "home state".) and I love boots as much as other Texans... but... there are rules about boots. Umm... there just are. Primarily with what you wear them with... for example, not sweats and a dress together.... umm... yeah. And not usually garish red boots... not unless you are dressing as the rodeo queen for a day with a matching deep red shirt. But, they did make me smile. I love boots, but don't wear them here. I wanted to have time to find mine this summer thinking I might just thumb my nose at everyone and wear my boots - but with jeans! At the very least a jean skirt! I didn't have time, though to find them in our storage.
Anyway, my daughter was impressed. She looked at herself in the mirror with her "I'm all that and then some" attitude, smiled, and said, "I look like Auntie ******!".
Yup. She did bear an uncanny resemblence right then. But I did not laugh. No. Any, any steps she takes towards being feminine are highly appreciated. We can sort out her fashion sense later on.
That saying - I do like this lady. Really like her, in fact. But,... just the boots! They made me both cringe, giggle, and rejoice all rolled into one.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Friends - Now, which box did I pack them in?
I'm in a new stage in my life where I have been in one location now for almost five years. For those of you who do not know me, that is a record. If I were in my home country, I would officially call this place "home" now. Except that I'm partial to the place which we have chosen to call "home". It's got mountains, sky, rivers, lakes, and beauty.
But this is a record. I've never physically lived in one place for so long. What makes this more interesting is that four of those years have been in one house.
Now, we did switch churches two years into the five, so some switch in friends.... I'd be happy to switch churches again, but we shouldn't. We went to this one because friends said it was good, and it has good things, really good things.... but it lacks some things. If we were going to be here for two years, the lack of those things would be insignificant, but as we go on into year three and there is no change in front of us on the horizon, I am less and less content with the lack of those things. I miss joy. I miss singing out of delight. I miss transparency and small groups where we are NOT instructed not to share our lives because "this is time for serious study of the word, not a sharing time". Of course we were all told, "if you have a problem, you can ask to talk to the pastor." No. No problem. It is just that I wouldn't mind getting to know people and being able to say that, "hey, this week was a hard week because I am struggling with a pulled muscle in my shoulder, can you all pray?" I miss singing. I miss singing. Oh, and did I say I miss singing? The church sings. They've even gotten adventurous last year and got a guitar to play along with the piano. But, I miss singing. But I am not going to church hop again. We are here. I might, however, sneak off on Sunday nights and go to a church which sings. Maybe they even share their lives. Who knows - I might even find some people who are not already in a clique.
But that brings me to what I wanted to talk about in this post - friends. I'm struggling right now with friends. It is not that I don't have any. I have a lot of people I am friends with. But it is not easy. And I am afraid if I talk about it in my circles of friends here, that I will be labeled "that MK" again. I'm too old to be just a MK with issues. I don't think that is all there is to it.
As I thought about it this morning, I wondered if it is in a large part my fault. I've moved so often now. At least every few years. I wonder if I've just gotten tired of making good friends. Yes, I have friends, but... I know if I make a good friend, a best friend, that I will just end up leaving her. That will hurt me and hurt her. I wonder if I keep a distance on purpose.
Then there is the other issue that I find it hard to fit in. For all of me to fit in. I fit in well, but that part of me that doesn't fit in... people might not see it... but it is part of me still, and I feel different. I feel like parts of me no one can understand. Yes, I get excited about a sale at the shoe store, and might stop by to get my daughter some Sunday shoes, but part of my mind might also be on events happening on the other side of the world. You know, that part that the rest of my friends might think about for the five minutes it is on the evening news. When I wake and read the headlines of "Another Bomb Blast Blows in City", I don't think, "yeah, yeah, again, where is the creamer for the coffee gone?" Instead my mind stops and thinks back to explosions I have seen, and I stop to read which city, which country, where in the city... It is this part of me that my friends will never understand.
This last week was a tough one for me. I said goodbye to my husband as he went to travel, and this time the travel was not as safe as usual. We had a solid reason to be concerned, but we both agreed that we can not back down at every threat or breath of wind. But that day that I took him to the airport was a heavy one. The week after he left here, but before he went there, (he visited another place first) was hard on me. Wondering. Waiting. It was that week I struggled in my relationships with friends. When I felt very alone. My friends listened, but they could not comprehend. It was outside their realm of experiences. And they tried. But they tended to respond with, "wow, and I thought I had things to worry about!" That is not what I wanted them to say. I don't want to belittle their worries or struggles. I just needed to reach out to someone and have someone reach out to me. In the end, it was my son's piano teacher who knew what to do. One day, she just walked over and said, "I just don't know what to say, but I know this has to be hard on you. Can I give you a hug?" yes. A hug was wonderful.
But I felt alone. I still do as I wait out the time until he returns. I am more at ease now, but still aware. Aware that things still do happen, but more at peace now. But I feel alone. This is a part of my life where I have no connection with the world of friends around me, and I feel alone.
I wonder if I don't make close friends because I am tired of goodbyes or if it is because part of me just can't connect, or if it is some combination of the two.
Or is it because we are out of a normal group of other missionares where we are, and if those would be the circle where I would draw my closest friends from.
Or is it that I am so new still into these people's lives. My history with them is short, and they have grown up together.
I don't know, but part of me is lonely. Wishing for one good friend.
I think I can find them. I found one once when we stayed somewhere a week. Amy and I hit it off immediately. We did crazy things together. We escaped late at night when our eight kids were sleeping to go load up on cokes and chocolate and watch Mama Mia together. Since it was so late and the theater was empty, we laughed too loud and danced in the aisles. I wish I lived near Amy. We'd have fun. But Amy was a pastor's wife and I was a missionary's wife, so we were both so happy to put down our role's expectations and just enjoy life.
Part of it is that I am in a different culture here. It is so different than my home. So close, but so different. It has a different rule set for making and being friends. I don't know if I've figured it out yet. On my team, I am the odd one out and in my surroundings I am close enough to not be too different, but different enough not to fit in well.
Long post. No clear question. But how does it work with you? Do you find after being out for several terms that you are able to keep close friends? Do you make close friends easily? How do you manage that?
But this is a record. I've never physically lived in one place for so long. What makes this more interesting is that four of those years have been in one house.
Now, we did switch churches two years into the five, so some switch in friends.... I'd be happy to switch churches again, but we shouldn't. We went to this one because friends said it was good, and it has good things, really good things.... but it lacks some things. If we were going to be here for two years, the lack of those things would be insignificant, but as we go on into year three and there is no change in front of us on the horizon, I am less and less content with the lack of those things. I miss joy. I miss singing out of delight. I miss transparency and small groups where we are NOT instructed not to share our lives because "this is time for serious study of the word, not a sharing time". Of course we were all told, "if you have a problem, you can ask to talk to the pastor." No. No problem. It is just that I wouldn't mind getting to know people and being able to say that, "hey, this week was a hard week because I am struggling with a pulled muscle in my shoulder, can you all pray?" I miss singing. I miss singing. Oh, and did I say I miss singing? The church sings. They've even gotten adventurous last year and got a guitar to play along with the piano. But, I miss singing. But I am not going to church hop again. We are here. I might, however, sneak off on Sunday nights and go to a church which sings. Maybe they even share their lives. Who knows - I might even find some people who are not already in a clique.
But that brings me to what I wanted to talk about in this post - friends. I'm struggling right now with friends. It is not that I don't have any. I have a lot of people I am friends with. But it is not easy. And I am afraid if I talk about it in my circles of friends here, that I will be labeled "that MK" again. I'm too old to be just a MK with issues. I don't think that is all there is to it.
As I thought about it this morning, I wondered if it is in a large part my fault. I've moved so often now. At least every few years. I wonder if I've just gotten tired of making good friends. Yes, I have friends, but... I know if I make a good friend, a best friend, that I will just end up leaving her. That will hurt me and hurt her. I wonder if I keep a distance on purpose.
Then there is the other issue that I find it hard to fit in. For all of me to fit in. I fit in well, but that part of me that doesn't fit in... people might not see it... but it is part of me still, and I feel different. I feel like parts of me no one can understand. Yes, I get excited about a sale at the shoe store, and might stop by to get my daughter some Sunday shoes, but part of my mind might also be on events happening on the other side of the world. You know, that part that the rest of my friends might think about for the five minutes it is on the evening news. When I wake and read the headlines of "Another Bomb Blast Blows in City", I don't think, "yeah, yeah, again, where is the creamer for the coffee gone?" Instead my mind stops and thinks back to explosions I have seen, and I stop to read which city, which country, where in the city... It is this part of me that my friends will never understand.
This last week was a tough one for me. I said goodbye to my husband as he went to travel, and this time the travel was not as safe as usual. We had a solid reason to be concerned, but we both agreed that we can not back down at every threat or breath of wind. But that day that I took him to the airport was a heavy one. The week after he left here, but before he went there, (he visited another place first) was hard on me. Wondering. Waiting. It was that week I struggled in my relationships with friends. When I felt very alone. My friends listened, but they could not comprehend. It was outside their realm of experiences. And they tried. But they tended to respond with, "wow, and I thought I had things to worry about!" That is not what I wanted them to say. I don't want to belittle their worries or struggles. I just needed to reach out to someone and have someone reach out to me. In the end, it was my son's piano teacher who knew what to do. One day, she just walked over and said, "I just don't know what to say, but I know this has to be hard on you. Can I give you a hug?" yes. A hug was wonderful.
But I felt alone. I still do as I wait out the time until he returns. I am more at ease now, but still aware. Aware that things still do happen, but more at peace now. But I feel alone. This is a part of my life where I have no connection with the world of friends around me, and I feel alone.
I wonder if I don't make close friends because I am tired of goodbyes or if it is because part of me just can't connect, or if it is some combination of the two.
Or is it because we are out of a normal group of other missionares where we are, and if those would be the circle where I would draw my closest friends from.
Or is it that I am so new still into these people's lives. My history with them is short, and they have grown up together.
I don't know, but part of me is lonely. Wishing for one good friend.
I think I can find them. I found one once when we stayed somewhere a week. Amy and I hit it off immediately. We did crazy things together. We escaped late at night when our eight kids were sleeping to go load up on cokes and chocolate and watch Mama Mia together. Since it was so late and the theater was empty, we laughed too loud and danced in the aisles. I wish I lived near Amy. We'd have fun. But Amy was a pastor's wife and I was a missionary's wife, so we were both so happy to put down our role's expectations and just enjoy life.
Part of it is that I am in a different culture here. It is so different than my home. So close, but so different. It has a different rule set for making and being friends. I don't know if I've figured it out yet. On my team, I am the odd one out and in my surroundings I am close enough to not be too different, but different enough not to fit in well.
Long post. No clear question. But how does it work with you? Do you find after being out for several terms that you are able to keep close friends? Do you make close friends easily? How do you manage that?
Saturday, October 10, 2009
News
Well, I heard news tonight. Good news. Today's wait is over, ending well. It took longer, much longer than I expected to get the news, but it finally came.
(The reason I had to wait is that, since I was working, the news was passed to someone else who was supposed to pass it to me, but... but.. who knows? .... thought it wasn't important right now. Argh!)
Now is another waiting game. This one is longer. Now we wait and see how the whole time goes, but the first step went well. One step at a time, one day at a time. We've done it before, but there was more stress this time, so the wait was tougher. It still will be tougher for the next while, but the first step is over.
Thanks for praying.
(The reason I had to wait is that, since I was working, the news was passed to someone else who was supposed to pass it to me, but... but.. who knows? .... thought it wasn't important right now. Argh!)
Now is another waiting game. This one is longer. Now we wait and see how the whole time goes, but the first step went well. One step at a time, one day at a time. We've done it before, but there was more stress this time, so the wait was tougher. It still will be tougher for the next while, but the first step is over.
Thanks for praying.
The Waiting Game
Today we wait. I wait for news. I won't expect any news until tonight at least, but I know that I ought to hear news tonight. So I wait.
I'm cleaning house today. Then I go to work. I'm doing things. Keeping busy. And waiting.
We wait. We pray. We trust. We hope. And we keep busy. Like to get a nap in, too, but don't know if I will have time.
Right now, my kids are fighting. They didn't think the job assignment was fair. So they are all in their rooms for a time to calm down before we begin again. Today it is hard for me to have patience with them, patience with their grumbling and fighting because my mind is not on it. My mind is waiting. Waiting for news.
Flying solo is not difficult at all. It is not hard to manage the home on my own. What is harder is just the waiting. Hoping everything will go ok.
So I wait. And keep busy.
I'm cleaning house today. Then I go to work. I'm doing things. Keeping busy. And waiting.
We wait. We pray. We trust. We hope. And we keep busy. Like to get a nap in, too, but don't know if I will have time.
Right now, my kids are fighting. They didn't think the job assignment was fair. So they are all in their rooms for a time to calm down before we begin again. Today it is hard for me to have patience with them, patience with their grumbling and fighting because my mind is not on it. My mind is waiting. Waiting for news.
Flying solo is not difficult at all. It is not hard to manage the home on my own. What is harder is just the waiting. Hoping everything will go ok.
So I wait. And keep busy.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Things They Say!
Ok. One day I will get in trouble for saying "unmissionary-like" things. But....
My daughter was sleeping in my bed last night, after crying for two hours that her daddy is gone too long. (It has only just begun.)
Finally, the sobs subsided, and she lay in bed, and her mind turned to.... nursing.... why, I don't know. But she asked, "When I was a baby, I used to sleep in your bed and drink my milk from you?"
"Yes."
"So, all girls can make milk?"
"Well, mommies do."
"So, if you grow up, and you have a baby, and that baby comes from your tummy and you didn't adopt it, then if there was a farmer, he could milk you."
Ok - I don't know where she gets these strange ideas from! But she went on, using her hands to show a milking process.....
"....but he would go, (squeeze, squeeze) 'squirt, squirt, oh yuck, oh yuck' because he would have to see a n*ked woman every day, and he wouldn't like that!"
Hmm.... well.... seriously, where does this child get her ideas from! I just told her to stop talking and go to sleep.
Kids!!
My daughter was sleeping in my bed last night, after crying for two hours that her daddy is gone too long. (It has only just begun.)
Finally, the sobs subsided, and she lay in bed, and her mind turned to.... nursing.... why, I don't know. But she asked, "When I was a baby, I used to sleep in your bed and drink my milk from you?"
"Yes."
"So, all girls can make milk?"
"Well, mommies do."
"So, if you grow up, and you have a baby, and that baby comes from your tummy and you didn't adopt it, then if there was a farmer, he could milk you."
Ok - I don't know where she gets these strange ideas from! But she went on, using her hands to show a milking process.....
"....but he would go, (squeeze, squeeze) 'squirt, squirt, oh yuck, oh yuck' because he would have to see a n*ked woman every day, and he wouldn't like that!"
Hmm.... well.... seriously, where does this child get her ideas from! I just told her to stop talking and go to sleep.
Kids!!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Getting to Know Me
I read your blogs. I enjoy photos - looking at them, knowing what you look like, seeing how your houses are done.
But I have a rule on my blog - no personal photos. There are reasons for that rule. It means, though, that you don't get to know me. No picture to go with the words.
I decided to fix that today. You might not get to see my face, but you CAN see my coffee cups. If you came over, you might get to drink from one of them. I say might because I am pretty protective of these three. There are enough cups in my house that I don't have to share. But, if you are ever here, and I hand you one of these to drink out of, know you are special to me! Even my kids have learned that mommy doesn't like people to use her cups. (I am not mean - I gave them all their own special cups!)
I do let some people drink from these. But if I do, it is an equivalent to giving them a hug.
So - here is my newest one:
I bought this one second hand. I didn't need another cup. I saw it one day and admired it - one of four. Daydreamed how nice it would be to own four of them. That daydreamed clashed with my goal of decluttering. So I resisted. But... I am an addict... I guess... the cup kept reminding me it existed every time I went by the store. Finally, I gave in, and went to buy them. There were no longer four left, just this one.
It belongs to me now. Why am I so attracted to this cup? It is big, solid, dependable. It looks like blue jeans - and I love blue jeans... not always allowed to wear them depending where we are, but there is nothing like a comfortable pair of blue jeans. Then it has this beautiful design on the rim. I love beauty. The design is feel-able, raised. I am a tactile person. If it was not socially un-allowed, I would run my hands over faces to feel. I feel things - soft laundry, rough tree bark, smooth stones. I love this cup that lets my fingers feel the design even when I am not looking at it.
This cup reminds me of comfort. A new stage in my life. One I hope stays. But it is my comfort cup.
Then there is this one:
This one was a gift. Given by someone who believed in me. Who gave me liberty to go another way on a path they thought was good in order to bring hope to other women. It reminds me that I have value and the ability both to hang on and to minister to others. It reminds me of my worth.
It is also big, comfortable, solid. (Seeing a pattern? I crave solid comfort, stability.)
This cup reminds me of hope - in a corporate way. There is hope for me, hope to pass on, hope to hang on to.
Then there is this one:
All of my kids have special cups that I bought for them when they were babies. They all have some picture on the inside of the cup, too, and all are of finer china. The only problem was that after having one beautiful baby girl after I had not only lost one baby girl, but been told I would have no more babies, I just could not find a cup that expressed my delight in her enough.
When she was six, she finally asked me when I am going to get her "her cup". Ah... yes... how to tell you that there is no way to find one to match who you are?
So I went shopping. I looked and looked, and finally settled on one. It is like a shadow compared to her delightfulnes, so I got one in black, white, and greys - elegant, fun, but a shadow.
But while shopping....(don't too many stoies start like this?)..... I saw this one. I tried to walk away. I do try! But... I loved this one. Tulips. Finer china than my comfort mugs. A tulip inside. Pinks. Spring time. Hope.
Now I am a bit partial to tulips. I have some growing right beside my door (no, not now!) that are exactly that color - a gift from friends. So I bought this one. It reminds me of hope, yes, but it also reminds me that I am loved. There have been times this last year that it was hard to drink from this cup and other times that I clung to it for the sheer reminder it gave me.
It is finer china. It feels delicate, breakable, worth taking care of, needing gentleness. I hold it and remember that I am not common, but of value. Personally of value. Loved personally, individually, with gentleness. Given hope - hope just for me.
It reminds me of the same things as my orange one - hope - but in a much more personal way.
It also reminds me that I am loved just because, actually in spite of... and that gives me joy.
This is the cup I am least likely to share if you come to my house. It's mine.
Those are my cups. The "face" on my blog. Drop in for coffee sometime!
But I have a rule on my blog - no personal photos. There are reasons for that rule. It means, though, that you don't get to know me. No picture to go with the words.
I decided to fix that today. You might not get to see my face, but you CAN see my coffee cups. If you came over, you might get to drink from one of them. I say might because I am pretty protective of these three. There are enough cups in my house that I don't have to share. But, if you are ever here, and I hand you one of these to drink out of, know you are special to me! Even my kids have learned that mommy doesn't like people to use her cups. (I am not mean - I gave them all their own special cups!)
I do let some people drink from these. But if I do, it is an equivalent to giving them a hug.
So - here is my newest one:
I bought this one second hand. I didn't need another cup. I saw it one day and admired it - one of four. Daydreamed how nice it would be to own four of them. That daydreamed clashed with my goal of decluttering. So I resisted. But... I am an addict... I guess... the cup kept reminding me it existed every time I went by the store. Finally, I gave in, and went to buy them. There were no longer four left, just this one.
It belongs to me now. Why am I so attracted to this cup? It is big, solid, dependable. It looks like blue jeans - and I love blue jeans... not always allowed to wear them depending where we are, but there is nothing like a comfortable pair of blue jeans. Then it has this beautiful design on the rim. I love beauty. The design is feel-able, raised. I am a tactile person. If it was not socially un-allowed, I would run my hands over faces to feel. I feel things - soft laundry, rough tree bark, smooth stones. I love this cup that lets my fingers feel the design even when I am not looking at it.
This cup reminds me of comfort. A new stage in my life. One I hope stays. But it is my comfort cup.
Then there is this one:
This one was a gift. Given by someone who believed in me. Who gave me liberty to go another way on a path they thought was good in order to bring hope to other women. It reminds me that I have value and the ability both to hang on and to minister to others. It reminds me of my worth.
It is also big, comfortable, solid. (Seeing a pattern? I crave solid comfort, stability.)
This cup reminds me of hope - in a corporate way. There is hope for me, hope to pass on, hope to hang on to.
Then there is this one:
All of my kids have special cups that I bought for them when they were babies. They all have some picture on the inside of the cup, too, and all are of finer china. The only problem was that after having one beautiful baby girl after I had not only lost one baby girl, but been told I would have no more babies, I just could not find a cup that expressed my delight in her enough.
When she was six, she finally asked me when I am going to get her "her cup". Ah... yes... how to tell you that there is no way to find one to match who you are?
So I went shopping. I looked and looked, and finally settled on one. It is like a shadow compared to her delightfulnes, so I got one in black, white, and greys - elegant, fun, but a shadow.
But while shopping....(don't too many stoies start like this?)..... I saw this one. I tried to walk away. I do try! But... I loved this one. Tulips. Finer china than my comfort mugs. A tulip inside. Pinks. Spring time. Hope.
Now I am a bit partial to tulips. I have some growing right beside my door (no, not now!) that are exactly that color - a gift from friends. So I bought this one. It reminds me of hope, yes, but it also reminds me that I am loved. There have been times this last year that it was hard to drink from this cup and other times that I clung to it for the sheer reminder it gave me.
It is finer china. It feels delicate, breakable, worth taking care of, needing gentleness. I hold it and remember that I am not common, but of value. Personally of value. Loved personally, individually, with gentleness. Given hope - hope just for me.
It reminds me of the same things as my orange one - hope - but in a much more personal way.
It also reminds me that I am loved just because, actually in spite of... and that gives me joy.
This is the cup I am least likely to share if you come to my house. It's mine.
Those are my cups. The "face" on my blog. Drop in for coffee sometime!
Flying Solo
Well, my husband is gone for a month. Despite my young friends's concerns, so far I am managing fairly well. Of course, it is only two days, and I do miss him... but...
We've done this so often that it seems like a natural part of fall. We've done this so often that we have an established routine for "when Daddy is gone". There is a normalcy to it.
We do miss him. This time, more than ever, I both miss him and am concerned about him. But, we are settling into our default mode for when Daddy is gone. Time for simpler meals, settling into the year's routines with school and homework, cleaning out summer stuff and pulling down winter things, perhaps a fun project to surprise him with when he returns. We keep busy, but low-key busy. Even the child-care issues for when I need to work are less. My community around me knows the routine, too. They expect and are willing to take my kids for my work weekends. The kids are also old enough that they can be home for periods by themselves. That is a huge relief. Just the ability to run to the store to get eggs without dragging all four along is so much easier.
But... evenings are longer. I go to bed earlier just to get away from the long evenings. Or I get work done. Or chat with friends if it works out. I'm flying solo for a month, but I've had some experience doing that, so the day to day of it is easier.
I just have to keep my mind off the "what if's". I don't go there. I can't let myself think about them. But it is a time to pray, to be praying. In a few weeks, I'll write a new post when there is an "all clear", but now is a time to be praying.
Thanks.
We've done this so often that it seems like a natural part of fall. We've done this so often that we have an established routine for "when Daddy is gone". There is a normalcy to it.
We do miss him. This time, more than ever, I both miss him and am concerned about him. But, we are settling into our default mode for when Daddy is gone. Time for simpler meals, settling into the year's routines with school and homework, cleaning out summer stuff and pulling down winter things, perhaps a fun project to surprise him with when he returns. We keep busy, but low-key busy. Even the child-care issues for when I need to work are less. My community around me knows the routine, too. They expect and are willing to take my kids for my work weekends. The kids are also old enough that they can be home for periods by themselves. That is a huge relief. Just the ability to run to the store to get eggs without dragging all four along is so much easier.
But... evenings are longer. I go to bed earlier just to get away from the long evenings. Or I get work done. Or chat with friends if it works out. I'm flying solo for a month, but I've had some experience doing that, so the day to day of it is easier.
I just have to keep my mind off the "what if's". I don't go there. I can't let myself think about them. But it is a time to pray, to be praying. In a few weeks, I'll write a new post when there is an "all clear", but now is a time to be praying.
Thanks.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Happy Birthday
I've long given up expecting anything for my birthday. My husband even asked this year what I wanted, but I couldn't think of anything. I'm satisfied with my life, with things I have... not wanting anything - except perhaps a clutter-free house. So no gifts. That saying, he did give me the chance to take off a weekend and fly out to a reunion. That is a big thing I am looking forward to. I guess that would be my gift. I'm more than happy.
But this year, two things happened for my birthday. The first made me laugh. The second made me cry.
I was with a group of people on my birthday. One was a young woman whose husband had been on a short-term, two week trip once. He wants to go again. She heard that my husband will be traveling for a month and came to question me. How do I cope? Well, my kids are older now - we do fine. She still looked puzzled, and walked away, but then came back with a very direct question, "but how do you go so long without ___?" (insert a three letter word that I shouldn't put on my blog, the one starting with an s and ending with an x)
Ok. That was direct. I answered her respectfully since she asked honestly. But I was tempted to say, "well, I just do... I mean, what option is there?" But I tried to keep a straight face. It was asked honestly.
That would have been fine if it had stopped there. But then she sighed, looked at me, and said, "Well, it's different for you - you're older!"
Happy Birthday - you're too old for ___. Thanks! 37 is not THAT OLD!!!
I felt like looking at her with a little bit of pity and saying, "honey, you think it is good now, just wait." But I didn't.
But I am still giggling over that. So are my other "old" friends. I guess that is how 23 year olds view 37 year olds.... (Ok, I know I am going to get in trouble for this post. I can see it coming.)
The second made me cry. My grandma wrote me a birthday card.
Now comes a need for a slight trip into history. About two years ago, when we went to visit a relative, my two boys threw rocks through a window of a vehicle which they thought was trash, sitting out in the fields behind a barn. It wasn't. We paid to get them fixed. We disciplined our boys - they paid the entire contents of their savings (saving for three years towards a camera) to help pay for this. They learned.
Anyway, this summer, we had to stay near my grandma, so we phoned and asked if we could stay a few days. She said no - grandpa was sick.
No problem. I understand that.
Well, she wrote me my birthday card. And wrote this, "well, I said no because grandpa was sick, but not only because of that. You remember that incident with the rocks a few years ago? I wasn't sure I wanted you to come after that, and honestly, I am not sure we will ever have you stay here."
Wow. Happy Birthday - we don't want you.
I cried. Off and on all night, I cried.
I could argue. I could say a lot of things, but... there is nothing much to say.
Why? Why in the world, even if you felt like you HAD to say that, why in a birthday card?!
I've decided I don't really like birthdays.
But this year, two things happened for my birthday. The first made me laugh. The second made me cry.
I was with a group of people on my birthday. One was a young woman whose husband had been on a short-term, two week trip once. He wants to go again. She heard that my husband will be traveling for a month and came to question me. How do I cope? Well, my kids are older now - we do fine. She still looked puzzled, and walked away, but then came back with a very direct question, "but how do you go so long without ___?" (insert a three letter word that I shouldn't put on my blog, the one starting with an s and ending with an x)
Ok. That was direct. I answered her respectfully since she asked honestly. But I was tempted to say, "well, I just do... I mean, what option is there?" But I tried to keep a straight face. It was asked honestly.
That would have been fine if it had stopped there. But then she sighed, looked at me, and said, "Well, it's different for you - you're older!"
Happy Birthday - you're too old for ___. Thanks! 37 is not THAT OLD!!!
I felt like looking at her with a little bit of pity and saying, "honey, you think it is good now, just wait." But I didn't.
But I am still giggling over that. So are my other "old" friends. I guess that is how 23 year olds view 37 year olds.... (Ok, I know I am going to get in trouble for this post. I can see it coming.)
The second made me cry. My grandma wrote me a birthday card.
Now comes a need for a slight trip into history. About two years ago, when we went to visit a relative, my two boys threw rocks through a window of a vehicle which they thought was trash, sitting out in the fields behind a barn. It wasn't. We paid to get them fixed. We disciplined our boys - they paid the entire contents of their savings (saving for three years towards a camera) to help pay for this. They learned.
Anyway, this summer, we had to stay near my grandma, so we phoned and asked if we could stay a few days. She said no - grandpa was sick.
No problem. I understand that.
Well, she wrote me my birthday card. And wrote this, "well, I said no because grandpa was sick, but not only because of that. You remember that incident with the rocks a few years ago? I wasn't sure I wanted you to come after that, and honestly, I am not sure we will ever have you stay here."
Wow. Happy Birthday - we don't want you.
I cried. Off and on all night, I cried.
I could argue. I could say a lot of things, but... there is nothing much to say.
Why? Why in the world, even if you felt like you HAD to say that, why in a birthday card?!
I've decided I don't really like birthdays.
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