Category: Faith

Going on a library hunt

~ Linda Wright ~ 2 Comments

During the summer months, my friends and I walked to the Liberty Branch Library. Each child carried a few books we had read under the shade of a tree or illuminated by a flashlight. We turned the pages faster as our reading improved with practice. “Just one more chapter, please!”  we begged if our parents called us.

Our short legs walked at a meandering pace and it took us at least half an hour to get to our destination. We passed by the elementary school and skirted a side of the city park. There was only one busy street for us to cross at a traffic light.  We dropped our books at the check-in counter.

Mrs. Walker, the children’s librarian, never seemed to tire of questions. Instead she took an immediate interest in whatever we found curious. We knew we could count on her to find out which bird built that nest in our maple tree or what makes lightening flash and thunder boom. She would glide her finger across the rows of books on a shelf and, like magic, pull out the very one that held the answer.

When we heard the bell ring we would gather in front of the basement door and wait until Mrs. Walker led the row of assembled children down the stairs and into the story telling room. We took our places in the metal folding chairs eager for the stories and songs. Some of the stories we repeated almost every time. My favorite was the Bear Hunt. We would slap our hands, alternating left hand then right, to our thighs making pat, pat noises that were supposed to sound like foot steps. Each line of the story that Mrs. Walker told, we echoed.

“Let’s go on a bear hunt!” Mrs. Walker would begin.

“Let’s go on a bear hunt,” repeated the children’s voices.

On cue, we all made the appropriate hand movements and sounds for walking through the tall grass in the field, crossing the bridge, walking through the fallen leaves in the forest, swimming across the river, and squishing through the mud. Finally when Mrs. Walker announced we had reached the deep dark cave we would reach out our hands in front of us and pretend to feel around.

“I feel a wet nose.”

“I feel a wet nose,” as if we all felt it too.

“I feel furry ears.” Mrs. Walker said with concern in her voice.

“I feel furry ears.” we repeated in unison.

“It’s a bear!” Mrs. Walker shouted, “let’s get out of here!”

“It’s a bear!” we shouted, “let’s get out of here!”

This was the signal to reverse our previous steps rapidly, making squishing noises through the mud, swimming strokes crossing the river, crackling through the forest, parting the tall grass and finally opening the door to home. We heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed as if the race had been run on our legs, not our imaginations  and hands.

After story time we would pick out more books before reversing our steps home. Past the Italian bakery that smelled of warm bread, stopping at the traffic light to cross the street, feeling the cool breeze coming from the park and past the school yard. By the time we got home we would be ready to sit and begin one of the books before we were called to supper.

The Power of Positive Choices

~ Linda Wright

Recently I saw a quote from Norman Vincent Peale posted on Facebook. “Live your life and forget your age.” I felt as if I had been hit with a jolt of indignation. Forget my age? I like my age! I can’t really take credit for it, but it came as an unexpected surprise when I celebrated my 62nd birthday. That’s not something I want to forget because, with a bleeding disorder there were lots of medical professionals along the way who predicted a substantially shorter life span for me. When I was twelve years old and too big to crawl under the desk, I did not morn that my body had grown. Why now would I want to feel sorry that at the age of 62 there are things I cannot do that were easy when I was younger?

However, that wasn’t the only reason why the quote set off a spark of anger.

When I was a child, one of my cousins would send me a subscription to Guide Posts each year. The magazine in the 1950’s was filled with anecdotes about the power of positive thinking. They offered an easy fix for all ills. Just pretend that there is nothing wrong and it will go away. My cousin hinted that the magazine was what a little girl with a severe bleeding disorder needed to be healed.

Now I like chocolate, it makes me forget my troubles, but I know it doesn’t make them go away. I also know that the only thing I can change is my attitude. Most of the time I am an optimist, but when I have negative thoughts I don’t want to sit in judgment by someone who thinks I am undermining my health.

What is healthy is to acknowledge that my bleeding disorder (like my age, my eye color, the gap between my two front teeth) is a part of me.

If my cousin thought that I lacked positive thinking, then he really didn’t know me. Yet, even as a child, I understood that positive thinking was not enough to make my body suddenly produce fibrinogen.

What angered me was that the underlying message seemed to be that if you were sick you didn’t have enough faith. I didn’t believe that having a bleeding disorder was my fault. It was not only foolish to pretend that having a bleeding disorder had no effect on my life; it was dangerous, both physically and emotionally.

After church one Sunday I saw a friend of mine who had undergone chemotherapy treatment for cancer and was now in remission.

I said, It’s wonderful to see you looking so well!

Her husband beamed and said with pride, “Yes, if you have the right attitude you can beat cancer.”

Without thinking, I responded, “Sounds like blaming the victim to me.

My friend’s face relaxed into a warm smile and nodded as her husband looked confused.

I believe she understood that if her positive thoughts could cure the cancer, then her negative thoughts might have caused it to occur in the first place.

So excuse me if when I look in the mirror I see a 62 year-old woman. Some days I like the way I look, some days I don’t, but I believe I would be foolish to wish that I wasn’t my age.

Mercury in Retrograde

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

It started slowly, as usual. The airplane I was supposed to board was taken out of service for repairs and it took several hours before a replacement was put into service. By then, the connecting flights had to be rescheduled. I arrived at my destination, not at noontime, but during rush hour traffic on Friday evening. Tired, stiff, and cranky from sitting in airports most of my day, I had just enough time to drop my suitcase at the hotel before leaving for the scheduled dinner meeting.

The return flight on Monday was delayed by weather conditions. Arriving home I discovered that the cable television was out of order, the Internet connections were sporadic and my car had a strange rattling sound coming from somewhere behind the front tires. One night the refrigerator spontaneously began a loud grinding sound. The dog began to whimper and limp.  The vet could determine no visible reason and prescribed a pain killer. The cat intensified her compulsive tail-nibbling disorder (We call it CT-BD.) A spider bite on my leg became infected. The prescribed antibiotics left me fatigued and more irritable than I was already. Spending hours day after day with the network technical support personnel did not help my mood.

Was it Murphy’s Law or Mercury in retrograde? Or are those just two ways that we humans use to make sense out of these reversals. It’s now been four weeks and I believe that the minor catastrophes have begun to abate… for now.

It is a little early to tell. As of this moment, I have grown accustomed to the car rattling and the television not working. When life begins to spin backwards, I find it an opportunity to re-evaluate my priorities. Have I once again become too comfortable with things moving in a forward direction?\The cat and the dog, like me, are experiencing aches and pains of aging. Their symptoms remind me of their mortality and of my own. Mercury, I have been told, is only visible at sunset I believe there is a personal retrograde that comes with age. I am reminded that the best advice is to use back-up systems, find alternative solutions, and pay more attention to the details. At times that is difficult enough

I.D. Bracelet

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

The pre-op instructions were specific; remove all jewelry on the day of your eye surgery. Dutifully I followed the directions.

I left my watch on the oak bedside table. I dropped my wedding band and three other rings into the china jewelry box. The octagonal lid of the fragile box made a raspy sound as I closed it. I hesitated when it came to the Medic Alert bracelet.
“Perhaps it won’t matter if I leave it on a little bit longer,” I thought. After all I might get into a car accident on the way to the ophthalmologist.
I have worn a form of Medic Alert for as long as I can remember. It has hung around my neck on a stainless steel chain or, in its most recent incarnation, around my wrist in links of gold.  More than one doctor has cautioned me to wear it at all times. I wear it when I sleep, when I shower, when I am working, or driving and even when I am hospitalized.
That morning there was also a plastic catheter inserted in a vein on my arm just above the Medic Alert bracelet. The eye surgeon had explained, “The risk of any bleeding with this surgery is very low. However, it is better to get an infusion of clotting factor the day before surgery, just to be safe.”
 
“Wonderful,” the nurse at the day surgery exclaimed when she saw she would not have to start the I.V. line herself. “That will really speed things up,” she added as she led me to the room with the stretchers. With a few quick tugs she pulled the curtain shut so I could change into a johnny.
 
“We need to sedate you just enough so that you are awake but cooperative,” she explained, “I’ll be back in a minute to take your vital signs.”
 
Then the nurse spotted the I.D. bracelet still on my wrist. “How silly of me,” I said as the nurse asked me to allow her to unhook it and remove it to a safe place.
 
I did not tell her that it is my good luck charm. It is intended to ward off the evil spirits of inappropriate treatment in ambulances or emergency rooms. It is a health care surrogate if I were unconscious or unable to advocate for myself in an emergency.
 
As long as I have worn this talisman its purpose has never been tested. Not once have I been in a situation where its imprinted medical data has been required. The bracelet has never lived up to its promise. Perhaps it says more about my identity than I want to admit.

Dropped Stitches

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

I arrived early for the Wednesday Knitting Circle, which gathers at a local coffee café. Pulling out my bag of yarn, I began work on the three-colored sweater. The balls of brown, peach and ivory yarn form bands of different widths and textures. Around and around I looped the colors through my fingers then between the points of the needles. The control of tension created by my fingers keeps the stitches looking even. As with life, too little tension creates slack and a sloppy appearance. Too much tension leads to a stiff tight finish.

At other tables in the café, I notice that the people sitting with their laptop computers are left to their solitary pursuits. However, like walking a puppy, knitting in public often invites conversations with strangers. A man doing a crossword puzzle at the next table looks my way and asks what I am making; he explains that he used to crochet. We chat briefly about the focus and relaxation one gets from handwork. The man speculates that if he had been allowed to crochet in school he would have been able to pay better attention to the lessons.

One by one the other members of the Wednesday Knitting Circle arrive. We squeeze in closer around the table, ordering cups of coffee and tasty snacks. Some members pull out yarn to give or trade with others. We offer suggestions to the knitter who intended to create a baby blanket; she is now considering transforming it into a sling for carrying the infant instead. Appreciative cooing rises as each member unpacks the current work in progress and begins to knit.

My mother told me that she learned to knit at the age of three. Her nine siblings needed a steady supply of socks, mittens, hats and sweaters to endure the Canadian winters. The youngest of the children, the ones who could not do the heavier chores, had the task of knitting. Mom taught me how to knit, but I never had to knit in order to have warm clothes.

After the hemorrhagic stroke I had a few years ago, I took up knitting again with a new purpose. Connecting the stitches from right to left between the needles as I mended the connections between my left-brain and my right. Now, knitting has also become a form of relaxation for me. Most of all, it has helped me to release the bonds of my desire for perfection.

In knitting, you can correct the mistakes. I have learned the term “frog,” meaning rip it, rip it, rip it, unraveling row upon row. I have learned that to “tink” (knitting spelled backwards) I must undo the stitches one by one.

There is another option though, and that is to let the mistake remain uncorrected. I have learned that others will not see these mistakes, but I will always see them. It is liberating and humbling. It is so human.