Archive for December, 2008

Advice – December 2008

Dear Sal,

I am upset to be in this situation, and I blame my son. A few months ago, the girl that he is living with (who hasn’t worked a day since she moved in with him) asked if she could borrow a hundred dollars. She told me they needed food and gas money for him to get to work and back for her job search. I was happy to be able to help. Now, three months later, and no reimbursement? Finally, I asked my son about it, and he said surprised, “She didn’t pay you?” Then he assured me she had the money in her purse. They left that evening without her payment. He insists on being with this girl and that he is responsible for paying me back. What do you think Sal, should I bill my son?

Miffed Mom

Dear Miffed,

Hold on a minute, it is an old saying that comes to mind: Never a borrower or a lender be, and you will live carefree! Now that we have an understanding, I want to add when it concerns relatives, never give anything that you expect back! If you get pay back great, if not, it is always in better interest of family to let it go. As far as I can tell, it was the girlfriend who is in error. If loaning family money is a practice of yours, inform them both that in the future you are unable to help them because of this unfortunate event

Sal

Dear Sal

I have read articles on Womenspeak from women who have lost their husbands, and I applaud their spirit to go on. I must be weaker than they are, after losing my husband of thirty years, I don’t want to face another day. I feel like I don’t have anything left to go on for, how do I start?

Alone

Dear Alone

You just started! You can only do one day at a time, get up every day. Have a routine, one that includes exercise to aid stress and lend to a more restful evening. Reach out to family and friends you will be amazed at how eager they are to be supportive! At a time like this friendship is a golden blessing. Do you have a religious preference? Include spiritual strengthening into your life daily! Volunteer, helping others is a natural way to think less of our own problems or minimize the impact. You would be amazed at how good it feels to do something different, out of you comfort zone. This is a time for growth, embrace it. We do not stop until it is our time. Above all, know that this is an effort and it is one you must make, and as time goes by, you will be happy you did.

Peace find you

Sal

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Heroes – December 2008

I know a very special man who’s always reaching out to others to help in any way he can. He’s known as Pastor Dick and he’s the senior pastor at our church. He and his wife have always been that way, and though she’s no longer with us, he still is a very busy man.

When I had to have an emergency surgery over nine years ago that saved my life, he came to the hospital and was there. My immediate family members and a few friends were there to be with me and see me through the ordeal. But Pastor Dick was there before, during, and after the surgery praying for me with my family that I would make it. He never left the whole day, and even waited until I had been placed in a private room after being in recovery. He wanted to make sure I would be all right. I’m sure he has been there for many others as well. Pastor Dick is a very spiritual and dedicated man of God.

He leads a senior program at the church that enables them to go on outings to all different kinds of places, have fun, and enjoy life. He’s loved by many, and I also consider him a dear friend, and a very special man, and actually a hero not just to me but to others as well. It’s comforting to know we have a man like him that prays for us, and knows I pray for you as well Pastor Dick. God Bless!

Helen Price

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The Golden Christmas Ornament

The Golden OrnamentI remember when I saw my first Christmas ornament last year. I don’t even know if the person who had this dirty little golden bulb dangling by a single red string actually realized what it was. At first I thought my eyes had deceived me. I had been sitting on the roof of a restaurant sipping on freshly squeezed orange juice, watching the people bustle through the narrow streets below when I saw it. This strange little reminder that on the other side of the world my family would be preparing for Christmas, and here I was in Northern Africa watching hundreds of people prepare for a different kind of holiday season.

The old medina had been particularly busy because it was close to Aid Kabir (or big feast). Instead of trying to find a suitable Christmas tree, everyone was busy trying to find a suitable sacrificial ram. At the few large stores in the city, tents had been erected in the parking lots. Each tent was jammed full of first-born rams, ready to be sacrificed. Big signs were posted advertising the quality of the rams and their various prices per a kilo in Arabic Script. It almost reminded me of the stands selling Christmas trees advertising the oh-so-sought after Douglas firs.

Although I had already lived in this Muslim country for a few months, it still often surprised me when I went to the old medina and was greeted with the frenzy of people bustling about. The holiday season made things even more chaotic.

The old medina already consisted of literally millions of people, over 600 hundred mosques, thousands of shops, donkeys, mules, camels, and now, there was also thousands and thousands of rams added to the madness. It was always a bee’s hive of activities, smells, tastes and sounds, making the ‘Black Friday’ in the U.S. seem like a walk in the park. My favorite event in the medina was the sound of the ‘Call to pray’ being broadcasted from the mosques. One mosque would start, then another, then another, slowly gaining momentum till the whole medina was humming with a solemn and eerie wale. Often times men would close up their shops and filter to the nearest mosque to pray.

Another thing that always surprised me was seeing the women dressed in traditional garb. I lived in the ‘new medina’ where women were more western looking, often only covering their hair with a scarf, but here in the ‘old medina’ it was not uncommon for women to be dressed head to toe in black, sometimes covering their hands with black gloves and sometimes even walling-up the narrow slit for there eyes with netting. I always wondered how the women felt floating through the bustling crowd like a dark shadow, nearly invisible. More and more women were coming out this ‘holiday season’ to do shopping, so it was a rare opportunity for me to observe them. Typically about 80% of the population in the streets were men, so I was anxious to finally see women.

Women on roofThe same day I saw the Christmas Ornament, I also observed two women on a far away roof top socializing. I could tell that they did not expect anyone to be watching them because they had literally let their hair down. Even me, as a Christian gal from the U.S., often times wore a Jalapa (a long over-coat robe with a hood) to blend in with the crowd in the old medina.

Typically, women who came to the old medina would dress even more modesty than usual just for the fact that it was a more fundamental and old-rooted part of the city. The old medina is one of the oldest cities in the world, heavily filled with tradition, held firmly in place by the people’s own peer-pressure. Pressures on women that probably could never be explained, only felt.

Even now as I sit here, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, brain storming where I am going to purchase my Christmas tree this year, I can not help but wonder if that lonely golden Christmas ornament is being admired by some other adventurous homesick gal. One thing that is for certain, I know I will never take for granted my liberties as a Christian, western woman again.

Marissa L. Lopez

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Medical Savvy is Learned

Medical SavvyUnwilling to admit to the possibility of age related body breakdowns, I had semi- successfully ignored a knee injury for nearly three months. While participating in a wonderful outdoor hike with a group of teens in August, I suddenly felt an unsolicited pain in my knee. After doing all the home remedies and finding no relief, I succumbed to my doctor’s bidding and consulted a surgeon. When you see a Surgeon, it usually means that there is no quick and easy way out. The experience of surgery is not one of my more celebrated life adventures. So, with a narrow mind and reluctant heart, I went forward with the inevitable.

The lucky thing is that I am insured through my employer; the unthinkable aspect is the new medical accounting process. Because my conservative use of my medical had not reached my deductible and my portion of any major medical is thirty per cent, I was expected to pay the surgeon’s office one half up front and the other half in thirty days. Yikes! Tell me where these offices enroll the peppy little front line receptionists to ask with a huge smile for your life savings. When you try to open negotiations for payments, the list of accepted Visa and Master Cards are given with a bigger smile! 

All right a bitter pill taken, learning that the institution in charge of your health is completely stabilized behind its billing process. Smaller payments especially near Christmas would be easier tolerated, however I had no choice–pay or limp out. The next eye opener was the surgery itself. I was instructed that my Doctor would do the procedure in our local hospital or in the same day Surgery Center. Being a novice at such procedures, I wanted the best that is until I had to price it and learned the hospital was a staggering $4,000.00 higher then the same day Surgery Center! Suddenly I had other more monetary priorities, especially when thirty per cent was mine to pay. I was already into an MRI that cost a whopping $1,500.00. Boy, maybe walking with a slight limp and constant swelling could be tolerable.

At last! The day of my surgery arrived during Thanksgiving week. I was given a prescription for pain pills and told to bring them as the Surgery Center does not provide anything except the anesthetic. What would have happened if I had forgotten the pain pills? With only clear liquid up to midnight the night prior, I had a hideous check-in time of twelve-thirty p.m. I rushed in only to be left in the waiting room for two hours. By this time, I felt a little nervous. This was a cattle call environment, not at all as I had expected. The questionnaires were endless, the nurses looked exhausted, and gurneys with other patients fled past by me. As we all looked at one another being shuttled around, there was a sense of fast food surgery style. There was even a separate back door that the still half sedated completed patients were being transported out. Oh, this is progress? Premiums higher, patients do more for themselves than ever, and where will this road to medical extremes lead us to next? Perhaps a much more patient guided medical road, one that makes us aware of the insurance dollars, shopping for medical bargains and a more family involved recovery? When you are faced with any medical procedure or prescriptions, make phone calls and shop for the deal. I saved thirty dollars on a prescription by taking those extra steps instead of going to my nearest pharmacy. Oh yes, patient, beware! It is a new dawning, and you are your own captain. Sail in good health!

Valerie Kelly

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It’s Never Too Late

It’s Never Too LateKaye is a lady full of life, hope, and joy. She’s always smiling and is a lady that lives life to the fullest that is for her age. You see, Kaye is ninety-five years old. She was born in Hartford, Wisconsin on October 15, 1913, however, her family moved to Marshfield, Wisconsin where she grew up. She was only five when her mother died. She and her sister were still very young when her father died a year and a half later. From then on, her grandparents raised the girls until they were grown.

Kaye has many early memories, but the most thrilling was to hear the countless bells chiming in their neighborhood when World War I ended. Her grandmother made a big pot of coffee and all the neighbors got together to celebrate the end of the war. You see, the telephone hadn’t been invented yet, nor the radio. Kay actually remembers when the telephone and radio were invented.

After graduating high school, she went to work at the Marshfield Herald News as a reporter and worked there for two years. She loved her job and writing. A short time later, she began dating a boyfriend she knew from high school. It wasn’t long before Cliff and Kaye were married and moved to the Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. Later they moved to Phoenix, Arizona, settled down, and had two boys, Alan and Gene. They lived in Arizona until the children were almost grown.

In 1947, they moved to Klamath Falls, Oregon and the boys finished high school. In 1949, Kaye started a job at the Air Force Base after World War II, and worked there for over twenty years as a buyer and purchasing agent. They were very impressed with Kaye and sent her to nine different schools because she was a valuable employee and serious about her work and scored high on every test.

Another art that Kaye excels in is singing. While still living in Phoenix, Arizona, she joined the Sweet Adelines, an internationally known female barbershop singing group, and helped to start the chapter there. Later in Klamath Falls, after she had retired from her job, she started a chapter in Klamath Falls. Kaye also loves to travel and has visited many countries including Hawaii and the Philippines.

After her son Gene graduated from college, he moved to Rogue River, Oregon and became a teacher at Rogue River High School teaching music and choir in 1967. He met his wife Kim, who was also a teacher at the school, and they married in 1977. A year later, they had their first daughter Elizabeth.

Gene and Kim had three more children. Gene went to seminary, became a minister, and has a church the All the World Christian Church in Grants Pass, Oregon. Alan went into the Navy after graduating, moved to California, fell in love, married, and had four children. They lived there until moving to Oregon in the 90’s.

Kaye missed her boys, so in 1979 she moved to Rogue River also. Kaye has inherited quite a family. She now has eight grandchildren, fifteen great grandchildren, and one great-great grandchild. Her family loves her very much. She has always been involved in their lives and has many friends. She has a happy, healthy outlook on life and a very positive attitude. She thanks the Lord for that, and believes if you don’t have the Lord, life is not worth living. She has prayed in church that she never wants to have “an old lady attitude.” She said to me as I was saying goodbye, “It’s never too late.” I believe she’s right; it is never too late to enjoy the life you have as long as you have it, and she has had her life ninety-five years. I’m not the only one who thinks she is a very special lady, and I’m proud to call her my friend.

Helen L. Price

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The Singing Man – A Christmas Story

Christmas StoryHe was already sitting in front of the post office when we pulled into the parking lot. All I could see was his head and a large piece of plastic draped over his body. Who was this person, and why was he sitting there? Was he going to ask us for money or to sign a petition? I was already a bit nervous about taking Ian into the post office, and I didn’t really need a distraction on my way in. I briefly considered coming back later, another day even, but decided to take my chances. We just needed to mail a small package and purchase some stamps. I prayed that the line would be short, but knew that the chances of that on this December day were pretty slim.

Ian and I got out of the car and began to walk, Ian holding firmly onto my right arm with both hands, his version of “sighted guide.” Passing the flagpole, I began to hear the sounds of the man’s accordion, playing a distant, yet familiar tune. Ian heard it too and began to jump a little bit, losing his focus. We came around the corner of the building, both seeing him and hearing him at the same time. He was singing ‘O Holy Night’ to the postal patrons as they bustled in and out of the door, on their way to somewhere. Many were burdened with Christmas packages to mail. The line stretched to the door.

Ian stopped as we came abreast of the man and cocked his head, to better hear the singing. He began to bob up and down from the waist, a sure sign that he was very happy to be here right now. The singer smiled at me as he sang his song, and Ian and I stood, entranced by his glorious voice, by the message of the song he sang. Thanking him briefly, we entered the building and made our way to the end of the line.

Our post office is not a large building. It is big enough to serve our small community, though, and standing in line can take 15 to 20 minutes on a day like this. “Keep your hands to yourself and stand here by Mama,” I told Ian as we opened the inner door. He did the best he could. I know he tried, but he just couldn’t remember what it was he was supposed to be doing for very long, and within a minute, he reached out to touch the woman in front of us in line. “Hello,” I said, as Ian grabbed her arm; before I could stop him, he brought it to his lips and blew a big “razzberry” on the back of her wrist. The sound filled the room, and my heart leaped into my throat. I quickly pulled Ian toward me and stole a glance at her. Smiling as I apologized, she said, “Actually that is the best thing that has happened to me today.”

I held Ian with a grip of steel as we moved forward in the line, and he began to squirm under my hands. “Do you want to hear the singing man again, Ian?” I asked him, hoping to bribe him into compliance. “Huh huh huh,” he replied, his breathy sounds telling me, “Yes, yes yes. I want the singing man again.”

“Then stand here quietly and keep your hands to yourself.” One by one, the patrons ahead of us completed their tasks and moved on. Finally, it was our turn at the counter. Ian grabbed the stapler and some change of address forms as I handed our package to Tina. She put it on the scale. “Remember the singing man, Ian,” I said again, prying the paper out of his hands, propping it back into place, and hoping that he could somehow keep it together for another few minutes. “Hands in your lap please.”

Receipt in hand, we said goodbye and walked out into the main lobby, where Ian helped me mail our letters. One slot for local mail and the other slot for all other destinations. Pull the door down, put the mail in, let go of it now, yes, let go, and close the door. Each instruction has to be so carefully spoken, broken down into the simplest commands, so that he can understand one step at a time. “Shall we go and hear the singing man now, Ian?”

“Huh huh huh,” he responded and darted for the door. “Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Wait for mama.” With one hand on Ian, I dug around in my purse, looking for a few dollars to put in the man’s bucket. “Do you want to give the man some money?” “Huh huh huh.” Yes. I knew he would want to. He took the bills and began thrusting them out in front of him, offering them to anyone who would take them. “Here, Ian, over here. Let’s give them to the singing man.”

As the doors opened in front of us, the strains of ‘Silent Night’ filled the air, one of my favorites. We stopped outside, and Ian finally found the hole in the top of the big blue 5-gallon bucket where he could at last put the money. He bobbed up and down again, happy with himself and with the world, and I joined in on the next verse of ‘Silent Night.’

Standing there on that cold December day, singing the song of Christmas, I melted into the glow on the singing man’s face and the light shining from his eyes. My son stood there too, bobbing up and down by my side for the whole world to see, and life suddenly felt a whole lot brighter. Everything around me felt absolutely perfect.

“Does he like any particular song?” the man asked me. “How about ‘Jingle Bells’,” I replied. His fingers flew over the keys, and the accordion sang along with us. Pure contentment was in the air. Thanking him, I took Ian’s hand again and led him away to the car, hearing the haunting melody of ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ begin behind us. “… How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given….”

As we drove by on our way to our next stop, I looked over and saw him one last time, a simple man, covered from the neck down in a huge piece of clear plastic, an angel among us, come to share his love.

© 12/99 by Mar Goodman

Note: Ian was a 10 year old boy when I wrote this story. He experienced a severe lack of oxygen to his brain as an infant, which affected every aspect of his life, including his ability to think, see, and communicate. “Sighted guide” is a technique which enables visually impaired people to move through space and involves holding on to a sighted (visual) “guide.”

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Spare the Rod and Spoil the Child?

I never really needed this phrase as permission to hit my children; I did what was done to me and thought it to be the way to discipline and teach. However, I was not an example of a good parent, nor did I know how to be one, I just followed the tradition set before me by my parents, I also introduced a few new ones.

I was raised in a house where violence was the norm. Anger was the permission to hit in the name of discipline. My parents really did not know what to do to stop the behavior they did not like from us, other than to resort to violence as a deterrent to behavior they did not want. They had been raised with the same mentality and justified brutality in the name of parenthood.

In the Bible, the term “rod” meant stick of growth or a measurement for young children as they learn the ways of God and family. As they grew and became experienced, they reached certain measurements of understanding and growth. It was a measurement of maturity as well.

The meaning of the word spoil within that terminology was to leave them ignorant and allow them to follow the wicked ways of the world, or society of the heathens, or lost if you will. The phrase was not meant to be a justification for physical violence as a teacher of right or wrongs.

Now for those who were not raised in a religious environment, this phrase made little difference in condoning or justifying using physical violence as a teacher. We have become the most violent nation in the world with the most prisons in the world.

Can child abuse have some connection to the above facts? For more than 150 years, this country has been playing with behavior modification through public schools. We now have abortion on demand; we have Juvenile facilities popping up everywhere. There are Juvenile Correctional Facilities being built, and we have more counselors and drugs to treat children as young as two years of age.

What has happened is the breakdown of the family structure that all healthy societies are built upon. Our society has been redesigned and restructured without the ethical codes that were in place to keep us raising children to become mature and moral adults. I will say that in the last sixty years, we seem to have never left High School in this country.

What happened to the boys of twelve and sixteen who were able to be admirals and ambassadors? The family structure that made us the greatest country in the world is but a memory to the senior citizens of this country.

Maybe the number one cause of child abuse is that younger and younger teens are having sex and babies, or maybe it is that we don’t know how to raise children without passing on the baggage of our parents to them. I learned that to hit my children was only to make me feel like I did something to correct the mistakes they made. The number one cause of Child Abuse is IGNORANCE AND EMOTIONAL IMMATURITY!

I did not know how to handle any mistakes! All my mistakes were dealt with in the same ignorant manner. I had no patience, I had never had real love that allowed me to make mistakes and find the time to learn from them. I did not know how to raise children in a healthy environment because I never lived in one. I could not recognize my ignorance as I repeated my parents mistakes over and over, and so will millions of other parents continue to do so, unless they can wake up to see that violence is an addiction in an epidemic proportion.

Schools don’t know how to teach parenting. The family was the role model for society, or at least a healthy one! The family has been altered without any understanding of how important it was to future generations. We now live in the outcome of this change. Violence is the norm; patience and love are strangers to these generations of today.

In 1947, God was ordered out of public schools. In 2008, our nation faces the outcomes of that decision. Parents are searching for some formula to not hit their children. The formula is to learn to forgive their mistakes and show them how to find other ways of doing things until they can grow with a searching mind that makes them think of all possible ways to finish the task at hand. Before you can teach your children to do this, you will have to learn to do it yourself. You are the role model for the future; learn to be a good one.

Barbara L. González, Grace Seeker: ponderland@charter.net

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My Special Gift from God

HospitalOn October 14, 1961, Marilyn’s second son was born and was named George. It had been a normal delivery, and he weighed in at 9 lbs, 10 oz. He had an older brother John, who was 13 months old.

The first six months of George’s life were very normal. He ate good, developed eye contact, rolled over, and smiled. He was well loved. However, at six months, he developed an ear infection, and Marilyn took him to the doctor who gave him a shot of penicillin. Two days later, he had a convulsion. Marilyn wrapped him in a blanket and rushed him to the hospital. After a complete examination, his doctor was convinced he had Meningitis and needed to be taken to county hospital where they had a communicable disease ward. Meningitis is an infection to the covering of the brain.

After two spinal taps, it was confirmed that George did have Meningitis. The infection had spread from his ear to the covering of his brain. For six days, Marilyn was with him in the hospital, not being able to pick up and cradle her son who so much wanted to be held.

After being brought home, George’s convulsions began again. During this time, George was developing normally, sitting up, and walking at nine months. George was a pretty baby and smiled a lot. Trying to teach George to eat with a spoon was a challenge, for as soon as she would turn away from him, he would revert back to eating with his fingers.

Her doctor decided later that George should have some tests to find the reason for his convulsions. So George was taken back to the hospital and he underwent a number of tests. Finally, the results of the tests showed that George had Epilepsy. Marilyn was given a prescription for Phenobarbital for George, and he was given it every day. It worked; he no longer had any convulsions.

As both John and George grew, it became noticeable that they were developing differently. When Marilyn tried to do normal house work, she would take George with her so that she knew where he was. George had never spoken. His brother John tried to play with him, but George would cut or color on anything John made. Naptime or bedtime was difficult as George wouldn’t stay in bed. Marilyn had to lay down with her arms wrapped tight around him to get him to sleep. Marilyn couldn’t potty-train George.

When George was three years old, Marilyn had another baby, Jim, and she realized that it would be very difficult caring for a new baby and be able to take care of George properly and the rest of the family. It was recommended that they take George to a child psychiatrist to have him evaluated; the result was that George was retarded.

It was suggested that they place George at Fairview Hospital in Costa Mesa. It took some time before they had an opening for George. It was very difficult to take him there as Marilyn cried the whole time she packed his clothes.

Marilyn loved her boy, and she prayed for strength from God to be able to do this. George was placed in a ward with a number of other children and lived there for about five years. George was picked up on weekends. When George was nine, he was moved to a ward with older children. He adjusted right away, and he was well liked. It was difficult knowing that she was unable to raise him herself, and she decided to ‘let God be in charge.’

In 1980, Marilyn married George’s step-dad Jack. They lived close to Fairview, and visited George often. In 1986, Marilyn and Jack moved to Oregon. They decided to leave George where he was as he was happy there, and they were at peace with the decision. In 2003, George was moved to a group home.

Jack loves George as if he was his own son, so it was hard for Marilyn to convince Jack that they couldn’t look after George themselves. They get reports on George through the mail so they know how he is doing. George was forty-seven this past October. Marilyn feels that she is a better person because of George, and feels that she wouldn’t have made it but for her faith and belief that God would get her through each day.

Helen L. Price

Taken from Marilyn Amorde’s book
“My Special Gift from God”

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