My Ramblings
Friday, June 20, 2003
Did you know that the IRS employees tax manual has instructions for collecting taxes after a nuclear war? Did you know that over 1,600 people in North America have been victims of trunk entrapment (being locked inside of a car trunk)? Fascinating. If you have some time to kill, here are a few more amusing facts to amaze your friends this weekend.
Three important things I learned this week about having sick kids:
1. Coinciding with their natural instinct to reach out and demand comfort from mom when they're ill, kids will throw up in your direction too.
2. If you must take them to the store with you, make sure you bring a towel.
3. Watch your towel. You may know it costs $10 to replace, but the kids don't. They won't care at all when it gets knocked out of the car onto a busy road because someone forgot to completely close the back door.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
I saw an obituary for a friend's mom today. It makes me realize that we're getting older. His mother was still relatively young, and though I don't know the circumstances behind her death, I do see that it's my parent's generation's turn to grow old. Then it will be my turn.
I'm very lucky--I had all my grandparents up until a few years ago. Just last week my grandfather went in for a triple bypass. At 82, they said this bypass will extend his life about 10 years. Although that would be wonderful to see him live to be in his early 90s, that's only ten years away. I wonder what it's like to know that you may only have 10 more years of life ahead of you? After 80 years, 10 more probably doesn't seem like long. Does your body somehow feel like it's getting old and needs to rest, or do you fight it? I wonder if my grandpa feels sad that the bypass may only extend his life for 10 more years, or if he just feels appreciative to have 10 more years. I've been thinking about that sort of thing lately.
My grandpa is such a hard worker; always has a project going on. As you get old, do you decide to wrap up projects, or do you just keep starting new ones? When I finally go, what will happen to my half-done cross stictch, my uncompleted photo albums, or even those junk drawers I never got clean? I believe there's something more after we die and I cling to that hope, but there's a whole world left behind of unfinished business.
I suppose my grandpa thinks he's already lived a long life. He's seen his kids and grandkids have kids. He's worked hard and has a lot to show for it. We have in our mind that we've lived a long life if we reach our 80s or 90s, so guess it doesn't come as a shock to someone who's 82. But what about someone who dies at 60? My friend's mom was 60. You could get a lot accomplished in those 20 years. You can miss things like retirement and grandkids when you're only 60.
Your parents aren't suppose to die until you're old yourself. I had to struggle with that when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer 10 years ago. Who do you go to when mom or dad are gone?
I feel very sad for my friend today. His mom left too soon.
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
I see my older journals (older? Try last week!) are getting lost down...way down. I'm still trying to figure out how to index/archive stuff. Does anyone want to lend me the time to do this?
So anyway, if one day you see a whole bunch of archived posts, that's the reason.
Apparently I've missed teaching a few key words to my kids. My daughter's been sick with some sort of upper respiratory thing, and she refers to the stuff that comes out of her nose as "snout." Today she said she needs an "ear pick" and it took her describing it to me before I realized she meant "Q-tip."
Monday, June 16, 2003
I had this crazy idea on Father's Day to go on an unfamiliar hike to an area I'd never been. Well, I'd driven past the entrance before, if that counts. In Olalla, along the Puget Sound, is a place called "Anderson Point." We all got out of the car, and I threw on my backpack loaded up with drinks for five, two cameras, and a cell phone that is no longer operating.
After a large muddy dog in the parking lot decided to be my "friend", I asked the owner how far of a walk to the water. "Oh, three-quarter mile," she said.
It was actually a very pretty walk if you didn't look down to see all the caterpillars you were stepping on. I listened to my hiking partners complain about chaffed thighs and how much work it was going to be to get back up, but we just kept on going till we reached the bottom. It was a beautiful day on the water. The beach was actually sandy (a rare thing for the Puget Sound). It was just breezy enough that you didn't feel like your skin was burning under the sun. I opened one drink, shared it, and decided it was time to go back.
The hike up wasn't nearly as pleasant as it was all uphill, though bearable. About half-way up my stepson decided he'd attempt a "short cut" straight up to the next section of trail, cutting off a good portion of the walk but leading to a questionable outcome.
In an unanimous decision that I wasn't a part of, my husband and kids decide they're going to take the short cut too. It was one of those hills that kids under 15 love and the rest of us just yell "be careful." It was smooth dirt and the occasional bush to hold on to.
I stayed down below to make sure a kid didn't slide back down. One by one, they hiked up this thing. My husband pulling kids up by the arms at a few points. The very top was a doozy. It was about four feet of vertical path where you either jumped and hoped for the best, or had someone help you. Step son took the first option, the rest of us took the second.
I waited until they all were almost near the top before I tried. They all laughed at me as I lumbered up this embankment with that heavy backpack on (by the way, that's the last time I carry everyone's drink). There were times I felt the backpack might win and take me down, but I fought it. I grabbed every available branch I could to help me up. A few stinging nettles here and there didn't help matters any. I finally decided the back pack wasn't doing me any favors, so I took it off and tried to fling it up towards the top. It made it about two feet, hit the ground really hard, sent dust billowing toward me, and slid back down. I had to do this several times before my husband was able to grab onto it and pull it to safety.
I finally was able to get myself up far enough that I could grab a much welcome hand from above and be pulled up to the top. I was dusty, had dirt in my mouth, and was speckeled in nettle bites, but I'd made it.
I remember that as actually being a fun thing to do when I was a kid.
