Respect and Disrespect in Denver

Last evening we arrived in the Denver airport and boarded the shuttle train to the baggage pick-up area. Apparently someone was in the doorway the first time the doors attempted to close.

A recorded message said, "Please stand clear of the doors. You are delaying the departure of this train."

Huh???? Nothing like being dissed by a recorded message!

"Oh, wow," I said to my husband. "Welcome to Denver. Whose brilliant idea do you suppose that was?"

With a smirk, he responded with the name of someone that he knows I think is disrespectful and insensitive.

"Hmmmm....I didn't know her influence extended this far!"

Seriously, wasn't there a better and more polite way to ask a person to remove his carcass from the doorway?

How about, "Please stand clear of the doors, so that the train may proceed."

"Please be sure you are not blocking the doors, so that they will close properly."

"Please allow the doors to close by moving all the way onto the train."

One would think that every attempt would be made to welcome an arriving visitor with a politely worded message.

We retrieved our baggage and found the car rental shuttle.

I noticed during the ride that a young man on the shuttle seemed to be looking at me. I wondered why. If I had been 35 years younger, I would have thought he was admiring my good looks.

When we arrived at the car rental, my husband jumped up, grabbed his suitcase and put it out on the sidewalk first. Before the young man could have even assessed whether my husband would come back to help me, he stepped over to me.

"I'll get your suitcase for you. Is it OK if I sit it right out here on the sidewalk for you?"

Ah...so now I know what he was thinking. "That poor old lady looks tired. I'll give her a hand."

I found myself thinking old lady thoughts.

"Oh, what a nice young man!"

So just in case you care, there is disrespect and respect in Denver.

We humans have a choice as to how we treat each other every day in every city.

Too Strange

The whole idea of sleep and dreams is fascinating. We put our heads on pillows, close our eyes and quite purposely allow ourselves to become "unconscious" and vulnerable. While in this state our brains apparently do some sorting and filing and general house-keeping. I have some genuinely bizarre dreams that cause me to wonder just what on earth it is that my brain is actually doing.

Last night I dreamed that I was a guest in someone else's home. I got ready for bed, and as I turned out the bathroom light, I saw a parade of mice scurrying along the edge of the tub. I turned the light back on, but the mice had disappeared. One of my uncles entered the dream. He tried to help me locate the mice, but somehow they had turned into blue caterpillars which were trying to hide by causing themselves to blend in with objects in the room. Some were wrapped around blue ornaments on a Christmas tree. If there was more to the dream, I don't remember what it was.

This morning I told my husband about this strangeness.

He flashed me one of his impish grins and said, "I suppose such dreams are the curse of a creative mind."

Interesting concept....he, on the other hand, sometimes wakes up exhausted because he has played basketball or run all night long.

Moving in the Right Direction

I am filled with a sense of relief that things are moving in the right direction.

Twelve days ago, my father-in-law fell in the bathroom and did a number on his left forearm. A large flap of skin was left hanging. The doctor decided not to remove it, hoping that circulation would reestablish and the wound would heal without the loose flap needing to be cut off.

Each day when I have dressed the wound, I have been concerned about the extreme discoloration of the wedge shaped flap. Various shades of deep purple, sometimes with yellow patches have had me worried.

Yesterday I went with him to the follow-up doctor appointment. Much to my relief, there was finally some improvement. Today the improvement was even more significant. There are a couple of very small edges that clearly aren't going back into place and will eventually come off, but the bulk of the tissue appears to be healing.

Each day I have evaluated the situation and found it static. I was waiting for it to get worse, so that I could make the decision to get him back to the doctor, or to improve so that I could exhale with relief. Turning the corner is a very good thing.

At this time of the year, I can see nature turning a corner. We still have lots of snow and freezing temperatures, but the sun is higher in the sky. The cold doesn't seem quite as bitter. South-facing snowbanks are showing signs of melting and creeping back from the edges of the roads and sidewalks. We are moving in the right direction.

Healing happens.

Spring comes.

Balancing on the edge of a situation is stressful. Knowing which way you are going, even if it is in a negative direction, at least gives you an inkling as to what your course of action should be. It's the not knowing that is unnerving.

Unwarranted Familiarity

I absolutely hate it when people I don't know call me "honey" or "sweetie" or "dear."

When I was in nursing school back in the dark ages, we were instructed never to use such terminology with patients. It was viewed as inappropriately familiar, and therefore, lacking in respect.

Having people address me this way seems to be happening with increasing frequency, and I am struggling with how to respond, or whether I should respond at all. I suppose the gracious thing to do is to let it roll off. But, depending on the tone or context in which it is said, it can be downright condescending.

I suppose this is pride on my part just bubbling to the surface, but I find myself wondering....

Do I really look like a honey or sweetie or dear? Most people actually find me a bit intimidating. Do I secretly like being intimidating, and is that why it makes me mad when a stranger calls me by a familiar term?

Am I starting to look like a doddering old lady? Are they thinking, "Oh, the poor, sweet, old dear."

Is it just a generational thing? When I was young I was taught not to address my elders that way, so is it that I just can't accept such unwarranted familiarity now being in vogue?

Earlier this week, I was in a J. C. Penney store at the mall. I found what I wanted to purchase and began the search for an open checkout station. It was clearly past opening time on the store clock, but the checkouts at both the back and side entrances were unattended, and no clerk was in sight. I wandering into the center of the store where a clerk was at the jewelry counter. I asked if there was a checkout open somewhere. I was, of course, hoping she would offer to check my purchase out right there. But her response was, "Why the front check-out is open, honey."

I muttered, "I'm not your honey."

She said, "Pardon me?"

I repeated with a sigh, "I'm not your honey."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

I know I made her feel bad, and so I felt guilty. It was the tone that got me. Of course, I probably would have found the front check-out open eventually by myself, but I had entered at the back of the store, the store was supposedly open, she didn't offer to check out the item herself, and then she called me HONEY!"

A couple of years ago, I went into a flooring store to order some laminate. We were remodeling the kitchen at the time. The salesman was young enough to be my son and maybe even my grandson. The entire conversation was sprinkled with "sweetie." Finally I couldn't take it anymore, and I said, "I am NOT your sweetie."

He looked shocked. I suppose it is such a habit, that he doesn't even know he does it.

Recently my computer needed repair. The owner of the shop, who I would guess to be close to my age, kept calling me 'dear.' I didn't say anything to him, but I thought, "If I was his wife it would bother me that he calls other women 'dear.' It would cheapen the term."

I later learned, he is divorced. Hmmmmmm.

I wonder if our society is so lacking in genuine intimacy, that people attempt to make up for it by using terms of endearment on a routine basis. Personally, I am reserving 'honey,' 'sweetie' and 'dear' for my children and grandchildren. My husband is 'my love' and absolutely no one else gets that!

Response to Reprimand

A couple of days ago, I was talking on the phone with one of my daughters, when her almost three-year old could be heard whimpering in the background.

Daughter: What's the matter Maddie?

Granddaughter: I was shy.

Daughter: Who were you shy of?

Granddaughter: Daddy

Daughter: Why were you shy of Daddy?

Granddaughter: Because, he told me the truth!

Apparently she had been running with a stick in her mouth, and he had told her to take it out and explained that she could get hurt.

I was amused, because it revealed something about her personality which is very like her mother's personality as a little girl.

Children respond in many different ways to discipline. These sweet ladies are mortified that there is even a need for discipline. Neither my daughter or her daughter like the notion that they have done something foolish. Maddie doesn't know the word "embarrassed" yet, but I think that's what she was going for with "shy."

My son was likewise horrified at the need to be corrected. When he was about 6, I commented that he had never been spanked. He said, "Oh, yes I was."

I asked, "When were you ever spanked?"

He replied, "One time when Dad was trying to help me put my jacket on, I did not cooperate, and he spanked me."

This was humorous, because this incident had occurred years earlier when he was a toddler, and what he counted as a "spanking" was one swat on the behind to get his attention. No matter...in his mind, he had required correction, and that certainly wasn't going to happen again.

In contrast, another daughter had a completely different response to discipline.

My husband needed a new suit, and we thought we could get away with taking our daughters, who were about age 3 and 4 at the time, along on the shopping trip. We figured we would just tell them that if they were good, we would go to McDonald's for lunch afterward.

We were in one of the higher end stores in our small city checking out possibilities. We had placed the girls on a bench within sight and instructed them to stay there. We turned our backs only briefly looking at the suits. When we turned around, they were gone. We split up looking for them. How they could have moved so quickly, I don't know. I found them in the display window in the front of the store...clearly visible from the sidewalk. They had taken a shirt off a mannequin and had added about a dozen pairs of black socks to the window display.

I retrieved the girls from the window and found a clerk. I apologized that my daughters had rearranged the display. She crawled out in the window, and as she picked up each pair of socks, she made a noise of disgust.

We took the girls home, gave them a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and put them in their rooms for nap time. My husband said he was going to go up and talk to them about what they had done.

The first girl agreed that what she had done was wrong, and that it wouldn't happen again.

When he asked the second girl what she had learned from this experience, she responded vehemently, "That the next time we are going to McDonald's, we'd better not go shopping first!"

Ahhhh....guess how the teenage years went with that one.

Presence and Absence

There is no comparison between presence and absence.

When he is gone...as he is now on a business trip to California....I come home from work, and the house is empty. He isn't usually here when I get home from work, but there is a difference between knowing that he will be home soon and knowing he will not. I mean the house is EMPTY.

The thermostat has been set low during the day, and so the temperature isn't quite up to a comfort zone. The house is cold, and the house is COLD.

The house is silent, and I know it will remain so. I cannot look forward to the snow crunching under the tires of his car as he pulls in the drive, the rhythm of his footsteps coming toward the back door, the opening and closing of the door and the pleasant greeting.

Suppertime will come. I will try to think of something to eat. It isn't any fun to fix a meal for one. What is left over that I can zap in the microwave? No remains needing to be eaten up? Well, maybe I'll have some soup or an egg. If he were here, I would set the table, maybe light a candle, peel real potatoes to go with the meat and vegetable. We would sit and talk as we ate, sharing events of the day and thoughts on life in general. Tonight I will sit in front of the TV while I eat.

Eventually I will go upstairs and get ready for bed. I will put on socks tonight, as there will be no one to warm my cold feet on. I will read for awhile with the TV on too, just for some noise. I will wait for him to call...he always calls when he is out of town. Last night he had terrible laryngitis.

I said, "You sound awful. We shouldn't talk too long."

He said, "I don't mind listening."

I will turn out the light and stare up into the darkness. I will slide my hand across the bed and feel the emptiness, and I will think, "There is no comparison between presence and absence."

He should be home by tomorrow night, and everything will be different.

Choosing Life

I caught a bit of the Larry King show a couple nights ago. Representatives from Focus on the Family and NOW were going at each other over the controversial ad scheduled to play during the Superbowl this Sunday.

Apparently Focus on the Family developed this ad based on the story of a very talented college quarterback whose mother was encouraged to abort him. They see the ad as a celebration of choosing life. NOW sees it as anti-abortion and disrespectful of a woman's right to chose.

I may have to actually watch the Superbowl this year...or not. The ad will probably appear on the internet as soon as it has played during the game.

In any event, it made me think about my own experience. I became pregnant just about 24 years ago, two months before my 41st birthday. Our youngest child at the time was 13, and the "empty nest" was in sight. We had not planned the pregnancy. We had been using birth control, but.... even the mathematically gifted occasionally make miscalculations.

Neither my husband nor I were upset by the news. Although we thought we had our hands full with the children we already had, I had told God many times over the years that if He, in His wisdom, knew we should have another child, that was just fine with me. So, both my husband and I reacted with an "oh-what-a-good-idea-why-didn't-we-think-of-that" attitude.

My OB-GYN group did not share this line of thought. They stamped "High Risk--Advanced Maternal Age" in red letters on the outside of my chart. They told me that I had to go to genetic counseling for their legal protection, so that they could document that I understood the risks of continuing the pregnancy. Three times they urged me to have an amniocentesis. Three times I turned it down.

I found all this quite annoying, because:

1. I am a nurse. I knew perfectly well what the risks were.

2. I was quite aware of the increased incidence of Down's Syndrome in older parents.

3. We had already adopted a daughter who had a physical disability. How could I consider NOT continuing the pregnancy? What message would that have sent to her?

4. Anything treatable prenatally would have been found on the ultrasound, not through amniocentesis. The only reason for that procedure would have been if I would consider an abortion.

I knew that the genetic counselor would sketch out a family tree and put every possible negative thing in the squares and circles, so I made my own family tree and put every positive thing in the squares and circles....artistic ability, musical talent, obvious high intelligence, creativity, organizational skills, etc. Although my personal decision wasn't based on logic and probability, by the time I finished my chart, I was convinced the odds were in our favor.

Of course, I never believed this was a roll of the dice. I just thought that might make more sense to people who don't put God in the equation, and make them stop nagging me.

So...what did God send us? Where do I begin?

Our only son.

A sweet toddler who verbalized his love for me in the era when his teenage sisters were sassing me.

A genuinely cute kid with a great sense of humor.

A child who never rocked the boat....from the get-go he behaved as though listening to one's parents was the only reasonable approach to life. Displeasing his parents was, in his mind, counterproductive.

Not once, did he give me grief over taking out the garbage.

His room was NOT a pig sty.

When he visits us now, he goes out of his way to be helpful.

He did, however, make a liar out of my husband. When I told my husband that I was pregnant. The first words out of his mouth were, "Oh....I will be 65 before the kid finishes college!"

Our son took his first college course at the age of 13, finished his Bachelors at the age of 19 and his Masters at the age of 20. Then he went out and found himself a real adult job. My husband was only 63 at that point and didn't mind in the least that he had been proven wrong.

I know that this story could have been different. I know I could now be struggling with what to do about a disabled child as I age. I'd like to think that God would have provided me with the strength to deal with those challenges. Our son...and our other children....have and continue to bring challenges into our lives. So far, God has been faithful in helping us to cope. I have no reason to think He will not continue to do so.

Becoming a parent is always a risk. I don't know any other way to approach this rather frightening proposition than with faith, and today, I am celebrating my choice.

A Vow of Faithfulness

So now we learn that a certain governor who was thought to be hiking, when he was, in fact, in South America with his mistress, did not want "being faithful" included in his wedding vows.

What?! What?!

It was easy for me to first react with, "You've got to be kidding. Why didn't she call off the wedding? What possible reason could he have had other than that he had every intention of being unfaithful?"

But, then I wondered, "At what point did she know this?"

If it was two months before and the invitations had not been sent out, that would be one thing. However, if she found out the night before at the rehearsal, that would be quite another thing. The pressure to forge ahead would be enormous. It is simple for me to think I would have walked away, but in honesty, I don't know what I would have done, if I had found out at the last minute that faithfulness wasn't part of the bargain.

My husband had dated a lot prior to our relationship. At a point where things seemed to be getting serious, but marriage had not yet been discussed, I brought up the topic of faithfulness in marriage. I told him that I had observed that he was fond of women and had a history of enjoying the company of multiple women. I asked him if he thought he would ever be able to settle down with one woman.

He replied in a way I found most interesting. "If I were to marry you, that would be my promise to you that there would never be anyone else. Not because I might not find someone else attractive, but because I would be making a promise, and I wouldn't let anything happen to cause me to break it."

Wow...he didn't say something syrupy like, "You are so wonderful, I would never look at anyone else." That would have been a lie.

He told the truth. "I might find someone else attractive, but I would not break my promise."

I decided there was real security in that response.

I should add that although my husband had dated extensively, neither he nor I believed in or engaged in sex prior to marriage. We both believed that being faithful to our values prior to marriage was an important component of being faithful within marriage.

Women need to ask themselves, "If he would 'cheat' with me before marriage, will he 'cheat' with someone else after marriage?" I recognize that in our culture today, such a notion probably seems totally unrealistic and even hysterically funny to some.

On the other hand, I find it amusing when a second or third wife who had an affair with a man during his marriage to a prior spouse is shocked and upset when he has an affair during their marriage. Why would she be surprised?

Faithfulness was in our vows.

Faithfulness was in our hearts.

Forty two years of experience says it's worth it.