Minnesota welcomes you!

Today as I drove back to my adopted state, I crossed the river and border to encounter the sign I've seen countless times--"Minnesota welcomes you!" It struck me today significantly, and I had a moment.  In the nearly thirteen years that I have made Minnesota my home, I have pondered many times what sets this state apart from other places I've lived.  No place is perfect, of course, and I really haven't had a broad base of living experiences.  

This place, though, DOES welcome new residents.  It welcomed me with a living wage, a great educational system in which to work and raise my son, and it didn't ask much of me in return.  It didn't care that I had previously lived in the southwest, via North Dakota; it respected my work experience and made me feel needed and important. In the time I have lived here, I have seen it welcome many refugees from several wars, even wars that the U.S. had declared. I have felt the warmth and love from the community in my work and community involvement.

I never really considered that I would find a new place to call home after I left my birth state, but I have.  Minnesota continues to be a leader in charitable work and educational excellence, even though we don't have a big fat state fiscal surplus.  There is always enough for everyone in need, as well as a welcome for newcomers.  I have been showered with luck in my life, especially in this particular decision to make Minnesota my home.

Sitting in the catbird's seat

In one of my favorite Cohen brothers' movies there is a particularly choice line of dialogue (can't remember which one, but probably 'Raising Arizona') involving the enviable position of 'sitting in the catbird's seat'.  I have always loved the reference, not only because I love cats, but it just sounds so darn corny!  Anyway, at my second release from the hospital in two months, I feel that it is where I am.


I am now on the way to recovery from years of knee pain, immobility, inactivity and obstacles my arthritis was causing.  I know arthritis is not curable, but the medical technology available to arthritis sufferers, including joint replacement truly is almost like being 'back to the future'. I have the recovery in front of me, and I have only high hopes and gratitude that I was able to receive the surgery I needed.


My wonderful son, Nathan, has been my backbone and inspiration, devoting his whole summer to caring for me and helping me financially, emotionally and physically.  Whatever I have needed, he is always there for me.  I don't really know how I ever have deserved such an intelligent, compassionate, elegant son, but I am thankful daily that I have him.


My second surgery so far seems more routine, for which I am also grateful, and maybe even less pain than the first one.  I am at the start of the sometimes strenuous recovery part now, but I am energized and ready to go.

Pain management

I understand the serious nature of controlling substances.  Unethical people will undermine the good nature of the pharmaceutical world, if not controlled.  But what I really resent is being treated like a druggie criminal when I ask for medications that I really need.  

Pain isn't really that tough to ignore.  With a strong will you can subvert most of it.  Why should you have to, though?  Science and medicine have made these advances so that pain can be managed in a humane way, so that you can avoid focusing on it and go on living your life.  I know the temporary pain of a major surgery will pass, but the time is going to seem so much longer and bleaker. 

Just my rant for the day--can't change legislation or the way a powerful lobby does business.  Thanks, drug addicts, for messing up another facet of society.

21 years ago. . .

The thought of being a parent had never scared me; in my teaching career I often felt parental responsibilities, and I relished them.  I had lived a full life, I thought, before my son was born in 1991.  Was there really that much more to experience?  I tired of the day to day baby stuff early, and started to panic more than once at the end of a sleepless day-turned into-night-turned back into day when he was a newborn.  Could I really do this?

As the years went by, the burden of care seemed lighter.  The daily battles were few, but there were some.  Every new school year brought changes that he fought.  More than once I carried him into a classroom squirming.  How would it look, I would say to him, to have a teacher whose own son hates school?  School started to become fun; reading became a habit, then a joy; and the artwork started.

One of the first beautiful works he created, that I still have framed and hung, was a watercolor rendition of New York’s Central Park, one he completed at age eleven. The healing after  9/11 was difficult—maybe a turning point in growing up.  The house fire.  Sparky’s death.  The hard year between tenth and eleventh grade.  They were all there for us to learn from, to experience together and make changes over.

Now, 21 years old.  I thought I could never be this lucky or happy.  We communicate; we don’t always agree, but we listen, and learn.  His college experience is exemplary, and he is a creative, kind, unselfish, loving person who I am proud to know and even prouder to be a parent of.  My crystal ball from my 21^st birthday would never have been able to contain all the joy of my future with my wonderful son, Nathan.  Happy birthday, mijo!

Turning 21

MANY years ago, in a galaxy far, far away. . .no, not really, but it was 36 years ago, in a 'Communist' country, steeped in vampire legends and mist, that I turned 21 years old.
It was a college-sponsored choir trip to Romania in 1976.  It was the year of the Olympic games in which Nadia Comaneci was about to wow the world, and it was my first time out of the country, besides Canada.  We were scheduled for many performances in odd venues, that included churches, schools, parks and public squares.  
I remember Romanian people mobbing us wherever we went, eager to talk to someone from the United States, and I also learned that the politics of the government of a country do not always echo the politics of average everyday citizens.  The Romanian people we met were warm, friendly and sociable.  They were proud of the beauties of their land, which many westerners had not visited at that point in time.  
The young gentlemen in the photo were NOT Romanians, however.  They were Palestinian college students going to school in Romania, who spoke not only Romanian and Arabic, but English as well.  My friend Beth and I met them at a museum and discovered that one of them shared MY birthday, May 20, but was one year older on that exact day!  We shared a glass of champagne and some English conversation in a small Romanian cafe, and followed all our curfew rules of the trip, as well!
Now, my sweet son will be turning 21 in a few days (check back later for a blog post), and I cannot believe how time can fly!

New knees!

It has been a scary and painful couple of months leading up to my first knee replacement on May 14.  Both my joints had deteriorated so badly due to arthritis that I was barely able to walk short distances without pain.  I decided to opt for getting both knees replaced this summer, taking a month off of the end of the school year to add to my recovery time.

The idea of the surgery soon started to scare me the most, as I started to hear horror stories from well-meaning friends and relatives.  Mostly everyone either knows someone who has experienced joint replacement, or they have had it done themselves, it seems.  The day finally came, after a hectic and emotional last few weeks of school.  I was admitted, had a long wait to get in, and the next thing I knew, I was in recovery.  The pain is constantly monitored with Mayo Clinic's "scale of one to ten", and I realized that the pain I was feeling at first was indescribable, and I really couldn't use the true number due to the possibility of alarming the nurses.  So I decided that I would downgrade the pain when they asked.

After the first day or so, it really did seem to be less, and each day progressed from there.  I was able to go home on Thursday, May 17, after a three-night hospital stay.  How I got around the first couple of days at home is a mystery, but my son was there the whole time, helping me with ice packs, physical therapy, medications, and general moral support.  Having a walker has been great and has actually helped firm up my flabby arms!  Now I'm looking forward to ditching the walker and maybe just using a cane, to help for support. 

My friends and family have all been so supportive and wonderful--with calls, prayers and good wishes.  I will be up and around soon, and hopefully see some of you face to face.  Take care and keep the good thoughts coming.  I appreciate it.
I made a small video for my students--take care, and don't laugh TOO much.  :(