January 1989

I have been thinking of one Friday in January 1989.

When I was freshly out of college (the first time), I took a job in Rochester, NY working for a large company known for its photography products. I'm sure you can guess which company, or figure it out with a little research.

As I was driving home from work, I was listening to NPR (WXXI, in fact) and heard that there was a house fire in the Park Avenue part of town and a street was blocked. Hm. I lived in that part of town, and that's exactly where I was going. What street? Grainger Place. Uh, oh. My apartment was in a big old house on Granger Place!

It couldn't be. But no, it was.

My house was on fire. I drove up and saw flames shooting out of the window next to my third-story apartment. I panicked. A friend from work had also heard it on the news and he came right over....he knew which house I lived in! I crumpled up into his arms and sobbed.

There wasn't anything to do, really, except watch. At that point in my life, I was not even a year out of college, I had little money, and my support system was barely established. I had a few new friends at work, and I did have some family in town, but I wasn't all that close with them.

That night, a few friends rallied around. I stayed at my uncle's house where I stayed for the next 6-8 weeks or so. My cousin (who is 10 years older than me) helped out by providing me some clothing and taking me to the grocery store, Wegman's, to get some essentials, like underwear, socks, toothbrush, hairbrush, makeup, etc. Back at my uncle's house that night, I had a too much wine, and went to sleep.

The next day, I borrowed my uncle's truck and went up to the apartment house to salvage what I could. It had not burned to the ground, fortunately. Later, I learned that a wiring problem had caused the fire, somewhere in a closet on the second floor where they kept paint and other combustibles. Nice.

I found that the fire had not reached my apartment, but the smoke and water had. The fire department had attempted to protect my furnishings by placing tarps over everything, and they actually had done a pretty good job. I rescued what I could: my clarinet, my books, my music, clothing, linens, a sofa, some wooden furniture, pictures, kitchenware. (I had one friend help with the loading.) I loaded up the truck and brought it all to my uncle's garage where the sorting and cleaning began.

Pretty much all of my clothes were ruined. Even after several cycles through the dry cleaner and laundry, the smoke smell never left the clothing, and it all went to the trash. My closet had suffered the worst smoke damage because of its location in the apartment and where the fire had been. Books were in different states, some had smoke stains, some were warped from water, some were completely ruined. I still have many of those books - the ones I felt were important to me- cookbooks and music and a few academic books. I left my bedroom furniture in the house; the mattress and box spring were probably ruined and I didn't like the hand-me-down set of furniture all that much, anyway. My TV and sofa survived, thanks to the firemen's tarps.

I still have a little stuffed dog toy that was very sentimental to me from high school, and he lost an arm in the shuffle of moving, cleaning, and throwing out. I keep him in a special place to this day. Several other stuffed toys survived, also. Some are a bit dirtier, though...

I had had a pet cat at the time and she died in the fire. She was a sweet little calico kitty named Penny. I was torn up over that loss for a long time. I never did see her body, although I heard the firefighters found her.

The fire changed me, but even now I'm not sure in what way I was changed. At the time, I was tempted to leave Rochester and move back home with my parents. However, I had a job and I was establishing a life...I sort of had a boyfriend, even. I thought it was just a set back. Yet, in the following 2 years I stayed in Rochester, many other bad things happened to me. Eventually I got the message.

Like the house in the movie, "The Amityville Horror," Rochester was telling me to "GET OUT."

I did. I think that if I had not left Rochester, I probably would have killed myself, yes, literally. I was terribly depressed there. I only regret that I didn't trust my instincts sooner and leave that bad situation. Perhaps that is one thing I learned is that my gut feelings (and anyone's) are usually right.

All I wanna do is...

...sew.

January and I'm ready to hibernate. Today my quilt bee came over to work on our projects. I decided to set up the machine and finish piecing the rows of my queen size Log Cabin quilt. I almost got it all done! I have one row left to do and it's just a sashing row. That goes together quick!

For a fundraiser for the 2009 Heart Walk I am going to make a variety of scrub caps to sell. This is our unit's fundraiser activity. There are two avid sewers among our nurses so we will make as many scrub caps as we can. We have support for fabric and patterns. The work is the hard part. I am eager to get started now! I am still working on a pattern though. I have one pattern from a set I'd bought a few years ago, but it has a rather funny shape. I'd like to modify it for a more pleasing shape and ease of construction.

It's snowing gently today. Gray and cold. Sounds like a great day to hibernate with the sewing machine!

Wow...

It thrills me to no end to have a comment from someone on my blog. Thank you for honoring me by reading my blog, recently, Lynda and Sue. I apologize for its melancholy tone, but this time of year brings it out in me.

My quilt guild has asked me to be the Vice President. That's the person who organizes the programs. I've done something like that for another group and I found it very stressful, and when things fell through, I felt terrible. I have declined the invitation. However...

However...

Three people did it as a committee last year. Maybe I should propose that....if it wasn't all my responsibility, it might be a nicer experience.

Today, I am back from Denver and I am motivated to continue work on my home (did I mention I'm painting a room?), my quilting projects, and other chores. I am glad to be home, but getting away was fun. I got so much work done on Aunt Millie's Garden applique project!

A Weekend Away

I am writing from my sister's house in the Denver area. This weekend, we have taken a little trip to visit, mainly to get out of town, have a change of scenery, do something different, see my sister and her husband. Over the years, I have learned that this kind of get-away helps my mental health. It's something like exercise for the psyche.

We arrived yesterday via a short, uneventful flight, to the massive Denver airport. We met our ride and went out for some brunch immediately. It was just about lunchtime anyway. The restaurant my sister and brother-in-law suggested was The Original Pancake House. Massive amounts of breakfast style food. Very satisfying.

In the afternoon my sister and I went to some fabric and quilt shops. I really wanted to see The Great American Quilt Factory, which is the home shop of Possibilities designers Lynda Milligan and Nancy Smith. I like their designs, and it was exciting to see their shop! I have made three quilts from their book "P.S. I Love You 3" for my nieces and nephews. Unfortunately, they weren't there yesterday. Just as well. I wouldn't know what to say to them anyway.

I only found out about the shop earlier this week, when I mentioned my trip while at quilting bee.

I bought a cute little kit for a wrist pincushion using a felted wool ball on a bracelet. I also found a nice collection of applique threads by Aurifil. This brand is a fine weight cotton thread imported from Italy, and it was recommended for applique when I took an applique class about a year and a half ago. It is not the easiest thread to find. I am working on a fine applique work called "Aunt Millie's Garden" by Piece o' Cake designs. Here is the pattern.

Ambitious, yes? It's a long term project. Nice for travel, in fact.

That was a fun little trip. Next we went to Denver Fabrics, which primarily has fashion fabrics. Excellent selection of fabrics, notions, and trim, even though my sister remarked that it wasn't as good as it used to be. We tried another quilt shop, but it had closed for the day. We visited for a while at their home, then had a nice dinner at a local Italian place. I had some excellent grilled eggplant, portabello mushroom and fresh mozzarella for dinner. That and some Merlot made for a cheery evening.

Today we will go to the zoo. We really lucked out for the weather - clear and mild for January - so we will enjoy the outdoors a bit. We will do some walking and see something different. We willl see a bit of downtown Denver this afternoon and evening, including dinner. We will go home on Monday.

I would like to travel about once a month, but it's not looking very promising for February. In March, we will spend spring break in Orlando, Florida, enjoying Walt Disney World. (We go there about once a year.) I am considering a trip to see my parents in April or early May, then see my brother in the early summer.

By then, the sun will be out more, I'll be starting my garden, and my winter mood will subside.

Vacillating

My motivation and mood is so labile these days. That is, sometimes I am happy, purposeful, motivated, yet sometimes Griselda dominates. I hate this time of year. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Today, I experienced despair and industriousness. Weird.

Sundays are not my own - I dedicate them to clubs and such. I go to church, I take care of the house, and now I go back to the Kansas City Wind Symphony. While giving of my time is difficult (I am selfish - I want to wallow in myself), I ultimately find these experiences rewarding.

To me, the need to get outside myself is one way God is manifest in my life. It is one way the teachings of Jesus makes sense. Sure, I can live myself all wrapped up in myself and my doings, but how much better life is when I live for others. This is living life abundantly. It is against human nature to do so....yet, yet... I am called to try anyway.

Last week at church, I received a little paper star with a word on it. Everyone in the congregation got one. This word was supposed to be a message for us for this time or this year. The sermon had to do with new year and new beginning, and this was part of the teaching. Maybe it was random, but maybe - and I like to think it is - maybe God uses the little messages to communicate to us.

My word was "sanctification."

I was disappointed. First of all I wasn't sure I knew what it meant; I had to look it up on Google and found that it has to do with several dimensions of making something holy. One's self, a place, an object - all of these things can be sanctified.

But what does this mean for me? I am not an especially ritualistic person when it comes to religion. I don't really believe there are holy things or places or people in this world. Indeed, God is holy, but things of this earth, are in fact things of this earth. Holiness is an attitude here. I wanted a word that gave me inspiration, that gave me a task, that gave me a purpose. I got a word that left me baffled.

Sanctification. Do I need to make my life more holy? Do I need to seek out the holy? And what would it mean if I regarded certain things holy? How would that change how I act or think?

Sanctification.

I guess the little message has done its job. I am pondering it.

Status Update and a Story

First, I want to record that I just completed my weekly thank you note.

Second, I had an enhancement to the LASIK procedure yesterday. My distance vision in my right eye was not as crisp and sharp as I would like, so I took advantage of the guarantee from my original procedure. Within one year of the original procedure I can get an enhancement for a very discounted rate. The procedure was very minimal, uneventful, and so far I think it has improved the acuity of my distance vision. This time, it hurt a lot more, though.

Now, onto the story. The LASIK procedure had me thinking about my personal history of my vision.

My vision started to deteriorate when I was in middle school - puberty I guess. I got my first glasses in seventh grade. I was actually happy to get them because I really couldn't see too well by the time I got them.

It was the early eighties. I got lovely pink plastic framed glasses. The larger the better....back then...

My parents took me and my siblings to a very specialized eye doctor. Dr. L was an ophthalmologist and pediatric eye surgeon. Back when my sister was born, she had a congenital muscular problem with one of her eyes, and Dr. L had performed surgery to correct it. The surgery was successful, and as far as I know, my sister never had any problems related to that issue. Of course Dr. L followed up with my sister over the years, so when it was time for the other children in the family to go see an eye doctor, we just went to Dr. L.

Going to Dr. L's office was an ordeal. He was extremely busy: getting basic eye exams once a year literally took all day. You had to wait that long in the office. For a child, it was torture - not only did you have to wait around for hours, they put a series of stinging drops in my eyes to dilate them for examination. As a specialist, Dr. L made his patients take every test every time. It was thorough and very tedious.

Because he was a specialist, Dr. L conducted medical research. He developed a hypothesis about the development of myopia in children and adolescents. Both my sister and I were involved in the clinical research to test this hypothesis. The study involved disabling one eye using atropine to see if it slowed the development of myopia.

Atropine instilled in the eye dilates the pupil and makes it impossible to focus close up. You can still see distance in the eye - it was essentially paralyzed. At the time, I was too young to comprehend the full scope of the research, and my understanding was that if I used the drop, maybe my nearsightedness wouldn't get as bad as it otherwise would have developed.

Every night I would instill one drop of atropine in one eye for 6 months, then go into the office and get checked, then switch over to the other eye for 6 months. From my perspective, I remember two things: it made me look weird having one pupil dilated and one pupil normal; and, I had to get used to using the non-paralyzed eye for near vision. These were minor inconveniences, though - in fact, most people didn't notice my divergent pupils unless they stared at me in the eye for a while or if I opened my eyes really wide under bright light. Moreover, it wasn't that hard to adjust to reading with one eye. The brain compensates in short order.

The one dilated pupil was really pretty freaky looking. Like David Bowie.

Another thing I remember about this study was how sensitive the dilated eye was to bright light. That was annoying in the summertime, playing outside. When dosing the eye, occasionally, the atropine would seep down the tear duct and to the back of my throat, and I would taste it. Yuk.

In the end I don't think his study proved anything. I still ended up very nearsighted (and so did my sister). The atropine would slow the development of nearsightedness in that eye, but as soon as I stopped putting the drops in, that eye would rapidly deteriorate to catch up with the other. Just can't fight genetics, I guess.

My participation in that study didn't seem to have any ill effects on me. Maybe my eyesight would have been even worse if I didn't do it.

Finally, being a patient of Dr. L skewed my understanding of eye doctors. I thought they were all overbooked and it always took months to get an appointment. I thought you had to do all the tests every time. Then, as an adult, I discovered optometrists. Surprisingly, they're good enough for routine eye care, and you don't have to plan a whole day for an eye appointment! What a concept!

Happy New Year

I rang in the new year with a Monty-Python-esque "yay...."

I have made the following resolution:

• I resolve to write one thank-you note a week for 2009.
  

It's nearly the end of the first week, and I haven't done it yet.  I suppose I could fudge on this and "not count" this week. Why would I make a resolution I can't even delude myself into starting? Doing so is a good idea. It will help me get out of myself. It is good discipline to write. I really like my friends and family and it would please them to get a letter from me in the mail.  It's relatively painless to do, and it's not expensive. I have some lovely stationery I can use.

I didn't say I'd send them all, notice. That's intentional. I want the creative freedom to thank people I cannot mail to (e.g. deceased, or someone I don't know how to contact). I plan to send as many as possible, of course.

I am still working on a new goal/direction.