All my fears relieved

I don't know what your biggest fear is.
  Maybe your biggest fear is feeling inadequate
or speaking in public.

Through a series of events recently I realized that my biggest fear is losing people that I love.

In June, when my Nana passed away, it was something we were all prepared for.  She was, afterall, 96 and in ailing health.

Then in mid July I got a phone call on a Wednesday night that my Dad was in the hospital, they didn't know what was wrong with him, but his condition was rapidly deteriorating.

I was scared out of my mind.
I didn't sleep much.
I cried, hard.

I enlisted everyone I could possibly think of to pray.  And pray they did.

I continued to feel overwhelmingly scared.  I love my parents, I rely on them a lot, how and what would life be if my Dad wasn't around.

There came a moment late one night when I realized that thing that we all know in our head, but not always in our heart.  We are not guaranteed much in this life, other than that God gives and takes away, and one day we will all stand before him, it's inevitable.  I can't hold a knuckle white grip onto the things, err, people I deeply care about, because they are not in my hands, they are in HIS hands.

My Dad's condition continued to deteriorate and he was transferred to a much bigger and better hospital where they were finally able to diagnose him.  They started treating him for a rare form of Guillian Barre.

My fears turned from "will he live?"  to "will he walk again and lead a 'normal' life"

I googled prognosis, I read research, and I prayed and continued to ask friends and family around the world to pray.  They did.  They still are.

In ways that only God can, He provided healing for my Dad.  It's delivery did include amazing specialists and medications.  He still has progress to make.  My Dad walked out of the hospital with a cane just 20 days after initial onset of symptoms.  This is pretty much unheard of.

Why am I surprised?  Isn't God the God who makes the impossible possible?

In Daniel 3, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago refuse to bow down to the gods that King Nebuchadnezzar had created.  They are brought before the King and questioned.  They are about to be thrown into the fiery furnace.  In verses 16-18 they respond "O Nebuchadnezza, we have no need to answer you in this matter.  If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king.  But if not, be it known to you, O King, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up."

If you know the story, you know that they were thrown into the furnace, and then they walked out.  They left the king praising God.

There were several nights in a row that I didn't really sleep, but I prayed, that God would heal my Dad, but if He didn't I would still praise Him, I would still trust Him. 

That was really hard.  What I really wanted to do was drive to Michigan, yell at doctors, and take things into my own rediculous hands.

God did and is healing my Dad, and so many friends are praising God with us as a result.

Would I want to go through this again? No

At the same time I'm thankful for the reminder that the One who is in control, is not me, and is faithful.  No matter what.

Here is the truth.
As much fun as I've had catching up with friends, eating at my cousin's restaurant, enjoying family...
the last 4 weeks have been extremely hard as well.
No matter how much you prepare yourself, when faced with watching someone you love slowly die, you can never fully prepare.
Every time I've seen Nana for about the last 3 years, I've worried that it would be the last.  Every time my brother saw her, he would tell me I needed to come home soon to see her again.
When I arrived on Memorial Day, I was not prepared for Nana to call me Marcia.
I was prepared to start switching off with my Aunt spending time with her to give my Aunt a break.
I wasn't prepared that I would be the one to feed her the last thing she ate (coffee brandy ice cream from sully's) and for her to literally fall asleep between bites.
I wasn't prepared to have to tell my older brother that if he wanted to say goodbye, he needed to come immediately.
I wasn't prepared to take my older brother to see Nana, having been there just 2 days earlier and see the dramatic change as she wasted away.
I wasn't prepared to have to tell my younger brother that there was no way we would be able to set up skype and to hold the phone up near her head so he could say goodbye from California.
I wasn't prepared to have to call my parents and tell them not to drive back to Michigan from my Dad's boarding school reunion.
I wasn't prepared to have to interview for a job I really wanted and worry the whole time that I was missing phone calls telling me I needed to come back immediately.  Fortunately God is sovereign and that is actually the job I ended up taking, there is no telling how ridiculously distracted I was throughout the 6 ish hour process.  I used cruise control the whole way home so that I wouldn't speed, can't afford a ticket right now.

I wasn't prepared to be waiting for a phone call for a job offer for that job I really wanted, and a phone call saying Nana had taken her last breath on the same day.

I was prepared that Nana would die sometime in the first 6 months I was in New England, I wasn't prepared that it would happen before I had even moved my stuff up from Kentucky.

I wasn't prepared for the length of time it took from Nana having nothing by mouth, to her actually passing away.

I wasn't prepared to be on the phone looking for a new apartment in the morning, and standing with  my family waiting for the funeral home guy to come the same afternoon.

It's during times like this that I am reminded that God gives us friends to be His hands and feet.
There is the friend I sent a late Saturday night message saying "hey I'm coming to your church tomorrow, where and what time is the service?" and who hugged me hard and let me cry when I burst into tears the moment I saw her, not knowing what on earth was going on.
She is the same friend who said "let me lend you my juicer so you have something familiar to you in all the chaos."
Her husband, the pastor, asked questions to make sure I had the spiritual support I needed being somewhere that I don't have a church family and made sure that I had their phone numbers so that he could be there if I needed them.
Then there was the friend, who said "yes the house is crowded with all your family crammed in waiting, come crash at my house."
That same friend and her husband danced around the kitchen as I got the phone call with the job offer and I felt like I was going to pass out.  For all that my family is really excited, I don't know that they would have been able to dance around in unhindered celebration like my friends did.

There are the friends, fully aware of all that was going on and sent text messages saying "I'm praying about all this."

There are the friends who just sat there and listened, and kept filling my cup.
There is the friend who is taking care of her ailing grandfather and could relate.

I know God's timing is perfect, I recognize that had this all happened even a few weeks from now, I would not have been able to have the time available to be here the way my Aunt needed, to sit with Nana and feed her, to do the laundry and run the dishwasher, to make sure my Uncle got the meals he needed while she sat with Nana.  My Uncle is on an extremely strict diet due to his severe health crisis almost 2 years ago.

I wouldn't want it any other way than how it happened, however it has been an extreme emotional roller coaster. 

A weekend with the brother

One of the hard things of having lived in many different places, and having friends all over the world is that sometimes friends are hurting and they are far away.  That describes how I felt much of this weekend.  Friends back in Kentucky were sending me text messages as their niece's condition deteriorated after extensive injuries from a terrible car accident on Memorial day.  As I write this blog, they have prepared for the worst, while still hoping and praying for the best.  Please pray for them.

While my heart was heavy Friday I headed out to my brother's.

When I was driving up from Pennsylvania on Monday, I stopped in for a short visit.  I told my niece and nephew that I was planning on moving to live closer to them.  My nephew stated his opinion, "I think that's a good idea Auntie Cate."

Me too.

A quick hour and a half drive found me at my brother's right as he was getting home from picking his son up from school.  It was a low key evening that involved some awesome self portraits!

It was a weekend filled will lots of rain, and fun activities.

In the past most of the time when I am with my brother's family, there is much of the extended family around as well and so quality time together just doesn't happened.  This weekend was a different story.  My sister in law left for the weekend to be with her BFF who is going through a rough time, though it would have been great to get to spend time with her also, I'm glad she was able to go be with her friend.

Saturday was a full day even though it was pouring rain the whole day.  It was most definitely the kind of cold wet New England day that I have missed.

We found some awesome indoor activities! 

In typical New England fashion, Sunday's weather was a complete 180 with beautiful sun!  So of course we went hiking!  Really it was more of a walk in the woods, but hoping that the walk in the woods turns into hikes and backpacking trips as they get older.

 It's amazing to think about the fact that I've spent more time with my brother's family this week than I have in the last 2 years combined!

God's perfect timing

The Wednesday before the Thursday that I started driving to New England I had an interview in New Hampshire.  I flew up for the interview, on Tuesday, and then back on Wednesday.  Wednesday, before hoping on the plane, I met my aunt and uncle for a quicker than quick bite to eat.

My aunt told me that my Nana was going to start receiving hospice care.  Nothing had really drastically changed, she was just in a slow gradual decline.  She is 96 after all.  I didn't ask questions.

I didn't have time to really process it.  I hoped in my rental car, found my way back to the terminal, and hoped on a plane.  Thankfully there were no screaming children on the flight, I don't know if I could have handled that.  I sat on the plane wondering, what exactly does it mean that she is getting hospice care?  I work in health care, but I work with young people, and those young people I care about, but they aren't my family.


When I finally got to my Aunt's house on Monday, we were able to discuss further what exactly it means that my grandmother is in a slow gradual decline.  Basically I know now that all care given to my grandmother, and all procedures done will be to make her comfortable, no routine blood tests, no sticking her just because.

I was prepared to be unprepared when I saw her.  It had been a year since I had seen her in person.  We had skyped a few times, but that is different.

I hadn't been prepared for her to call me Marsha and ask about my nursing career.  She was referring to her niece, my dad's cousin, who is named Marsha and is a nurse.

Yesterday, while I was at another interview, my Aunt went to see Nana, and brought her pizza, pepperoni, her favorite.

Today I stopped by to see Nana by myself.  She told an aid that I was her niece, I corrected her gently, I am her granddaughter.

I pushed her around, forgot to bring her sunglasses when I took her outside, had to take her back inside to get the sunglasses.  I got told an immense amount of times to back up, that I was going the wrong way.

And can I just say for a second, they have her in a special chair to make her more comfortable, it is a beast to push around.  Good thing I workout.

At the end of the visit, I told her I would be back tomorrow, and that I would bring her ice cream from Kimball's.  Knowing full well that she would want maple walnut, I asked her what kind she wanted.  "Pepperoni" she declared. UMMMMM. After some clarification, ice cream Nana, not pizza, it was determined that maple walnut would be best.

Then of course I felt the need to check with the nurse, could Nana have ice cream?  Yes, she can have whatever she want's apparently.  

For all that it is hard to see someone you love declining like this, and for all that it is sometimes a little nerve wracking not knowing what the future holds, I am glad I have the time to be here.  I am thankful to be on 5.5 weeks of vacation and able to just completely silence my phone, not worry about work.

I am thankful for God's timing in all of this, that my Aunt doesn't have to be doing this alone.  And that from 1-2:30 today I got to hang out with this face.

Cooking School

One of the things I love about my family is that when we do all get together, which isn't often, we do fun things. We try not to over plan, but we also try to have a few activities arranged in advance. We have learned from extended family gatherings in the past that it not healthy to sit around the whole time talking, debating, arguing.

So when my parents and I were planning on descending on my brother in San Diego for Christmas, my brother suggested that we spend one of the evenings at cooking school. It was an activity he had already done with his girlfriend and they had a great time.

He sent us a list of possible cooking sessions to pick from, and we ended up picking one that involved making cocktail party food and of course cocktails. Yes it's true that I don't drink, but the rest of my family does occasionally, and the food on the menu sounded awesome.

We booked our class, and on December 21, off we went.

It was a phenomenal family event. Everyone had a great time, we interacted a ton with each other and other people in the class, and we all learned some awesome new recipes.

It was our first night together as a family and it set the tone for a laid back, fun Christmas. I don't know what your family does when they all get together, but if you are looking for an awesome activity for the adults, I highly recommend cooking school.

Pilgrims

This morning I was having a good old session of wallow. I was sad that next week is Thanksgiving, and that for the first time in 5? years, I will not be in a hotel somewhere with a team, but will not have enough time off to be with family, or to drive 3-4 hours to any one of a few friends from Saudi to spend the day with them. I felt sorry for myself.

Then I went on a run. It was a very windy run. As I put one foot in front of the other, at times making little progress, I thought about Thanksgiving, the holiday.

This past summer my mom and I took an impromptu, spontaneous trip to Plymouth Rock. I was mad about it at first, I had intended to spend the day with my brother and his family, but there had been some miscommunication. I cherish my time in New England because it is so limited and I was mad that I wasn't able to spend the day with friends or family who live up there. Once I got over my frustration, I realized it was some one on one time with Mom, which I also cherish and don't get very much of.

So off to Plymouth Rock we drove.
We viewed the rock itself.

We walked around.

That's Burial Hill where several of the original pilgrims are buried, as well as Squanto.


Plymouth is really not that exciting and I don't recommended it as a high priority when touring New England, but it was good to hang out with my Mom. I made her do "crazy" things like stop in the middle of the road with no cars behind us to take a picture.

As I was running on my lunch break, I thought back to that day in Plymouth. I thought about how good it was to be with my Mom, and how I would have missed that had I not quickly had an attitude adjustment.
I thought back to the people who crossed over the Atlantic, on the original Mayflower back in 1620. They started out with 102 passengers plus crew who were looking to go to a new place where they could have freedom to worship God in ways they felt they should.

That is the Mayflower II, a replica of the original.

The first Thanksgiving in the fall of 1621 there were 53 surviving pilgrims. More than half of the people who originally set out to come to a new land, to pursue religious freedom had died. And yet they gave thanks, for the ways God had provided for them. They celebrated their first harvest in a new land. Edward Winslow said it like this "And although it be not always so plentiful, as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plenty."

I cannot imagine all the hardships and fears that those remaining 53 had endured over the course of the previous year. I cannot imagine the loss they felt as so many had died. And yet their perspective was that because of the goodness of God, they were so far from want.

Recently there has been a phrase tossed around a lot at work. We comment that this or that is a first world problem. For example, the spotty internet on the bus while traveling down the interstate, keeping me from imbedding YouTube videos into PowerPoint presentations is a first world problem. First world problems are miniscule when compared with third world problems, like having clean water to drink.

Today I read this blog by one of my favorite authors.


I was reminded of 1 Thessalonians 5 where we are commanded to rejoice always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

How many times do I spend my time wallowing, ungrateful for what I have been given, only to miss the blessing because of my shortsightedness?

I have no idea what next Thursday will look like. I do know that He will be there with me, and I don't want to miss whatever circumstance He gives me to be grateful for because my eyes were focused on the wrong thing.

Give Thanks

Several years ago, while shopping in Nashville, I came across an awesome November calendar in Pottery Barn kids. The calendar was quite expensive for what it was, so I showed it to my mom, knowing that she could do better. Originally it was a gift idea for my niece and nephew, but the next fall, a giant box arrived at my house, with one from my mom for me.

Ever since I have displayed the calendar in my office window during November and written something I'm thankful for to put in each of the pockets.

Last year I didn't take out the slips of paper when I put it away in December, so I pulled them all out this morning.

Here is a sampling:

That John is alive and doing well
Last year my uncle went through a major health crisis, it was really scary. At this time last year he was out of a coma, we were grateful. He doesn't even remember last November. But this November he is still alive, and doing well, and I am still grateful

That I live in a country where I can have a say in the government

That I have a job I enjoy

My church family, near and far

Great coworkers

That I am able to run, which is a form of exercise I fully enjoy

My awesome parents

Good weather

my hilarious niece and nephew

good friends to run and swim with

my brothers

Fictive Families

The other day I was on the phone with Arwen, when she made an incredible insight on my life.

She has been doing a lot of training for her job lately and she came across the term "fictive family" also known as "fictive kin"

Fictive family or kin is a grouping of people who are not related to each other biologically or through marriage, but act as though they are.

For example, when Arwen and her husband have children, they will know me as Auntie Cate, the same term my niece and nephew use for me. It will not be till Arwen's kids are a little older that they will understand that I am not actually their aunt, but am rather a close friend of their parents.

Everywhere I have ever lived, until I moved to Kentucky, I have been in places where fictive family is incredibly common.

In the Middle East where I grew up, no one had their actual biological grandparents or aunts and uncles around, so other people, friends of my parents, fit into that role. It wasn't a conscious decision, it just kind of happened. I didn't spend holidays like Christmas or Easter with biological aunts, uncles, and cousins. I did however spend them with close friends of my parents.

In New England it is also very common to form fictive families.

Though my Aunt and Uncle lived just an hour from school, it was not uncommon for me to have several different options for any given holiday or long weekend if I wasn't going to their house.

My freshman year, I went home to northern NH with my friend Ty for spring break.
During that trip it was as if I was melded into her family. Later on, after Ty transferred to chiropractic school, I would sometimes call her when she was at her parent's house, her dad would answer the phone and we would talk for a good 15 minutes or more before Ty would demand the phone from him.

Then there is my camp family, the people I worked with in the White Mountains for 2 summers, and worked church retreats on weekends frequently in the winter with. They are part of my family too, as protective of me as my own brothers, they are the sisters I never had.

When I go to New England in the summer to visit, I visit my family, and I visit my friends, and I also visit my friends' families, because the reality is that in some ways, they are just as much my family, as my real family.

This fictive family is what I have really been missing here. The Easter celebrations with a mesh of people who don't look like they belong together, but do. The protective fathers and brothers, who protect you, as they protect their own daughters and sisters. I miss the older brothers who take you snowmobiling and go slower than they normally would because they know you are on the back and don't want to freak you out. I miss the sisters and moms, who laugh as they introduce you to the art of milking cows, and explain that it's okay to drink it without pasteurization. I miss the cousins who help you break into a locked room through a window to save the wedding dress, in pajamas, all while laughing so hard you are crying.

And just as these people have been fictive family to me, my family has been fictive family to others, inviting bachelors over to be a part of family dinners, making sure the grandparents with no kids or grandchildren around joined us for holidays. My mom is a notorious source of advice. I can't tell you how many times people have said "Cate I'm buying a new sewing machine, can I have your mom's number to talk to her?" or "Cate can I talk to your mom about how she handled... when you guys were kids?"

Arwen often says "I'll come pick you up at Brenda's, I want to see her anyway." My Aunt will often inquire about Arwen. They have become fictive family.

In Kentucky the biological family is an incredibly strong force, and that is not a bad thing, but it is much less common for people to invite outsiders into that unit.

I am thankful for this insight, a name to something I have been trying to explain for some time.

How to order a cannoli at Mike's

Earlier today, a friend asked on facebook for suggestions on an upcoming trip to Boston and Maine. Of course those are two places I love.
I have a lot of fond memories in both places as a kid.

We spent a lot of time at my grandparents' cottage in Maine.

And we were always flying into Boston. We would go to the children's museum, or to the commons, or to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum when we were older. We almost always went to Filene's basement, for the push and shove shopping experience, and the deals.

For a long time my aunt worked in Boston, in Kendall Square. In high school I would come up from Philly for breaks, hop on the T to Kendall Square, and ride home with her. Sometimes if I got there early in the day, I would drop my bags at The Office (that was the name of her business) and then explore the city for a while heading over to Harvard, or to Filene's basement, till it was close to time to go home for her.

In college my friends and I often took random trips into the city for concerts, sporting events, shopping, whatever.

Somewhere along the way I was introduced to the North End.

And then somehow it became an annual tradition for Cate and Arwen to spend a day in Boston, eat at a particular restaurant, and then get cannoli's at Mike's.

I submit that there is no more decadent dessert in the world than a cannoli from Mike's.

One common thing that is said about New Englanders, especially by people here in the south, is that they are rude. I don't think they are rude, I just think that they are direct, and that visitors don't know the rules, so they struggle.

Take Mike's for example, there is actually a sign in the bakery, it says "Do Not Form Lines." Mike's is almost always busy, especially on weekends and in the summer. It's a rarity for it not to be jam packed. And if you stand there nicely waiting for your turn, you will continue standing there. You might never get a turn.

The reality is that if you are going to get a cannoli at Mike's, which I think it would be a travesty to not do, you have to elbow your way to the front. I mean it's not that you should be shoving people out of the way, you just have to know what you want, and slither your way to the front. And if you "cut" people, then you "cut" them. But there is no line, so technically you aren't cutting anyone. Then when the lady behind the counter says "NEXT" you step up, even if the person next to you has been waiting longer than you. It's just how it works. And you tell the woman what you want. She won't be patient with you if you hem and haw. Don't step up to order if you haven't figured out what you want, let someone else go and figure it out. Then the next time one of the ladies yells out, you step up and say "I want 3 cannoli's." I prefer the regular ricotta filled, dipped in chocolate, or with the chocolate chips, or the peanut butter. You can also just point at what you want and say "2 of those and 1 of those." It's best if you are in a large party to leave most of them outside and send 1 or 2 to order for the whole group.

Then the lady will place them in the box, and wrap the blue and white string that is hanging from the ceiling, and you will wonder how on earth she did that, and she will take your money, and come back with your change.

Then you will slither your way back out and find another place to eat them, preferably on the grassy area with the fountains.

or at the warf.

liquid gold

When I was a kid we made a yearly trip to my grandparent's house in Michigan. The thing about my grandparents house that I remember most is that sitting on the floor between the fridge and the counter were liters of slice.

Yes folks, slice, not sprite, it was too expensive. The other thing about the slice was that it was made completely clear to us that under no circumstances were we allowed to drink the slice. Absolutely. No. Slice. Ever. Only grandma was allowed to drink the slice.

We kids, my brothers and I, didn't really drink soda anyway, and given the opportunity to choose between soda and a beverage like water or milk, we were most likely going to choose water or milk. But the Slice was so novel, so off limits.

Normally while at my grandparents house, the adults sat in the den talking about exciting things like geological rock formations and hearing my grandfathers old World War II stories.

Shortly after the talking commenced, my brothers and I would head outside to kick a soccer ball around. Then shortly after that we would get yelled at for kicking the soccer ball around, not by my parents, they would have preferred for us to run around, and work off some nervous energy. Then we would head to the basement where we would watch tv on a tiny 4" tv, and play on an old telephone from the old farm house in Illinois. I can describe in great detail the basement of my grandparents house and it's contents, the upstairs, not so much.

Anyway, we would be hungry and thirsty, but there were no snacks allowed at Grandmas. We were used to fruit sitting out all the time at home that we could take when we wanted, and so we would sit in the basement starving.

During Desert Storm when we lived with my grandparents for several months, I discovered that my grandmother horded candy in the drawers of the dressers in the guest room, but those were always unopened so they were not an option.

So instead what my brothers and I would do, is that one of us would sneak up stairs, tip toe through the kitchen, grab the Slice, and some cups. Then the one assigned to the task would run back into the basement where we would each poor about 2 tablespoons of the liquid gold into our plastic cups. The slice would be returned to the kitchen, in the same manner it was obtained, making sure that the label was facing the way it was when it was taken, as if my grandmother was meticulous to notice something like that.

After the slice was returned to it's place we would sit in the basement and slowly sip our approximate 2 tablespoons worth. We couldn't take more than that, wouldn't want Grandma to notice that any had been taken.

The sipping of the slice was always followed by a thorough washing of the cups in the sink in the basement to erase any trace to the sugary carbonated beverage.

Recently I was retelling that story to my mom, she never knew that we had been stealing the slice. She said "that's funny because I remember Mother stating that the slice was disappearing rather quickly."

Fine, I'll keep it then

I tried to give blood yesterday. I've always wanted to give blood, but in the past had never been able to because I had spent time in a area of the world that had malaria, I had never gone 3 years without being in a place considered high risk for it.

So yesterday, when I got an email stating that blood was desperately needed at the local hospital, and especially A+, I looked at the calendar and realized it had been 3 years since I got back from Colombia. I called and made an appointment.

I also called a friend to ask if she could drive me home, since I tend to get very dizzy and light headed when my blood is drawn, I've had really bad experiences in the past.

I was so excited, I couldn't wait to finally contribute in this way.

I got to the blood donation center, and they pricked my finger. They determined that I was most definitely NOT anemic.

Then they started on the long list of questions.

Have you taken antibiotics in the last week? NO
Have you had a vaccine in the last month? NO
Have you had sex with a prostitute or someone who takes money for sex? No
Have you had sex with a male who has had sex with males? No
Have you been to Africa? Yes
Did you have sex in Africa? Absolutely not
Have you ever been told that you are HIV positive? NO
Have you gotten a tattoo in the last year? I don't have tattoos
Have you taken drugs through a needle? No
Have you had sex with someone who takes drugs through a needle? again NO

It went on and on. It felt like one of those facebook questionnaires, only a really inappropriate and awkward one.

And then we got to the following question.

"Did spend 3 months or more cumulatively in England between the years 1980 and 1996?"
I had to think a bit, do a little math in my head, and then I said, "cumulatively? Yes, I spent approximately 4 days or more in England every year between 1982 and 2002."

Then she dropped it, the giant bomb, "then you can't give blood"
I'm sure the look of shock on my face was priceless.
"You mean ever in my life?"

"Yes you can never give blood, unless the FDA changes it's regulations."

"Is this because of mad cow disease?"

"yes"

"Wouldn't I have already gotten sick from it by now, had I been exposed to the virus that causes mad cow disease? I mean I know you don't make the rules, this is just astounding to me."

She said she was sorry, I told her it was okay, it wasn't really her fault.

Then I told my friend, who was waiting to drive me home that I didn't need her services because I can never give blood.

Then I called my mom as I drove home.

This is what blows my mind, I've traveled to China, back in the early 80's, back when it wasn't like it is now, I've been to Zimbabwe and South Africa, I've been to Colombia. Shoot at certain times of the year in the town I grew up in, this spray truck drives around with some chemical misting the air, to kill the mosquito larvae, which carry malaria and things of that nature. I've been on planes flying out of countries, where the regulation is that they have to spray the plane, while the passengers hold their breath, to kill any lurking bugs, before take off.

And none of that disqualifies me from giving blood.

Ironically, my dad is a regular blood donor, and they must have started asking this question after he could give blood in the states because his 3 year malaria window had passed, because he has recently given blood.

I called my brother, who told me that he gave blood a month ago, they asked him the same question, he answered it the same way, and then they asked if he had received medical care in the United Kingdom, he said no, and they said he could donate.

I checked the FDA website and apparently the nurse here is completely right, and they should stop accepting my brothers' and my dad's blood. My mom can never give blood either.

It's always amazing to me, the things that come up, that I never expected would ever be an issue because of my childhood growing up overseas and travelling the world.

I think it's pretty safe to say, that ever in my wildest dreams, I never expected that visiting London frequently, and Northern Ireland too, would disqualify me from ever donating blood. I wonder if they can take my organs when I die, or if they will be considered contaminated.

Look a likes?

When it comes to my brothers and I there are two camps.

One camp believes we look alike.

One camp believes we look nothing alike, not siblings, not cousins, nada.

One time toward the end of my senior year at UNH when my brother was a freshman, we were in the office of a woman named Jean. Jean is a staple of the athletic department, she knows everyone. She also has Twizzlers and pretzels and such for the taking. She was on the phone. I said to Ian, "doesn't she remind you of Auntie Brenda?"
He replied "Oh my gosh, yes totally."

When Jean got off the phone, my brother explained our revelation. Her response was overwhelming.

"OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS ARE COUSINS?"

Ummmmmmmmmmmm.
We looked at each other perplexed and Ian responded "um, no Jean, she is my sister."

"YOUR SISTER? HE IS YOUR BROTHER? I THOUGHT YOU GUYS WERE DATING AND I THOUGHT IT WAS A LITTLE INAPPROPRIATE"

It was awkward.
Jean went out into the hallway and started ushering people into her office.
"DID YOU KNOW THEY WERE BROTHER AND SISTER?"

Another time that same year my brother was down in the athletic training room waiting for me to give him a ride, I was doing some treatments on some football players.

Ian got a little antsy and decided to put me in a headlock. I couldn't get free and finally pronounced, "let go of me now or I am telling mom."

Much laughter erupted from the football players.

A few moments later I was ushered into one of the offices, a newly hired full-time staff member started scolding me. "Cate it is inappropriate to flirt with the athletes."

I was confused. "The football players you mean? I wasn't flirting with them."

"No that tall swimmer" was her reply

Ummmmmmm awkward AGAIN

"You know he is my younger brother right?" was all I could think to say.

I distinctly remember another staff member who was sitting in the office laughing so hard he couldn't breath as he tried to say "that's her little brother."

I mean really, how do you respond to that?

Yet another time our parents had taken us out to eat. The waitress came at the end of the meal and said "How would you like the bill? Two checks?"

My dad finds it offensive when other people try to pay.

I responded "Our mom and dad will be paying." I wanted to say "Um gross, this is my brother, not my boyfriend."

I could tell you about so many instances like that.

So when people tell me that we look I like, I think "Really? then why does this happen so frequently?"

As I have gotten older I have come to the conclusion that it's not that we look alike, it's that we have similar mannerisms. The people that say we look alike are generally people who know both of us well, and have picked up on tendencies that we both have.

This summer two photos were taken that illustrate my point.

Here is the first one.

That was taken a few weekends ago when I was in the Northeast for my college roommate's wedding and stopped by to have lunch with Nana

Here is the second

That was taken this past weekend when Ian had lunch at our Auntie's on a quick trip out to the Northeast for his college roommate's wedding.

When I saw the picture of my brother, I thought it ironic that we had taken such similar photos with our grandmother.

What do you think, do we really have the same facial structure? Or do we just pose the same way for photos?

Unpacking

Several years ago, when my Nana moved out of her home in Florida and into a much smaller apartment, my dad boxed up much of her china, into a sturdy wooden shipping container that has traveled around the world with oceanographic equipment. He also packed it into rubber maid footlockers when he ran out of space in the wooden box.

It sat in my parents' basement, waiting for me to have space for it, and for me to get married.

Then several years ago when I bought my house, it was all moved from my parents house in Michigan, to my basement and attic in Kentucky, and there it sat.
It sat boxed up, with the hope that one day, I would get married, because in my mind, single people don't have fine china. And if they do have it, they certainly don't have it out on display, or use it.

For 5 years it sat. Sometimes when I would go down into my basement to do laundry, I would look over at the large wooden box and wonder, what all was inside. I knew what my grandmother's china looked like, but I also knew that there had to be other things, based on the shear size and number of containers.

My mom would occasionally ask questions like "how many dinner plates are in that set of Nana's china?" or "what is the pattern number?"

I would say "Mom, I have no idea, it's all boxed up in the basement."

Over the course of last summer and fall, as God really worked on my heart and reminded me that the lies that had been fed to me about singleness were absolutely untrue, and holding me back from really living, I decided that it was time to unpack, both my life and my china.

While my parents were visiting in December we unpacked the actual China from the large wooden shipping crate.

We discovered that the china is one of the rare Noritake patterns with no number.

We even used them for our Christmas dinner

Over this past weekend, with some time off, I was able to organize the china on a small shelf that was given to me by Nana several years ago.

Then I started on the two footlockers in the attic. I had no idea what they contained, and I was curious. I have always loved my Nana's taste and style. Her things are always classic and timeless.

As I sat there unwrapping one piece after another, I realized that the act of taking the stuff out of the closet and unpacking it to enjoy was a quite good metaphor for how I had been living my life. If you had asked me 10 years ago where I would be today, what I would have described to you would have not in anyway looked like the life I am actually living. I had felt for a long time like there were so many things that I would like to be doing, but doing them alone just didn't seem like it was worth it. So sometimes, instead of enjoying the beauty of the life God has laid out for me, I was hiding it in a closet, where no one could see it. Though these lies were all my own, I don't think it helped at all that I had people in my life feeding it, but that is a story for another day.

I decided over a year ago to start unpacking my life, to start doing things I enjoy, even if it means doing them alone. I joined a triathlon club. I started going to a new church, which I had needed to do for a long time, but the thought of finding a new church alone, well it's not fun. I went on hikes by myself. I even went to a concert by myself, which let me just say, was HUGE. And yes people did stare at me at the concert of a popular Christian artist, one couple kept turning around, completely obvious, wondering when my friends or significant other would show up, so obvious they even asked.

And I decided this weekend that it was time to unpack the trunks in my attic. The ones I was sure contained beautiful things, that were sitting there untouched, waiting for my life to change, so that they could be enjoyed, the way society tells us we are suppose to enjoy them.

Yes the process of unpacking was messy. My Dad is an expert packer. There were bags and bags of tissue paper, packing paper, bubble wrap, and shredded paper. The shredded paper was hard to contain.
It was very similar to the process of unpacking my life. It was something that I absolutely had to do, but there was a lot of stuff that had to be taken off before the good stuff underneath could come out. And there were some things that had be taken out to the trash, or in other words eliminated. But in the end, it was totally worth it, because this is a small sampling of what was packed inside.

Why my Mom is amazing

In honor of her birthday, which was a few days ago.

1. She is the most giving person I know. She gives and gives and gives, even when giving means enduring hardship herself. She would give you the shoes on her feet if you needed them. She once took my roommate, whom she had never met before, out shopping for a bed skirt, because every girl needs a bed skirt, or so she said.

2. She is incredibly hospitable. She is always volunteering to host events at my parents' house, throw teas, etc...
When I was in grad school and living at home, I would occasionally have classmates over to study or work on projects. She always insisted on making popcorn, or cookies, or a hot chocolate.

3. She gives lots of her time to causes that are important to her that she cares about. She doesn't just talk about helping, she actually does it. She spends months preparing and planning for an outreach in her town that provides mittens, hats, and such for low income families every year. She helps organize a monthly food truck that provides food for people who are struggling financially. She has donated countless hours to a local family crisis center. Growing up, she worked year round on craft projects with her friends that they sold every December to raise money for things like orphanages in India.

4. She is a perfectionist. It may take her a while to get a job done, and but it will be done well, especially if it is a sewing or quilting project. She is an unbelievable paint stripper too, as noted by the job she did on the my stairs.

5. She was brave and traveled halfway around the world when my dad got a really great job opportunity back in 1982.

6. She is willing to offer advice and help, but is not offended if you chose not to take it. For example she was not a big fan of me getting a truck, she gave me a list of reasons to consider not getting a truck, but when I chose to buy a truck, she didn't criticize the decision.

7. She isn't afraid to admit when she is wrong. For a long time she was not a fan of the idea of her only daughter becoming an athletic trainer. Then one day she needed help doing some rehab after a shoulder surgery. My dad was at sea so I had to help her. She said "you are way better at this than your father" I said "I know mom, this is why I want to be an athletic trainer" That was my freshman year of college. A few hours later she said "I realize that this is what you want to do, and that you are good at it." And she has fully supported my career choice ever since.

8. She is a great gift giver. It is not a rare occasion that I get a random package in the mail with assorted goodies, like candy bars I love that are hard to find here in the states, a random pair of socks she thought I would like, a book she thought I would like to read, and ice cream scoops to use to portion out the right amount of cookie dough for different sizes of cookies.

9. She is a great listener.

10. She is an unbelievable cook

11. She still thinks the Colts are in Baltimore.

Chocolate chip PANCAKES

I love breakfast.
I have lots of good breakfast memories.
When I was a kid, on Friday mornings, my dad would cook a big breakfast for our family before we went to fellowship.
Fellowship is another conversation for another time.
He always played John Denver records. Records, not tapes or CDs, and always John Denver of Friday mornings.
My parents are generally classical music fans, so John Denver was quite out of their normal range. I can't honestly explain it, it's just what our family always did on Friday mornings, which was the second day of the weekend for us.
A few nights ago a John Denver song was playing and a coworker was impressed that I knew all the words to Country Roads.

Anyway back to breakfast.

Sometimes he made waffles. Sometimes he made omelettes with mushrooms and onions and sausage. Sometimes he made pancakes. The most favorite was the no flip pancakes topped with butter, lemon, sliced almonds, and powdered sugar.

Did I say I love breakfast?

In college I was the kid that got super pumped about breakfast at the dining hall. I struggled to decide what to eat, too many options, a lot of my favorite foods, all available at the same time. AAAAHHHHH!

The problem is that I'm single, and I live by myself.

It's a lot of work to make a big breakfast, everything from scratch, for 1 person.
And when there is just one person, you either drastically overeat, or you have an excessive amount of leftovers. Breakfast leftovers are just not very good in my opinion.

It is for the above mentioned reasons I never cook big breakfasts for myself.

Most of the time when I stay in hotels for work, they are the kind with continental breakfast. There is nothing wrong with continental breakfast, I always find things to eat.

But sometimes we stay in hotels that have actual, real, big breakfast.
I am always extremely excited when that happens.

So you can imagine my excitement when this was on the buffet.

First we debated, were they blueberries or chocolate chips?

And then the worker came over to help us out.
And he confirmed!
THEY WERE CHOCOLATE CHIPS.

They might not be no flip pancakes with lemon juice, butter, almonds, and powdered sugar, but they are still something I would never make for myself at home. And they were awesome!

Mixed emotions

My grandfather past away sometime during the day on Tuesday. The details of his passing have yet to be made clear though he has been extremely ill with a long list of ailments for about the last 3 1/2 years. It was something that my family has been expecting for a long time. I think today when I told some coworkers that I would be out of the office till Tuesday for my grandfather's funeral they were a bit perplexed. I had to tell them that I wasn't especially upset about it.
I know that every family has drama, and that compared to some people's drama, my family's drama is really minuscule. None the less, my relationship with my mother's parents has never been especially good. I was looking through pictures to find one to post here and I realized that I have relatively few. I have tons of my dad's mom and dad. I have several of my mom's Aunt Lois and her husband Uncle Paul. When I really truly think about it, Aunt Lois and Uncle Paul were much more active in our lives growing up and I have fond memories of visiting them at their house in New Bedford, MA. My brothers used to have crab apple fights in her yard, we used to eat meals together on her amazing screened in porch. Paul was the owner of a very well known art store in Cambridge. I always left their house with a bookmark, or a post card of some painting or another. Paul and Lois took an active role in getting to know who we were individually as people and we always always loved visiting them when we were back in the states. The following picture is from the last time I visited them before Paul died and Lois moved out of their house.

Summer vacations to the states always included trips to the cottage in Maine with my dad's mom and dad. We call them Nana and Poppi. Poppi passed away when I was a freshman in high school. Nana always wonders when I am coming up to visit again. We always spent at least a week at the lake with them, and my Auntie Brenda, and her dogs, first it was buffy, then it was Kato. I think my love of dogs comes from my aunt. We used to go sailing on my dad's sunfish, Poppi used to pull us in inner tubes behind his motorized canoe. I'm seriously not joking, he invented tubing. We sometimes would take the canoe to an island across the lake an picnic. We would build fires and pick blueberries. When they sold the cottage when I was 13 or so because my grandfather was having some health issues and couldn't take care of it anymore, we were very sad. After they sold the cottage we would spend the week at Auntie Brenda's. She had a pool in the backyard, and Kato, and we would float around on inner tubes. We avoided the diving board because I am pretty sure it had a bees nest in it. The following are pictures from those times with Nana and Poppi


.
The last picture is Nana with my brothers and I the morning of Auntie Brenda's wedding the summer of 1996, I think Nana had just told Ian to look normal for a picture for once in his life. She says that almost anytime she is in a picture with Ian, they tease each other a lot.
Every summer after we spent time in Maine with Nana and Poppi, we would fly or drive out to Michigan to see my mom's parents. Those times were always always stressful. My grandmother used to yell at us it seemed like just for breathing, in reality it was probably for kicking a soccer ball or throwing a football, outside. There was always arguments, from a very young age I remember being angry about the way my mom was treated by her mother. As I grew older I would get angry at the way my mother was treated by her mother, and angry at my grandfather for sitting idly by. When my aunts and uncles were part of the mix it was even worse. At some point we started staying somewhere else, because even though they lived in a fairly spacious house with ample guest rooms and bathrooms, we either weren't welcome to stay with them or my dad refused to stay with them, I'm not sure which. We always heard about how wonderful our cousins were, and left feeling like we were worthless failures. The irony of it all is that once we became adults and my cousins and I started communicating with each other apart from our parents, we realized that my grandmother did that to all of us. I now am thankful to have better relationships with my cousins, but I definitely grew up resenting them. My grandfather interspersed between my grandmothers interesting lectures told war stories from his time in India during World War 2, or stories about the farm in Illinois and his dog growing up. Another fun activity that we got to partake in at my mom's parents was the slide shows, mainly of interesting rock formations and sailing regattas that my mom and her sisters and brothers participated in growing up. Funny because a. who cares about interesting rock formations other than my dad the geologist, and b. they talked about sailing ALL THE TIME but never actually got out of their recliners to take us on a boat. My grandparents only ever came to visit us 1 time the entire 20 years that we lived in Saudi Arabia, even though they travelled all the time to places like South Africa, and that was only because I told my grandmother that I knew they would never come. Basically without knowing it, according to my mom, I accidently guilted them into coming. Then when they did come, they only stayed a week. Yeah who travels halfway around the world to see their grandkids and only stays 7 days? Seriously, by the time they got over their jetlag they were back in the States. It wasn't till I was finishing my Master's degree, so 24 years old, that I had any incling that my grandparents where in anyway even remotely interested or proud of my accomplishments. The word love has never ever been a thought. When they came to my high school graduation they told me that it was because they felt obligated to since they had gone to my cousins. It was so bad at times growing up that my brothers and I used to beg our parents to leave us in Maine while they went to Michigan.
That picture is the only day of my life when I have felt like my grandparents didn't consider me a loser.
I'm not sad about it, the fact of the matter is that I have a very strong relationship with my dad's side of the family, and my mom's aunt and uncle really were more like grandparents to me. I used harbor a lot of anger and bitterness about it all, but in the last 2 years, the Lord has really shown me that who I am in Him is so much more important than who I am in the eyes of my mom's parents. My mom has been worried for the last year or so that my grandfather would die before I made peace with him. I don't really think that she realizes that I am at peace with it all. He made the choices that he did, not to develop strong relationships with very many of his grandkids, if any, and that is his loss. If you didn't know I have some pretty exceptional cousins, and my younger brother is pretty funny as well. I don't feel like I was jipped, the way I used to. I realize that the Lord has blessed me immensly, and that there were other people who filled that role in my life. I realized that he was never going recognize how things were, and I let it go.
As I travel up to Minnesota this weekend (after my Westtown reunion) I am not going because I feel obligated to honor my grandfather. I am going because I know my mom needs my support, and because it will be the first time in a long time that I will be in the same room with both my brothers and my parents. And because my cousins will all be there from all over the world and this many of us haven't gotten together since my brothers wedding 6 years ago. So really in all honesty, I am excited about the trip, not so much the funeral part, but definitely I am excited to hopefully make new memories with mom's family.

Brady

Last night I went to see Marley and Me with my friend Kim. I knew it was going to be sad and that I would probably most definately cry. I read the book about a year ago. I think I cried for the last three chapters.
What I decided last night was that I am pretty sure that Marley and my dog Brady are somehow related. For example, there is one scene in the movie and the book where Marley jumps out of the car while it is moving, um, yes Brady has done that. Then there is the scene where Marley jumps into the shower while the dog sitter is there. UM yes Brady has also done that to me. While Brady has yet to consume any electrical appliances, she has eaten a life time supply of wooden cooking implements. She has ripped apart several phone books, that is REALLY fun to clean up. She has destroyed an area of drywall in my kitchen. She has eaten I don't even know how many socks. She thinks that her rightful place is sitting in the recliner in the living room and gets annoyed when I kick her off it so I can sit there. She loves to chew on carrots and the stems of broccoli. Figured that out when she jumped up on the counter and stole them. She loves to try to take off running when I take her for walks or runs and trys to pull me around, however, when my brother tried to stand on his skateboard and get her to pull him, she just stood there looking at him like he was crazy. She is incredibly friendly and is very gentle with small children though she tries to greet all adults by jumping up and licking them in the face. She loves to eat ice, and for that reason LOVES it when I take her in to work when I have to stop by the office. Brady loves to go to the lake but she is a hysterically frantic swimmer. She loves to go hang out with her friend Sadie, and she loves going to the vet. She is just an incredibly social dog. And everyday I come home to a smiling, excited, tailwagging dog who thinks she is a lap dog and crawls up on the couch with me to snuggle.

Why would anyone do that?

Someone tried to scam my 92 yearold grandmother today. They called her pretending to be her grandson. Their fatal flaw was that they called her grandma which is not what her 3 grandchildren have ever called her. She asked them which grandson they were. After an ackward pause they started to tell her that they had been in an accident in Canada and that they needed her to send money. She told the individual that they knew better than to call asking for money, that if they needed money to call Auntie Brenda and ask her, then she hung up the phone. My grandmother at 92 is one sharp cookie, thankfully she didn't fall for the story. She was a little rattled and immediately she called my aunt, who called my dad, who tried to call my brothers, and then called me. So then I got ahold of both my brother, cause I am good at that. Indeed neither of them were in Canada.
More and more you hear about people who prey on the elderly in our country. Many times they are extremely succesful at it too. My other 2 grandparents aren't as capable cognitively anymore. My dad's mom also has a daughter, my aunt, who is constantly coaching her on how to deal with these types of situations. Recently I saw an article here in the Murray paper about a public service class for the ederly to help them avoid scams. It's sad on two levels. First that people who take advantage of the vulnerable like that, and secondly, that many elderly don't have families who take great effort to look out for them. My grandmother has an incredible resource in my aunt, though my grandmother still makes all her own decisions about finances, my aunt always is with her when she makes those decisions. It was easy to tell the scam artist to call Auntie Brenda, because she knows that Auntie Brenda is much more aware of people trying to take advantage, not because she is quicker mentally, but because she was an incredible savy bussiness women her entire career and knows what to look for.

Fellow RT Beach Bums

My Mom has been at my house staying with me the last ten days. It actually went really well. I think one thing that helped a LOT was that we took specific time to not be around each other. Like Wednesday night I had Bible study which she didn't come to and then yesterday night I went to my friends house to play this crazy game called Settlers of Catan. I thought that I would hate this game but it was actually a lot of fun. One of the highlights on my mom's visit was that we went to Maceo, Kentucky which is near Owensboro Kentucky to visit some of my parents friends from Saudi. I really enjoyed spending time with them. It was a lot of fun to catch up with them and talk about old times in the desert. It's nice to be around people who lived there every once in a while because they understand me in ways that few others do. I don't have to spend the entire time explaining to them why we lived there or what it was like there before finishing the story or making the point that I was trying to make. On the way back we took a short detour to visit Hancocks of Paducah which is pretty much the most amazing fabric store EVER. Yup I bought a bunch of fabric and my mom bought even more of course. Maybe me picking out some of the fabrics for the hoop nativities she is suppose to be making me will inspire her to actually get it done this year. She left this afternoon after church and lunch with my Bible study to drive to Fort Wayne. She has turned into a crazy geneiology person. She will spend a day there looking for information before she heads the rest of the way back to Michigan.

Almost over

I have to tell you that surfing is a lot harder than people make it look. I now know that for a fact. Today I spent the afternoon with my cousin Matt. First we went sea kayaking. We say sea lions and purposely got tipped over by the waves several times and it was a lot of fun. Then we went to the beach and he helped me at my first attempt at surfing. I was able to actually catch a wave, TWICE, however neither time was I able to actually stand up. This vacation has been so much fun. Friday night, while technically I was still at the convention, I went to Disneyland with my friends Chris and Benji. Chris was actually my instructor when I was in undergrad but now is more of a colleague and friend and he turned into a complete child a Disneyland and that was fun to witness. I have to say that I don't really like rollercoasters and they leave my brain feeling funny for about another day. Then Saturday after I went to my last seminar about athletic shoes and socks. (YES YOU READ THAT CORRECTLY) my cousin Matt and his wife TK picked my up. We took a tour of LA, went to Rodeo drive, saw the Hollywood sign and went to the Getty Museum. The gardens are pretty much AWESOME. Tommorrow I will layout at the beach all day while Matt and TK are at work and then Tuesday I will hang out with Matt before heading to the airport and flying home to Nashville. My mom is picking me up in Nashville so that will be great