Greetings, gentle readers. I come to you tonight, swathed mummy-like, from inside a surprisingly long Ace elastic bandage. Is this an indication of how Fashion-Forward I am? But, of course not.
Yesterday I underwent minor surgery intended to remove any doubt [as well as dubious tissue] regarding a recent mammogram/biopsy procedure. All seems to have gone well, and I have all the narcotics I need for pain relief...and, they DO come in handy.
As often happens, this excursion included both highlights and lowlights. I'll begin with the former.
Prior to leaving for the outpatient surgery center yesterday morning, Mr. H. prayed that we might come across a Christian caregiver at the hospital. This has been known to happen, and occurred repeatedly during Ben's month-long hospital stay two years ago. Still, it was a wonderful encouragement to recognize the nurse anesthetist who came into my 'holding' room...a delightful and highly competent professional we've known from church and violin lessons. Besides taking time to visit with us, catch up on our respective kids, and introduce us to the anesthesiologist, Polly was very supportive and informative, and took time to pray with us before I was, literally, rolled away.
I have noted before how utterly helpless and vulnerable one can feel from the vantage point of an operating table...when something is amiss with oneself and youu have no choice but to look up into the faces of everyone else as they look down at you, somewhat ominously. So, there was a bit of a comfort factor to recognize her eyes above one of the several blue surgical masks in the room, as well as spying the surgeon. Due to the miracles of modern anesthesiology, the next thing I knew I was in the recovery room, trying to 'come to.'
Now, on to the non-highlights, which occurred before surgery. First of all, it is not dreadful, but certainly not delightful to have oneself 'graffittied' with a Sharpie pen to ensure that the correct anatomical region is matched with the correct doctor, etc. But, better safe than sorry. I presume this logic also underlies the quick audio recording that was made in the surgical suite just before it's 'lights out' for the patient: "Would you please give us your name? Your date of birth? And what are you here for, Kathleen?"
A little surreal, but not pointless.
However, BEYOND surreal, and --literally pointless--was the Medical Supply [and I use the term loosely] employed following my needle localization procedure. Since it's not likely that the general reader is familiar with this, I will briefly summarize. Needle localization involves having an ultrasound technician locate with a transponder the area of tissue, etc. that will comprise the surgery site. Once the appropriate area appears on the ultrasound screen, a radiologist then mysteriously appears with Lidocaine and a specially wired needle.
Using the ultrasound as a visual guide, he then inserts the needle into the target area and magically injects a fish-hook type device therein, which acts as a physical marker. Because of the hook feature, it is stablized in the site. Try to think of this as something other than human.
Here, however, is where the production value of this scenario plummets. So outlandish was it, that it never occurred to me how truly crude it would be.
Allow me to illustrate.
What I Was Told: "Following the needle localization, they will cover the area with a cup, and then cover you, so can preserve a little modesty."
What I Imagined: After deporting myself as maturely as I could during this small ordeal, I would be helped into a sitting position and have my left breast comfortably and discreetly covered with a smooth, sterile, and hopefully warm vessel, similar to a dessert cup. Not that this would be on the top of my list of Fun Adventures, but still, better than..
What Actually Happened: I squiggled myself into an upright position on the table, trying to keep track of the single flannel blanket and numerous crinkly paper sheets. While thus engaged, I realized that the gleaming wire now protruding from my stern was rather hard to ignore, and yet not anything I wanted to fixate on. But, oh well, at least I would soon have my comfy cup to preserve my last shred of modesty.
Um, no. You could be forgiven for thinking, as did I, that the technician was making a weak attempt at humor when she reached for a paper drinking cup...the fountain size. However, this was not humorous. It was not expected. It was not appreciated. However, I have no doubt it WAS cost-effective.
As I watched, my mouth agape, this competent young woman proceeded to fold down strips of the paper cup rim into makeshift flanges...emphasis on 'shift.' Because they did. During downtime, someone had carefully snipped 8 or so cuts in the rim of the cup, extending down about an inch or two. It was then supposed that she would simultaneously hold, fold, and tape this paper catastrophe to my reluctant chest....suffice it to say, I had to hold the cup in place myself. However, I was mistaken in believing I would be covering any sensitive parts of my own anatomy...I was left 'hanging out' while the localization needle was carefully encased in a mutilated soda cup.
Interestingly, as part of a new patient satisfaction scheme(I assume), during my initial assessment, I was asked to read five 'value' words on a whiteboard, and to indicate which was the most important to me during my 'hospital experience.' I don't recall all five, but they were along the lines of 'friendliness,' 'feeling respected,' etc. I chose 'professional skills of caregivers.'
But, had I known then what I know now...I might have suggested they scale back the award-winning architectural details in the hosptial concourse and splurge on sensible and appropriate procedural supplies. Going through this adventure again is definitely NOT on my bucket list.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Memorable Mile
This evening, dear readers, it is my high privilege to be the first to interview Mr. J. Daniel, one-mile runner.
Editor: Mr. Daniel, to what do we owe this auspicious opportunity?
JD: Well, it's not THAT important...I mean, all it is is a mile run. I mean, people have done it before.
Ed: Well, point taken, but please tell us about YOUR experience this morning.
JD: Well, we went to the neighborhood of my dear friend, David Hook, a fellow Loves Park resident. He has this pond in the front of his subdivision, and we did the mile around that.
Ed: Um, so why did you do that? Run a mile around a pond, I mean...
JD: Oh, oh...well, see, every year, our School does the mile run as part of our P.E. They sort of put us up to it, you could say.
Ed: Ah! Well, give grown-ups a little power and there's no telling where it can lead...
JD: I suppose so, but, hey, what are you gonna do?
Ed: Quite.
JD: Not everyone had to run the whole mile. They give the little kids a break because, well, I guess because they're still little. Life is easier when you're little. But, being a teenager myself, I had to run the whole mile.
Ed: So, how did it go?
JD: It was sorta long, because we had to do it three and a half times around the pond...and it was really COLD and windy...that was one of the disadvantages...
My sister Cecily, poor kid, also had to run the whole mile because she is 10...and her legs ARE getting kind of long. But still, it was brutal.
Ed: So, how many laps did you older kids have to run?
JD: A dreadful three and a half miles!!!
Ed: But, unconfirmed reports mentioned that there were some faithful, hardy moms shivering under blankets to cheer you all on!
JD: Whatever. That didn't really help because they just kept standing still. We were the ones doing the pain!
Ed: Hmmmm....well, OK. Were you running against the wind, or did you have the wind at your back?
JD: Well, since it was kind of round, on one side the wind was behind us pushing us, but like all good things, it didn't last, because we would turn the corner and have the wind blast us in the face. It was hard to keep your balance.
Ed: Gracious! How did you manage?!
JD: Well, I did it...you just do it, ya know?
Ed: Did everyone finish well?
JD: Well, that's kind of in the perspective of the other people. Everyone was kind of lying in the grass and dying and stuff. There were a couple of kids who couldn't finish...or they didn't persist enough. Really, we were running against ourselves, not against each other. Well, I gotta go brush my teeth, so I'll see ya around.
Ed: But, Mr. Daniel, I don't think we're quite done here....Mr. Daniel...???
Editor: Mr. Daniel, to what do we owe this auspicious opportunity?
JD: Well, it's not THAT important...I mean, all it is is a mile run. I mean, people have done it before.
Ed: Well, point taken, but please tell us about YOUR experience this morning.
JD: Well, we went to the neighborhood of my dear friend, David Hook, a fellow Loves Park resident. He has this pond in the front of his subdivision, and we did the mile around that.
Ed: Um, so why did you do that? Run a mile around a pond, I mean...
JD: Oh, oh...well, see, every year, our School does the mile run as part of our P.E. They sort of put us up to it, you could say.
Ed: Ah! Well, give grown-ups a little power and there's no telling where it can lead...
JD: I suppose so, but, hey, what are you gonna do?
Ed: Quite.
JD: Not everyone had to run the whole mile. They give the little kids a break because, well, I guess because they're still little. Life is easier when you're little. But, being a teenager myself, I had to run the whole mile.
Ed: So, how did it go?
JD: It was sorta long, because we had to do it three and a half times around the pond...and it was really COLD and windy...that was one of the disadvantages...
My sister Cecily, poor kid, also had to run the whole mile because she is 10...and her legs ARE getting kind of long. But still, it was brutal.
Ed: So, how many laps did you older kids have to run?
JD: A dreadful three and a half miles!!!
Ed: But, unconfirmed reports mentioned that there were some faithful, hardy moms shivering under blankets to cheer you all on!
JD: Whatever. That didn't really help because they just kept standing still. We were the ones doing the pain!
Ed: Hmmmm....well, OK. Were you running against the wind, or did you have the wind at your back?
JD: Well, since it was kind of round, on one side the wind was behind us pushing us, but like all good things, it didn't last, because we would turn the corner and have the wind blast us in the face. It was hard to keep your balance.
Ed: Gracious! How did you manage?!
JD: Well, I did it...you just do it, ya know?
Ed: Did everyone finish well?
JD: Well, that's kind of in the perspective of the other people. Everyone was kind of lying in the grass and dying and stuff. There were a couple of kids who couldn't finish...or they didn't persist enough. Really, we were running against ourselves, not against each other. Well, I gotta go brush my teeth, so I'll see ya around.
Ed: But, Mr. Daniel, I don't think we're quite done here....Mr. Daniel...???
How GOOD Can It Be?
Curiously, today's cnn.com seems rife with Belief.net stories...everything from Victoria Jackson taking issue with a gay story line on the show, "Glee," to details of the on-set negotiations that apparently went on during the filming of "Soul Surfer", the story of Bethany Hamilton, a young surfer who lost an arm to a tiger shark.
As long as the world we live in remains fallen, there will be no agreement or lack of controversy on how to manage the "Jesus Issue."
What is it about this guy that seems to make it impossible to remain really neutral?
Hopefully, you realize that I pose the above question with tongue firmly planted in cheek....there are many reasons why Jesus is seen as a 'polarizing figure.' My take is that chief among these reasons is the pivotal fact of Jesus' mission: to rescue us from the consequence of our inherent sin; a fact which requires us to acknowledge that we DO, in fact, miss the mark when it comes to being holy enough to be in relationship with God. And, face it, who wants to look at their own sin?
And once you've allowed for the possibility that none of us is as good as we could or should be, well then, my friend, you are only a baby step away from assenting that we do, indeed, live in a moral universe.
Which is why I find it so curious, and mildly bewildering, that a serious British scholar has found the need to compile a secular Bible. Now, "bible" is simply a word for "book." But The Holy Bible is a wholly unique book from a holy and unique God.
Why, then, does Prof. Grayling find the need for creating his own 'bible'? Well, here's a clue. He identifies himself as an atheist; in which case the whole God/Jesus thing is a bit inconvenient. So, instead, Mr. Grayling has painstakingly culled through centuries of recorded wisdom, meditation, and other 'good thoughts.'
http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2011/04/11/leading-atheist-publishes-secular-bible/?iref=allsearch
He makes no claim to original inspiration here...just the fact that he undertook the massive task of reviewing, researching, evaluating, and eventually compiling this 600+ page book of worthwhile thoughts as an ethical guide. With an open mind, with a searching eye, and with absolutely no restrictive boundaries or limits set by moral or religious notions. But, why would you care about being ethical if there is no plumb line by which to define it? What's ethical to Eve, may be unethical to Steve. Confusing?
However, more than this, I find myself wondering, why Mr. Grayling decided to entitle his new tome, The Good Book: A Humanist Bible and how he can define the word "good" apart from a moral connotation.
Good (per dictionary.com)means morally excellent, virtuous, righteous, pious. Really, if there isn't some external, reliable, unbiased standard by which to evaluate, how good can it be?
As long as the world we live in remains fallen, there will be no agreement or lack of controversy on how to manage the "Jesus Issue."
What is it about this guy that seems to make it impossible to remain really neutral?
Hopefully, you realize that I pose the above question with tongue firmly planted in cheek....there are many reasons why Jesus is seen as a 'polarizing figure.' My take is that chief among these reasons is the pivotal fact of Jesus' mission: to rescue us from the consequence of our inherent sin; a fact which requires us to acknowledge that we DO, in fact, miss the mark when it comes to being holy enough to be in relationship with God. And, face it, who wants to look at their own sin?
And once you've allowed for the possibility that none of us is as good as we could or should be, well then, my friend, you are only a baby step away from assenting that we do, indeed, live in a moral universe.
Which is why I find it so curious, and mildly bewildering, that a serious British scholar has found the need to compile a secular Bible. Now, "bible" is simply a word for "book." But The Holy Bible is a wholly unique book from a holy and unique God.
Why, then, does Prof. Grayling find the need for creating his own 'bible'? Well, here's a clue. He identifies himself as an atheist; in which case the whole God/Jesus thing is a bit inconvenient. So, instead, Mr. Grayling has painstakingly culled through centuries of recorded wisdom, meditation, and other 'good thoughts.'
http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2011/04/11/leading-atheist-publishes-secular-bible/?iref=allsearch
He makes no claim to original inspiration here...just the fact that he undertook the massive task of reviewing, researching, evaluating, and eventually compiling this 600+ page book of worthwhile thoughts as an ethical guide. With an open mind, with a searching eye, and with absolutely no restrictive boundaries or limits set by moral or religious notions. But, why would you care about being ethical if there is no plumb line by which to define it? What's ethical to Eve, may be unethical to Steve. Confusing?
However, more than this, I find myself wondering, why Mr. Grayling decided to entitle his new tome, The Good Book: A Humanist Bible and how he can define the word "good" apart from a moral connotation.
Good (per dictionary.com)means morally excellent, virtuous, righteous, pious. Really, if there isn't some external, reliable, unbiased standard by which to evaluate, how good can it be?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Of Limits and Flying Shoes
One of our family's favorite games is called "Mille Bornes", or "1,000 Stones." It's a French card game based on the idea of an auto race, the object of which is to lay down enough mileage cards to reach one thousand miles (milestones) before one's opponents do the same. For the sake of interest, not to mention verisimilitude, there are helps and hazards to be played for and against oneself and one's competitors in the course of the race. One of the more frequent obstacles to be played is the familiar speed limit card, which can be dispensed with if you are the lucky holder of a corresponding "End of Limit" card.
Would that such valuable gambits existed in Real Life. I find lately that limits smack me in the face with less warning and more impact than ever before.
Over the weekend, Mr. Bill and I went to the cinema to take in the new release, "Limitless." [One-sentence review: hardly a classic, but novel, entertaining escapism.] The film follows the journey of a struggling writer whose life is catapulted into unimagined success by virtue of an experimental drug that gives him supernatural focus and access to his brain's full potential. Under this influence he is, virtually, limitless. But, as we all know, real life is full of limitations.
And if it is frustrating to bump up against the reality of my own limitations, how much more so when others supercede their limits and trespass onto my domain?
And so it was last night, when my own personal boundaries were again exceeded by a son's folly, that our front door was enexpectedly opened and his shoes became airborne, landing with an unimpressive squish onto our sodden front lawn.
I have no idea whether any curious neighbors happened to witness this little display, or whether they may have reacted with bemusement, astonishment, or worse. I just know that my ability to absorb further disrespect and boundary violations collapsed at that moment, and I needed some impact, however ludicrous it may have appeared.
Cathartic? Well, that may be stretching it. Attention-getting? Um, yes. Sudden silence reined for a few minutes before the prodigal's brother began sputtering in disbelief and confusion.
This is probably to be expected. Today's conventional wisdom apparently includes the erroneous notion that parents' longsuffering is limitless. Well, not at this house. I don't even think it's particularly helpful to perpetuate this myth. No one and nothing in this fallen world is without limits. A clue? Prisons. Cemetaries. Pink slips. Hospitals. Eruptions of all kinds. Limits are breached and "surprises" ensue.
As I once heard Chuck Colson observe, failure to freely self-govern inevitably leads to diminished personal freedoms. Few of us want to believe this but, alas, experience repeatedly bears it out. If we're not willing to acknowledge and respect where our rights end and another's begin, things quickly "go south." Far better to learn this early on and treat others as we want to be treated. This means understanding and living within reasonable limits.
I am learning, albeit with painful slowness, that life works better when I live within limits. Not arbitrary limits, but those that proceed from wisdom.
And even this--finding wisdom--requires me to face my own limitations because wisdom does not originate from me.
“Where then does wisdom come from?
Where does understanding dwell?
21 It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing,
concealed even from the birds of the air.
23 God understands the way to it
and he alone knows where it dwells,
24 for he views the ends of the earth
and sees everything under the heavens.
27 then he looked at wisdom and appraised it;
he confirmed it and tested it.
28 And he said to man,
‘The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,
and to shun evil is understanding.’”
[Job 28, selected]
But, as my experience last night demonstrated, such lessons can be offered, but receiving them is up to the other party. Since he's not interested in learning yet, I hope he at least picked up his shoes.
Would that such valuable gambits existed in Real Life. I find lately that limits smack me in the face with less warning and more impact than ever before.
Over the weekend, Mr. Bill and I went to the cinema to take in the new release, "Limitless." [One-sentence review: hardly a classic, but novel, entertaining escapism.] The film follows the journey of a struggling writer whose life is catapulted into unimagined success by virtue of an experimental drug that gives him supernatural focus and access to his brain's full potential. Under this influence he is, virtually, limitless. But, as we all know, real life is full of limitations.
And if it is frustrating to bump up against the reality of my own limitations, how much more so when others supercede their limits and trespass onto my domain?
And so it was last night, when my own personal boundaries were again exceeded by a son's folly, that our front door was enexpectedly opened and his shoes became airborne, landing with an unimpressive squish onto our sodden front lawn.
I have no idea whether any curious neighbors happened to witness this little display, or whether they may have reacted with bemusement, astonishment, or worse. I just know that my ability to absorb further disrespect and boundary violations collapsed at that moment, and I needed some impact, however ludicrous it may have appeared.
Cathartic? Well, that may be stretching it. Attention-getting? Um, yes. Sudden silence reined for a few minutes before the prodigal's brother began sputtering in disbelief and confusion.
This is probably to be expected. Today's conventional wisdom apparently includes the erroneous notion that parents' longsuffering is limitless. Well, not at this house. I don't even think it's particularly helpful to perpetuate this myth. No one and nothing in this fallen world is without limits. A clue? Prisons. Cemetaries. Pink slips. Hospitals. Eruptions of all kinds. Limits are breached and "surprises" ensue.
As I once heard Chuck Colson observe, failure to freely self-govern inevitably leads to diminished personal freedoms. Few of us want to believe this but, alas, experience repeatedly bears it out. If we're not willing to acknowledge and respect where our rights end and another's begin, things quickly "go south." Far better to learn this early on and treat others as we want to be treated. This means understanding and living within reasonable limits.
I am learning, albeit with painful slowness, that life works better when I live within limits. Not arbitrary limits, but those that proceed from wisdom.
And even this--finding wisdom--requires me to face my own limitations because wisdom does not originate from me.
“Where then does wisdom come from?
Where does understanding dwell?
21 It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing,
concealed even from the birds of the air.
23 God understands the way to it
and he alone knows where it dwells,
24 for he views the ends of the earth
and sees everything under the heavens.
27 then he looked at wisdom and appraised it;
he confirmed it and tested it.
28 And he said to man,
‘The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,
and to shun evil is understanding.’”
[Job 28, selected]
But, as my experience last night demonstrated, such lessons can be offered, but receiving them is up to the other party. Since he's not interested in learning yet, I hope he at least picked up his shoes.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Miss Cee's Infallible Guide to Managing FoBs
Above is a live action shot of my very own self, flanked by the Netherlands Ambassador on my right, and Senator Palpatine, a surprise attendee, on my left. Always be prepared for any contingency!
[a.k.a. Eavesdropping Inside the Uniquely Wondrous Mind of Cecily Grace]
The first thing to remember is don't be intimidated by the size of these big guys. Sure they’re taller and stronger, but that’s nothing to be afraid of. After all, they are FoBs, also known as Friends of Ben: how scary can they really be? Nothing I can’t handle, I assure you. The goal, gentle readers, as alway, is to be IN CONTROL without arousing undue suspicion.
Now then, the details. As the accompanying photograph illustrates, many important advantages can be gained WITHOUT THEM EVER KNOWING!!! For example, it was nothing at all for me to simply slide my small self into the chair at the Head of the table….psychological advantage for my queenly self? Score!!
First, FUEL:
It should go without saying that copious amounts of food are not only helpful, but—indeed—necessary when dealing with the male species of any age, but especially so between the ages of 10 and 50. These guys are all 19-21 so, take it from me, extra fuel is required. The good thing, though, is that they are surprisingly unpicky about what you place before them. I’ve seen them go through crackers and cheese, pizza, cookies, pizza, boxes of cereal, chips, pizza, and enough Mountain Dew to buoy a whale. Without ever coming up for air. It is astonishing, really.
And that’s not even getting into the Fast Food category.
PATIENCE IS KEY:
Anyway, if you see them breaking out the Texas Hold Em set (one of Benny’s friends actually has his own aluminum brief case, with special little nooks and crannies for cards, chips, pads, pencils,….it’s kind of the bomb)…just be patient. Unless they are INCREDIBLY progressive, they will not let you play poker with them. We just have to give them time to evolve. But patience pays off.
What you’ll find is that after the strongest personality has lost enough money, he will insist that a new game be found, and now , gentle reader, your Moment of Opportunity has arrived.
STRATEGY:
Here’s a quick cheat sheet of game possibilities, rated according to effectiveness:
BOGGLE, SCRABBLE, and other letter/word games – you probably won’t get them to go for these, because, being male, they probably are more left-brained, and aren’t really delighted by verbal challenges.
PARCHEESI, SORRY, etc. There is a tad of strategy here, but only a tad. And strategy is a flavor of thinking that Friends of Ben automatically equate with bravura and other so-called manly qualities. You might be able to get away with this one if it is the beginning of the gaming session, and you are just getting them primed. Alternatively, wait until the end of game time looms, and everyone is sloshing with Mountain Dew and lining up for the powder room (but don’t tell THEM it’s called that !)
DOMINOES – The thing to remember here is that, in general, FoB’s have a relatively short attention span (unless we’re talking NBA or NFL on the flickering screen) and so it’s unlikely that they will stay engaged long enough with the domino tiles for you to really enjoy a resounding victory. And even if you are getting ahead, they won’t let you get any real glory from it. They put it down to “luck” or some other random cause from which you cannot hope to gain any adulation or congratulation whatsoever.
APPLES-to-APPLES: This is the apex, girlfriends. If you get them around to this table game, you are in…as in, ‘easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.’ Apples to Apples is a game that’s been around for a while. We were introduced to it by one of my aunts (which means my dad is their little brother…so they WAY know how to manage brothers and friends!). The gist of it is to get people to think the way you do…is this genius or what??? There are decks of cards, some of which represent categories, and some of which could be examples of the given category…depending on how one’s mind works…um, assuming it does. Each person takes a turn as the ‘judge’ who decides which of the other player’s card choices best represents your category. Here are a few excerpts…
“The Word is ‘little’, as in small, not big.”
“Dude, how do you get ‘screen door’ for ‘little’?”
“It’s the closest thing I had.”
“That is SO lame…”
“What!!! Are you kidding me?
“I am amazing…I’m, dude, just amazing.”
“Is there any more pizza?”
Now, I grant you, that some patience is still required because everyone gets a turn at being the judge….but, I assure you, FoBx are no match for our feminine instincts and expertise.
And there is nothing to compare to the glorious thrill of hearing, “No, Cecily IS the judge now!”, and then, just a short time later, hearing yourself say:
“Thank you. I WIN. Let’s play one more!!”
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Boy v. Girl Wrestling
Perhaps you saw a story that made the rounds about two weeks ago, about a male high school athlete who forfeited a title rather than wrestle a girl competitor. This has been spun all different ways, according to the perspective of the source(s) publishing it. But, since it snagged my attention enough to actually post a response myself, I'm including a bit of it here.
As excerpted from Focus on the Family President Jim Daly's blog:
"This is a story about three people: a 16-year-old boy named Joel Northrup, a 14-year-old girl named Cassy Herkleman and popular ESPN columnist, Rick Reilly.
For context, Joel and Cassy are high school wrestlers from Iowa; Rick is a talented and often humorous sportswriter, prone to zany antics. (He was so certain our Colorado Rockies wouldn’t make the playoffs in 2009 that he threatened to lick Denver’s Capitol dome if they did. They did – and he did.)
That said, this story is really more about the distinctives surrounding gender than it is about these three individuals – or wrestling itself.
Here are the facts:
Last week, Cassy Herkleman was scheduled to wrestle Joel Northrup in the first round of the Iowa state high school wrestling tournament. But as you may know by now, Joel refused the match, walked off the mat and forfeited the round and his chance at a state title.
Why?
'As a matter of conscience and my faith,' he wrote in a statement, 'I do not believe that it is appropriate for a boy to engage a girl in this manner.'
Joel, who is home-schooled, is also a pastor’s son. His father, Jamie, was strikingly blunt when speaking with the Des Moines Register about his son’s decision:
'We believe in the elevation and respect of women, and we don't think that wrestling a woman is the right thing to do. Body slamming and takedowns -- full contact sport is not how to do that.'
Rick Reilly [a professional sports writer]was not convinced. He wrote that Joel was “wrong” to refuse the match and that “If the Northrups really wanted to ‘respect’ women, they should've encouraged their son to face her.”
[End of Daly excerpt]
The link to the completle article is: http://www.focusonlinecommunities.com/blogs/Finding_Home/2011/02/23/should-boys-wrestle-girls#comment-8785
There were more than 1,200 responses to this blog post, and although I read many of them, I could not tell you the percentage of responders for or against the stand taken by this young male athlete. A couple of the more compelling responses included specific details about some of the wrestling holds, such as the "High C [crotch] hold", and the "Saturday Night Ride". I lack such indepth knowledge and have never been a fan of pugilism; however, this has never stopped me from having opinions, and the response I posted is as follows:
Kathleen says: The "right" thing to do is almost always the hardest of the available alternatives; which inevitably leads to the deeper issue of what constitutes "right"? As soon as right and wrong enter into the conversation, you've stepped onto moral ground whether you like it or not And this, in turn, begs the question: from what foundation, or by what plumb line is "right" v. "wrong" determined? This young man and his family do not hesitate to point out that their moral measuring stick is rooted in their Christian faith, a faith that I share.
My own opinion is that Mr. Northrup's decision to forfeit the match was the harder, more honorable, and more costly choice, and I applaud him and his family for it.
Those, who like Mr. Reilly, assert that not wrestling Miss Herkleman was not respecting her would do well to realize that Someone else's opinion comes into play here...and this is the ultimate divide. It is indeed the case, as Christ makes clear in Matthew 6:24, that 'No one can serve two masters.Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other." That's the reality; in this case, Mr. Northrup could be devoted to God or to the situation that would require him to deny his convictions...but he could not do both. He made the wiser choice by choosing to respect the Lord Who made him, and before Whom we each will give an account.
As for Miss Herkleman, while I can understand her disappointment, in my view, the situation exacts less of a toll on her than on Mr. Northrup. He not only lost the chance at a state title, and allowed it to default to Miss Herkleman, but he also has reaped (and I presume it was no surprise to him) controversy and ill will he never sought.
Aside from the issue of spiritual conviction there is the axiomatic truth that males and females, particularly after puberty, are fundamentally different---equal, but different. If you doubt this, aske yourself why women in combat are routinely raped by male enemy troops...and that this information usually is suppressed. Also consider the findings from studies, such as one conducted by the Israeli military a number of years ago, which found that male soldiers were more adversely affected by seeing their 'sisters in arms', or female troopmates, mistreated by enemy forces than when they themselves were harmed.
The bottom line is that males and females are distinct from each other, for profoundly wonderful reasons.
As excerpted from Focus on the Family President Jim Daly's blog:
"This is a story about three people: a 16-year-old boy named Joel Northrup, a 14-year-old girl named Cassy Herkleman and popular ESPN columnist, Rick Reilly.
For context, Joel and Cassy are high school wrestlers from Iowa; Rick is a talented and often humorous sportswriter, prone to zany antics. (He was so certain our Colorado Rockies wouldn’t make the playoffs in 2009 that he threatened to lick Denver’s Capitol dome if they did. They did – and he did.)
That said, this story is really more about the distinctives surrounding gender than it is about these three individuals – or wrestling itself.
Here are the facts:
Last week, Cassy Herkleman was scheduled to wrestle Joel Northrup in the first round of the Iowa state high school wrestling tournament. But as you may know by now, Joel refused the match, walked off the mat and forfeited the round and his chance at a state title.
Why?
'As a matter of conscience and my faith,' he wrote in a statement, 'I do not believe that it is appropriate for a boy to engage a girl in this manner.'
Joel, who is home-schooled, is also a pastor’s son. His father, Jamie, was strikingly blunt when speaking with the Des Moines Register about his son’s decision:
'We believe in the elevation and respect of women, and we don't think that wrestling a woman is the right thing to do. Body slamming and takedowns -- full contact sport is not how to do that.'
Rick Reilly [a professional sports writer]was not convinced. He wrote that Joel was “wrong” to refuse the match and that “If the Northrups really wanted to ‘respect’ women, they should've encouraged their son to face her.”
[End of Daly excerpt]
The link to the completle article is: http://www.focusonlinecommunities.com/blogs/Finding_Home/2011/02/23/should-boys-wrestle-girls#comment-8785
There were more than 1,200 responses to this blog post, and although I read many of them, I could not tell you the percentage of responders for or against the stand taken by this young male athlete. A couple of the more compelling responses included specific details about some of the wrestling holds, such as the "High C [crotch] hold", and the "Saturday Night Ride". I lack such indepth knowledge and have never been a fan of pugilism; however, this has never stopped me from having opinions, and the response I posted is as follows:
Kathleen says: The "right" thing to do is almost always the hardest of the available alternatives; which inevitably leads to the deeper issue of what constitutes "right"? As soon as right and wrong enter into the conversation, you've stepped onto moral ground whether you like it or not And this, in turn, begs the question: from what foundation, or by what plumb line is "right" v. "wrong" determined? This young man and his family do not hesitate to point out that their moral measuring stick is rooted in their Christian faith, a faith that I share.
My own opinion is that Mr. Northrup's decision to forfeit the match was the harder, more honorable, and more costly choice, and I applaud him and his family for it.
Those, who like Mr. Reilly, assert that not wrestling Miss Herkleman was not respecting her would do well to realize that Someone else's opinion comes into play here...and this is the ultimate divide. It is indeed the case, as Christ makes clear in Matthew 6:24, that 'No one can serve two masters.Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other." That's the reality; in this case, Mr. Northrup could be devoted to God or to the situation that would require him to deny his convictions...but he could not do both. He made the wiser choice by choosing to respect the Lord Who made him, and before Whom we each will give an account.
As for Miss Herkleman, while I can understand her disappointment, in my view, the situation exacts less of a toll on her than on Mr. Northrup. He not only lost the chance at a state title, and allowed it to default to Miss Herkleman, but he also has reaped (and I presume it was no surprise to him) controversy and ill will he never sought.
Aside from the issue of spiritual conviction there is the axiomatic truth that males and females, particularly after puberty, are fundamentally different---equal, but different. If you doubt this, aske yourself why women in combat are routinely raped by male enemy troops...and that this information usually is suppressed. Also consider the findings from studies, such as one conducted by the Israeli military a number of years ago, which found that male soldiers were more adversely affected by seeing their 'sisters in arms', or female troopmates, mistreated by enemy forces than when they themselves were harmed.
The bottom line is that males and females are distinct from each other, for profoundly wonderful reasons.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Chocolate...A Dental Danger?
Who knew?
One of my earliest memories involves chocolate...and my thumb. As an inveterate thumbsucker, I vaguely can recall standing in the kitchen of our little house in Metairie, Louisiana when someone (very likely the deep-voiced neighbor lady from across the street) asked me what flavor my thumb was...a reasonable inquiry, I suppose, considering the percentage of daylight hours that little thumbkin spent in there.
"Chocolate!!," I replied (matter of factly). Obviously. Is there another flavor?
But that was a previous era, century, and lifetime ago. These days, even old reliable pleasures warrant a second look.
Take for example, the recent spate of dental trouble I've run into...and the common denominator of these woes, which springs from the heavenly cacao bean.
First was the unfortunate encounter with the dark chocolate Ritter Sport bar...apparently so named because one must be a good sport to survive the trauma/drama that ensues when one breaks a tooth on this perversely low-cocoa butter content confection.
Alas, gentle readers, I am still In Process with my Protracted Dental Implant Saga. But the nutshell version, for those who may need a recap, is that innocently biting into the Sport Bar last June precipitated a bone-crunching noise and excruciating pain. One brief dental x-ray later, the verdict was in: right-hand virgin canine tooth was broken completely off at and below the gumline. It was a goner. And I haven't been a Ritter customer since.
Fast-forward to this morning. In the course of innocently going about my morning ablutions, I reached into the square glass canister on my bathroom counter and retrieved a foil wrapped Viactiv Calcium Chew...chocolate, of course...why would I be tempted by any other flavor? Allow me to pause and note that this habit was begun at the behest of my doctor who, noting my age, recommended I consume one to two calcium supplement cubes a day to help prevent bone loss. I was only following directions.
Popping it into my mouth, I looked for a towel and stopped, mid-reach. Whoa!! There must be a signficant quality control problem at the Viactiv plant! I bit into a rock-hard chunk of something embedded in the chocolate chew...the impenetrability seemed a positive indication that this was not rodent residue, at least. Quickly retrieving the flattened supplement from my now-sore mouth, I heard something ping onto the bathroom floor.
What else could it be, but a portion of Tooth #30, located in the lower righthand quadrant of Molarville? Ah...and there, sparkling in the slim shaft of sunlight coming from the window was...a very sorry, very ancient piece of silver amalgam filling, still clinging desperately to a fragment of half-century old dental enamel. Hmmmm. Neither planned for in the schedule, nor in the budget. My tongue immediately discovered a cruel cavern gaping open from whence this had come.
So, at present, the score is Intact Dentition - 0, Culpable Chocolate - 2.
It should go without saying that a couple of inconvenient, if painful, incidents could in no way preclude my chocolate intake. I'm hard-wired for the stuff. But, this is getting expensive, not to mention a bit embarrassing (although my dentist doesn't seem to mind).
I spent from 4 pm to 6 pm this afternoon in a dental chair as poor #30 was doused, dried, drilled, and drilled some more in preparation for a costly crown. After three Lidocaine injections, I was too numb to rinse my own mouth out, but didn't realize it until pungent green liquid cascaded from the working side of my mouth, all over my bib and jeans. Sadly, I was not wearing bib jeans.
In two weeks, I return to have my new temporary crown replaced with a real porcelain-over-gold one...which should match exactly with the resin falsy I still flaunt on my flipper which...one day...may actually be replaced by an implant.
Is there any redeeming aspect to this repeated gap (I mean, gaffe)? Well, one can always count on my unintentional ability to supply comic relief here at the Circle H Ranch...
I take a deep breath and press my cell phone to my ear, hoping that I reach my Trusty Partner before he arrives at the office.
Mr. H: "Hello?"
Mrs. Dental Dilemma: "Uh, hi, it's me."
Mr.: "I figured."
Mrs.: "Well, I think I'm going to be costing you a lot of money again."
Mr.: "Hmmmmm."
Mrs.: "Well, you know how I'm supposed to have one of those little Viactiv chews every morning for the calcium?"
Mr.: "How expensive are they?"
Mrs. "No, no, it's not that---"
And on I proceeded with my tale as my mouth throbbed on.
Being the practical sort, Mr. H. was not angry "it's not like you could help it, these things happen...", nor was he overtly suprised...these things happen.
NOR was he anywhere near the vicinity of his office, I later learned.
Miss Cee [frolicking into the bathroom]: "Mommy, Daddy thinks it's so funny that you talk to him on your cell phone when he's still in the kitchen!! You should do that again...he really liked it!!"
One of my earliest memories involves chocolate...and my thumb. As an inveterate thumbsucker, I vaguely can recall standing in the kitchen of our little house in Metairie, Louisiana when someone (very likely the deep-voiced neighbor lady from across the street) asked me what flavor my thumb was...a reasonable inquiry, I suppose, considering the percentage of daylight hours that little thumbkin spent in there.
"Chocolate!!," I replied (matter of factly). Obviously. Is there another flavor?
But that was a previous era, century, and lifetime ago. These days, even old reliable pleasures warrant a second look.
Take for example, the recent spate of dental trouble I've run into...and the common denominator of these woes, which springs from the heavenly cacao bean.
First was the unfortunate encounter with the dark chocolate Ritter Sport bar...apparently so named because one must be a good sport to survive the trauma/drama that ensues when one breaks a tooth on this perversely low-cocoa butter content confection.
Alas, gentle readers, I am still In Process with my Protracted Dental Implant Saga. But the nutshell version, for those who may need a recap, is that innocently biting into the Sport Bar last June precipitated a bone-crunching noise and excruciating pain. One brief dental x-ray later, the verdict was in: right-hand virgin canine tooth was broken completely off at and below the gumline. It was a goner. And I haven't been a Ritter customer since.
Fast-forward to this morning. In the course of innocently going about my morning ablutions, I reached into the square glass canister on my bathroom counter and retrieved a foil wrapped Viactiv Calcium Chew...chocolate, of course...why would I be tempted by any other flavor? Allow me to pause and note that this habit was begun at the behest of my doctor who, noting my age, recommended I consume one to two calcium supplement cubes a day to help prevent bone loss. I was only following directions.
Popping it into my mouth, I looked for a towel and stopped, mid-reach. Whoa!! There must be a signficant quality control problem at the Viactiv plant! I bit into a rock-hard chunk of something embedded in the chocolate chew...the impenetrability seemed a positive indication that this was not rodent residue, at least. Quickly retrieving the flattened supplement from my now-sore mouth, I heard something ping onto the bathroom floor.
What else could it be, but a portion of Tooth #30, located in the lower righthand quadrant of Molarville? Ah...and there, sparkling in the slim shaft of sunlight coming from the window was...a very sorry, very ancient piece of silver amalgam filling, still clinging desperately to a fragment of half-century old dental enamel. Hmmmm. Neither planned for in the schedule, nor in the budget. My tongue immediately discovered a cruel cavern gaping open from whence this had come.
So, at present, the score is Intact Dentition - 0, Culpable Chocolate - 2.
It should go without saying that a couple of inconvenient, if painful, incidents could in no way preclude my chocolate intake. I'm hard-wired for the stuff. But, this is getting expensive, not to mention a bit embarrassing (although my dentist doesn't seem to mind).
I spent from 4 pm to 6 pm this afternoon in a dental chair as poor #30 was doused, dried, drilled, and drilled some more in preparation for a costly crown. After three Lidocaine injections, I was too numb to rinse my own mouth out, but didn't realize it until pungent green liquid cascaded from the working side of my mouth, all over my bib and jeans. Sadly, I was not wearing bib jeans.
In two weeks, I return to have my new temporary crown replaced with a real porcelain-over-gold one...which should match exactly with the resin falsy I still flaunt on my flipper which...one day...may actually be replaced by an implant.
Is there any redeeming aspect to this repeated gap (I mean, gaffe)? Well, one can always count on my unintentional ability to supply comic relief here at the Circle H Ranch...
I take a deep breath and press my cell phone to my ear, hoping that I reach my Trusty Partner before he arrives at the office.
Mr. H: "Hello?"
Mrs. Dental Dilemma: "Uh, hi, it's me."
Mr.: "I figured."
Mrs.: "Well, I think I'm going to be costing you a lot of money again."
Mr.: "Hmmmmm."
Mrs.: "Well, you know how I'm supposed to have one of those little Viactiv chews every morning for the calcium?"
Mr.: "How expensive are they?"
Mrs. "No, no, it's not that---"
And on I proceeded with my tale as my mouth throbbed on.
Being the practical sort, Mr. H. was not angry "it's not like you could help it, these things happen...", nor was he overtly suprised...these things happen.
NOR was he anywhere near the vicinity of his office, I later learned.
Miss Cee [frolicking into the bathroom]: "Mommy, Daddy thinks it's so funny that you talk to him on your cell phone when he's still in the kitchen!! You should do that again...he really liked it!!"
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