Anomolies

Last Saturday was just like every other…..we woke up early, Harry and Uncle Jack got ready for work and I made the coffee and gathered up the laundry. I have decided it is better to get to the laundry mat as early as possible to avoid screaming children and strange men. So I kissed my Harry goodbye, waved to Jack and off they went, to another day of hot shot driving. I was excited to be trying the new laundry mat that had just opened in Culbertson, promising to make the drudgerous job of laundry a better experience just by being in a new facility, smaller, less crowded, and hopefully high tech, good machines. After pouring my travel mug full of fresh coffee, I went fully armed with laundry booster and the last 2 chapters of my book that I am reading about Norweigen immigrants who settled in the Dakotas.

I was feeling fairly lighthearted, I wanted to get my chores done for the day and then I was going to head off to Minot for the afternoon to go shopping for a single wide mobile home, buy new pots and pans and a new pair of tennis shoes.  The laundry mat was a sore dissappointment.  My immediate impression was frat house party palace.  While it appears to be a nice, clean laundry center, the smell was that of beer stained carpet and smoke laced curtains and overflowing ash trays.  I don’t know how it was possible for a store with no carpet and no curtains to retain such a lovely aroma, and  it was a little overwhelming for me.  But I was committed and could learn to live with the stench if my clothes came out nice and clean and I didn’t have to put up with the chaos of the one in Williston.  The washing machines were fine, expensive, but fine….but the dryers were abismal.  After putting $2.50 into one dryer and still pulling out damp clothes, I gave up and took everything back to the trailer to hang it all up.  Epic Fail!

To add insult to injury, I finished my book, and everyone dies.  Well, not everyone, but in true settler form, the strong willed, strong backed people of the North came to this country determined to bust the sod into submission and to raise wheat, cattle, pine trees, chickens and a passle of little blonde norweigen/american babies, but the weather and  the challenge becomes too much.   Out of my 8 main characters, 3 died of the flu and one died mysteriously out in a blizzard, never to be seen or heard from again.  So there I sat at a table of folded wet laundry, with tears running down my face for the sweet babies of my book that died from the wicked illness that swept over the 2 families and ripped apart their American dream.  Nonetheless, this book is the first of a series, that I am anxious to continue reading.  I guess I am a glutton for punishment, but I love little house on the prairie type books.  And I was amazed at the parallells in this book to my life right now…..even in 1830, this area was booming, there was a shortage of homes, shortage of horses and oxen, a bounty of single men, good paying jobs and people moving into the area from all over the globe….(while now it is mostly just the contiguous 48 states).  The boom back then  was being fueled by the call for homesteaders to settle the land, free for the grabbing for the heartiest of souls, and the race to get the railroad across the Northern tier of the United States.

I got home and unloaded the laundry, hung it all up on my little portable closet, that decided to collapse on me 3 times from the weight, but I managed to break it’s will and get my laundry hung up and ready to dry out finally.  I tidied up the trailer, ate a late breakfast, and headed out the door for my 2 hour drive to Minot.

Once I was in Williston, I decided to call Harry to let him know that I was finally on my way out to Minot and to warn him and Jack that they should go out for dinner or buy something to take home, because it was going to be a late day for me.  I reached into my purse and finally found my phone with 37 missed calls showing on my screen.  OK, so since when am I that popular that 37 people have to call me on a Saturday morning?  Right away, I am thinking something is terribly wrong…….I call Harry….phone is off.  Call Tyler……phone is off.  Call Nellie…..finally a familiar voice.  “What is going on Nellie, why is everyone trying to reach me?”  “Where are you? she asks me, in a voice that is trying to be calm.  “I am on my way out of town to Minot”.  “Good because Harry has been in the hospital in Tioga since 9:00 a.m. and has been taken to the hospital in Minot with some sort of stomach attack.”  She instructs me that Jack picked Harry up from the hospital in Tioga and drove him to Minot, he had to have an MRI and they gave him pain meds and he is holding his own for now.  I finally got a hold of Jack and asked him what was going on now.  They were still awaiting the test results, but not to worry, Harry was sitting up in bed, taking in a bag of saline and is comfortable.  About an hour later, Jack called me back to tell me that Harry was having a kidney stone issue, one had started to moved down and needed to completely pass.  A wave of relief came over me….A kidney stone was painful, but not life threatening.  Another 100+ mile drive to pick up my boy from the hospital.  I am starting to believe that he just will never have the consideration to become seriously ill close to home. (I am only joking)  Again, I want to cry for this man, he has been struggling with this illness that has had many side effects and we just do not seem to be making the progress against it that we had been hoping for.

I drove past 2 seperate mobile home dealerships, glancing quickly at all the different models they had in stock, but did not allow my mind to linger on the lost trip.  I just needed to get to the hospital to see my boy and to make sure he was going to be ok.  As I pulled up to the outside of the hospital, Harry and Jack were outside of the hospital emergency room waiting patiently for me to arrive.  Harry is smoking a cigarette, and for a brief moment….maybe a little longer….I wanted to smack him.   As a woman,  helpless to stop the disease that is stealing her husband, little by little, something tangible, like smoking becomes the focal point of my rage and blame.   In my humble opinion, tobacco, is the root of all evil.  I hate smoking, hate chewing tobacco, hate all of it and yes, sometimes, I hate Harry for still smoking even though he knows it is killing him.  I know it is a strong sentiment, perhaps an unpopular one in some circles, but I know my Harry is sick and this addiction to such a useless and harmful substance angers me and fills me with this sense of out of control hopelessness.  But I learned something valuable today.  Just today, God reminded me again…..ask me for all things, and I will give it freely if you ask according to my will and in my Son’s Holy name.  Harry has an addiction, I have a control issue.   Harry attended the funeral of his cousin today, and he was bold and caring for his lost family and that was an answer to prayer for me.  God loves Harry, wants his submission more than his perfect health, and that should be the focus in all of our lives.  I want Harry to live long enough to retire and to spend some quality time with me, his kids and his grandkids.  God wants submission and holiness.   Oh, how much easier it is to see submission issues in other people’s lives.

I pulled into the parking garage and gave my sad, tired, grey boy a hug and thanked Jack profusely for taking care of him in my absense.  Harry crawled into my van and we drive off in search of the nearest pharmacy to get his medications.  He is weak, hungry from not eating anything all day, and feeling generally exhausted.  We stop to get the prescriptions filled, but decide to go get something to eat while we waited .  We had a nice dinner washed down with generous glasses of water and cranberry juice for Harry, and he could barely finish his meal without falling asleep again….so we didn’t daudle.  I did have to pick up a few things after we got the medications, so we drove over to the mall, so I could dash in to grab the few items that I needed.  I do not know what happened to Minots traffic, and who the genius was that designed the roads around this mall area, but what a jumble of cars and people it was.  I was convinced that even though Harry had survived the kidney stone attack, he and I both would surely die in this Mall maze of roads and intersections.  I have been driving for 30 years, but on this day, I was a novice on a mission to commit suicide by mini-van.  After what seemed like an hour, I finally found the exit to the craze and I went into Sears at a dash, and returned to find my Harry reclining in his seat, with his window open, eyes closed,  enjoying the warm spring air.

Back on the road again, we finally get a chance to breathe deeply, enjoy a quiet moment, and Harry drifted off for a much needed nap.  Harry drives these unwinding roads all day, everyday for his job, but for me the opportunity to drive for hours on this very straight road is calming and peaceful.  I needed peaceful right now….and there is a strange sense of quiet out here at night.  I don’t know if I could ever explain it quite right, but even though there are other cars periodically on the road with you on this 4 lane interstate, you are very much alone with your thoughts.  Because of the lack of interuptions in your thoughts for driving attentions, your mind is free to wonder in the most pious of ways….pondering all the problems of the universe, all of who God is and finding real answers, while covering miles and miles of empty road.  Quickly it becomes dark and then the quiet really settles in around you.  The sky has become a warm purple, black blanket with tiny bright stars sprinkled randomly across my view just to make all things twinkle and to shame my head lights at their meager attempt to brighten my field of vision.  Sometimes the moon is so bright and the sky so clear that the need to have your headlights on is completely mute.  I love this night driving.  But tonight, I am tired and I am growing impatient to be done with the task of driving.  I think my emotions and my old age caught up to me around Tioga somewhere and I needed to pull over to grab a cup of coffee.

We had a quick stop, Harry and I took a little break, then got back into the van where he offered to take over driving.  No….you cannot drive yourself home from the hospital…that is just wrong…..I wasn’t that tired…..I didn’t have a crystal sword moving through my ureter today….I was fine.  So we settled into a nice 70 mph rhythum on the road again.  I tried to get my Praise station to come in clearly, but for some reason, every stationed seemed to be scrambled, so I soon gave up the hunt and turned the radio off.  We would have to keep each other company and keep each other awake.  I was also anxious to be done driving because I knew the girls and the babies were back in Bainville waiting for us.  They were so upset about Harry being taken to the hospital, they had packed up the babies and drove up to Bainville to see him.  They had planned to drive all the way to Minot, but that would have been a 5 hour drive and Harry was released from the hospital before they even got into Williston.  They agreed to wait at the trailer for us to return home, everyone needed a hug and the reassurance from Harry that he was truly ok, and would live to see another day, Lord willing.

We were going through the tiny town of Ray when I was struck again at yet another anomoly of this area.  Along our freeways, highways, dirt roads, cross roads and back roads, you have oil wells, bobbing up and down on a 24/7 repeating loop.  Usually the pad that supports the well head, is surrounded by a burmed in area that is graded nice and flat on a gravel base, providing a nice lot for other equipment to be parked and for trailers to be put up to house the monitors and the rotating staff that maintains the wells.  Somewhere next to this well manicured base area is a stub of a gas pipe line jutting up out of the ground with a high pressure flame blowing out of the top, sometimes as high as 20 feet into the air.  They are the burn off torches, burning off the by product of natural gas or methane gas that is part of the drilling process.  Well, during the day, you may drive past 10-20 of these torches and never really notice them much.  But at night….it is really a thing of beauty.  You can drive over the crest of a small hill, only to be engaged by the amber glowing torches, dotted all over the country side.  A gradient orange circle fades away from each of  the intense centers of the flames until  the landscapes grows darker and darker as you get farther away from the heart of the fire.  They are everywhere and they remind me of the volcanic ports of gaseous fire balls that come up from the ocean floors in some of our deep dark mysterious waters off the coast of South America.  Where else in this country would you get a view like this?  Just another one of the Bakken Basin charms I guess, along with the steady cloud of dust that rolls out behind the heavy trucks as they caravan out to a new well site, or the line of red dusty men standing in line in front of you at the bank, or the blocks of man camps parked along the roads and the steady stream of white, 2 ton pick up trucks roaring around town with an assortment of company logos adorning their doors along with their D.O.T. numbers.

This is a unique town….crazy with all of the new growth, the wierd equipment and traffic relating to the oil business and the pure unrelenting busy-ness of it all.  Here we are in the midst of it, living out our particular drama of the day, a trip to the hospital, lives completely unnoticed by most, loved by a few, but not forgotten or abandoned by 1 God.  It would be very easy to life a life of anonimity in this place.  To many companies you can be just another number…..one of 200 men running around in blue, red or yellow coveralls.  It would be easy to live unto yourself here, with no ties to anyone or anything, just working like a mule, collecting a grand paycheck at the end of the week and living the life of a drone.  But how much more God wants for us.  Even with all the little speedbumps that we have encountered, there is life here….abundant life.  And I am learning that abundant, victorious life has very little to do with your health or your wealth.  For in Christ we have unfathomable riches, we have a hope and a future, we can be bold before him in prayer and confident that he keeps his promises.  That gives my little jaunts across the grasslands to retreave a sick boy at night,  a little perspective.  I am just a teeny tiny speck of a person in the universe, yet God seeks me out and answers my prayers.  And he is my torch, just like the torch before Israel, walking across the desert, he is always there and I am finally learning what it means to trust him.

That night we pulled into our trailer hood, ambled up the steps to our home and were greeted with “GRANDPA” shouts from 3 little bodies.  Marner and Bug had to have first crack at Grandpa, hugs all around, kisses and time on a knee.   Little Dude wanted a hug then quickly came running to Grandma for hugs and giggles.  Marner was so cute, he patted Harrys wrinkly dry skin on his arm and asked if he was still broken.  Harry gave him another hug and reassured him that he was still sick, but not completely broken yet.  We had a very nice, but short visit with the girls and the babies before sending them on their way for a long, late night trip back to Miles City.  They would have to keep each other awake, since by the time we got all the babies buckled up, they had their stuffed animals, blankets and water bottles and they were nodding off to sleep before Momma even had the engine started.

The next day was Sunday, I went to church, Harry slept in.  I asked the faithful people of Bainville to pray for my Harry’s healing.  When I returned home, he told me that he had gotten a phone call from his cousin…..his other cousin was just killed in a car accident.  That quick, everything can change.  Again, another hurdle to climb over, another time of loss, more prayers go up in faith.  Harry had grown up with this cousin and in younger years they were very close.  Time and differences led to a more distant relationship, but the suddenness of the loss hit hard.  So today, Harry is in Sandpoint reuniting with his cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Mother and Brothers and some dear friends.  I am comforted greatly when Harry tells me he had a chance to talk to a few of his family members and he asked  if they were saved through Jesus?  What a bold thing for this man of mine to do, and it just shows me how much God is drawing him and he is submitting.  We still have all of our flaws, at times all I see are our failures, and we both still have our weaknesses and Harry is still smoking the evil cigarettes.  But we are learning to surrender more and more.  I am reminded of the verse, “He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it”.  How wonderful is the long suffering of our God.

 

Do you kiss your Momma with that mouth???

Tomorrow I will begin my second full week of work in the man’s man world of the oil field industry.  I have been hired on by a large global oil drilling company and I could not be happier to have this new opportunity.  Finally I am productive and filling a necessary void for this company in the job of document control assistant.  There is however a particular challenge to working with all of these men in blue jumpsuits…it is keeping your personal respect boundaries.

For all of those that ascribe to the idea that men and women are evolving into smarter, wiser, more sophisticated creatures…I say…..PHOOEY on that idea.  The men (and some women) that I work with….and there are about 100 in our area of the shop, are a debase bunch of characters.  They are a cross section of men  from all over the country,  a  diverse demographic of old and young, rich and poor, Yankees and Rebels.  These men are funny, and friendly and crude, rude and full of expletives.  Most of my contact is with the shop guys….licensed mechanics, experienced managers, leads and organizers that have been educated, have worked in their field for years and now they are here, working at the oil company on a rotating shift of 16 days on and 6 days off.   They have brought with them their duffle  bags stuffed with an arsenal of clean underwear, steel toed boots, hard hats and a host of swear words that all seem to start with the letter F.

My first day on the job, I reported to my immediate supervisor and was escorted out to the shop area to meet  Angela, my partner in crime for document control. I was taken aback by the sheer volume of large men, dressed in blue coveralls,  stuffed into this broken down room, guarded by the heavy steel door, the air thick with the heavy smell of diesel fumes and sweaty men.    In the corner of this room was a huddle of steel file cabinets surrounding a folding table with a dusty computer on it and hosting 2 black folding chairs….this is our little corner of their world.  With my  blonde hair, clean clothes and makeup…I stood out like a sore thumb against the canvas of muddy floors, blue jumpsuits, 5 oclock shadows, hard hats and broken down chairs pushed up to a makeshift desk where men were working on their lap tops.    They looked up to notice a new person walking in, then they quickly went back to their business at hand.  The main purpose of their business seems to be out swearing one another while using the word that starts with F.  Apparently there are no other adjectives in our English language and this word is to be used at least once in every sentence.  It is the code of delivery for every story, every reprimand by a superior, and every subservient to his master to describe his particular project.  It may be used in jest….when telling a story from his last rotation, but most often it is used to describe the intolerable behavior of the previous shift, or the incompetence of a green young trainee, or the frustration with the chain of bureaucracy that is holding up their work process.  To say the least, I was convinced that the over exposure to this language would surely result in my tender ears burning off my head.

I do not live in a bubble, I know that this language exists…I do have cable TV.  But seriously….are there no other words in the English dictionary….did their education come to a screeching halt in the 3rd grade, when they stumbled upon this divine taboo word on the playground?   It doesn’t even convey the shock value that it once did, simply due to the over use of it.  It reminds me of the smurfs movies…..A completely ridiculous attempt at creating a land and culture of little blue people and everything is smurf this and smurf that.  At what point does it become maudlin….use the same word over and over and pretty soon the people around you are going to start to question just how high your education experience really went.  Does it make you truly “male” to use this word over and over?  Does it make you sophisticated and evolved?  Let me offer you my humble opinion on this matter.   No….it makes you sound like a unimaginative fool.  Men and women will run wild with the constant stream of foul language until someone has the hoo ho’s to draw a line in the sand.    So Men and Women out there…..I beseech you to be that person.   Yes, I just said beseech…it has passion and a lovely tone of pleading to it.   You be the one that sets the standard.  I was visiting with one of the men that had just come back on rotation and he asked me  my how I felt about the language that was flying about my head.  I told him, that I would appreciate it very much if it was toned down….that they could consider the presence of the 2 women in their room and temper their tongues.

Ladies….a lot of the responsibility is up to us.  If we demand higher standards….if you politely ask for consideration, you will most likely receive it.  When you work at such a large company they have human resource offices overflowing with literature on Sexual Harassment , and they are more than happy to share this  with you for 8 hours at a time.  No one wants to go to these “bad boy classes” including me.  But I have noticed a stark reduction in the amount of language being used while in our break room, just because I spoke up and said “Yes, I really do mind.”   Whether they like it or not, they now have to work with 2 women and they should behave differently.  If they have to refrain from using filthy profanity for a few hours a day….perhaps the work environment will improve for all of them.  When a person gives in to their environment, instead of improving it with their own example along with asking for consideration based on what used to be a common deference to women, then you have just agreed that you are not worth a higher standard.  I am sorry….I do not agree.  I am worth more than that….I do not want a man to feel comfortable using language in front of me that could make a Hell’s Angel blush.  Why should I?  I am not asking for them to tip toe around me…the girl with the virgin ears…I am just asking that they behave with some modicum of respect, professionalism and gentlemen likeness….like their Momma should have beat into them when they were impressionable young boys.

I was talking to my neighbor about this and he agreed with me whole heartily.  He told me a story of a young woman that works on his ditch digging crew.  She bantered back and forth with her male counterparts with the same depraved language and gestures that had become their low standard of the day.  He said he was just embarrassed for her….she should not have lowered her standards so low….she should be insisting that they treat her as an equal, but with respectful deference for her gender.   And she should have been leading by her own example.  Unfortunately, she completely gave into her environment, and she became one of the boys.  And in my opinion, everyone lost, especially her.

I used to listen to this radio program on the Christian station late at night when I didn’t have TV.  The pastor would end each program with “Make yourself a blessing”.    Imagine what your work environment would be like if everyone showed up with this attitude.  ”Make yourself a blessing to those around you”…..you just might be surprised at how much change can start with one person.

Bring on the leeches!

Ten months ago we started on this trek through our medical issues with my Harry.   It’s funny isn’t it..one moment, life is whizzing by as normal, then something appears a little weird and within a month it is a lot weird and then all of a sudden your world is turned sideways and you are looking at long term health issues with a questionable outcome.  Harry has seen countless doctors and by now if you have been keeping up with my blog, you know he has been seen and treated and passed around from doctor to doctor with a variety of treatments and a host of tried and failed  prescriptions.  But we feel like we are on the right path now and he has been diagnosed with his iron disease and his heavy metal poisoning and now….a skin fungus to add to the cocktail of his special  maladies.

On Monday Harry added to his monthly routine the ritual of blood-letting that is reminiscent of mid-evil days.   The mind conjures up a darkened stone room, unsightly leeches caged in a dirty glass jar and a suspicious looking “Practicing Physician” applying these  black slimy blood suckers to a patient strapped down to a hard table.  Harry was not strapped down, the room was not dark and they were not using leeches  for this particular exercise…but the results were going to be the same.  Harry is going to have a pint of blood removed every week or every other week in order to get his iron levels under control.  They are hoping to have his heavy metal counts down also, as the body is forced to produce new blood cells to replace those that are being drained.  We were very discouraged when the test that was administered before the blood-letting procedure showed that Harry’s red blood cell count was still too high and his iron level was supposed to be under 12 pts. and it was 17 pts.   He has been trying  hard to obey his doctors instructions…he stays on his diet, he takes his remedies, he drinks a lot of water and has given up all the bad things except the cigarettes, in hopes of making a dent in his iron levels.  Nothing seems to be working.

To make matters worse, we are seeing an alarming amount of body hair disappearing.  The man has a bald body.  At an age when most men are fighting the battle of the Caterpillar eyebrows, koala bear ear hair and walrus nose hairs…my Harry is not hairy anymore.  His skin is as smooth as a baby’s, slightly orange, tough and itches 24/7.  The other day, he yelled for me to come and look at his eyebrow.  It appeared that part of his left eyebrow had fallen off.  This is now getting dangerously close to his head.  My Harry has always been fairly vain and proud of his jet black hair, that has been stubbornly refusing to turn grey inspite of his 58 years.  He likes to keep his hair trimmed short, but has recently been alarmed that he has not had a hair cut since November 20th, and he still does not look like he needs one.  We were watching TV last night and I caught a glimpse of a large amount of skin under only a few hairs on Harry’s right temple.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him, I can scarcely imagine what is going to happen in the next few months.  If this migration of all of his hair continues….my Harry with his beautiful black hair is going to be bald.  I guess that spares him the indignity of turning grey…..but BALD???   As silly as it sounds, I think going bald scares him more than hearing his iron count is way too high or that his heavy metal count is lethal….bald means you are really sick and the whole world is going to know.  Bald means you get cold too….very cold, as soon as the temperatures dip, Harry is shivering and has a very hard time getting warmed up again.

The hair loss issue reached a critical point and Harry wanted to consult with his doctor about it.  He also described some issues he was having with the skin on his face and his hands, especially around his finger tips.  It was decided that Harry has also developed a skin fungus.  How does a person get a skin fungus?   Is this the real reason for the hair loss?  Is it a fungus that pounces on people that are already sick, iron levels are so high the fungus flourishes?  I don’t know.  We have just received the new remedies for the fungus, and oh, how I am praying that they work quickly.  Mostly, I am hoping they heal the fungus and it will some how allow hair to start growing back on my poor bald boys body and it will retain the hair on his  big square head.

Our life is fairly boring right now…we have our routine and it all revolves around work and Harry’s health.  Our entire world is governed by this itch and Harry’s inability to sit still, be in the cold or go into water.   Harry goes to work, I do chores, make dinner, run errands.  At night Harry and I measure out his remedies, go down the list to make sure all have been taken for the day, eat dinner and watch a little TV and we scratch.  Harry loves to be scratched.   A year ago, this same man would squeal if I scratched him too much and would beg me to stop.  He has always hated back rubs and now, he is the polar opposite of that, he begs me for a good back scratch.  We sit with a plastic pasta fork by the sofa that he uses to reach his itchy spots on his back, but what he really loves is having me rake his back with my sharp fingernails in a vigorous half rub and half scratch for several minutes at a time.  When I am not scratching his back, he is attacking his feet, chest, thighs….every square inch of him gets a thorough exfoliating every night.  He is a man who is in constant motion and sometimes, he makes me a little crazy with it.   It is like sitting next to a large puppy that has fleas.  I am not saying my Harry has fleas….but he itches like a puppy with fleas, and he loves to have his belly scratched.

All of this started about 10 months ago.  It has had it’s scary moments, moments that I have given into the fear of losing my husband, of facing a long term battle against this illness and of our unknown future.  In our overly zealous pride, we delude ourselves into thinking we have all of our ducks in a row,  that we know what will happen today and tomorrow and we plan all of our days out.  Then we get slapped with cold hard truth of reality.   We cannot control anything.  Our futures, our retirements, our health is not predictable.  We are not the rulers of our own universe and the kings of our own destiny.  That is pride runneth amuck.   So everyday we keep asking for healing, we keep praying for strength and wisdom and for the grace to handle all that is coming our way.  We give thanks for the days we have had, for our home and for the provisions we have.  It can be scary, but fear  tears you down  but faith gives you hope.  So we chose faith.

Victory!!!

I feel like I have finally won a battle. Woman versus Banking Institutions.  The WWE smackdown of  the personal finance world.. I have had many confrontations with the dreaded credit union this past week.  I have been attempting to secure a bank account with them, and I started to feel a little like it was David against Goliath. Ever since I have landed in Montana, I have been trying to set up all the basics one requires to survive. A post office box, a job, a bank, a church, friendships and favorite shopping and eating places. I am not asking for the moon, just the basics. This modest adventure has tried to kick my butt many times and today was starting to look like it was going to end like all other days…in defeat and frustration….with the added spice of a little humiliation.

My day started fine, Mary Kay called and asked if I wanted to meet her down at the Welcome Stop for coffee.  It was delightful.  I visited with 3 other women, we shared stories of our children, our jobs, our daily chores and what was on the agenda for the rest of the day.  I am beginning to form good friendships with these lovely women and I so appreciated being invited to share a simple cup of coffee with them.  Thank you God for giving to me these delightful women.

Afterwards, I came back home, showered, straightened up the trailer and then headed off to Williston in hopes of gaining ownership of the coveted bank account in my local town.  Harry and I talked about all the trouble I was having with Western Co-op, so I made an executive decision and said phooey with them. I would just go to a regular local bank.  Hopefully one that wasn’t so difficult to deal with.  Oh..I am so naive.

I pulled up to the first bank, went inside and asked to open an account.  They couldn’t do it there, I had to go to their main office downtown.  No problem….I got into my little van and off I went.  I walked into the very western, very masculine bank and asked to open an account.  I handed over my ID, my current debit card, my SS# and she ran a report on me, then excused herself to go talk to her manager.  A few moments later, she returned with a concerned look on her face and said she was sorry, but she could not let me open an account because my home was in foreclosure.  My home was in foreclosure????  What does one have to do with the other….of course my home is in foreclosure…why else would I be living in a trailer on the Montana plains?

This is the reality that we are now living with.  Our business has been shut down.  My home is in foreclosure and slated for sale by the end of this month.  I am powerless to stop it…I just do not have enough money.  I used to have enough money for all of my bills….for years and years…I paid my bills, I cleaned my house, I disciplined my children, I went to church, I went to work, I mowed my lawn, I voted.  I was by all standards a responsible human being.  I have never been bankrupt.  I have never stopped paying on a bill before….Never.  But now, all of a sudden I feel like I have a mark on me.  I am one of THOSE people that lives on the edge and gets in over her head and cannot be responsible with her money or a bank account.  But that is not who I am.

So when Marri came back to the desk to inform me that I was not welcome to put my money in their respectable bank…I immediately felt very un-respectable.  I wanted to burst into tears right there.  Is it going to be like this for the next 10 years?  Even though 50% of the people living in this country are in some sort of financial crisis; is this what I am going to be up against when I want a bank account, when I interview for a job, when I go shopping for a new car?  I found out recently that some companies do run a credit check on you before they are willing to hire you.  If they see that your home is in foreclosure you could be denied employment when you need it most based on the assumption that you are reckless, foolish and irresponsible.  I can understand to some degree, but when is your personal life really your personal life.

Recently some states have issued new rules about those accepting welfare checks.  They are asking all recipients to do a drug test before they are cleared to receive state funds.  I guess a lot of people are complaining and saying that their rights  are being violated by the new regulations.  Do you know what I had to do  to get my job?  I had to fill out a 17 page application, agree to a background check, have a breathalyzer test, hair follicle test, urine test, and take a safety test on a computer and next week I have to have a  complete physical.  If I want to work, to support myself and my family….these are the hoops I have to go through.  And, that is all fine, if it allows me to finally have a full time, well paying job, well then so be it.  But why is it, if you want to do the responsible thing, like get a job, you have to submit to more scrutiny than a person who doesn’t want a job, but just wants a hand out.  It seems a little backwards.  And why is there more stigma attached to owning a home and losing it because of the economy, than to never owning anything and living on welfare checks and food stamps?

So, I left the respectable bank in the big brick building standing very proudly on the corner of Main and 3rd, and went across the street to another bank.  I asked to open an account there, and the clerk informed me that I would need an appointment, and she would not have an opening until Tuesday of next week.  Seriously???  I made the appointment, and left thinking it was all over, I would just go buy a few groceries, then head back home.  I resolved myself to just mailing my checks back to Sandpoint, to have them deposited in my credit union that had already granted me an account.

I was meandering around the Economart feeling dejected, when I remembered that they had a bank inside their building along with a post office and a liquor store.  I decided to suck up my waning and bruised pride and go in to ask for an account.  I steeled myself for yet another rejection, but to my astonishment, she said….SURE!  Finally, a friendly face, and an efficient yet thorough application process that had me signing on the dotted line in less than 25 minutes.   I handed over the $400.00 in checks that I have had in my wallet for over a month now, and walked out of the tiny little kiosk of a bank as the proud owner of my very own checking account.  YEAH!  David beats Goliath one more time….the story never gets old.

Today was another big WIN for me.  Not a Charlie Sheen win, but a big win for me none the less.  I have one more thing tying me to this new town and my new future.  I plan to thoroughly embed myself in my community and in my church and my work and to do my best in making it a great place to live.  I will take my physical next week, and then go to work for Schlumberger and show up everyday on time.  I will put my checks in my new bank and I will pay my bills and continue to vote and live responsibly.  Because that is who I really am.

January 2012 005

Cinnamon Rolls and Courage

I heard that the definition of courage is being scared to death to do something, but doing it anyway.  I think of this definition often in my dreams when I must battle against some evil person or some tragic event to save the ones I love.  In my dreams I am a super hero…I am always there in the nick of time to save my babies or now my grandbabies.   I love the idea that I can be valiant, that I could be smart enough in a time of crisis to figure out how to ride in and save the day.  In reality, I am a middle aged woman stuggling to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up and wondering if I have enough courage to keep trying.

I have been watching the movie Julie and Julia and it has inspired me again to not give up on my passions.  I love to cook, as the characters in this show, but I also love to sing, and to paint.  Oh, I am not a trained chef, musician or painter, but I am an enthusiast to be sure.  Today, I woke up with a goal….the  goal of making cinnamon rolls..big fat fluffy white bread cinnamon rolls oozing with lots of butter and cinnamon, topped with luscious white icing and smelling just a bit like a swirl of spicy heaven.  Julia Childs is right…there is no substitute for butter; lots of creamy sweet salty butter smooth and silky on the tongue.  There is no substitute for creativity either and the real joy of creating something with your own two hands that touches all of your senses and fills you like nothing else can.

First I had to go to the store to buy flour.  I almost felt like I was sneaking something….like I was being naughty.  You see, Harry and I are wheat free.  We cannot eat wheat at all, so for a couple of months now, I have not owned  flour in the conventional form.  I have oat flour, sorghum flour, rice, millet, quinoa and tapioca flour….but alas….no wheat.  I have found that it is very possible to make  bread like products out of these flours that are very palatable.  But today, I needed to get my hands into the dough.  I had a real emotional need to touch the dough, to work it until it was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, to feel the warmth of it and the softness of the bread in its raw form.   Today I wanted to watch it rise with it’s yeasty magic and smell the earthiness of it.  Bread is a living thing, because of the wonder of the tiny microbes of the single celled fungi known as yeast.   You can take inert ingredients, throw them all together in a bowl, then add yeast and it becomes alive.

As I sit here typing, I have 2 round pans sitting on my mobile kitchen island.  Inside the pans, these spirals of bread, sugar and cinnamon are threatening to breach the walls of the pans that are trying in vane to contain them.  The air inside my trailer is heavy with humidity and warmth , to insure 2 fully bloomed pans of the little  budding wonders.

Cooking and baking is the process of letting your mind wonder across the produce list, the meat list, and dry goods to pull ingredients together, sometimes in unusual or unexpected ways to create something to feed your eyes, your smell, your tongue and your body and your soul.  It is always worth the trouble.  It is always worth the wait.  You know it every time you take your prized bread or rolls out of the oven and your nostrils are assaulted by the aroma that quickly fills the kitchen.  You know it is worth it when you take the first bite of your newest creation and your eyes roll back in your head and you are almost weak in the knees by the sensual notes of sweetness bouncing across your taste buds.  Homemade bread reminds you of Mother, or Grandma.  It makes you feel loved and at home.

Cooking and painting and singing are the only things I have loved deeply enough to not give up on.  I have struggled all of my life with the notion that I was destined to not be gifted at anything.  I don’t say this to garner any kind of pity….it is just one of the things that I have struggled with.  I suppose I saw in accomplished people something that I inherently did not possess.  I guess, perhaps it is the idea that those that have accomplished great things in their lives, have been gifted with something special and they really didn’t have a choice about their life.  Like a savant.  And, in part, I saw in myself that that special gift or talent was missing.  I am not a savant…I cannot sit down at a piano and play some gorgeous melody written by Schubert.   I do not attempt a new song with the angelic voice of Julie Andrews, nor are my painting attempts on par with  Monet.  But today, while watching my movie I was struck by the idea that even someone as learned and talented as Julia Childs fought with failure or the perception of it.  She questioned her abilities many times if the movie is at all representative of her real life.  But, she was passionate about her cooking.  She had the desire to share it with others and through the practice of her craft, she found success in the end.  And even in her life, it was a long time in coming.  Perhaps that is where we really need our courage; to hang onto our passions and to keep practicing.

Today, I am reminding myself of one of my true passions…cooking and sharing my cooking creations with others.  Food is not only a wonderful comfort to us, but it is also a necessity and can be a gift of love to someone.  Since Harry and I are on special diets, we are forced to cook for ourselves most of the time, forced to cook everything from raw ingredients, as God has intended and forced to enjoy this process of  creating something out of nothing with our own 2 hands.  In order to buffer the feeling of living without sometimes, you must stretch your imagination and think outside the box in order to find recipes that keep your sense of wonder alive.  Variety is not only the spice of life, it is the spice of food.  You must wonder about the produce isle and dare to try new things.  Grab hold of the collard greens with gusto and do not fear parsnips….they are a dream and have become my new potatoe.  Sometimes, restrictions just force us to discover what has been out there all along, but we never had to try it.

I have just pulled the first pan of cinnamon rolls out of my teeny tiny oven.  I used to have 2 stoves, banked side by side in my house in Sandpoint.  I had 8 burners and 2 full sized ovens to be as creative and busy as anyone could hope to be.  Here, I have 3 burners and one 16″ oven in my little trailer….a challenge to be sure.  But right now I am looking at golden brown, bubbly goodness on my counter and I smell the nutty cinnamon peeking out from the folds of sweet dough.  It is a glorious thing to behold with your eyes and your nose.  My passion for cooking is the driving force that I need to keep attempting new recipes, to keep sharing them with others and to keep stretching my imagination.   I understand completely how they came up with the title “The Joy of Cooking”, it is a joy and pleasure to make good food for the people you love most in this world.

So with all the glorious boldness of Julia Childs…..Bon Apetite!

Christmas in Montana

It has been 30 years since I celebrated Christmas in Montana. The last time was in 1981, in Stevensville, when I was 19. We moved to Idaho the next spring, where I met and married my first husband, had my 3 babies and started over in a new state as an adult on my own and I have only been back to Montana a handful of times since.

Harry came home from work early on Saturday.  He knew his boss was going to try to get everyone out the door by noon, but he was told to go home at 11:30 and celebrate Christmas with his family.  He came into the trailer bearing a special card for me.  It has always been something Harry has done for me.  We don’t always exchange Christmas gifts…but he always get me a really great card, the words are perfect and it reminds me that this man really does have a heart and he loves me.  But the best present he came home with was the news that he had Monday off also!!!  We could spend an extra day in Miles City with the kids and that was better than anything he could have bought.  Harry went to work for this smaller company back in August and I am so thankful that they know who he is, he is not just a number, and they care about his well being.  So, Harry got home early, about 12:15, took a shower and started loading the truck up while I was still in my sweat pants, wrapping toys for the babies.

Simple things like wrapping Christmas presents take on a whole new meaning when you have no where to wrap.  I had to lay everything out on the bed, then wrap toys on a squishy foam mattress.  I have never been a great wrapper, but this year my attempts were just comical.  I remembered last years wrapping epiphany.  Since I really am not great at hospital corners and perfect presentations, I decided to do something that I am kind of good at.  I painted funny little animals and pictures on everyone’s presents.  It was brilliant.  Everyone was so distracted by their gun toting penguins or bears on sleds and gingerbread houses, they didn’t care that their package looked like a 4 year old wrapped it.  This year, every thing was bare bones and I found myself really missing my paint supplies.   Most of my presents were ordered on the internet and sent directly to the home of the recipient.  High tech and efficient, but very impersonal.  I am thankful that those people that love me understand my new living arrangement and were willing to be my Christmas wrapping pro-tem.

By 2:00 p.m. we were piled into the pick up, with the entire back seat full of presents, food, overnight bag and a few items I needed to store with Tyler at her house.  She has a garage attached to her house, and since it is not entirely full, I am storing some of the items I brought over here with me, but really have no room for; ie: my inversion table.  Sad, yes, but the inversion table I bought to help with my back issues is now sitting 3 hours away in a cold garage, and my back will just have to hold up for the next few years.  I had to replace it with a mobile closet for the back bedroom…you just cannot have enough storage room for clothes.

It is an easy drive to Miles City, just under 3 hours depending on traffic and road conditions.  I must say, this year the road conditions have been so perfect….a few days of light snow, a few days of ice, but nothing major, nothing to give us grief.  It has made the move and transition so much easier, and I praise God for giving us this time of reprieve with the weather.  We drove past miles and miles of sugar beet farms and black Angus ranches on our way through Sydney, Glendive, Fallon and then finally into Miles City.  I remarked to Harry how ironic it is that now that my doctor wants me to eat very little meat, and only chicken and fish, we have moved to the beef capital of the country.   It all works out great for him, he is supposed to eat all kinds of meat except pork, so he is very excited that the kids have a good steak house in their town.  I am still looking for the vegetarian restaurants….apparently they are the best kept secrets of the area, I haven’t found one yet.

We were pulling up on the outskirts of town just as the sun was beginning to set.  My painters eye caught the yellow/red highlight that was lacing the edges of the short prairie grasses.  The small rounded hills were throwing shadows into the ravines behind them.  It was December 24th and nearly 50 degrees.  It was unseasonably warm and so lovely.  When we crested a fairly large hill, we could scan the rolling landscape  for 360 degrees, and it looked like nu-buck suede, rolled out past the highway.  Harry suddenly points off to my right, “Look at that Muley, my gosh he is huge” he exclaims.  I jerked my head to the right quickly to catch a glimpse of a scene right out of Bambi.  There on the top of a hill, just off the highway, stood a massive mule deer with a  heavy, long tined 5-point rack, well muscled, well fed, looking like a majestic statue of himself.  He seemed to be assessing his kingdom while announcing to the world around him that he was indeed untouchable and proud.   The sunset to his back outlined his grey/tan body in gold and red, providing just a hint of reverence to his already impressive portrait.  I never get tired of the beauty of God’s creation.

We took the first exit off the freeway for Miles City, navigated a few side streets, then turned to the right  onto the main drag in hopes of finding our motel quickly.  We checked into our room, after happily securing it for a second day, then went to settle in.  We were supposed to have dinner with the children then pack up the babies and bring them back to the motel for some fun play time in the pool.  Turned out that the pool was closed for repairs!  Shoot, I was really looking forward to playing in the water with the babies.  Oh, well, we just freshened up a bit and then headed off to the kids. We pulled into the tree lined historic district where the girls rented their older 2 story home.  We saddled up to the curb, grabbed our food items out of the truck and went for the front door.  Through the diamond shaped windows on the outside door, I saw 3 little faces coming at me.  First little dude, then Marner, then Bug….the little people in my life that have completely stolen my heart.  We were home.  Grandma and Papa were home.

We were going to miss our other children a lot this Christmas, we have a son/daughter in law and 2 baby girls in Seattle, a son/girlfriend in Bozeman and a son/grandson in Missouri.  You are never quite completely whole, until you have connected with all of your kids.  So we made phone calls and wished everyone a very Merry Christmas, told them we loved them bunches and bunches.  Then we spent 2 days cooking, eating, washing dishes, playing with play dough, watching Winnie the Pooh, coloring, singing “Frosty the Snowman” and reading the Christmas story, talking and laughing.  The boys napped, us girls visited and played with the new toys and refereed arguments over new scooters.  The greatest part of Christmas is …….Joy!  We celebrate because our Savior was born on this day,” A Baby Changes Everything” and that has made my today possible.  I am forgiven, because I have accepted that most precious gift, so I am free to forgive everyone else around me.  And because of that relationship, I can face all things with the security of knowing he has a plan for me.  And we can have JOY……!  How can you not have joy when you know you were loved so much.

Jehovah, I am that I am, Elhoheim, The Strong One, El Shaddai, The Almighty God, The Creator of the Universe, Jehovah!