Poetry Anxiety

I've just finished up some ugly Algebra homework and am needing to stay awake long enough to process my laundry. So I thought I'd catch up a little on my e-journaling. I fell asleep last night while trying to cram in my poetry reading prior to my literature class tonight. I woke up just before midnight and found my light still on, my glasses still on, and my book sprawled across my chest--it was the oddest feeling. I ditched the effort at that point, but woke up again at 4:00 a.m. I was really sore from my chiropractic treatment yesterday so I tried to find my stash of Aleve, and, of course, could NOT find it anywhere. I finally gave up, went back to bed, and worked on reading some more poetry. I went back to sleep a little after 4:30.

This poetry stuff has GOT to go. I was discussing it with some of my classmates tonight, and we are all unanimous in our consensus that it is the epitome of misery. I thought my analysis paper on the short story was tough--the poetry analysis has got it beat all to pieces. It's almost as if it's a totally different language; it doesn't matter that it's in English. Take this excerpt, for example:

"As virtuous men pass mildly away,
and whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No;"

Profound, eh? Now, I'm sure there's at least one of you out there who will read that and know exactly what is meant by it with little or no effort at all. But this type of thing is HARD for me--it is NOT my love language. I am not--nor have I ever pretended to be--an analytical person. And so I keep whining...

God and I had a little Talk one night about my first analysis paper--and it looks like another one is certainly in order.

My cousin William's wedding was last weekend in PA. I had several mid-term exams and/or assignments to get behind me before I headed out for the weekend. It was a very stressful week with very smallish nights. I could tell I was not getting my proper allotment of rest, but in situations such as these, you just adjust and do what you have to do.

I had noticed some lower back pain Monday and Tuesday, but then it went away by Wednesday. Friday morning, we got up at 4:00 a.m. to make our 6:25 flight out of Nashville. The plan was for Martin, Sharon, and me to fly from Nashville to D.C. and then drive to PA with Alvin and Doretta. I was making last-minute adjustments, etc., before we left the house. I bent over just slightly to iron a little bit of something, and in the blink of an eye, I went from being a fully-functional adult to a cripple who could hardly move. The lower back pain was back with a vengeance! I quickly swallowed some Aleve, but there was not much time to delay--we had a flight to catch. I laid the seat back on the ride down to Nashville and stretched out hoping somehow whatever was causing the pain would miraculously be re-adjusted. But it was not to be.

This pain was later diagnosed to be a pinched nerve. I had never experienced anything like it before; I couldn't sit--I couldn't walk--I couldn't even haul my own luggage. And as usual, we Menno chicks got snagged at security because of the many metallic items in our hair. And it was simply torturous to take my shoes off. By this time, boarding for our flight had already begun. We could tell Martin hadn't traveled with Mennonite women recently--he stood there impatiently twiddling his thumbs making pointed glances at his watch. Sharon and I both got the pat down for the first time. The lady was apologetic, but it was like... C'mon! do what you gotta do--I've got a flight to catch! It took me so long to get my shoes back on that Sharon and Martin didn't want to wait for me to get them tied. So there I was--strings streaming out behind me, tromping down the hall, as I tried hard to stay caught up with them. We got there finally. "You're at the right gate, at the right time," as the lady put it. Whew! Time to relax just a bit. To add insult to injury, Sharon had to help me tie my shoes in the cramped quarters of the tiny plane. I was really hurting by this time.

I noted that, as usual, there was a whiney kid across the aisle in the seat in front of us. There's always at least one in every flight, I've noticed. Well, the kid we could deal with-- what we could NOT deal with, however, was the cat that was seated several seats up. Yowl, yowl, yowl! And at take-off, YOWL, YOWL, YOWL! And we yowled all the way to D.C. The owner, as Martin noted, seemed to be of the Cruela DeVille type. She had furs and leopard print clothing adorned with cat pins. And she spoke so fondly of her "spoiled baby." It was amusing to hear a guy several rows back say, "Boy, I thought I heard a cat for a minute there," to which someone else assured him that in actuality he HAD heard a cat.

When we finally got to D.C., Alvin made arrangements for me to be seen by a chiropractor. We went to Choice Books first so that I could see the imaging software Alvin designed for Choice; from there, we went to the chiropractor. They dropped me off after which the rest of them went to a coffee shop to wait. The doctor put me on some type of therapy which required me to lie flat on my back for about ten minutes. When it was time to get up, I physically could not do it. The nurse had to let me grab ahold of her arm and she pulled me up. By that time, I was dizzy, my vision was blurred, and I could hardly walk or sit. I sat in the exam room for about five minutes before the doctor came in to give me the rest of the treatment. By the time I was finished, I felt as if I had been to war and back. If anything, I felt worse. I made my way out to the street to wait for my ride.

The doctor had told me to pack my back with ice, so we went back to Choice to get me fixed up. We headed up to PA then. It was about a four hour drive, and I was good and ready to get there. I was stiff as a board and had to limber up every time I got out of the van. I worked on my Algebra homework that night, then went to bed early (or at least earlier than I had been recently). I think I got about nine hours of sleep. I had my back packed with pillows and ice and slept quite well. [Thank goodness, I had packed my Squishy. A Squishy is a marvelous little pillow that we discovered at Wal-Mart this last summer. It's got spandex fabric on the outside and tiny little beans on the inside. It makes for a wonderful little pillow. Everyone should have their own Squishy.] Alvin and Doretta had to be at the wedding earlier than the rest of us. So we didn't wake up till Alvin pounded on the door to get to the keys. Being the responsible one, I was, of course, the one who responded to the door. I could tell the instant I was on my feet that my back was 100% better. Who would've thought??? I was still really sore, but I could function again, praise God!

The wedding was fun. It was nice to be able to sit and enjoy it. And Will--he was literally somewhere up there in amongst the clouds. What fun to be able to celebrate his wedding with him. After some serious cousin-ing at the church, we decided to continue the evening and went to the hunting lodge afterward where Joe's were staying; we ended up staying till midnight!

On Sunday morning, we drove back down to VA to Arlen & Rita's place for lunch. She, of course, had a wonderful lunch waiting for us. We spent the afternoon just chatting away.

We headed for the airport about two hours early. I would have to just point out that SOME amongst our ranks thought I was being overly cautious time-wise, but in the end, we had not a second to spare. We got inside that airport, and the line for security started at the door--went the length of the airport, curled around and went back and down and around and in and out... I have never seen such a long line for security. We had a little over an hour by the time we got to the line. It moved fairly quickly, but it was still a long time. Martin got through security just fine, and we were in the next ones over, just about ready to step through the Menno-snaggers. In fact, our carry-on items had gone through the x-ray machines already-- when, of course, there was "an alarm on the other side" and Sharon and I were pushed back outside so that they could go into shut-down mode. They closed off security with these little gate thingys--there we were on one side and there Martin was on the other side-- we had sent our cell phones through so all we could do was gesture through the gate. Once again, we found ourselves pressed for time. Finally, finally--everything was cleared, and we were able to proceed. This time Sharon made it through with no problems. While we were waiting, she had stripped her hair of everything except three hairpins, one barrette, and two small clips to hold her veil in place. And it didn't beep. Well, now we know. I still had to be searched, however. But we made our flight. I spent the entire ride back working on my algebra. What a journey! And how good to be home!

On my way home tonight, I called Mom to see if Dad would possibly be interested in selling one of his many goats to Alexandra's sister-in-law. Alexandra says Ninfa has been crying for the last little while because her goat got into something he shouldn't have and is now in the process of dying. A bloated stomach is the main indication. "The way Alexandra explained it to me was, "See... Ninfa... she no have children..." Oh. That says it all. I guess I need to get a goat too. So anyway--Mom told me that our nanny goat had finally had her kids. Sharon and I decided to drive to the barn to see them. I stopped and picked Mom up, and we ambled on down to the barn. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn't planning on them being quite as cute as they were. Why, they're the size of kittens, relatively speaking. At the risk of sounding gushy... they are soooooo cute! I may have to follow Ninfa's example and adopt a "kid" of my own. I now understand a little better why one of my former students ran all the way home from church when her nanny goat had had her kids.

Well, I have well exceeded the time necessary to babysit my laundry.

Out of the Frying Pan

For those of you who have been privy to my burned popcorn, burned soup, burned teapot, and burned shelf stories, here's the latest edition in the "Here am I..Burn me" series.

I had just finished frying the last quesadilla and was sitting at my desk trying to figure out why my email wasn't working (which was another issue entirely). Sharon had just told me I may need to pack up my computer in my 29 inch suitcase and take it to Alvin next weekend to fix. All at once, I hear Sharon say, "Kris, what are you burning?!" then, "Get out here NOW!" What have I done this time?? I wondered. I was positive I had turned the burner off. I ambled out to see what she was talking about. I entered the hall and saw this smokey "mist" in the atmosphere. What in the world?? Sharon was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a smoking frying pan in her grasp. Bah! I was pretty sure this couldn't have been me...I've learned my lesson about Hot Things before. Yet the evidence, along with Sharon's accusing eye, gave me reason to believe it must be connected with me somehow.

What to do? What to do? Sharon told me to open the kitchen window for ventilation. "But the toads, Sharon, the toads." Well, open it from the top down then." I clambered on top of the sink murmuring about my no-good luck! And then we thought of it at the same time. The smoke alarms!! We now have tenants upstairs, and it would just be unacceptable to have our fire alarms go off and ruin an otherwise congenial relationship. Keep in mind, our smoke alarms are all connected. If one goes off, they all go off. Sharon didn't know what to do with the frying pan as it was hissing and bubbling (my nice teflon pan *weep here*). "Shall I put it under water?" she asked. "I don't care what you do with it," I said. "We need to wave something in front of the smoke detectors so they don't go off." I abandoned the window at this point because I couldn't determine if the window was locked or unlocked.

I hopped off the sink and scurried back down the hall. My adrenaline was kicking in, and I made record time down the hall and into the sewing room. "I'll just disconnect the thing," I told myself. I reached up and pulled the battery out. I knew something wasn't right with that plan, but in my frenzied state, I couldn't determine quite what it was. Oh yes. Taking the battery out won't help at all as long as we have electricity. I need to twist and pull it away from the wall.

On to mine and Sharon's rooms. The smoke was sure enough making its way down the hall. But I had my A-game for the first time of the day. I slammed the doors shut, grabbed my office chair, and stood on it in order to reach the smoke detector above my desk. I agree that this would've been considered a precarious position, but it had to do for the moment. Things were alright for all of two seconds.. I think I might've moved too hastily, for in the blink of an eye, I was wobbling, wobbling... Oh dear. Not only am I going to have a burnt pan to contend with, but I'm also going to have a broken leg. I crashed down unceremoniously onto my desk, sending a pile of papers and cds down onto the floor. Well, crumbs! Thank goodness I didn't do any further damage to myself. >Much<>

Back to the sewing room I went. Sharon, in the meantime, had disconnected hers in her room. Whew. Almost home free. I reached up to disconnect the sewing room alarm when screeeeeeeeeeeeech! WHAT??? What a terrible sound!! The sound sends chills through your bones. Too late. The smoke alarms were going full blast, downstairs and upstairs. Sharon met me in the hall and said, "We forgot about the one in the hall!!!" *Bang head against wall AGAIN!* I said, "Wave something in front of it..Quick!" Somehow I had this idea that if we quickly got it to shut up, they might not have noticed it upstairs. Sharon handed me the step ladder she was holding and desperately waved something from the dirty laundry basket in front of it. Whatever it was remains Unidentified. No sooner had we got it to shut off when it started up again. "Wave, Sharon, wave!!" I quickly set the ladder up, climbed up, and yanked the cord....er, wire. Then back to the sewing room to finish the first one. Blessed quietness, to be sure.

Then I had to climb the Steps of Humiliation. I tromped up the stairs and knocked. Stacey came to the door, and I humbly explained that everything was alright, and no, they didn't need to evacuate the premises. And I'm so sorry. Naughty burner. Stacey was very gracious and said she had done the same thing just the other day, only she hadn't set the alarms off (why me, then?).

I came back downstairs, and then oh... Sharon had a howl. She laughed until she cried. She guffawed and hee-hawed. She relived each painful detail until I quite wearied of it. We did manage to open the window. We also opened the door at the top of the stairs. I dragged my fan out of the closet and tried to keep the smoke out in the kitchen/living room area. This whole setup is still in effect. We've turned the lights off to keep any bugs from wandering in.

We figured out that yes, I HAD turned the burner off (AHA!)... only it was more on High than it was on Off... :-(

Whereupon, I decided that indeed... it's a tough job being me.

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I’ve decided to also attach Sharon’s version of the sordid affair. It reads as follows:

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I’m feeling deliciously lighthearted at the present moment.WKU is currently on fall break and my homework load is somewhat lighter than normal, but fall break isn’t necessarily responsible for my current tendency to break out into full hysterical laughter……no, it’’s life itself……with Kris as a sister/roommate/near arsonist.The evening started out innocently enough. I had gone to Mom’s for some chicken and rice for supper and brought the remaining portion home for Kris. After Kris got home from work, she ate what was there and still feeling somewhat hungry, she decided that some pepperjack quesadillas were in order. I was in the mood for some quesadillas as well, so I fixed one up for myself and took it to my room to munch as I messed with my e-mail. Rather than pack up the small hunk of cheese that was left, Kris just fried up another quesadilla.A short time later, I was interested in a drink so I headed to the kitchen in search of one. As I neared the kitchen, I heard a snap……and a crackle……and a pop. I saw a haze wafting out of the kitchen……and the smell, well, there isn’t one quite like it. (It immediately brought back flashbacks of last winter when Kris put on a pot of water to boil to make cappuccino and then went to study while waiting for it to come to a boil. She promptly forgot about it until I happened upon the scene after my shower, only to find the pot had boiled dry and was melting to the burner.) "Kris!! What are you doing?!?" I hollered back down the hall as I dashed into the kitchen expecting to see open flames because of the popping and crackling. Thankfully, the flames were non-existent but the bright red coil and smoking pan were real enough! Kris came bounding down the hall as Igrabbed the frying pan from the burner and turned the knob the remaining half-inch from as-High-as-it-would-go to Off.

"Oh, no!" she said. "Not again!! Is it ruined?" I don’t know. Will it ruin it if I put water in the pan when it’s that hot?" I asked her, fearing the Teflon would just curl right off the pan at any moment."I don’t know……it’ll just spatter you.". Hmm……comforting thought. I just kind of stood there for a bit, holding the smoking pan, not sure what to do with it. And then, "Quick, fan the smoke detectors so they don’’t go off!" Kris said, not wanting to disturb our renters on the first floor.She dashed back down the hall to start fanning smoke detectors and I knew that I couldn’t do any good with a smoking pan in my hand so I headed for the sink to try watering down the pan. It sizzled and boiled mightily but didn’t get too volcanic so I put it on one of the cool burners and headeddown the hall to try to help avert the disastrous setting off of alarms that sets off the whole house, not just the basement. Too late. "Shut our bedroom doors so the smoke can’t get to the detectors in there," one of us said. (It’s hard to remember who said what in a situation like that.) We slammed the doors of both our bedrooms and the sewing room but they continued to wail.

"Disconnect them," one of us said. I opened mybedroom door as Kris headed into her room and I jumped up onto the bed and turned the detector a quarter turn and disconnected the wires from the back. I put it on my bedside table and rushed back out into the hall. Kris’s door was closed and I heard a clatter inside as I tried to gather my wits aboutme and figure out how we could stop the wailing. I later found out that Kris had been standing on her swivel office chair to reach her smoke alarm……and (*drum roll, please*) it swiveled. She knocked a bunch of stuff to the floor trying to keep her balance.By this time, I could hear footsteps upstairs from the renters. Kris & I looked at each other, a bit wild-eyed. Then I looked up and saw the smoke detector that we had forgotten about……in the hall with free access to the smoky air. I grabbed a rag and started waving it around……it didn’t help. Igrabbed a step stool nearby and Kris climbed up and disconnected the alarm. And blissfully, silence once again reigned.

Kris ran up the back stairs to let our renters know that the house was not on fire. They exchanged a short conversation on kitchen adventures and Kris came back down, somewhat pink and very embarrassed.

About this time is when the hysterical laughter set in but, for some reason, I seemed to find it a bit funnier than Kris did. If we had just disconnected the hall detector first, we could probably have averted all the wailing.We set about trying to air the place out with frequent bouts of hysterics between mortified discussions of different aspects of the episode. We opened our lone window in the kitchen and I went to the top of the front stairs and opened the door, along with the garage door, in hopes of drawingthe foul smelling air up and out. Kris set up her fan in the hall to try to stir the air and I turned on the fan in the microwave above the stove.

We then retreated to our rooms to try to calm down a bit. "Why?" Kris asked. "Why would I not turn off the burner?"I explained to her that not only had the burner been on, it had been on as high as it would go. "Oh. That would explain it then. I thought that I had turned it off but evidently didn’t turn it all the way,"" she said.

A mere 20 to 30 minutes later, she declared that she had, in fact, turned it off and had no idea how it could possibly have turned itself back on. ……more hysterical laughter on my part. She ranted on for a bit about how her Teflon frying pan is probably ruined.

"Will it ever fry another egg? Another pancake? Another quesadilla?" she mournfully wondered. I advised her against cooking before she leaves the house in the morning, for fear that the house would no longer be standing by the time we got back."What would you do without me?" I asked her.

"Well," she said, "I’d wait for the smoke detector."

Sometime later, Kris opened my door and said, "You just wait. You just wait until it’s your turn. And then I’m going to laugh. I’m going to laugh harder than anyone. All two of us."

It was at least a full hour later before I remembered my original mission–A drink. That must have been a God given thirst.

Putting out Fires in Kentucky...

Sharon