This morning I woke up with a headache and sore throat, so I seriously contemplated skipping class and staying home to look at pictures and watch videos of my angel sister, Celia, since today is her birthday. Then I started thinking about the last few days of Celia’s life. Last year I spent the night at her house the night before her birthday, and — as I often do — I read late into the night. The next morning, I woke up groggy and grouchy because I hadn’t had my eight hours of sleep. Celia had stayed up pretty late, too, and she woke up with a headache, an occurrence that had been way too frequent those days. Celia asked if I wanted to go to church with her family, but I decided I’d sleep a little longer and count going to my nephew Josh’s blessing later that day as my church attendance.
Every once in awhile I have a bout of insomnia. Last night was one of those times. It didn’t help that the tapping I kept hearing outside my window reminded me of those creepy urban legends (or contemporary folktales, as we called them in my BYU folklore class) my friends used to tell me. You know, like the stories where the babysitter goes outside to check on a tapping noise and never comes back and the kids hear the tapping all night but don’t go outside to check on her because they’re scared, but then in the morning they go outside and see the dead babysitter hanging from a tree, her dangling foot tapping against the window. (Yes, urban legends are best told in run-on sentences). That sort of thing.
I just got home from the Public Library Association‘s 13th national conference in Portland. Oy. I think when my brain has had a chance to process everything, I’ll find that I learned a lot while I was sitting in those dark rooms of the Oregon Convention Center, but the main impression I had was that there are a lot of librarians in this country. Thank goodness. If you’re reading this post, I want you to take a moment and think of the ways librarians have contributed to the betterment of you and your community. If you can’t think of anything, send me a note and we’ll talk.
The overblown, schmaltzy strains of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” filled my ears as I stepped through the doors of the 73rd floor of the Columbia Center in downtown Seattle. I had just climbed 1,311 stairs — 69 floors — in Seattle’s tallest building to help raise awareness and money (by the way, you still have time to donate) for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, but I didn’t feel like much of a champion. The first 60 floors of the Big Climb were pretty easy as I kept a steady, gentle pace floor after floor. But when the bracelet Maria gave me the day of Celia’s funeral snapped in half after catching on my pocket, I just wanted to be done, so I raced up the last nine floors. I was a sweaty, breathless mess by the time I got to the top, and I had awhile to wait while Meg caught up with me. Thinking time.
I donated blood at a blood drive at my church today, and it went much better than my Halloween attempt. The guy doing the needle insertion popped it right into my vein, and I pumped out a pint in 5 minutes. As I was pumping blood, I heard the phlebotomist tell another guy, “Great start to the day — hard stick, got it on the first try.” I hit my 2-gallon mark today for Puget Sound Blood Center. I think if there hadn’t been so many botched needle insertions in my past, I’d be on about 4 gallons by now. Ah well. Let’s hope it goes this smoothly again next time.
This Halloween, I tried to treat Puget Sound Blood Center to a pint of clean, pure O- blood, but the phlebotomist played a mean trick and didn’t get the needle in my vein right, so my blood stopped flowing midway through my donation. The same guy has messed up the needle insertion before, so he’s one vampire who won’t get another chance to drain my blood. Boo!
I’ve been thinking about doing this post for a long time, and I really don’t know why I’ve been putting it off. The past several months have been really hard for me — I think I’ve cried more since March than I did my entire life up until then. But I’ve also had a chance to reflect on how blessed I am, and so, in no particular order, here are a few of the things I’m thankful for: Continue reading ‘Blessings’
As many of you know, my sister Celia passed away May 16 from complications related to Acute Promyelotic Leukemia (M3). During her short stay in the hospital, Celia received numerous transfusions of blood products. In Celia’s memory and in gratitude to the people who gave blood that was used in her treatment, my sister Maria has organized a blood drive in Joseph City, Arizona, on Aug. 10. If you can make it to the blood drive, sign up at www.BloodHero.com. We are planning on organizing blood drives in other cities as well, and information will be posted on CeliasCircle.org and on the Celia’s Circle Facebook group.
My family has a goal of having 500 blood donations made in Celia’s memory in 2009, so even if you can’t make it to one of the memorial blood drives, please donate at a blood center or blood drive near you and e-mail info@celiascircle.org to let us know about it. I’m planning on donating three pints this year, so that leaves just 497 to go. Let’s make it happen!
I’ve had a couple of camping trips this summer, although neither was what I would call “real” camping. No tents were involved. My mom was the Girls Camp music director this year, and she recruited me to play the guitar for singing around the campfire. I have to admit, it was a lot more fun than I thought it would be — mostly because the stake leaders were a fun bunch. I made some new friendships and strengthened some old ones.
This past weekend my mom had her annual Cousins Camp for the grandkids deemed old enough to participate (and an old maid aunt). This year we went to Virden, New Mexico, to help clean up my grandparents’ place for them. We got a bit of work done, and we had time for lots of fun, too. We had a weenie roast, rode the John Deere lawn mower, climbed trees, swung in the hammock, shot off fireworks (spooking the neighbor’s horse), and lots of other stuff. On Friday, the older kids hiked to the peak of Caneaster to check out the petroglyphs while the younger kids made treats with Grandma Payne. Basically, we had a good ol’ time in the country. I’m thankful my mom felt well enough to enjoy it all.
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My mom and I have been practicing a patriotic piano duet to play in church tomorrow. Here’s a preview.
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