Now that Bob's diva liver decided to live, so did we. Come with us as we figure out what's next. Our attempts at parenting the two baby pandas. Bob and his call to the golf course, I mean, to parish ministry. The amazing assortment of family, friends and strangers who daily surprise us. And my ongoing fascination with our planet, transplant, transformation, lives, livers and other vital organ-izations.
P.S. Bob says this is a really weird dispatch, what's a haiku anyway, and no one is going to know what I'm talking about. Haiku? Haiku!!! It's a Japanese style of poetry writing that counts syllables. I learned it in elementary school. Must be the superior Minnesota public schools. (Just kidding!!) Really, it oozed out of me during hot yoga. T
She is a felon and I've been thinking about her a lot lately.
I never met LaVonne, but Bob knew her because her kids were in his summer program last year. Bob hired LaVonne as the craft coordinator. She did a great job, Bob said. He needed help because a lot of kids from the neighborhood were showing up.
They sent her to prison because of some kind of a welfare technicality. Welfare fraud. Too much food on the table or something like that. She actually served her whole sentence. Kids without a mother that whole time. They paid their debt to society, kids-n-all. She says she knows she did something wrong and she's sorry. I'm not exactly sure what is wrong with feeding your family but that's just me.
It looks like some people go to jail for stuff like this. While another person got pardoned by the President of the United States of America for outing a CIA agent, jeopardizing national security, and then lying about it. The President said the sentence was excessive. The judge, who was appointed by the very same President's administration, was baffled. But I digress.
Oh yes, back to LaVonne. LaVonne is now back with her kids and still trying to figure out how to put enough food on the table. She's trying to get a job and dog gone, now she has a felony record so who's going to hire her? Not to mention the indignity. Not to mention her kid's indignity.
Bob really liked working with her at the summer program. And was glad there was money in the budget to hire her for a few weeks. Amanda worked as LaVonne's assistant in the craft room. LaVonne said she did a good job.
Then like magic I came across this brochure about a program to earn a certificate to become a public library clerk. It seemed perfect for her. LaVonne was interested and had already begun to figure out the bus routes to the College of St. Catherine in St. Paul, where the training would take place. (This is where I got my Leadership Certificate.) Bob would serve as the advocate in case that nasty felony thingie came up in the application process.
Poof.
The parish decided that their files were just a mess. What they needed was an administrative pastor to clean up the office. And that's what they got.
LaVonne and her kids were out of our life.
I really do believe that ministry happens in spite of our human decisions. But sometimes I still cry over stuff like this.
Lake Calhoun, Minneapolis; the boat I will have one day
The Little Tin Dinner, what I've been craving and what we had.
Lake Calhoun, Minneapolis
Lake Calhoun, Minneaplis; the Tin Cup Cafe serves Alaskan salmon, Minnesotan walleye, wine, beer and has free WiFi
They came in handy. Mom Speirs' spare set of eating utinsels were safely stashed in her purse, saved from a fateful flight to Vancouver several years ago.
This morning church was in the park. The camp staff from Lake Wapogasset led the service and just as I was about to think that it might be a tiny bit sappy -- even me, a die hard ex-camp staffer -- I looked at my doe-eyed daughter and remembered how the camp formula works like magic.
Amanda found her camp counselor from last year, Alisha. She was soooooooooooo excited. They have the same birthday. Something for my to-do list: call Camp WAPO and request that Amanda gets in Alisha's cabin group, when she goes in August.
Meanwhile, Aidan is just happy for another venue to play with his game boy; and to get extra free attention from members of Bob's basketball team.
Later in the day; Lake Josephine, Roseville; and Aidan's horrible once a month splurge, a lunchable
Lake Josephine, Roseville
Lake Josephine, Roseville
Topping off the day, Amanda fabricated a duct tape book bag that perfectly fits her new journal. She is signed up for a kids writing class at the local library that starts this week.
That's all folks! Thanks so much for stopping by. I hope you have a wonderful week.
Hello everyone and thank you for coming over the liver blog. It's so nice to have you. Today I'm thinking about what it might be like to not have a thyroid, since I am officially off my thyroid pill for 4 weeks in prep for the radioactive iodine treatment to kill any little cancer nasties that may still lurk in my throat.
The worst of it will likely be fatigue, I'm told. So here's my thyroid void coping strategy. My thought is that since I survived 2 pregnancies while working full time, I can do this too. Survived? Isn't that a quite a strong word to describe modern childbearing, you ask? For those of you who were around me at the time, you will remember that it wasn't pretty. I vowed to be one of those cute pregnant ladies. Many women seem to pull off pregnant and cute; however I could not. I was just too dog gone tired, hot and sick.
I gestated in the NYC subways for almost 18 months altogether. You see, I did it all backwards. When I was prime and energetic and in my twenties I worked as a youth director in Madison, South Dakota, where the average age was 65 years old, according to the census. While my church-based social circle was lovely, I was lonely. I needed so much more. (And how mind blowing to come across Karen, here at seminary who was 5 years old or so at that time and from that very same church, St. John.) So then I moved to NYC to be with Bob. That's when all the young colleagues at LWR were finding everything free and wonderful in Manhattan -- concerts, movies, theater, cocktails, soirees. What was I doing? Gestating. All I wanted to do was get home to Brooklyn and go to sleep.
My big belly would blend and not bump the bungle of humanity all around me. That's what I hoped for anyway, when I was pregnant and riding the subways. Being from the Midwest I didn't want to draw attention to myself. But those mean old New Yorkers always noticed my round protrusion. Subway riders always stood to let me have their seat. And I always wondered why that made me feel humiliated when it was the decent thing to do.
In hindsight I don't know exactly why because I didn't have to, but I worked full time right up to both deliveries, hence the nearly 18 months of gestation in the subways. With Aidan, I worked 'til Friday at 5:00 p.m. He was born the next day at 3:00 p.m. My colleague Jeff W. sent me a congratulatory note saying something like, "Don't you think you could've put in a few more hours before delivery?" (If you know Jeff W, you'll recognize his humor.)
Am I making it sound simple? If so then I am failing miserably in this writing. Amanda was born the so-called "easy way out" via c-section. Aidan was born via the so-called "natural" way via screaming and swearing. Actually, that was a v-bac, vaginal birth after Cesarean, which was new at the time. If this is TMI -- too much information -- sorry, but just let me get this one little point in. My child-bearning experiences remain to this day among the very most traumatic experiences in my life. I would make a horrible birthing coach, although I long to do that. I would say stuff like -- DON'T DO IT! DON'T HAVE BABIES! IT'S TOO AWFUL! YOU'LL NEVER FORGET HOW AWFUL IT IS! I VOLUNTEER TO RING YOUR PARTNER'S NECK! I WILL HUNT HIM DOWN AND MAKE HIM PAY!
So anyway, this is really my point -- our work in the field of reproductive healthcare is the most important thing in the universe. It is the foundation of all that is both human and divine. And yet, it seems to be so hard to talk about. And the conversation is cooped by the crazy uninformed extremists who can only focus on abortion and who have probably not spent a day in their life bumping bellies in the NYC subway. Or getting sewed up somewhere by someone who can't wait to get to the baseball game later.
ANYWHO, so there's a long way of explaining my thyroid void strategy. It can't get worse than that. And now, since I got overly preaching here, and to completely change the subject, I wanted to close with a clip from one of from a favorite scene from a favorite movie including my favorite soundtrack. How sweet it is to mix-n-match cultures and values. A final scene from Bend it Like Beckham. Enjoy!
Doris Branch, Bob, The Rev. Lonnie Branch. They came to visit today. "We worked well together," Lonnie said about their coaching duet. They brought a blend of love and accountability to the basketball team. Game strategy and Gospel. When there was a problem with one of the boys -- an easy temper or something -- they cahooted quickly and then dealt with it together head on. "I told those boys that a white man can jump higher than they can," Pastor Branch laughed. "And white men can't jump!" This visit was a real uplift. Lonnie assured us that God has something really wonderful planned for us. It is possible to chat with anyone anymore without getting all glassy-eyed?
Tonight is the last day of summer Black Hawks soccer. Go team! It's really a wonderful thing to meet up with an organization and people who value good sportswomanship as much as good sports. And Amanda almost kicked a goal twice! "You gotta be aggressive," Bob says to Amanda. But Dad, I'm just not an aggressive person, Amanda replies. But she loves soccer still.
A typical day in little boy land out in the hall. That is when they're not all outside on the bikes.
So I made a deal with Amanda. She cleans out the refrigerator and I'll buy her a tie-dye kit. Summer is not easy for a ten-year-old with parents who play home health hopscotch. I bought the kit. The fridge still needs a scrubbing.
But friends, we have tie-dye! Colorbursts galore! Shirts. Pillow cases. Beach attire. Bright blue, purple, green. It's been decided that Aidan will have a tie-dye birthday party. A hand strung tie-dye clothes line has been stretched across the trees outside the window of our apartment. The toilet is not tie-dyed. Everything else is. The bathtub, bathmat, and bathtiles are tie-dyed. As are the shower curtain, sink, and countertop. Some call it a really big mess. We call it, er, creativity.
And if you could please remind me that an inadvertently tie-dyed towel somehow ended up in a basket of dirty clothes and that it needs to be removed lest we have a whole load of colorbursted laundry. Or worse yet, a tie-dyed Joanne. Yes, friends, the Minister of Dirty Cothes is back at it.
Actually, people continue to be really nice to us. We so much enjoy getting the cards and letters with prayers and well wishes. Thank you. And we even got another weeks worth of delicious meals-on-wheels, thanks to the women's group at church.
Today Bob got the cutest recycled card from the quilting group at Minnehaha Communion Lutheran Church, where he interned in South Minneapolis. They call themselves the Busy Bees. They call Bob, Bobsie-Baby. As in "Dear Bobsie-Baby, We are praying for you." Here posted is a picture of the stoles the other quilting group hand sewed for Bob as a farewell gift at the end of his internship; this group from Our Redeemer. Bob loved being with both of those quilting groups. Junk food. Off color jokes. Friendship. One day if the Bush Administration ever does find those weapons of mass destruction and the mushroom clouds and such -- the quilters will remain standing. Ideologies rise and fall. Institutions come and go. Churches merge and purge. The quilters are always there with a clear and pure vision.
And all I did was take the garbage out and ran into Val and Steve, who are also in waiting mode. Waiting. For someone, anyone, anybishop, anychurch to call them. As in phone them. Communicate with them. Snail mail would be great. Message in a bottle. Two cups and a string. They have an interview at the end of the month and I'm really rooting for them because it would be a great place to visit. Meanwhile, since the garbage had already been taken care of I kinda teared up about our waiting. "I don't want to go to places," I say to them. "I just want to be near my family." They understand because they are members of Bob's Liver Cooperative. All I was doing was taking out the trash and ended up with a free counseling session. That's how it is around here, Val said. She's going to make one awesome pastor.
Bob already is one awesome back seat mopper, giving instructions on correct swooshing methodology from the recliner. Someone's gotta do it because a visitor is coming tomorrow. The Rev. Lonnie Branch, a real gentleman from the Northside of Minneapolis who coached basketball with Bob. I'll try to get a picture.
Uh oh, gotta go, the kids are fighting over how not to walk across the wet kitchen floor.
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
One is about the cross-cultural contraption of extreme politeness. How massive hospitality and power can inadvertently convolute relationships, even with best intentions. I mean, you should have seen what the Indian guy, Dr. Aziz did just to escort these two English guests to the local caves. Hired servants. Hired other people's servants. Borrowed silver. Went into debt to have food on hand at all times because he had heard that "the English like to eat every two hours." The two ladies just wanted to see the "real India." They were trying so hard not to be typical Ango Indians, aka British Colonialists. They had no idea what all went on to produce this day trip to the caves which ended up in disaster. I love Dr. Aziz and his version of reality, which is like mine. He just kinda makes it up as he goes. Works for him (and me), but not for the Brits.
The other book is how dog gone funny honest impoliteness can be. I think David Sedaris is hilarious, but he's a little raunchy so don't read him if that's not your taste. But he's not gratuitous raunchy, like he doesn't just make stuff up. He tells stories from his life and makes very painful moments actually laugh out loud funny. He can pack about ten principles of human nature into one paragraph. I think it's his way of healing.
Both books show how truth is often tragic. I suppose that's why we want so badly to avoid it if at all possible. Truth, that is. As usual, I'm about 15 years late and saw the movie Passage to India just a couple years ago and loved it. Put it on one night while washing the dishes. Not one single plate, cup, or fork got clean as I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. Like whatever happened in the caves, the movie mesmerized me right from the onset. Saw it again with Bob. And will probably see it a third time now after finally reading the book.
Take care everyone. Hope you have some relief from the heat. With love, T
the pandas all together just before the liver left us
WELCOME.
This e-community decided to start when Bob's liver decided to stop, in the fall of 2006. Instead of moving out of seminary housing and on to a call to parish ministry, our lives quit as the wild bile poisoned Bob from head to toe. All we could do is watch and wait to see if he would need a liver transplant or if his own would regenerate itself; praying that he wouldn't die in the meantime as he shut down to a virtual comotose state.
In the end, there was no transplant but a lot of transformation. Old liver, new lives. Our whole family made it through a dark time thanks to the community that provided us a lifeline of love. Literally at Luther Seminary, from where Bob had just graduated; from my colleagues at Lutheran World Relief; from family, friends and strangers; and electronically via the care pages we started when Bob was at the transplant unit in the Mayo Clinic.
Anyway, this is like after the liver heals, days of our livers, the liver runs through us, the liver of life, or something about going on newly aware of how Bob's liver lives among us. He says definitely not old man liver, but maybe Liverace. So, from the bottom of Bob's organic bile binder, I thank you for coming to this site.
Read more about our awesome news. . .The Call Arrived
