the friday feed: lahmas of love

The vertigo episode drained me more than I expected. Hospitals aren’t built for real rest. The nurses were attentive and thorough, waking me every two hours with their steady refrain: “Name. Date of birth. What month is it? What year? Do you know where you are?” I got the routine, but sleep never quite had a chance to settle in. Still, I was fortunate - it was only a one-night stay.

When I finally got home, I went straight to bed and sank into a deep three-hour nap. I woke to the sound of my phone. It was my friend.

“Di, I made some lahmas. Can I bring them over?”

“Yes, please!”

Lahmas, pronounced “lock-mas,” are often called Arabic pizzas—thinly rolled dough topped with a savory meat mixture and baked until everything comes together in a warm, tasty bite. The food, along with the visit, was the best medicine.

poetry month: growing old

It happens...

Today ends Poetry Month and tomorrow we say "Hello!" to May. 

 

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

Last week was a quiet week with a couple days in the hospital for a vertigo diagnosis. This cute little elephant greeted me on the bedside table in my hospital room. Do you think it looks like an elephant or another creature? 

It looks like I'm going to plant some carrots this year. This artsy packaging of carrots caught my eye but so did the name, Danvers Carrot. My mom was born and raised in Danvers, Illinois, and that is the main reason I bought this. I hope some of her green thumb will pass through my fingers to grow a bounty of carrots this summer. 

A Google search provided this information: "The Danvers carrot is a classic, hardy heirloom Carrot developed in the 1870 in Danvers, Massachusetts, known for its deep orange color, high yields, and adaptability to clay soils. It typically produces 6-8 inch tapered roots that are sweet and nearly coreless." 

My neighbor's mom passed away this week. Susan loves flowers - you should see her garden! To express our condolences I went to a florist in McPherson Town, one of Dayton's historic neighborhoods, for a bouquet of flowers. When we lived downtown, my big dog Ted and I frequently strolled past this small business. Look toward the back of the photo and you will see the Dayton Art Institute. After buying the flowers, I stopped by DAI to renew our museum membership.

My first grandchild is no longer in his crib and to celebrate this milestone, I want to make a small quilt for him. A long time ago, in the late 70s and into the 80s, quilting was popular, and I spent a lot of time with this hobby. I have a lot of fabric from back in those days and it's time to reduce the stash. Owen's favorite colors are green and red (I am adding blue to keep it from looking like a Christmas quilt), his birthday is in June, but for the time it will take to piece the blocks and get it quilted, this will be a Christmas present.

The lilac beside the garage door has been in full bloom and scenting the air for a few weeks now. It's such a joy to get a whiff of that fragrance when walking outside. I took this photo last Friday and in that short time, flowers are just about gone. Between late April and early May lilac trees and bushes typically bloom for three weeks in Ohio (they did) but they bloomed early this year and now mine are done for their season. Sigh.

the big and small of things

Costco. The bastion of bulk. The place where “just grabbing one thing” doesn’t happen. Shopping trips balloon into a cart full of super-sized decisions. The building itself is massive, somewhere in that 146,000–147,000 square-foot range. Does it have its own zip code?

Nothing here in moderation. Toilet paper? Not six rolls, but a commitment of 30 rolls. Chicken thighs arrive in six packages with 4-5 thighs in each. Pepsi shows up in a 36-pack, beer in a 30. You get the picture. Everything is BIG.

The other day I went in to pick up a pair of glasses. No large cart, no filling-the-cargo-hold ambitions. I pulled into a parking spot and imagine my surprise to see the cutest, TINY Miata in the space next to mine. A toy-sized car in the land of bulk excess. I laughed out loud.

The front seat area is big enough for me and my purse. A package of toilet paper would barely fit in the trunk. I was tempted to wait around, just to see what kind of purchases pair with a car that small in a place that large.

monday's mulling...vertigo - oh - oh - oh - my!

Dizzy

I'm so dizzy, my head is spinning

Like a whirlpool, it never ends

And it's VERTIGO, making it spin

You're making me dizzy…

Last Tuesday evening, my world began to spin and it just would not stop. I went to bed hoping and praying that by morning it would pass. It didn’t.

Todd was out of town, so around noon I called my son and asked him to take me to the hospital. I had never experienced anything like this, and it was frightening.

At the hospital, it was a blur of questions and tests. “Keep your eyes on my finger… follow it.” My eyes felt like they were bouncing every which way. Then came the blood draws, the CAT scan, the MRI. “Take these pills with thickened apple juice.” Yuck. I had been placed on stroke protocol, and the whole experience felt surreal. My head was a whirling dervish.

By the next morning, the dizziness had eased, but I still needed to be evaluated by physical, occupational, and speech therapists before I could be discharged. As overwhelming as it all was, I truly appreciated how thorough the care team was.

In the end, the diagnosis was “just” vertigo. No stroke. No brain tumor. No invasions from outer space aliens. Just vertigo. And for that, I am incredibly thankful.

connections

Back in my teaching days, the end of the school year meant one thing for the eighth graders, a trip to Gettysburg and Washington, DC. For many, it was their first time traveling without their parents. This was their final celebration, a last hurrah as the oldest students in the building before stepping into a much bigger world: a 2,500-student high school campus, where they would trade their seniority status for the role of freshman newbies.

The students found Washington, DC more interesting than Gettysburg. There was more to see, more to connect with, and most of them discovered something that felt personally meaningful. (Yes, this became part of a writing assignment they completed when we returned.) For many, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (the Wall) stood out in a powerful way, especially those who had a grandparent, aunt, or uncle who served during the war.

Just south of the Wall in a quiet spot sits the Vietnam Women’s Memorial, designed by Glenna Goodacre. It honors the nurses and women who served in Vietnam. While looking at this piece, a sense of familiarity struck me. The sculpture reminded me of a couple statues in Lincoln Park Commons, a small park not far from the school.

Photo: National Park Service

After we returned and got back into the end-of-year routine, I took a walk through Lincoln Park to test that hunch. Had Glenna Goodacre created these local sculptures as well? Yes, she had. Wanting to model the kind of curiosity and connection I hoped to see in my students, I wrote a short piece linking Kettering, Ohio to Washington, DC, showed the photos I had taken of the Women's Memorial, and read my story to them. (See? Teachers do homework, too!).

Over the next few days, a few students told me they had gone to Lincoln Park to see the statues for themselves. That little ripple of curiosity (especially at the end of the year when all thoughts are on summer vacation), felt like its own kind of success.

"The Runner" by Glenna Goodacre

"Man with His Dog"

poetry month: the first steps

One week ago my granddaughter took her very first steps! Her mama was right there to steady her, and her daddy stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell.

Your world is growing bigger and moving faster every day, Hallie. You’re surrounded by so many people who love you and will be there to guide you, step by step, wherever your journey leads.

The First Steps

Last night I held my arms to you

And you held yours to mine

And started out to march to me

As any soldier fine.

You lifted up your little feet

And laughingly advanced;

And I stood there and gazed upon

Your first wee steps, entranced.

You gooed and gurgled as you came

Without a sign of fear;

As though you knew, your journey o'er,

I'd greet you with a cheer.

And, what is more, you seemed to know,

Although you are so small,

That I was there, with eager arms,

To save you from a fall.

Three tiny steps you took, and then,

Disaster and dismay!

Your over-confidence had led

Your little feet astray.

You did not see what we could see

Nor fear what us alarms;

You stumbled, but ere you could fall

I caught you in my arms.

You little tyke, in days to come

You'll bravely walk alone,

And you may have to wander paths

Where dangers lurk unknown.

And, Oh, I pray that then, as now,

When accidents befall

You'll still remember that I'm near

To save you from a fall.

~ Edgar Albert Guest