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

the friday feed: ice cream delight

“Here, AJ, try this!” Aunt Sari said, placing a chocolate-covered ice cream bar into his eager hands.

The little boy’s big brown eyes grew even bigger as he took it, curiosity lighting his face. A moment of hesitation…then a bold first bite. His expression transformed instantly, melting into a big, big grin.

“WOW!”

That one word, that delightful smile, said everything.

Pure innocence. Pure joy.

 

role reversal

Little yellow Fiat following a red brick road...Wouldn't it be fun to see a little red Fiat follow a yellow brick road? I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

Earth Day.

Love your mother 🌎, today and every day 💙 💚

 

Photo taken from my wanderings at Aullwood MetroPark, Englewood, Ohio.

eyes of a child

Last Friday, activists lined the sidewalk outside U.S. Representative Mike Turner’s Dayton, Ohio, office with dozens of backpacks. The display, titled "Eyes of a Child", paired each backpack with a portrait to honor the children killed in a missile strike on a school in Minab, Iran, presenting them as lives remembered rather than statistics. The demonstration was organized by Veterans for Peace and the Greater Dayton Coalition for Peace.

Photo: Ty Greenlees

Photo: Ty Greenlees