The bad new is, you have diabetes.

So after a long while of successfully playing keep away from all things medical and doctor related I have amassed a long enough list of things "I should probably get checked out" that I decided it was time to do the responsible thing. Funny how when you turn 40 suddenly your body doesn't snap back from things the way it used to! Being diabetic and being unreasonably afraid of doctors is a bad combination :-)

With much fear and trembling I made an appointment. Emphasis on the much. My blood pressure at my first appointment was 170 over something. I lamely looked at the nurse and tried to explain that I knew I would epically fail this test and that I would rather be any where else in the universe then right there. I was very fortunate to get a doctor I connected with on the first try. I ran through my list of concerns and she barely batted an eye at any of them. Not that she wasn't concerned, but she just wasn't impressed. Personally, I thought she was going to tell me to get my affairs in order, go home and enjoy what was left of my life. The more relaxed she remained, the more relaxed I was able to become. I did however get her to be a little impressed with a spot on my leg. She looked and looked and looked and finally said, "Well, we can either watch it and wonder if it is pre-cancerous cells or we can make an appointment to cut it out the next time you're here." Yeah, let's just cut it out, like I'm an apple with a bad spot! Only the apple isn't a big baby when it is in a doctor's office! But she's right. Better to cut it out then wonder.

I was supposed to call today for the results of some blood work, and I did. The person on the other end of the line pulled my chart, and I could hear her reading through things. "Yep, that is fine. Yep, that one was normal, and so on. Then she stops and says, except. And pauses. Here is comes. The one where she says I have 2 weeks left. Finally she goes on. "Your blood sugar is high". I tested myself right before going in and it was 124. (80-120 is normal for a non-diabetic). I thought, "Great. So along with skyrocketing blood pressure my blood sugar also spikes when I'm in a tense situation. I'm imagining it was 300 or 400. I didn't say anything and waited for her to go on. She waits a little also. Finally she says, "Your doctor will probably want to discuss a plan with you" Then it hit me. This poor woman doesn't know that I know I'm diabetic. I quickly let her off the hook and say, "I'm a diabetic." I could hear the relief in her voice and she says, "Oh, then you already have a plan." Yep, I've got a plan.

I guess if the worst news I got today was that I was diabetic, I'm in pretty good shape!

We got our money's worth.

I was going through some stuff today in an attempt to weed out junk I do not use and came across this gem.



At first glance it is just a score card from a (semi) local putt-putt golf place. It is so much more though. It is testament to what an adult experiences when you take a 5 year old putt-putting. Mom, Dad, and I took Colby and Kate to Paige's Crossing a couple of years ago. Kate would have been around 5 and Colby would have been around 7. If you've ever putt-putted with a 5 year old, none of this will be startling or revelatory. But. Have you ever recorded how a 5 year old putt-putts? All of the agony of standing around waiting for them to finish a hole kinds of fades once you are done. You file it away and the specifics blur.

I opened the card to see if there was anything worth saving. I don't remember doing this, but it was so funny to see how I recorded the day. Here's the score:



I'll translate in case it is hard to read.

Hole 1, Colby 2 Kate 20

Hole 2 Colby 5 Kate 30 (picked up)

Hole 3 Colby 5 Kate 17

Hole 4 Colby 7 Kate 19 (push 1 pick up)

Hole 5 Colby 4 Kate 7 (2 pick ups)

Hole 6 Colby 5 Kate 8 (wind blowed it--apparently that is what she reported)

Hole 7 Colby 4 Kate 4 (1 pick up and put in hole)

Hole 8 Colby 5 Kate 5 (kick and roll)

Hole 9 Colby 8 Kate 9 (pick up and put in hole)

Hole 10 Colby 8/pick up Kate 50 (2 carry 1 push)

Hole 11 Colby 10 Kate 15

Hole 12 Colby 4 Kate 40

Hole 13 Colby 7 Kate 9 (1 kick)

Hole 14 Colby 4 Kate 6 (kick, carry)

Hole 15 Colby 5 Kate 8

This one is my favorite....
Hole 16 Colby 7 Kate 2 (started at hole)

Hole 17 Colby 5 Kate 9 (started 4 feet from hole)

Hole 18 Colby 3 Kate 27

My conclusion is that with nearly 400 strokes between the two kids our golfing was much more cost efficient than the people that strive for par which would have been 82. If two rounds of golf cost $10, we paid about 2.5 cents per stroke. The golfer who made par paid about 12 cents per stroke.

My Nephew's Sister.

From the minute Kate came out she was a mystery wrapped in a riddle. She marches to her own beat, but that beat seems to be one only she can hear. Funny and smart and coordinated and clever and.....not interested in the spotlight one bit. I've watched her brother enter a social situation where not a single person in the room is the least bit interested in him yet somehow he can insert himself into whatever is taking place. He doesn't need or wait for that social queue that tells you that you are invited. He just likes people and can't imagine that they aren't going to like him back.

Not Kate. I've seen people approach her and fuss and gush all over her. She gets the deer in the head light look, and leans into her mom for comfort while staring back at the person as if she is deaf and didn't hear a word they said. I've seen times when impromptu jam sessions breakout where her brother is hopping around like the village idiot, happy as a clam. Kate is doing something really creative and controled (not just spaz dancing) and if she catches you watching her she freezes up. It isn't an attention thing. She just doesn't like the spot light.

On Saturday Colby hurt one of his fingers in his basketball game. Jami's been trying to decide the extent of his injuries. With her background in athletics and injuries she (and Jake) have tried to tell him that sometimes with a jam you just need to pull it and get it popped back in place. Mr. Histrionics wasn't convinced and has been content to live with the pain and an immobile finger. Until Kate fixed him. He wanted to play with something of hers and she bargained the toy away with the contingency that she could try popping his finger. He agreed. She pulled. It popped. The finger can now bend.

I have no idea what was going on in that little head of hers. While the finger drama is going on around her she just sits back, listens, assesses the situation and inserts herself at the right time. I suppose it could be selfish and ugly and just a way to inflict a little pain on her brother. It could be that she was just tired of the finger being an issue. But for now I'm going with the idea that she knew enough of what motivated Colby to know that he'd never pop that finger on his own but with the right leverage she might be able to help him. She has always been a gifted button pusher. She knows exactly what buttons to push to drive a person crazy. Jami and I have always thought that if she could harness her powers and use them for good and not evil the world would be a better place. Perhaps today she did just that. Or who knows. Maybe it was just the chance to make him cry. That, is the mystery of Kate. I love being her Aunt.

Hmmm....I wonder when they came up with that?

I'm still doing the juicing vegetable thing. When I open my refrigerator I see the vegetables in it and wonder if someone else has moved into my house that I do not know about. I must admit, I get a little rush when I go to the grocery store and actually pick things out of the vegetable area. One time a year or so ago I bought a couple peppers to put in a sauce to marinate some meat for chicken kabobs. Other than that I can't remember ever buying a vegetable in my life. (Other than carrots, corn and potatoes which are more of a starch than a vegetable.)

I've always wanted to be the person in the grocery store with vegetables in her cart. When I walk in the veggie section I feel like I need to tell the other shoppers, "I'm somewhat of a fraud. I'm going to juice these, add some apple and ginger and then DRINK these. I'm not as healthy as it appears." I don't, but feel like I should.

So I get all of my vegetables, which are organic. That doesn't really matter except for you need that piece of information for the rest of the story. I'm looking at my cart, and thinking happy thoughts. I'm not sure if anyone else does this, but I always wonder if other shoppers (and cashiers!) are looking at what I'm buying and thinking....now that is the biggest cart of junk food I've ever seen. I go to the check out and still feel like con artist because I don't even know the name of some of the items I'm pulling out of my cart.

The cashier gets to the beets and is looking all over for the sticker with the number to tell her how to ring it up. She looks up and says, chuckling under her breath, "I don't know if these are regular beets or organic. Hmmmm.....they are organic. Well, what do you know. When did they start making beets organic?" Her tone of voice implied, "Those crazy farmers. What will they come up with next?"

I didn't know what to say.

It reminded me of the time I was knitting what would be a sweater when all the pieces were done and put together and someone looked at it in semi-amazement and said, "A sweater? You can make those?" (Still thinking) "You mean like what you get in Wal-Mart in the clothes section?" Ummmmm......yeah. I guess she thought that sweaters grow on a sweater bush, and Wal-Mart harvests them when ripe and takes them to their stores to sell.

I suppose there are times when I casually listen to the radio and take for granted that the songs coming out of it didn't arrive fully formed. They were written and performed by a human who studied music. That being said, if you show me a saxophone my reaction wouldn't be, "What? You can play a song? Like what you hear on the radio?"

I'm still having fun conjuring up images of farmers sitting around scratching their heads thinking, "Now what haven't we made organic yet.....ah, yes. Beets."

Colby makes a basket. Or three.

I'm not sure when my nephew became old enough to be on a basketball team. In my head he is still a little boy. He plays in a league that is named Upwards. Upwards does an amazing job of taking a wide variety of little kiddos and plugging them into the most non-competitive sporting event I've seen. There were basketball teams and cheer leading squads. The cheer leaders just stayed at one end of the gym and cheered their little hearts out for no one in particular. They aren't assigned a team to cheer for, they just cheer.

Sadly, even at this age you can already see who should and who shouldn't be encouraged to pursue sports :-) There is plenty of time later for real life. Right now these kidlets get to cut their teeth in the world of sports in a very positive environment.

Props go out to the referees. They are the real heroes of the day. Quite a bit gets overlooked and they have the the tricky job of being part coach, part encourager, part cheer leader, part rule enforcer, part "point the kid in the right direction". They have to decide that perfect balance of when to enforce the rules and when to let a struggling player "bend" the rules a bit. I'm too rule oriented. I'd have all those little squirts crying because I'd have to call every infraction I see :-)

Colby's team ended up with 18 points, 6 of which were from Colby. On the first basket he had a tiny celebration, looked towards Jami and I to make sure we noticed and went right back to playing. When the second basket went in his arms went up. You could see the joy on his face, and he again looked over to make sure his people were cheering. After the third basket his arms went up again, but as they came down he struck a pose that looked something like this as he looked over to make sure we were celebrating with him (not exactly, but this is the closest picture I have):

On the way home from the game he got to hear what the term "show boating" means. And that sometimes when professionals do it they have to pay a lot of money to the league. Thankfully young Mr. Murray didn't resort to this level of celebrating:

Colby had one other quirk that we discovered while watching him. Colby loves people. He doesn't know a stranger. If you are near him, he'll talk to you. If you are playing on the playground, he'll join you. If you listen, he'll tell you all about whatever movie he watched or book he read. If you fall down on the basketball court, he'll stop to make sure you are OK and help you up--whether you are on his team or not. It was so sweet to watch. Mr. People Person in action without regard to the competition going on around him.

Colby had a huge advantage on the court. He was one of the tallest out there. At this age their heights are all over the place. He looked like this compared to a lot of his team mates:





His team didn't win, but as far as I was concerned it didn't matter. He played well. He was confident, coordinated and cared about his fellow teammates. I love being his aunt.

Off the hook....

Bernie Madoff may be sending up prayers of thanksgiving to whatever deity he prays to. I think this guy:

will be soaking up some of the spotlight the press reserves for "least liked guy in the universe". I think Mr. Madoff may have held the title prior to this maritime tragedy.

If I'm ever the captain of a huge cruise ship, in charge of the safety of over 4,000 lives, I hope I do not have the incredibly bad luck to get thrown overboard and OOPS! fall into a life boat. Because that just doesn't look good.


What a terrible, senseless loss of so many lives. My heart goes out to the confirmed dead, the divers searching the ship, the husband and wife now known to the world as "the couple from Minnesota who are still missing", and the grieving and anxious families waiting for news of their loved ones.

Sheeple.

Let me start by saying that there are probably many times on my life I've been a sheeple. I claim no superiority in this story other than in this case I was the sheeple shepherd. Sheep are known for their willingness to follow the sheep in front of them even if sheep number one is doing something stupid--like wandering off a cliff. People who do the same are known as sheeples.

On the day after Christmas we have a few stores we usually try to hit. There is a Family Christian Bookstore that always has their Christmas goodies 50% off (on the 26th) and they always send out a 25% off coupon that applies to clearance items. In the past I've picked up some nativity sets at a pretty good price, but there are only so many nativity sets you can accumulate. This store isn't my favorite. I like looking around but it isn't a store I *need* to go to.

Jami wasn't sure what time the store opened. She thought 10:00, and our plan was to arrive around then. We were driving past the store a little before 9:00 (en route to other shopping) and decided to see when they opened. Turns out they opened at 9:00 and we were there at around 8:47. There was one lone car sitting in the parking lot and the woman in it kindly rolled down her window to let us know it opened at 9:00. We decided to wait. It was cold'ish. Drizzly or snow-raining, if I remember correctly. A few more cars pulled up and everyone stayed put in their warm, dry cars. At about 8:55 I looked at Jami, sly grin in place, and said, "Want to see a bunch of ladies freak out? I'm going to go wait at the door."

There was nothing in the store I really wanted to be first in line for, and mostly out of wanting to do something with my boredom while I waited, I decided to jump out of the car. Sure enough. All the sheeples followed suit. I could hear car doors opening and shutting left and right. I wouldn't call it a stampede but there was hurrying. I was the only one who knew she was getting out of her car when she did, but somehow several people managed to beat me to the door. There was no roof over the door, which meant there was this herd of sheeple standing in the drizzle.

So at this point I'm feeling some vague feelings of remorse for causing the pseudo stampede and then the person in charge of opening the store comes to the door. Now it is 8:58 by my cell phone. She is clearly not that happy to see us despite the fact that we are standing there wanting to throw money in their cash register. She says in a very un-Christmasy voice, "I still have 5 minutes before the store opens, and I'm not ready for you yet, but since it is rainy and cold I'll let you in." I again briefly decide whether or not I should feel bad for leading the sheeple to the door and adding to her lack of joy.

I don't have time to decide. The sheeple push me in to the store, and hey! there is a ceramic baby Jesus in a manger marked way, way down that has my name on it. And look! Santa is bowing in front of the manger, because he knows the true meaning of Christmas. The only thing standing between me and this masterpiece is an elderly woman on a portable ventilator. No problem, I can take her. Just kidding. The story is entirely true up to the point of spotting the bowing Santa.


But that little gem really does exist. In many forms. Here is one of them for only $6.95. And notice Santa is respectful enough to remove his hat before kneeling.