ONCE SIMPLE, NOW IMPOSSIBLE

Glad to see you here for a walk.  I want to share a favorite pet peeve of mine.

Lately I have been struggling more and more with my ability to open things - usually very necessary things. When I was younger, I did not pay attention to the process of opening some of my pill bottles.  As I have now entered the octogenarian stage of my life, I find the factory safety methods for keeping children out of pill bottles also is very effective in also keeping anyone over the age of seventy out of the pill bottles.

For example, just yesterday I needed to take an Extra-Strength Tylenol.  According to the red-coded directions that were stamped into the red lid (making it even harder to read), I should press down on the lid while turning the lid counter clockwise.  That sounded simple enough.  Thirty minutes later, after bruising my arthritic hand and forcing the weight of my entire torso into an effort to try to turn the small lid, I finally just gave up! I decided to take a short break in my recliner so I rested for another thirty minutes, as the application of Voltaren gel took effect, as I planned my next attack on the pill bottle.  

This time, I approached the bottle with renewed determination. Placing a protective device (dish towel) between the lid and the now injured palm of my hand, I took a deep breath and put all the force I could muster into that lid (fortunately, the bladder and bowels held).  Amazingly, the lid moved and I was now able to unscrew it from the bottle.  However, to my dismay, because the bottle was new, under the lid it was completely sealed in a thick foil with tiny printed words that stated that the seal was there for my protection.  I tried in vain to remove the seal, clawing at it with my finger tips.  I came to the conclusion that only a sharp knife would be able to puncture the fortress of foil. Grabbing the sharpest, deadliest knife in the drawer, I stabbed at the seal, and opened the portal to the wonders of modern medicine, somehow without further injuring my hand.   Finally after one hour, I was now able to take the one Tylenol I needed.  However, I now needed two pills because of the radiating pain in my hand, my fingers, my back and my shoulder!

Looking down at the container, I resolved I would not close that lid again!  I remembered the old “easy to open” bottle that I had discarded in the trash earlier that day.  Yes, stooping to a new low, I dug through all the kitchen trash and finally uncovered the cherished bottle at the bottom of the can!  The lid was still on, so I washed the outside and transferred all the pills from the new bottle to the old.  In case you are concerned, I did change the expiration date on the outside with a sharpie pen and relaxed knowing that I would not have to struggle with another new bottle, until this one was empty.  I must use them sparingly!

I do completely understand the necessity for placing all medication in safety containers.  I remember the Tylenol scare from years back and as a Nana, I understand the need to secure medication from little hands.  However, someone needs to remember the old people, as it is the old that tend to need more pills, and the pill bottles are just one of many problems.  Bare with me as I share my list of a few of the others:

1. Flip tops on cans: They are so common (soup, vegetables, soda pop or beer).   While holding the product one simply pulls the ring-tab with one finger.  Not exactly.  Sometimes the tab snaps, and you are left holding the small ring, looking down at a solid silver cover.  Now what do you do?  You look through your very messy and crowded utensil drawer for perhaps a can opener or a “church” key.  At this point, the easy-access container has become a hazard because no matter how you open it, you will create hazardous sharp edges, and your possibility of injury has increased by 100 percent!

2. Milk, juice or other beverages in a large carton:  A small round knob covers the access area into the container.  Just try turning that little device!  I have tried counterclockwise and clockwise, but it would not budge. At this point, I will share that I do have a sacred scrap of rubber material which I trimmed from a mat which is intended to keep my floor rugs from slipping.  This now has a special place in my kitchen drawer, as this miracle fabric, when held around the knob, removes it with ease. However, I am not yet done.  I now must navigate through the dreaded “pull-tab”(similar to the flip can tap, but plastic).  Planting my feet firmly into an athlete’s stance, and holding the full container securely, I pull with 

great force and am finally able to unveil the opening to the liquid, which unfortunately half of which has now spilt all over my counter. 

3. Milk, juice or other beverages in a tiny carton:

These are those handy little containers usually found in fast-food serving areas, hospital dining, and the ever popular subway. The instructions are simple, and even direct you to the appropriate corner to fold and separate.  It does not work!  Remember, these are designed for K-12 school children.  Arthritic fingers may be fortunate enough to eventually spread apart one of the two corners, with the goal to only open half of the top portion of the box.  However, you have now reached the point of no return - you have no alternative but to spread apart the entire top of the carton.  Now the container of liquid has four floppy sides, which will collapse if you try to drink from the edges, so you are forced to use a straw which dances away from your lips in the vast circumference of the space.  

4.  Amazon packages that arrive by mail:  A soft package with something you HAD to have arrives.  The directions on the outside require that you pull the plastic tab on the top of the package to open.  Have you ever tried to do that?  I ask, because first of all, the tab is hidden somewhere under the many folds of the plastic package.  After searching for about twenty minutes a transparent piece of plastic is discovered.  You lift it up with your fingers and pull. Nothing!  You check the other end and pull.  Nothing!  So now you have managed to age by another twenty minutes (remember "Octos" value each minute left) Time to reach for the scissors and blindly cut through the packaging, hoping not to slice and destroy that something that you HAD to have!   

5. Cable T.V:  You have a digital T.V. that has all the 10,000 channels that you will never get to watch in your lifetime.  The storm last night, or a power outage, or a power surge has suddenly removed all of the pre-set controls.  What to do?  According to the information now projected on the screen, you are to call a number which will connect you with a “helper”. As I dial, I am thinking that I need a person to come and fix my T.V.  When I was a child, Mama always called Mr. Kincaid who lived down the road.  I’m hoping that it will be Mr. Kincaid who answers on the other end of the line.  No! It was not Mr. Kincaid, however a nice lady answered and we began a very intimate relationship in fine-tuning and reestablishing the T.V. to former memory.  After muddling through her vocabulary of three-letter acronyms (none of which I understood) I learned that I was to simply unplug the T.V. from the electrical source, wait ten minutes and the T.V would miraculously  reprogram itself!  Now THAT, I can remember!  

I am certain there are many more simply complicated annoyances, but these are a few of the ones I experience most often.  Perhaps I should start a list of all the tasks that have become complicated, and keep them in a notebook.  On second thought, probably not.  I started a small notebook several years back to keep a list of the  safe places I had put things, because I kept forgetting where things were.  This list  worked until I forgot where I put the notebook! 

Wouldn’t it be nice if when going to sleep each night, I could simply unplug, and my brain would miraculously reprogram itself while I slept?

Oh, the pondering of it all!

      

A RENEWED (awkward) MEETING

Another great day for a walk and a visit with you, my friend.  So many events to be remembered and many to try to forget!  The one I will share with you today is both...................................

Several years ago, before the pandemic, I met two of my colleagues for lunch.  This had become our weekly or bi-monthly time to meet over lunch at the Atlanta Bread Factory and catch up on our now divided lifestyles.  I, being the eldest of the three and having been retired now twenty years, was joined by my recently retired friend and our newly employed friend.  We shared the same experience of either having been or now the director of the Surgical Technology Program at the local community college. In addition to being good friends, we always enjoyed comparing the changes and challenges that each of us had faced in our same chosen career.

So it was, on this particular day when we were engrossed in our conversations regarding the clinical sites, the students, the college in general that I was suddenly approached by another patron of the restaurant.  This new conversation began as:  AP (another patron)

 AP:   My goodness!  It is so wonderful to see you again!

ME: ( looking up and directly into the face of the lady standing over me) Thank you!  It is certainly good to see you again too!

AP:  It is amazing that I ran into you again!  How have you been?

ME: I have been fine, thank you, and you?

AP:  Great!  Thanks!  You are looking so good, you never change!

ME:  I have to say the same for you as well!

AP:  We have all missed you, especially at the bridge-club meetings!  I cannot wait to tell the girls that I ran into you!

ME:  Yes!  Say hello to all from me!

With that, she turned away and moved across the restaurant to her table shared with others.

My friends who had listened quietly to the conversation asked me who that was.  

ME:  I have no idea!  I have never seen her before!

POST SCRIPT;  

I have often asked myself the same question you are now thinking.  Why did I not let the AP know that we did not know each other and that she had made a mistaken identification:  

My answer is that I kept trying to remember her!  As she was talking, I was searching my brain for some lost information.  Was she a childhood friend? Was this a friend in elementary school, high school?  Was she a friend of my older sister and had she confused me with her?  Was she a friend of a friend?  Was she a nurse that I had worked with?

Special note: ( The AP never called the name of the person she supposed I was.)

Unfortunately, by the time I had sorted through all my memory cards in this aging brain, I could not retrieve any information.....................nothing clicked.  At that point, I was too deep into the deception to embarrass the AP and decided to end it as graciously as possible.  

There was, however, convincing evidence at the end of her greeting that confirmed her mistaken identity:  The game of bridge, which neither I nor my sister had ever played!  

Oh, the pondering of it all......................................................................... 

  

LEARNING THE SCIENCE OF DOMESTICATION

 Come walk along..................I want to tell you about my experience with sewing.

When I was in high school, I took two years of Home Economics or Home Ec. The first year was when I was a freshman and the second as a sophomore, completing the two courses of Home Ec. I & Home Ec. II.

The first year we learned to make a blouse.  In the process, we learned how to cut out the blouse from a pattern, sew all the pieces together (using a 5/8" seam allowance), and become proficient with the placement of short sleeves, a collar and those very difficult buttonholes. It also taught us how to properly sew on a button by hand.  It took an entire school year to complete this simple white blouse. Each step was closely supervised by our lovely Mrs. White, who also happened to be the wife of our high school principal.  

Mrs. White would thoroughly inspect each step of the process and more than once I heard the dreaded advice, "Now, Brenda, you are doing well, but I am suggesting that you use your seam ripper and remove the entire ..." This phrase was followed by multiple parts of the blouse, like "sleeve", "side", or "collar."  Then she would add, "After you have put it back together again, bring it up for me to check before you sew it on the machine!"  Over and over, I would remove and stitch, remove and stitch, until I finally received her 100 % glorious approval. I suppose it took me a little longer to finally complete the garment correctly because I was the only girl in the class whose mother did not have a sewing machine.  Unlike my classmates, I could never practice at home.  Looking back, I think Mrs. White knew that, and perhaps that is why she was so attentive and encouraging. 

However, Home Ec taught us more than sewing.  Mrs. White taught how to read a recipe and prepare some dishes.  Oh, how I loved the cooking classes!  My favorite breakfast was when we learned how to make "Eggs a la Goldenrod."  The ingredients were simple:  toasted bread, boiled eggs, bacon, and the recipe for cream gravy.  To serve, we would toast slice of bread, cover it with gravy, slice the egg, reserving one yolk to sprinkle over the top, add two slices of cooked bacon and voilà, delicious!  This recipe is one that I have continued to use from time to time.

To accompany the cooking, we were taught the correct way to set the dinner table.  I can still hear her voice guiding us, "Now girls, the forks are on the left of the plate over the folded napkin, and the knife & spoon to the right.  The beverage glass should sit above the knife."  We also learned that as the dinner progressed to a more formal meal, one was to simply add the silver according to the progression of the meal. First utensil used was always placed furthest from the plate.

During our second sophomore year, we all were promoted to Home Ec. II.  In this class, we were taught how to make a dress.  I was so nervous as I went to the store to select a pattern for my dress, but thank goodness, I did select a pattern that met with her approval. (Looking back now with more experience in sewing, I realize that I had purchased a very complicated dress to make!) Because the dress was to be made of eyelet material (holes in the fabric) I would also have to create a lining to go underneath. I would essentially be making two dresses!

Somehow, through sheer ignorant luck on my part and formidable determination from my teacher, Mrs. White, I created that dress! We had a fashion show in front of the entire school, and I have to say, my dress was a bit different, but it looked and fit very well.  I had earned an A+ on the dress from Mrs. White! I was so proud of my accomplishment that I chose to wear that beautiful green eyelet dress for my piano recital at the end of the year.  I suppose I thought that even if I messed up on the piano piece, at least the audience might remember that I wore a lovely dress!

As I remember Mrs. White, I admire her patience as she taught both levels of the course curriculum.  To my recollection, she did not have any teaching assistants assigned to help with all those young girls who represented multiple levels of sewing during those one and half hours each day, five days a week.  She helped all of us, individually, all by herself.  In addition to sewing, cooking and setting a table, she also taught us how to recognize different styles of furniture.  I remember so well the project she assigned of creating a furniture book.  Thanks to her lessons, today I continue to remember the many different styles that are increasingly hard to find of French Provincial, Duncan Phife, Early American, French Countryside, Queen Anne, and Chippendale.

In those two full years of curriculum, I never heard her raise her voice.   When she insisted that a student take their project apart and put it together again, it was always with a soft voice and a reassuring smile.  Home Economics.   I believe today that course title has been changed several times.  Perhaps the title now is Family and Consumer Science, or Human Ecology.   Regardless of the change, it was indeed a useful learning experience for me, and one that I have continued to use throughout my domestic ventures, and I dare say that it would be a challenge to find a teacher who could surpass the patience and gentle determination of Mrs. White.  To her, I am indeed grateful, as she ingrained in me the proverbial creed, "If at once you do not succeed, try, try again"!

  

PHEROMONES / PERFUMES

Come take a walk on this lovely Spring Day.   I suppose the beauty of the trees and plants and the lovely fragrance wafting through the air have inspired me to share this story.

First of all, I do not wear perfumes, colognes, or any other products that have a lingering smell.  As a student nurse long ago, we were told that any strong odors such as perfumes etc. could create nausea on the part of the patient.  It was not just discouraged, it was forbidden.  As a working registered nurse, I continued this practice of perfumed abstinence, especially having chosen the surgical area as my favored nursing service.

It was during the late 1960's, and early 1970's when many of my friends were wearing a new fragrance called musk, allowing the wearer to have a more natural fragrance. (a better description should be pheromone)! At this point in my story let me explain the word pheromone:

"Pheromones are similar to hormones but work outside the body.  They induce activity in other individuals around you.  Scientists say, your airborne compounds send signals about your moods, your sexual orientation and even your genetic makeup. Airborne molecules that elicit a reaction in a member of the same species are called pheromones, and the most famous ones are potent aphrodisiacs."

I am about to share a personal experience with perfumes/pheromones that will dispute the scientific claim above!

Again, back to the time period as mentioned earlier.  One of my good female friends gave me a large bottle of Musk Oil for Christmas.  She had been using it and I had complimented her on the fragrance that she elicited as she moved about the room. A pleasant, musty, woodsy odor followed her as she moved among guests. I told her I would like to try that, believing this particular fragrance would not be noticeable. That Christmas, she gave me a huge bottle and I could not wait to try to smell really natural, like my friend.  And so it was on a particular night, I decided to run a HOT bath to which I emptied about 1/2 the bottle of Musk oil.

I slid into the exquisite silky soaking solution and stayed there for a long, delicious soak in a bathroom all to myself.  The children were asleep, and my husband was downstairs watching something on the T.V.  I was totally alone and enjoying pampering myself.  Even my flannel pajamas felt luxurious against my soft skin as I crawled into my bed.

After falling asleep, I was awakened by my husband who demanded that I wake up because there was a terrible smell in the bedroom, and we needed to find the source because it smelled like an animal had died under the bed!  I jumped out of bed and as I was helping him look under the bed and was up close to him, he began sniffing my arms, then my back. " Oh, no, he exclaimed, it is you!  What did you do?!" 

He further declared that he could not sleep with me and that the sheets needed to be changed and I needed to take another bath.  Well, I changed the sheets, but I did not take another bath, so I found other sleeping arrangement in another area of the house.

The next morning, I went to work at my position as the operating room manager of a small local hospital where I had worked for the past seven years.  I spent most of the day in the desk area located in the center of the main admitting hallway as we admitted patients into the correct surgical area.  Around mid-morning, one of the surgeons sat beside me in order to dictate his surgical notes.  He suddenly stopped during the dictation and looked at me.  He then asked if I had noticed a peculiarly foul odor that had permeated the operating room that morning.  I responded that I had not, trying to hide my secret.  I was now wishing I had taken another bath.  He then began sniffing around my arms and around the general area of my person.  He stood up and said:  "It is you!  What in the world have you done?"

Well!  Suffice it to say, I never again used the musk oil. I suppose the hot, soaking bath allowed the musk oil to diffuse from my skin into my circulatory system and emerge back through the skin after the long travels throughout the rest of my body!  I have to admit that it did take several days and showers before I felt it was safe to be around others.

Perhaps the musk changed my good pheromones to bad pheromones.  The reaction from my husband and the surgeon proved that maybe, just maybe, I could have been a good candidate for that one specimen who could demonstrate turning off/ on pheromones.

Oh, the pondering of it all...............................................

Jimmy Runs Away

There were times when my brother Jimmy was about five or six years old, that he had his own little game of running away from home.

This usually occurred at the end of the day and mostly in those good weather days of late spring or summer.  Most of the time, after supper and while mama, daddy, baby Dennis, Bonnie and I were still seated at the table following the meal. Jimmy would appear in the kitchen while carrying a paper bag or box filled with a few of his favorite toys.  The conversation would begin as:

Jimmy:  Mama, I am going to run away.

Mama:  I am sorry that you are going away, Jimmy.  

Jimmy:  Bye, Mama, Daddy, Bonnie and Brenda and baby Dennis

Mama:  I love you, Jimmy.  Please come back home soon.

All:        We love you, Jimmy.

Jimmy would leave the kitchen, exit through the back porch, down the steps and walk to the end of the driveway.  

Mama would watch him leave through the front kitchen windows.

Jimmy would carefully cross the road and proceed to walk over the front lawns of the two houses adjacent to each other.  There were several trees that separated the two houses and Jimmy always selected the big tree that would conceal him completely.  We, along with mama, would look through the window and from time to time we could see little Jimmy peeking around from behind the tree. We are not sure what he did, only knowing he had a few toys to play with.  I suppose he had created his special place, like a tree house, only he was under the tree limbs.  Maybe he felt safe there knowing his family was across the road and he had the advantage of knowing we were all there.

Jimmy would stay behind his safe tree until the shadows of the fading day beckoned him that maybe it would be a good idea to return home before dark.  We watched as he cautiously moved from his tree, walked across the yard toward the road and back to our house. The return of our “prodigal son” went something like this:

Jimmy:  Returning through the back porch to the kitchen, I am home mama.

Mama:  Embracing him in her arms, Oh Jimmy, I am so happy you came back home!

Family: Hey Jimmy, glad you are back home!

Jimmy continued his “running away from home” game from age five to six.  After he began school and enlarged his circle of friends, he no longer appeared to need his special, safe tree and his imaginary playmates again.

I do not remember that mama or daddy ever reprimanded their little boy for this behavior.  We were left with their good example of being loving parents.

As an adult my brother Jim has had a successful career in business, a loving marriage that has lasted to this date over fifty years. As parents, their two sons have the same success in their lives as now adults in their early fifties.

Jim/s adventures created trust from parents to children. As a little boy, he always knew he could come back home to loving and welcoming arms of those family members who loved him.

ANOTHER STUDENT STORY

Welcome!  I have a story about a student that I would love to share with you today.

Her name was Marguerite.  She was excited to be accepted into the Surgical Technology Program. Marguerite stood out among the all-female class, probably because of her morbid obesity.  I had interviewed her about two months before the acceptance date for entrance into the program and at that time I made several suggestions of possible other programs she might be interested in.  No, she said, I just want to work in the operating room.

Marguerite did well in all her first quarter classes.  She was a master with vocabulary and was well prepared for all her exams. Her grades were excellent. Since I had not been able to successfully lead her in another direction, I was hoping the second quarter labs would help her realize how she had several disadvantages for working in the operating room.  My predictions were true, because it became obvious, she would not be able to fit into the regulated surgical scrubs that were for hospital laundry only.  She had argued that her mother, who made all her clothes, could make her size.  No, I countered, you may not wash your scrubs at home.  I then pointed out that she appeared to be having a problem with adjusting to the small work area allotted to surgical technology students during the operative procedure.  There were many tables, several people and various pieces of machinery that had to occupy a confined space.  She began to accept that. 

That was when I offered her a Central Supply Technician as an alternative.  She could wear her own scrubs and launder them at home as there would not be blood or contagious fluids on her clothes.  She seemed happy with that and graduated with the class, but with a diploma in Central Supply Technician.

I did not hear from her again for several years.  It was then that I received a call from one of her former classmates.  This classmate was now a registered nurse working on the patient surgical unit of the local hospital.  She wanted me to know that Marguerite was a patient and was schedule for bariatric surgery the following morning (surgery to reduce the size of the stomach creating weight loss for morbid obesity).  She was very concerned about her friend because her family was trying to talk her out of having the procedure.  Marguerite was ready to cancel.  Her friend explained that she thought I could help her.  I told her to have her call me.

Marguerite called me soon after the conversation with her friend.  After the usual greetings and pleasantries, I asked her to tell me what was going on that her friend was very concerned about her welfare.  She explained that her family was objecting bitterly in regards to the surgery.  They wanted her to come home and forget about it.

I  asked Marguerite some simple questions :

1.  Do you have a boyfriend?

     Her answer:  No

2.  Do you have and drive your own car?

     Her answer:  No

3.  Are you able to shop and buy your own clothes?

     Her answer:  No

I explained that the surgery would change her life and make her more independent and happy, but it was her decision and only hers.

I did not hear from her again for two years.  However, her friend did call me and told me the surgery was successful.  Almost two years to the day, I was loading packages from Wal-mart into my car in the parking area.  I heard someone call my name as Mrs. Knight.  I turned around and saw a lovely young girl walking toward me. She had short black hair and she was wearing a fashionably cute summer outfit with shorts and sandals.  A second look told me this was Marguerite  -- the New Marguerite!

We embraced as we stood there in the parking lot.  She looked amazing! And this is what she said to me:

I have a boyfriend.

I have my own car.

I can shop at the stores.

I am Happy!

A True Story!  *Name has been changed

AND THERE WERE HURRICANES!

Come walk with me for a while and let me share two named storms I had the not so pleasant privilege of getting to know. The first one was called "Bob".

Bob came along in 1985 when my daughter was fifteen years old.  We had planned a vacation together at North Myrtle Beach with my good friend who also had a daughter the same age, and a condo to stay in.  We were excited and looking forward to some good beach time.  We arrived early in the week, and my friend and her daughter were to arrive later in the week.  

Unfortunately, on the day that they were to arrive, we received the news that an expected hurricane by the name of Bob had appeared on the radar as a category 3 hurricane and it was due to be on top of us that evening.  Of course, I panicked and wanted to leave the beach immediately and head inland.  My daughter and I began to pack our things, clean the condo and prepare for the long ride home.  I went downstairs to explain to the receiving desk that I would be leaving, but another renter would be arriving.  Of course, there were no cell phones in 1985, and no way to get in touch with my friend who was on her way.

The man at the reception desk explained to me that leaving would be a big mistake!  He said the building we were in (six stories tall) was the safest building on the beach.  He further explained that it was fairly new and was built with safety precautions against high winds.  He also reminded me that the major access roads out of the beach area would be packed with campers and other cars.  He emphasized that I would be putting myself in danger if I left!  

That was when he softened his voice, looked me dead in the eye and said that the best thing I could do would be to go to the bar down the hall and order a large strawberry daiquiri and try to relax! Well, I decided to do exactly what he recommended, and with my drink in hand was welcomed by a group across the hall playing bingo.  They invited me to join them.  They were having a hurricane party!

Julia was still upstairs in our room, frantically cleaning and packing our things.  You can imagine her surprise when I finally returned to our room and told her we were going to stay and ride out the storm.  We watched the weather report on television, and Julia kept her eyes glued on the view of the trees beginning to blow in the wind through the sliding glass door.   Around ten o'clock I decided to take the one anti-depressant my sister had given me for emergency use only.  I fell sound to sleep, leaving Julia to keep a lookout.

The next morning, I lazily awoke to my daughter's story about her night with the hurricane!  She said that while I was asleep, the hallway was filled with the other residents who chose to seek shelter in the hallway away from the windows in the condos.  She told me that the walls shook, and the wind was very loud!  I looked out the large patio door to the balcony and saw that the fence around the pool and tennis courts were bent and crumpled to the ground.  A further inspection of the damage showed all the outside chairs were floating in the pool!

Later that morning, my friend arrived and shared a harrowing tale of having to spend the night in a "shady" motel.  She was awake the entire night listening to the howling wind and praying the windows would not blow out!

Fortunately, no one was injured and we were able to enjoy the remainder of the week in the condo by the beach!  The locals quicky printed "I Survived Bob" t-shirts and sold them the rest of the summer. 

THE MIGHTY HUGO HURRICANE!

Glad you are here to follow while I share with you my story about a huge hurricane that created massive destruction!

During those hurricane seasons, particularly August-October, we would daily be watching the weather forecast on television.  This was 1989, before the cell phones and the laptop computers.  We were at the mercy of those local meteorologists from their home base of Charlotte, N.C.  

On September 21, 1989, the weather forecast predicted that a category 5 (yes, 5) hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean was on a path toward South Carolina, more specifically, Charleston.  The warning was for all persons in that area, particularly the beaches, to do whatever to protect their houses and seek shelter inland. Since we were living at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in a rural area of Caldwell County, we were not at all concerned that we would have anything more than rain and some increased wind gusts. We made no preparations for a major storm.

On the morning of September 22, I was awakened by my daughter at 5:30 a.m.  She urged me to look out the bedroom window at the trees.  Before I moved from the bed I said, "put the coffee on!".  As I stood and gazed out my bedroom window that was located at the front of the house, I was amazed that the large trees in my front yard were bending toward the ground.  The wind was whistling, and the rain was coming down in thick sheets.  This was definitely not what we had expected!

At that time my son, who lived about two miles from my house, called.  He was frightened and since their small house did not have a basement, he wanted to bring his family over, which included two small children, to my house.  He said he would stop at his Mamaw Lillie's house across the road and bring her too. 

When he arrived, he had to park his vehicle as close as possible to the front door in order to get his family and Mamaw Lillie into the house safely.  Julia and I helped them unload the children and Mamaw as we quickly descended the stairs into my basement area.  Fortunately, this area was completely finished and was a comfortable place for our safety.  We were able to stay away from the back wall that had a large window.  By now, the power had gone off, so the basement was dark except for the gray light coming from the side window around the corner.  Greg stayed glued to his portable battery-powered radio with updates on the weather conditions.

We learned that the hurricane did indeed hit Charleston, however in moving inward, it cut a direct path toward Charlotte and the foothills of the Carolinas.  Our sustained winds in Charlotte were 90 miles per hour and in our area were 70 miles per hour with gusts moving upward toward 100.  There were reports of tornados spinning off from the hurricane!  

We remained in the basement while we heard trees crack and pop in the woods behind the house.  The wind was fierce and the rain pounding!  We dared not venture up the stairs to investigate any damage for fear of getting hurt. The storm raged for about five hours, and then Greg reported that we were now in the eye of the storm and would be safe for about 30 to 40 minutes while the eye passed over.  After that the storm would return.

It was then that we received a call from Aunt Carol who lived diagonally across the road, and next door to Lillie's (Mamaw's) house across the road from my house.  She told us to look outside and reported that a tree had fallen on her garage, and a tree was in her pool behind the house!  Greg and I decided to go upstairs and survey any damage that had been sustained.  To our relief, there was no visible damage to the house, and not one tree in my yard was damaged. We could see limbs and leaves scattered across the yard. Carol reported that every tree in Lillie's back yard had been mowed down as though a freight train had moved through!  Her house was intact as far as they could tell.

Stepping outside, the sun was brightly shining and there was no wind, nor rain.  Everything was eerily quiet.  We knew this would not last as the second half of the storm was about to begin and continue to thrust us into the power and continuing danger of the storm.  It lasted another 3-4 hours and finally we heard all clear from the portable radio that continued to be monitored by Greg. Another look around the house and yard confirmed that we had escaped damage.  We were grateful!

Our phone land lines were still working, so I called my sister to check on her.  She and her husband were not aware of the storm warnings and since she had to be at work that morning at 4:30 am she and her husband ventured out and made the 6–7-mile drive to the hospital where she worked in the out-patient surgery area. It was only after they arrived at the hospital when they learned that we were in a hurricane and also possible tornados.  They spent the day at the hospital and returned hone later that evening when it was safe to travel.  They did not have any storm damage to their home.

We were without power for two weeks!  There was extensive damage to many homes and of course all the power lines. Each day we were given reports of the multiple tornados that had occurred especially in the Shelby area along highway 18.  Sometime later I was able to drive to that area and was amazed at the many homes destroyed.  

It was during this time that I was teaching at the community college in Hickory.  One of my students lived along that corridor of highway 18 in Vale.  She told me that her entire family, parents and two siblings fled to the basement of their brick house.  When the storm ended, the stairs leading from the basement were still there, but there appeared daylight at the top of the stairs.  Their entire house above was gone!

Looking back now, it is recorded that Hurricane Hugo affected 2 million people across SC, NC, Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands, killing 67 and costing $11 billion in damage.  At date, it is the strongest hurricane on record (according to Wikipedia).

   

THE STUDENT WHO BELIEVED!

Come! Walk along with me as I tell you a true story. This one happened during my second year of teaching a program called Surgical Technology at the community college in Hickory, N.C.

I began teaching in late 1979 and graduated my first class of operating room technicians (as they were called at that time) in the summer of 1980.  The class was all female, 12 students, and we were using the quarter system.  The first quarter was mostly orientation, the second quarter was lab preparation for the operating room and the last two quarters were once weekly classes covering all the specialty areas of surgery while the students had four days of clinical in the assigned operating room.

On this day, I selected a particular student who had progressed very well in her skills to help me with a demonstration.  She had been able to successfully pass off on her scrubbing, gowning and gloving of both herself and the surgeon.  I played the role of the surgeon, and the student was to assume the role of a scrub technician.  I introduced the class and the student to the surgical procedure we would imitate, and to the various instruments that would need to be used. Shortly, thereafter, it was time to begin the role-play for an acute abdominal procedure.

I did not enter the surgical area until the student had prepared the room for the mock surgical procedure. She correctly handed the towel for drying of my hands, then proceeded to gown and the glove the surgeon. We were ready to begin.  A dummy model was used as we proceeded to correctly cover the operative area with the required drapes.   The instrument stand contained all the necessary clamps, retractors and sutures. Together we clipped the suction and cautery to the prearranged areas on the sterile field.  We were ready for the imaginary surgical procedure.

I called for the scalpel, and we proceeded through the layers of the mock patient.  At that point I decided to make this as real as possible.  Suddenly I announced that we had a massive amount of bleeding and I needed retractors and more kelIy clamps. I kept calling out for them as I continued to describe the massive bleeding, urgently adding that I needed more sponges & suction.  She handed the instruments as needed and then the suction.  At this point I increased my demand for more suction and the cautery to help control the bleeding. 

Just as I asked for more large lap sponges to control all the massive bleeding, my student fainted!  I ran to her side to make sure she was not hurt.  As soon as she recovered, I asked her what happened?!

Her answer:  It was all that blood!  

TORNADOS!!!

 Today is Monday, March 28th.  I clarify that again along with the title of this blog in order to acclimate you with the weather we had (or did not have) this past Thursday, March 24th. My location at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains has always offered security from tornados. The pattern of global warming appears to encourage violent storms anywhere causing me to be more observant and aware of the possibility of the storms of this nature that did not exist fifty years ago in this area. Even today, those warnings seem a bit foreign, but are now taken seriously.

This past Thursday we were once again reminded that we, along with the rest of the country are vulnerable to the violent events of nature. Information that we receive from meteorologists is becoming more and more accurate.  We have also learned that the survivors heed the warning. Fortunately, we did not have a touch-down tornado.

What we did have were lots of warnings on our digital devices that seemed to occur with regularity every 10 - 15 minutes.  The first warning for me was with the six-o'clock news from one of the local Charlotte stations.  The report emphasized changing weather for our vicinity in the form of an approaching cold front.   We were to be aware of possible thunderstorms and increasing winds as the front moved through.  I had canceled a hair appointment earlier in order to be safe during the late afternoon hours and not be on a crowded highway. I was tucked safely away in my cottage when suddenly the power went off.  Not quite dark yet, I secured my flashlights as a precaution.

My daughter-in-law was concerned that I would be alone during the possible ensuing storms and offered to bring me to her house approximately five minutes away.  I accepted her generous offer because she had power, and a safe basement on the lowest level of her three-story house.  I knew I could not drive because the power outage prevented me from opening my garage door.

During my 2-3 hours there, we continued to watch the weather channels which increasingly showed a large amount of rain over our area.  We kept checking outside, but so far, no rain, nor thunder or lightening.  At the end of the second hour, we could hear distant thunder, but still no rain.  The radar on our phones showed no storms over our area; in fact, the radar showed all clear.  Since it was now nine-o' clock, and according to my report from my neighbor that power was resumed, I decided to have my daughter-in-law drive me home.  Things were clear!

We thought!  As we were approaching my cottage area, a sudden torrential downpour began along with lightning and thunder. (One of the main indications or approaching tornado!?)  I quickly ran into my house hoping that it was just a thunderstorm.  Omitting a shower, I changed into my PJ's and settled in bed with a good book.  Suddenly, a warning on my phone directed me to get to cover immediately!  Tornado Warning!

I grabbed all the pillows on my bed, my three flashlights (including the one that fit across my forehead), my phone and my book.  I settled into the hall bathroom shower and had managed to make myself as comfortable as possible.  Once again, the loud warning on my phone!  Next, my phone began to ring.....

This was my neighbor next door who was concerned for my safety.  He knew I did not have a finished basement and he did.  He and his wife invited me to come to their cottage next door and declared that they would meet me at their front door. ( Here, I will explain that even though they had a small concrete area in their basement, one could only enter from going through the house, across the back and wet deck, down some very wet steps, across a small area of grassy yard and then enter the back door.)

I accepted their invitation to safety, kept on my PJ's, threw on my old pair of shoes, my raincoat and grabbed my phone.  After turning on my outside front lights, I closed my locked door and walked down my curved walk to the street.  This it when it occurred to me that I was probably not doing the safe thing!

I am now eighty-one years old, it is pouring rain, I see flashes of lightning; however there is a warm calmness in the atmosphere. The tornado warnings are coming more frequently, and I am outside in the elements!  Even though I quickly acknowledged my stupidity, I continued on to my neighbor's cottage where they were waiting for me inside their front door as I stepped in to the safety of their house.

Well.............not quite...........We now had to proceed on this treacherous journey to the back deck (rain), down the very steep (wet) steps to the grassy (wet) yard.  We made it to the back basement door where we had chairs to sit on, phones to monitor the weather and a door to see outside. ( solid door that remained open)

We laughed about our predicament, that we were in our pajamas, and that we had to limit the drinks of water since there was no bathroom on that level! We shared stories of other storms and some unusually funny happenings during our lifetime.  It was a jovial atmosphere in spite of the possible danger  lurking outside the basement door.

We continued to get warnings on our phones and radar showing that the tornado was very close.  At one point, I stepped just outside the door and there was an errie calm outside with a sense of forboding.  I quickly came back inside where we all remained until we finally got an all-clear on the radar around 11:45.

I returned home around midnight, had my milk and cookie, climbed into bed and fell fast asleep.  I was safe!

Spelling and writing

While talking to one of my friends last week, I shared that I had begun writing again and am enjoying being one of the editors for a magazine we publish here in our community every other month.  She was not surprised that I had gotten involved in writing again, knowing that I had always integrated that into my nursing roles.  It was then she asked how or when did I first notice my desire to write. This is my story I shared with her.

I suppose my interest in writing began in elementary school during spelling B"s.  I would be among the final five or ten in the classroom as we advanced to the final spelling B contest for the school.  I think I won one of the more challenging B's, but I just could not keep up with a little kid in my class named Arvil Bolick.

Arvil was a shy, small-sized boy with red hair and freckles to match.  He was quiet and unassuming, but boy could he spell.  When challenged, he seemed to grow in both stature and confidence!  I admired him, but knowing how well he could spell, I entered those spelling B's somewhat anxious because I knew Arvil would always get better as the words became more difficult.

I shared this story with my daughter who began asking if I remembered Arvil in high school.  The high school was located in a small town and all of the former elementary students had to be bussed there.  I do not remember him beyond the eighth grade.  My daughter did some quick research on her computer and landed on his obituary.  From that, we learned the following basic information about him:

In 1957 he was living in Maryland

He married and had two sons

He lost one son aged 42

Arvil died at the age of fifty-three

This is not much information, but more than when I began writing about him.  I wish I could have filled in the spaces as I am certain he had the usual phases as we all did during our ages of 20's, 30's and 40's.  Most of us who were born in 1940 married or established a vocation by age eighteen.  It was during those years that we put down roots in a hometown while establishing our children in public schools. Our families were created in our 20's, and we guided our children through their own trying teenage years. 

I had graduated from high school in 1958, so I began my own research into the yearbook to try to find a record of his high school years, but with no luck.  I did not find the name of his wife; and her name was not one of the girls that I was familiar with.  I found no record of her in my yearbook either.  Since he was living in Maryland in 1957, perhaps he dropped out of school and joined the military. Perhaps he married someone there.  It was sad to read that he lost one son, aged forty-two and that he followed him in death at an early age of fifty-three. 

I wish I could have known him as an adult.  I would have asked if he had pursued his love of words and spelling in his given vocation. I wonder, like me, if he enjoyed writing about his experiences and his family.  Somehow, I would like to believe that he did.

This small amount of afternoon research led me to a strange friendship-kinship to a former classmate who unknowingly challenged me to broaden my vocabulary, thus creating a desire to share the written word.  As a child I was probably a little jealous of Arvil and his confidence in correctly combining letters into difficult words.  He was a master with syllables and the sounds. 

 We should all reflect on those encounters in the past which influenced who we are today.  I wonder if there was something I did or said in my childhood or as a teen that made an impact on someone else.  If so, I can only hope that it was something good!  I wish he knew that his confidence inspired my love of writing which continues to this day, and I wish I could have said "thank you."  Instead, I will honor his influence by sharing my brief memory of him through written words, our common childhood talent.