Keeping and Purging

In preparing to move to my new casa, I've been going through a lot of things and attempting to sort and purge. I have way too much stuff and my style has somewhat changed, so I'm wanting to do some redecorating. I'm having a really hard time deciding what to keep and what to sell, though.

It finally just occurred to me why I'm having so many issues with putting things into the "purge" pile: I have memories tied to nearly every single thing I own. Some of the people I love the most have given me things in my house, which makes them extra special to me. And it's not that I don't still love these people, or the thought behind each and every gift, but it's just that my style has changed some and, as a result, many things no longer really fit with my decor (or, well, how I'm wanting to decorate).

Perfect case in point: since college, I've had a large amount of Americana decor throughout my house. While I still want to keep some of it and much of it will still fit with what I want to do, there are some things that won't work as well. One of these things is a gift that I was given by a former co-worker/friend. I haven't seen her in nearly six years, but every time I look at this particular piece, I think of her and smile. Plus, there's a really great story behind how she gave me this gift -- it's too long to get into here.

Deep down, I know that she would neither care nor be offended that my style has changed, but I still feel like I'm somehow being a crappy friend. I've got to get past this and realize that these things, while no longer my style, will make someone else very happy!

Selfishness

I've come to the conclusion that I'm a very selfish person.

My grandpa, Poppy, is back in the hospital and is not doing well. He's nearly 90 years old, and as naturally occurs with age, his body is wearing out; I'm not going to list his ailments, but suffice to say, he's just not well. He's facing his own mortality and has learned that he might not get to go back home; when he's released from the hospital, his doctor is dictating that he go into assisted living or a nursing home. As one might expect, he's horribly upset and depressed.

He's always been such a vibrant and spunky man. I've always been able to count on seeing his blue eyes twinkle when he's telling a joke and to get a tight hug every time I see him. He's always acted so much younger than his actual age, until the past two years.

I hate this. I hate that someone I love so much is hurting and is so sad and feels so utterly hopeless. I hate it. I hate knowing that he probably won't be around for terribly much longer. I hate knowing...I just hate it.

Why am I selfish? Because I don't want to lose him. I don't want him to hurt or be depressed or be sad. I want to keep him here forever, but I want him to be younger, healthier, and vibrant. I guess what I'm saying is that I want it all. And, heartbreakingly, this is one time when there's no way that I'll get what I want.

It's All Fun and Games...Until Somebody Breaks a Nose

Jason's best friend talked us in to going to play disc golf this afternoon. I've always wanted to play, so I was more than game. Our group included four of us, two of whom have layed extensively and two of whom had never played -- I'm one of the disc golf virgins.

Well, we'd played six holes and I finally was starting to get the hang of things and really enjoy myself...until we were getting ready to leave for the seventh hole. One of our guys had lost a disc in the trees, so he went to retrieve it, deciding to throw it out once h found it. Well, three of us were standing by the hole when the disc came flying out. About the same time I saw a flash of bright orange, it smashed straight into the bridge of my nose.

After about 15 minutes of trying to stem the bleeding, I could fee the cartilidge crunching, so we headed to urgent care. Urgent care refused to see me, instead sending me to the ER. Long story short, I have a broken nose, which is rapidly swelling and bruising.

I'm in a pretty significant amount of pain and am miserable, but the poor guy who threw the disc seems to be equally miserable. He keeps apologizing, but I swear that I don't hold him accountable. I'm not at all mad (well, not at him; the ER, now that's a different story).

I really did have a good time, broken nose nonwithstanding. Once I'm feeling better, I'm excited to play again. Only maybe I need a helmet.

Oklahoma Illegalization of Scientific Research

Well, the Oklahoma legislature is at it again. They somehow managed to pass a bill, through both the house and the senate, that makes it illegal for companies in this state to perform embryonic stem cell research. What's more is that the bill also makes it illegal for any medical procedures that have been discovered as a result of embryonic stem cell research to be performed in Oklahoma. Governor Henry is expected to veto this bill before the deadline of 11:59 pm tonight, but the margins by which the bill was passed in the legislature indicate that there's enough power to override this veto.

Whether or not you believe that life begins at conception is essentially pointless in this case. The stem cell research that is being done/has been done/is planned to be done in Oklahoma is done on stem cells extracted from fertilized embryos that would not otherwise be used; instead, these embryos are slated to be discarded as medical waste.

So, keeping in mind all of the advances and cures that potentially could be found through this research - those for ALS, cancer, paralysis, spinal cord injuries, Alzheimer's, and others -- the Oklahoma legislature is sending a message that, no matter that there are people who are living with these issues, their lives are not as important as something that has been deemed medical waste. Basically, they are telling me that my grandfather, who is suspected to be in the early stages of Alzheimer's, is not as important as something slated for the trash. That my friends and family members who are fighting or have fought cancer are not worth saving -- that saving waste is more important.

This doesn't even take into account the economic implications that making this research illegal could have on our state.

Please, Oklahoma residents, I urge you to think about what this could mean for our state. Contact your legislators and ask them to support Governor Henry's veto of this bill. Allow this research to occur. You never know -- it might be you, or your loved one, who needs the cure found through this research.

When You're Tan You're...

Tan and Tone America has a stupid new commercial playing on several local radio stations. The phrase repeated throughout it annoys me to no end: "When you're tan, you're hot; when you're not, you're not."

Um, okay. How about we ask my friend Brandy what she thinks of the commercial? I'm relatively sure that she'd tell you that when you're tan, you might have skin cancer. She had a cancerous growth removed from her ankle a couple of weeks ago. To the best of my knowledge, she's never been in a tanning bed and I KNOW that she uses sunscreen religiously.

Now, I can't say that I've never been in a tanning bed or never laid out to get some sun. I have only laid in a tanning bed three times because it turned me a funky yellowish shade, but I have spent plenty of time outside without sunscreen -- swimming, playing golf, boating, working on the farm, and more. I've also had more sunburns, several of which were horrible, than I can count. I've not been as diligent about applying sunscreen as I should be, but that's all about to change.

Knowing someone close to me, who is within my age range, has had skin cancer removed has completely changed my outlook. Sure, I think a slight tan is pretty, but this summer when we go to the lake, I'll be slatering on the sunscreen. The same when I mow the yard and the same goes for pretty much anytime I'm going to spend time in the sun.

I don't care if, according to Tan and Tone America, I'm NOT hot because I'm not tan. Personally, I'd rather be pale, pasty, and "not hot" and be skin cancer free.

Pics of the New Ink

Mom's new tat on top and mine below hers:

Tattoos Cause Cancer!

My mom came to see me this weekend and we've had a crazily fun time together. From the moment she arrived, we've barely stopped -- pedis, junk food, the casino, and the ultimate -- we both got tattoos. It was her first and my second.

Last night, we emailed pictures of them to my sister, who showed them to my nephew. I had forgotten that my nephew apparently hates tattoos, until he called tonight to talk to my mom. He told Mom he'd seen the pictures and was incredibly unhappy. Mom kept asking him why he dislikes tattoos so much and he finally said, "Well, Grandma, it's like this. Tattoos cause cancer."

Where did kids get these things? Mom quickly reassured him that, no, tattoos do NOT cause cancer, but he apparently still hates the idea of them.

How do You Mend a Broken Heart?

I'm hoping that Dr. Zepic at the rest of his cardiology staff at the Kansas Medical Center in Andover know the answer to this question. My Poppy Abe (maternal grandpa) is on his way to Andover for heart surgery tomorrow morning and I hope beyond all hope that Dr. Zepic will again be able to help heal Poppy's heart.

A year and a half ago, Poppy had a heart attack and was airlifted to Andover, where Dr. Zepic managed to save his life. This past Friday, he had a spell at home and passed out; luckily, some of my family members were at his house when it happened. He's been in the Fredonia hospital since then, and as of tomorrow afternoon, will be the proud new owner of a pacemaker.

I know that this is a relatively uncomplicated surgery, but when you're talking about a man who is nearly 90 years old, especially when he's MY grandpa, it provides cause for me to worry. I'm not heading to Kansas at this point and am not planning on going, unless something bad happens tomorrow.

I've got to admit that Dr. Zepic doesn't exactly have the world's best bed-side manner, but he managed to help Poppy pull through last time and also is Mom's cardiologist, so I have full faith in him. I guess it doesn't really matter if you're a cheery, happy person, so long as you're a good and talented physician and know how to mend a broken heart.

The Bill with a Name

Two weeks or so ago, I received a one dollar bill in change from my lunch. When I pulled it out the next morning to buy a Diet Coke, I discovered that it had been autographed. I couldn't read the signed name, but could read that it was written to "Destiny" with "Best wishes!". I stuck it back in my wallet, thinking that I would research it a little more at a later time.

Over the next few days, I'd periodically see it and wonder whose name was signed to it. Why had someone spent a dollar that they had someone autograph? Was it someone famous? Locally famous? Internationally famous? Did they spend it by accident? Because they had no other money? I still had no clue, but resisted spending it, thinking that I'd just hang onto it for a while.

Fast forward another day or so and I had come down with a nasty cold. I went in to work to pick up my computer and a few other things and then prepared to head for home so that I could rest and heal. On my way down the stairs, I was overcome by a coughing fit and desperately needed a drink -- I was dizzy and my throat was on fire. I walked through the break room and made a beeline for the soda machine. As I reached into my purse, I grabbed the only dollar I had with me to feed into the machine -- the autographed one. I watched the machine pull it in and grabbed my bottle of water, hoping to help my throat.

On the way home, as I sipped water and coughed, I thought a little more about that dollar. Perhaps, like me, the autograph recipient spent it out of desperation. I'll never know whose signature graced that bill, although I will long wonder, as will I wonder what drove the recipient to spend the autograph.