05.25.07
But is this safe?
Amelia has surgery coming up and we are quite nervous. She is slated to have a selective dorsal rhizotomy on August 1st, and, though the success rate is quite high, I get scared thinking of the implications of a slight misstep when work is done on the spinal cord.
From what I understand (which isn’t much), the surgeon(s) will make a small incision on her back to remove some of the sensory nerves in her legs. Apparently there is some sort of sensory over-spill, such that the sensation of one leg is being felt (sensed?) in the other, which would explain much of her stiffness and spacisity…each leg “wants” to respond to what the other one feels.
Amelia is supposed to be a prime candidate for this surgery, but it is still nerve wracking and the logistical implications are overwhelming when I think about them for too long. The recovery process will include therapy two times a day (on weekdays) for up to four months, and then once a day for up to a year. In the meantime, we would like to enroll her in a kindergarten program next year. There is a private, Christian school on the same road as the hospital at which she would have therapy, so a half-day program (between therapies) there would be ideal. We have yet to hear back about any openings, though.
Once she has had surgery, she will no longer be on her Baclofen “Yucky pills” (which eases the muscle stiffness), which I think will be a good thing, because she seems to be developing a dependency on those. I am also hopeful because of the high success rate of this operation, and all of Amelia’s therapists’ comments that she is such a hard worker with great enthusiasm and dedication. I am hoping this will be the thing that gets her walking (ideally unaided eventually, or at least with quad canes or something similar), but I am also a natural pessimist who worries that this will end up being a lot of trouble for little or no results. Also, I feel like we have somewhat reached the end of our metaphorical rope, so if this fails, I don’t know what else we will be left with to try.
Through all of this, I know that God is faithful, and I know that He works all things for His glory and for the good those whom He loves. I may have my own desires and agendas, but through disappointments and pleasant surprises I must remember that (as C.S. Lewis reminds us…indirectly) He’s good, and He’s the King.
The Taste of Summer
There is a Chinese buffet in town that we frequent and the kids love. Amelia loves crab (as well as the krab) and they all look forward to the rainbow ice cream that is often available (what’s ironic is that it’s actually vanilla flavored. It seems like a cruel joke to add superfluous, clothes-staining coloring to an ice cream that is “naturally” white).
On one trip, I teased Amelia by combining her two favorites and asked if she was going to have the Krab Ice Cream (I believe that fatherhood has made me less clever over the years…but some would probably argue that very little has changed). I thought my creativity made up for the lack of “clever”, but apparently I have been beaten to the punch (so to speak) with my dessert ideas.
Here are links to the wacky, wackier, and wackiest world of Japanese ice cream…
05.10.07
Start the Presses
There are several ways to be successful in this world. With dedication, perseverance, and initiative, most anyone can diligently work his way to achieve any number of goals. Or, of course, there is the shortcut route of crime; one could also lie, cheat, and/or steal his way to the top. It appears, though, that even criminals must at least put forth the tiniest bit of effort, so I thought it was funny when I read about, perhaps, the laziest criminal effort ever.
According to this article posted by United Press International, Calvin Swen tried to pass off bricks of white paper as “incognito” $100 bills. He didn’t even make the effort of trying to make the bills look genuine; he just had a bunch of blank paper that was supposedly magic money. Swen claimed that the key to undying the bills was to place one of the “bills” between 2 actual bills. (Of course, maybe he just claimed that sandwiching the bill between two $50s will give one $100, which is true enough, I suppose.)
Many years ago, I had learned from Mr. Wizard that pennies could be magically shined to a brilliant coppery luster if they were dipped in a solution made from common household items like vinegar and salt (Mr. Wizard is probably the main reason I studied chemical engineering). Being somewhat entrepreneurial by nature, I planned to open a neighborhood money shining business while at my friend’s house one weekend. His mom kindly explained to me the tiny hole in my plan, when she pointed out that very few people would be willing to pay to have their pennies serviced (no matter how shiny they might become). I felt kind of dumb having to be taught such a simple lesson, but apparently, it’s not as obvious as I might have thought. It seems Mr. Swen’s optimism knew fewer bounds than most, because his prospective buyer was supposed to bring $5 million with which to purchase the alleged $4 million of sneaky money. To whomever might wish to capitalize on Swen’s deal, if you throw in an extra million or so, and I could probably shine those blank sheets of paper up real nice; I’ll just stop by Wal-mart tonight to pick up the vinegar.
Least of These
As lavender daydreams of seafoam seraphim swam inside my mind
Distracted thoughts disregarded imperfect strangers.
Deepset eyes told of criminal hearts…or wearied souls.
Oh, how was I to know?
Amidst sinner saints and street-walking politics
The only remaining heroes tell the truth and never get caught.
But only truth and beauty scratch our skin and pierce our hearts.
Oh, how are we to know?
Strangers feed their toothaches with net-worth hidden in soupcans
While bellies swell from lack and greed
Both wallets and souls are lost on these lonesome streets.
You tried to tell me so.
Oh, but how was I to know?
05.02.07
The Rest of Rowan’s Story
Some time back, a story was posted on the announcement board in our break room. This story was offered as an inspirational essay of hope and encouragement in the business world. Ironically, the first site I found hosting a write-up of this essay was blocked by our network police program (personal websites are apparently a no-no).
Anyway, I appreciated the intent of this message, and I believe it makes some interesting observations about modern employees, but I think it left out some important pieces. The essay is A Message To Garcia (found here), and it begins like this…
IN ALL THIS CUBAN BUSINESS there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion. When war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba—no one knew where. No mail or telegraph could reach him. The President must secure his co-operation, and quickly.
What to do!
Someone said to the President, “There is a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can.”
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How “the fellow by name of Rowan” took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and having delivered his letter to Garcia—are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail
The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, “Where is he at?”
By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this or that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing—”Carry a message to Garcia.”
Since the original author did not wish to dwell on the details of Rowan’s adventures, it is up to our imaginations to determine his course. Here’s my version…
Rowan was a resourceful man, and he knew Garcia’s role in the revolution, so he booked a ticket on the next vessel to Cuba. He docked on the coast in the dead of night, and began asking passer-bys about the whereabouts of Garcia.
As he slowly unraveled the (few) clues and eventually discarded the (many) red herrings, he migrated his way through the deadly jungle. Undeterred by the deafening cacophony of insects (who often dined on his blood), the necessity of perpetual watchfulness for deadly camouflaged snakes and spiders, and the mementos of sprained ankles and scratches, he wandered through the jungle in search of more hints to his final destination.
After three weeks of deprivation, Rowan finally made it to Garcia’s secret camp. He proudly handed the leader the message.
Garcia’s eyes bounced like a metronome as they hungrily devoured the words printed on the correspondence. But suddenly, His face contorted in confusion. He read and re-read the note, checking the back of the paper each time for something that might have been missed.
He handed the latter back to Rowan and explained that he had already heard all this…
You see, knowing that the letter was of utmost importance, the President had decided to make triplicate copies of the message. For additional assurance, he assigned the task of delivery to three different individuals: Rowan, Skippy, and Edgar.
Edgar was a timid and meticulous sort of fellow who was well-meaning yet distractible. Three weeks into the assignment, he was still in the States spending his time perusing the university libraries and Google maps (occasionally wandering over to the magazine section and EBay) for the exact whereabouts of Garcia…his time, that is, that wasn’t spent harassing the President with incessant and often irrelevant questions.
Rowan, as we saw, left immediately for Cuba with his suitcase of gumption, a carry-on bag stuffed with initiative, and little else. In three weeks, he had traversed the jungle (ala Family-Circus fashion) and had eventually tracked down the elusive Garcia.
Skippy, on the other hand, realized that like all assignments, this one surely had some specs, and he figured that some prior research had probably been conducted. Knowing the President was a busy man, he asked the President’s secretary for some contact information of people “in the know” for this particular task. No one knew exactly where Garcia was, but several folks had some educated ideas, and many knew where he was not. The committee also knew of some decent mule salesmen and ATV stores, so Skippy would not have to journey on foot. He asked all the right questions, and picked all the right brains, and a week and a half into the assignement, he delivered his copy of the letter…well before Rowan. He returned home much less scathed by the markings of jungle adventure, because his preparatory research had shown him that he should begin his adventure on the opposite coast from Rowan.
