I did not love every minute of clinical rotations when I was a student at St. Kate’s so I am thinking nursing is out.  Being a social worker would be a great fit with my personality, but take me backwards with salary.  I am often asked why I continue to take classes since I don’t seem to have a plan.  I am waiting for that one class or that one professor that empowers me to explore something I could be compassionate about.  

I have no fear about next semester.  What is the worst thing that could happen?  I am a firm believer in everything for a reason.  Since it has taken me this long to get my education maybe I have fear of success.  Then again isn’t success judged differently based on each person’s perspective?  

What I am most excited about next semester is trying something new.  What I fear most is that I will have too high of expectations and become disappointed over something trivial.  Maybe I should be a teacher so I can come up with the weekly assignments.  I would be one of those teachers who does not give homework!!!  Here is to a great spring semester J

Why would someone’s life be made so dramatically different with something as simple as a grabber?  If you have ever had a back injury, suffer from multiple sclerosis or are elderly the grabber may be a life line.  Don’t get the wrong idea you don’t have to be disabled or injured to appreciate this baby.  Have you ever tried to grab a lone sock stuck behind the dryer in the laundry room?  If you had a grabber you could easily retrieve such an item without rearranging the entire room or having to move aside a 100 pound appliance. 

After my husband had major back surgery I took time off of work to nurse him back to health.  Once I returned to work he was on his own.  This posed a small problem considering he couldn’t bend over to pick anything up.  Staring at the cell phone on the floor knowing that you have just dropped your life line is daunting, but not if you have the grabber.  Hopefully you have been fortune enough to always be able to put your own socks on, but if you haven’t there is the grabber.  Independence is important to us all with the grabber you have a sense of freedom most people take for granted.   

You don’t see a grabber at second hand stores or rummage sales because once you have one you keep this charm around.  I cannot tell you how many times we have pulled the grabber out to the marveling eyes of guest who say, “Yeah, that is awesome, where did you get that?”  The answer does surprise most people.  You buy a grabber at a medical supply store usually right along the same isle as the raised toilet seat, but that is another invention story all by itself. 

We have constant motion in our home which is something I love most.  It is never dull or boring.  At times it is just down right over stimulating.  There are phones vibrating, computer keyboards clicking, showers running, televisions blaring and usually conversation in the kitchen.  The smell of morning coffee or bacon frying is usually better than an alarm clock around this place.  You don’t want to be the last one in the shower the hot water only lasts for so long.  With teenage girls in the house you have to be quick on your feet.  If you want privacy my favorite place might not be a good fit for you since the closest thing to privacy would be a closed six panel oak bedroom door and I sign that reads “do not disturb.”  Of course the “do not disturb” sign does not mean that people will be quiet.  In my home, tasks like a timed on-line English quiz takes on a whole new meaning when you have people hovering over your shoulder asking for signatures on homework, a quick $20 for gas, answers to simple questions like “where is my snowboard,” an emergency cell call from your college student passing on information that yet another phone has been lost, or the home phone paging you in for an unexpected shift.    

How can all of this make my home my most favorite place on earth?  At the end of the day when everyone is safe and well cared for I can crash with my favorite person in the whole world my husband.  Did I mention the bed we crash on happens to be the most amazing one in the world?  It was a 20^th anniversary gift we bought for each other.  The heavy black metal high post frame shipped from some fancy store in California topped with the latest Stearns and Foster plush pillow top mattress.  The sheets are the finest imported Italian linens known to man.  The cozy warm down comforter is fabulous and was free.  Those Marriott rewards points come in handy.  My place is not a mansion and the furnishings may be meek, but it will always be my most favorite place in the world because it contains my family and me! 

At the age of twelve, jobs were not exactly easy to come by.  We had a ton of chores to complete around the house, but an allowance in our home was unheard of.  Can you picture my parents doling out allowance for all nine of us?  I had to watch my little brothers and sisters all the time.  A light bulb went off in my head, why not get paid to do it.  There were plenty of little kids in the neighborhood.  Thanks to my older siblings fabulous reputation I was able to monopolize on their repeat babysitting business. 

The money started rolling in.  I had to find a place to stash all my cash.  An old Folgers coffee can was my bank.  The nice part about the can is that you could count or recount your money as often as you liked.  There were downsides to the can.  You had to find a good hiding place to keep your siblings out of it.  You also had to resist the temptation to use the savings on things such as the occasional bomb pop from the ice cream man or a trip to the county fair.  

It took a whole year, but I finally had $300.00 saved up.  My father drove me to the local bike shop.  I told the man I wanted the shiny red Schwinn on display and I had cash to pay for it.  He told me that it was only a display and brought me out a huge cardboard box.  Thank God my dad was handy because we had to assembly the bike.  I had just enough money to buy padded handle bars and toe clips to accessorize the bike.  It was not that I needed either of these items, but they made me feel cool.

I was on top of the world ditching my brother’s old bike for my shiny new red one and was the envy of my siblings and the neighborhood kids alike.  It was like a teenager getting their drivers license.  I volunteered to go just about anywhere for my mom.  The shiny red Schwinn was my freedom and I enjoyed everything about it.  I washed, waxed and even applied the required sticker from the local police department.  It has been 30 years since I bought the beautiful bike.  I just recently parted with it at the insistence of my husband who bought me a new Giant mountain bike, blue I might add.  The bike may be gone, but the beautiful childhood memories will live on forever. 

I tend to think of poetry as a mush of rhyming words and cannot really get past that.  Ah, perhaps the goal of a liberal education to open ones mind to such things as poetry.  

I know my kids have asked for help in writing a few poems here and there for assignments.  I distinctly remember my son putting together a fabulous tale of who he is in the form of some type of poetry.  Apparently there are many forms some of which I believe have Irish sounding names.  

Is rap considered poetry because I really dislike most of that style music.  I have this mental imagine in my head of people stuffed in a Victorian style room wearing tweed jackets, sipping wine waiting for some guy to come to a podium and read from a book. I am staring to sound very narrow minded and ignorant regarding this poetry topic so let me stop here!

I am so excited to say that I am moving on up the pyramid to the esteem piece.  I have accomplished enough and have some wonderful achievements to my name.  I have gained the respect of others.  I can say that once you are there and completely happy with your own life it is so much easier to be truly happy for others.  Negative emotions such as jealousy and hatred move out and allow for more positive emotions like respect and encouragement.  

I am at the top, actualization.  I think as life is lived you move up and down the pyramid learning from trials and tribulations.  I think it is a driving force inside of all of us.  I am sad to think of how many people are not blessed with the tools or environment that would allow their ascend.  I think that some people also fall into the trap that you must step over others to get to the peak.  This is not at all what Maslow saw as he laid out his Hierarchy of Needs.  

I think some of the most difficult pieces of the pyramid fall in different categories.  For me the basic need of homeostasis is the physiological piece I find hardest to maintain.  In the safety category the health piece is most daunting.  I personally find the love/belonging category the most important and rewarding and though it seems so nature and easy to come by it is the one that requires a lot of openness and humility to sustain.  Esteem is often measured so I find it hard to gauge.  You know when you have earned someone’s respect and it feels wonderful. 

Actualization to me is looking at the world with rose colored glasses.  It is lying on your death bed with no regrets.  It is seeing how many people’s lives you have changed for the better.  It is caulked full of emotion, gratitude and desire that keep you working in a positive direction each and every day.   

I knew what block I was dropped off at I just wasn’t sure of the exact address since I had taken to walking away from the target in my attempts to stay warm.  The heels on my black shoes were extremely high and I was starting to get a back ache just pacing.  The big fake diamond necklace and earrings that I was not accustomed to wearing were beginning to irate me as well.  

Every now and then a car would pass, slow down and then drive on by.  I could hear the boys, that is what I like to call them, cracking jokes from the tiny earpiece that was made to look like a fancy pair of eye glasses.  How original I thought when I was first given a look at my life line.  

The grey Ford Taurus had a lone driver.  It was a male Caucasian and he appeared to be going too fast to be taker.  Oh, how wrong was I.  The vehicle slowed to a stop and the driver rolled down his passenger side window.  You could smell the used alcohol and smoke through the 3” gap.  He motioned for me to come closer and I was thrilled to be getting on with things. 

How much was the only question he posed.  “For what,” I was required to ask.  “You know for what he said.”  I had to get as much detail as I could so I started with some pretty straight forward questions; what exactly are you looking for, where do you want to do this, are you a cop.  When he successfully answered all my scripted questions and he showed me the money I had one last task.  Get in the car.

We were not in the vehicle for more than 45 seconds when he began to pull away from the curb only to see what looked like the brightest Christmas tree of red behind him.  He didn’t have a chance to say boo when he was dragged from the vehicle by two lumberjack looking thugs who happened to be undercover too. 

Adventures like this are hard to forget.   

State the facts, research both sides and find the stronger argument, isn’t this some of what we are taught?  His argument goes something like this: he is bored, he would rather find a rewarding job, he doesn’t have the money to be investing right now and why does he need a piece of paper anyway.  I have to agree he has some good points.  He has never been one to sit still.  He is a true nature lover and can be found in the middle of the woods just about any day of the week.  He could provide quite well for himself with his hunting, fishing and survival skills.  Finding a rewarding job is a respectable goal.  His point regarding the cost of a college education and his mounting debt is daunting.  His biggest argument as to why he needs the darn piece of paper anyway is a legitimate point.

I did enjoying firing back my side of the argument because I felt it was stronger than his.  I would argue that if you are bored in school you either need to find a different area of study or professors who teach the way you learn.  Find professors who help nurture an interest in their area of study.  Not always the easiest task, but with the right resources it is possible.  I am all for finding a rewarding job, but those requiring a college education usually make paying the bills a little easier.   I think one of his strongest points the financial aspect is so overwhelming.  The cost of an average year at college for him is $17,000.  Take that figure and multiply it by four or five and it is down right frightening.  He needs to take in account that his education is an investment which usually provides a good return down the road.  Regarding his point as to why he needs the piece of paper anyway, you don’t, but it sure does help.  In today’s world a college education is getting to be more and more like a high school diploma and employers are making it harder and harder to get in the door or up the elevator without it.  

I think once you realize the importance of an education you have to put your mind to completing the task.  It is no different than running a marathon you don’t start out running the whole race all at once. If I can get him to break down the task and overcome some of the obstacles perhaps I would be more persuasive.  

Can you persuade someone to do something?  I think it greatly depends on the person and the emotional attachment to the issue.  Even with a strong argument you may not win.  Regarding the issue of persuading my son to stay in college maybe I have a selfish interest in the argument. After listening again to his point of view I have found that I need to weigh what the bigger issue is. What will make my son happy?  I have presented my side of the argument many times as strongly as I can.  What I have discovered; however, is that winning may not be the happy ending.  

I have learned through this process that we do not all have the same goals.  Personal happiness cannot be weighed or reflective of society’s norms.  Would I like to see my son stay in school?  Yes.  Will he?  Only he has the answer to that question.  Like he told me in his closing arguments, mom I’m happy and that is what counts. 

I may have to put on my hiking boots and take the path less traveled to find my son collecting berries to eat and deer urine to sell, but he will be happy.  My friends may not find a diploma hung on his wall, but they will see trophy fish and moose antlers.  Those closest to me may not have a conversation with my child using big words or the latest research terms, but he will have them mesmerized with one of his many entertaining tales.

What was the argument?

My father was a mere ten years old when his father died of asthma.  He doesn’t have much of a memory of his father, but it greatly influenced his life.  He was one of seven boys and they pretty much ran wild after his father passed away.  His mother was off working as a cook for a wealthy family to earn enough money to keep shirts on the boys’ back.  She would take the left over food from the wealthy family’s dinner to feed her children.  My father was responsible for taking his mother, via means of the handlebars of his bicycle, to her job across town because she didn’t have a car or drivers license.    

My father tells the best stories of him and his brothers running wild.  Or should I say riding wild.  His bicycle was his mode of transportation and oddly enough still is even at the age of 74.  His wardrobe, he will tell you consisted of blue jeans and a white t-shirt which was very typical of the 50’s.  He had beautiful hair and still does.  He used to sneak into weddings at the local VFW to drink, eat and dance the night away.  This happened to be the very place he met my mother. 

After getting married my father was blessed with nine children.  I was lucky enough to be number six.  You know you come from a large family when you actually have a number.  My father, with barely a high school diploma, worked his whole life as non other than a shoe salesman in a little family run department store in the small town of Cedarburg, WI.  Everyone in town knows my father and it wasn’t just from his job.  He is known as Bill the bike man because he rode his bike everywhere including to work, even in winter.  It was partly out of necessity that my father rode his bike.  My father’s job didn’t pay well and he had lots of mouths to feed.  We had one car which I remember my father using to take us to church on Sunday other than that it didn’t leave the garage.  

My father loved us like we would be gone tomorrow.  I think this was because he was haunted his whole life with the memory of his father dying suddenly when he was so very young.  I have so many fond memories of growing up I don’t know where to begin.  We didn’t need to play organized sports when we were growing up because we had a whole team with just our family alone.  My father would take us to the ball diamond and the neighborhood kids would come running.  My father served as all time pitcher and got some wild pick-up games started.  He gave us all nicknames even the neighbor kids.  I remember being “lynniebird” no idea where that came from.  My favorite nickname was one he gave some troubled kids in the area, “rainwater.”  If we weren’t playing baseball then it would be kickball or football.  Football was usually played at halftime during the NFL season.  

My favorite games were not the sports, but the ones that my father made up.  Rodeo was a favorite amongst most of us.  My father would put one of my mother’s slippers on the piano bench and we would ride on my father’s back round and round the piano bench trying to obtain the slipper.  I am amazed that my dad doesn’t have back problem today.  There were other favorites like the drawing game where my father would start to drawn something and the first person to guess what he was drawing would win.  As we got older we started to notice that my father always drew pretty much the same things just in a different order.  Ask any of my brothers or sisters and they will rattle off the things my father drew; dresser, diamond ring, hammer, sun bicycle.

My father was in the Navy and loves water and wind.  He has taken us sailing and put a pool in our backyard.  He taught us to sail and swim.  He considered a dip in the pool or lake as good as a bath.  This is something my mother never agreed with.  

My mother ran the household much like boot camp.  It was my father’s responsibility to tuck us in bed at night.  Of course getting to bed was always made into a game.  The “penny up the stairs game” consisted of my father hiding a penny in one of his fists.  If you guessed which hand the penny was in you advanced up one stair.  The first one to the top got to keep the penny.  My father didn’t read very well so instead of reading a bedtime story he would make one up.  We would all be lined in my parents king size bed, which was actually two twin beds pushed together (you never wanted the spot in the middle because you would sink in the crack) and listen to the story.  After awhile the stories were the same the characters just had different names.  After the stories my father would tickle us until we would give up and say surrender by means of some stupid tag line such as “uncle ulias.”  

The wealthy family that my grandmother cooked for took a vested interested in my dad and paid for him to take piano lessons.  My father had a gift for music and went on to become quite a pianist. He took the liberty of teaching all of us to play piano.  Let me tell you it is not easy to take piano lessons much less ones from your father.  I still remember the worn pages of all his old piano books the very same ones he used to teach us children.  If you got good enough my parents agreed to pay for private lessons with someone in the community.  My brother Tom was the only one that got far enough.  My father didn’t need to follow the sheet music.  After child number seven he had the books memorized and knew how much you had practiced after the first three bars.  My poor mother having to listen to Peter Piper being practiced and played for over 20 years.

My father wanted the best for us, but his love was always unconditional.  There were times that I am sure he would have liked to kill a few of us, but he never showed it.  There was the one instance when my brothers were target practicing with their cross bow and missed the bail of hail and hit the pool liner.  We tried to cover it up with gum, but the little hole just kept oozing water.  I remember when my brothers got their hands or heads stuck in some piece of furniture at the house and my father had to find a way to release them without calling the fire department.  

I think my father was both relieved and sad when we left the nest.  I distinctly remember him walking me down the isle on my wedding day.  He looked right at me and said, “It’s not too late!”  

When my father visits he loves to sit outside one of his favorite things is still the wind.  He always closes his eyes when he drinks he says it’s his way of truly savoring the moment.  

My husband would tell you that I am still a daddy’s girl.  He says that because my father spoiled me he has to pay the price.  When my husband refers to me being spoiled it is not monetary.  My father grew up with nothing and so did we.  We were never allowed to keep lights on or take a shower lasting longer than a minute.  We too had to ride our bikes everywhere and rarely did we have new clothes.  My father spoiled me with love and taught me the joy of living life to its fullest enjoying everything along the way.  

Doesn’t is all come down to perception.  Aren’t we all lucky?  We have breath and life and on the greater scheme of things what else it there?  We spend our whole lives searching, striving, succeeding, failing, faltering, finding.  Are we not just trying to stay alive? Even if we build that empire by it luck or fate mustn’t we leave it all behind? How can this be luck?   

I want to be lucky don’t I?  I want it all; success, prosperity, good fortune.  Can someone wish luck upon themselves much like a self-fulfilling prophecy? Will we be lucky enough to endure?  As you can tell I don’t much believe in luck, simply life! 

I’m lucky.   I’ve won money, found love, multiplied, obtained success what more is there?  I’m lucky right?  I’d don’t believe in luck – I’m blessed!