Not a Cry for Help So Much…
… as another bid for attention.
This turned up on Facebook today.
This is a woman I know, whom I worked with for a time. She’s got issues. And while her husband is, from all accounts, a dyed-in-the-wool abusive narcissistic SOB, she could have left years ago. She has the ability, and the means. She chooses not to. This means she’s getting something out of it. Might be twisted and sick, but there’s something about the situation that she doesn’t want to let go of. Her son is an adult and she told me he abuses her also, having learned from his father.
She has a car. She had a job selling real estate for a time, then got hired at a local car dealer. She no longer works there, I don’t know why.
Her habit on Facebook is to post things she’s doing (lately she’s making blankets with critters on them, she takes orders and makes custom blankets also). I don’t know how many she’s selling. But she’s had a car for years, was able to leave the house to go to work for years and I know this because I saw her there. And then at the end of the day she’d get in her car and go back home, to the abusive situation she was living in.
I feel bad for her, in the sense that no one should have to put up with being treated like that. But she could leave. And chooses not to.
What she does instead is post things on Facebook which cause other caring people to jump in and tell her to leave. So she can make excuses.
Sad. Very, very sad. I’ll pray for her, but until she makes a decision to help herself, nothing will change.
More “Working in a Church Is Fun” Info
Yesterday one of the women I work with called her boss, one of the junior pastors, a turd. I am not making that up. He was standing right there, heard everything. Everybody thought it was funny, including him. But I did have a slightly different mental image of people who work in church offices. Never included them calling each other turds. Hmmmm.
My Sister-in-Law Shares Too Much Information
As seen on Facebook:
Why do people think the rest of us need to know this stuff?
When Things Go Sideways During the Service
This morning, one of the songs the choir sang (for the anthem, or offertory, depending on your denomination) is In a Moment. The version in the Youtube video is a bit different in that some parts were repeated and they have an orchestra. Same piece, though.
The plan was to sing along with the orchestration on a CD. Wednesday night the choir practiced it, and we had a bit of a problem with the CD. It kept cutting off. We finally got it sorted, and it went fine. This morning, not so much. The CD started, played the intro for a few seconds, then quit. So the sound guy tried again, same result. The boss waved the pianist in and she played accompaniment for us, and it was fine. She’s excellent, and knows what she’s doing.
Wednesday I did the words on the slides for the choir rehearsal that evening. There are sections in the song (if you listen to the video you’ll hear them) where there are 3 things going on all at once. The sopranos are singing one thing, the altos are singing something else, and the guys are singing yet another thing. It was a bit problematic putting the slides together, but finally I decided to arrange the words on the slides the same way they’re arranged on the sheet music. Sopranos at the top, altos in the middle, guys on the bottom. Worked fine. The boss said it might discombobulate the fellow who runs the slides during the service. And apparently it did. We had no words on slides. All we had was the one slide which read, and this is what it looked like, “In a moment”. Capitalization is important. We had our music (I couldn’t see mine, I’d taken my glasses off and didn’t feel like fumbling them back on in front of everybody) so we didn’t actually need the slides.
Oh, well. It went fine. And the boss thanked us after the service was over, for making Plans B and C work. Heh.™
File Under “Things You Shouldn’t Have to Tell Grown People”
Right after choir rehearsal Wednesday night I was approached by a choir member. She said we needed to re-emphasize something that had been discussed some years ago, but which had been forgotten, apparently, by some choir members. Or one, at least. And it was this — don’t chew gum when you’re in the choir loft.
It astounds me that we’d actually have to say this. You’d think it would be one of those things people understood intuitively. You’re in front of the congregation, you’re part of the message delivery, people can see you. People are looking in your direction, certainly. And as our services are recorded for rebroadcast later, even if the choir isn’t front-and-center in the shot, we are frequently behind the person who is. And if you’re chewing gum, you look like this:
Wow. Just — wow.
Anyway, once I’d passed the message on to the boss, he asked me to write this on the whiteboard in the choir room: “Please, no gum.” Which I did. In all caps. And put “Thank you” underneath, even though our pianist was of the opinion that we not only shouldn’t say “please”, we shouldn’t thank people for doing what they’re supposed to do.
It will be interesting tomorrow morning to see if anyone gets their knickers in a twist over it.
The World Is a Dark Place
But His Kingdom comes.
Not fast enough to suit me. We have to be patient. Some days it’s harder than others.
I used to be pro-choice. I’m not now. I don’t think it’s possible to be Christian and be okay with killing babies. Abortion kills babies. Kermit Gosnell may be evil personified, but I don’t believe he’s alone.
I don’t care how badly you need a job, when your responsibilities include severing a newborn baby’s spinal cord with scissors — how do you do that?
And this:
“It wasn’t fully developed,” West told the Common Pleas Court jury, referring to the 18- to 24-inch-long newborn in the pan. It didn’t have eyes or a mouth but it was like screeching, making this noise. It was weird. It sounded like a little alien.”
If the baby was truly 18 to 24 inches long, it was a fully-formed baby. It had eyes and a mouth, even if her brain has altered the memory so she’s able to live with it. And it wasn’t making alien noises. It was crying. It was a baby and it was in pain. And as a health care provider it was her job to help, not harm.
There’s so much evil here, starting with Gosnell and fanning outwards to envelope everyone involved. We’re in such serious trouble — as a society, as a country, as a people.
Edit to add — This is what evil looks like.
Editorial Comment
While putting music from Sunday away, I came across an editorial comment made by one of our Praise Band members. This is the one who objects to being called part of the Praise Band. Apparently she didn’t care for this piece:
Oh, well.
Wha….?
As seen on Facebook, one of my “friends” about whom I’ve posted before, a couple times, posted this a little while ago:
The only thing in the post itself I’ve masked is a family name. The rest is as it is. I have no idea what she’s trying to say. What’s a “ren”?
Oy.
Easter Sunday, Paying Gig
A couple months ago one of the community band members, a retired band director who is now music minister at one of the largest churches in town, asked me if I was available Easter Sunday to play timpani. Seems her timpanist was leaving. She wasn’t sure at the time if she’d really need me, but she’d let me know. Turned out she did. And so last Sunday, Easter, I wasn’t in the choir loft of my church. I told my boss a few weeks ago, kinda kept it close hold for a couple reasons. One, he hadn’t mentioned anything he needed me specifically for, I’m one of a crowd in the choir loft and if I’m not there it doesn’t really matter. Two, I figured it was a paying gig and I can use all the help I can get and I was leery of blowing it. Yeah, that’s the wrong reason for doing anything church-related, but there it is.
We played for two services, the first one was at 8:30. Meant being at the church by 7:30 (although I thought I was supposed to be there by 7:15, so I was early, which is not a bad thing). That meant getting up at 5. Urk. It also meant flying around the house before I left to take care of critters because Hubby was working nights and wasn’t there to help. But both services went well, I thought. No massive acts of buffoonery. When I got home I opened the envelope the check was in and dropped my teeth right on the floor. So to speak. I’d been paid before for playing there, but not that much. Maybe because there was a rehearsal and practice time (although not much) and two services. Yowza. Don’t tell anybody, but I’d be willing to play for free. Volunteer work is important, and I need all the good karma points I can accumulate.
I did deposit the check, however. I’m not a complete idiot.
Tomorrow I’m back to my church. The boss and I didn’t get together to go over slides this week because it was Spring Break and there were no activities at the church at all on Wednesday. My military training operates differently, however, because I knew the choir is singing Sunday. So the prep work still has to be done. I did the slides, and then I waited, figuring we’d go over them anyway. And he didn’t show. Yeah, I could have texted or called to verify, but stupid me, it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t show up. And by the time my feeble brain began to consider that possibility, it was too late to call or text without exposing my idiocy. I do that enough, I didn’t think I need to emphasize it. So I gave him until 15 minutes after the time we usually meet (full professors and bosses get 15 minutes, unless you’re in the military, and then your boss gets however long it takes him or her to get there, too bad if you die of old age waiting). And then I went home.
Here’s hoping the slides are right. He gets there early Sunday morning, and the guy who runs the slides for the service (and who routinely changes backgrounds and fonts because he likes things the way he likes them, legibility not being much of a consideration, don’t even get me started on that) can change whatever needs changing. He changes what doesn’t need changing, too, but that’s nothing I have any control over.
It is a bit disconcerting to be in the choir loft reading the screen at the other end of the sanctuary (the boss prefers our faces up out of our folders when we’re singing) wondering what in the world that word is — especially being the one who typed them in and proofed them. You’d think I’d remember. But I don’t. *sigh*
Also this week I received a moderately unhappy e-mail from one of the praise band members. Seems she didn’t get the word that there were two services Easter morning and the first one was at 8:30 so their usual show time of 8:30 would be late. She said she got there at 8:30 as usual and obviously it was too late, and — I can’t remember her exact verbiage, but she said she guessed she didn’t get the word. Well, I didn’t send e-mails to any of the band members, as the fact that we were having two services that morning had been publicized for some weeks, in the newsletter and IIRC in Sunday bulletins. So I just figured she knew, along with everybody else. Obviously I was wrong. I should point out that this person is never happy no matter what’s going on, there’s always fault to find somewhere. A couple weeks ago she buttonholed me in the hallway while I was headed to my Sunday School class and complained about my calling the Praise Band the Praise Band. She believes they’re an orchestra. Never mind that there are no strings, except the guitars. And that the boss calls them the Praise Band. “Maybe you think that’s what it’s called,” she said. So I changed the e-mail group name, now they’re the Worship Instrumentalists. Maybe she’ll be satisfied with that. Or not. *another sigh*
I hope your weekend is going well. I’m continuing an ongoing effort to clean and declutter. I have to remind myself that our house didn’t turn into this disaster overnight, and it’s going to take time to rectify.
Cheers, y’all.
Cataract Surgery
I have some time this evening, as the community band isn’t meeting because it’s Maundy Thursday. So, because I know you’ve been dying to find out, here’s how Tuesday went.
I had to be at the hospital at 7:30 a.m. I wanted to be early, so we left the house at about 6. At one time that would have been normal departure time for work, might even have been late. Since retiring from the military, though, leaving the house at 6 is just no fun. Means getting up at 4 so we can take care of all the critters before departing. We got to the hospital a bit before 7 and checked in. The woman working that desk was not loving her job that day. She was polite and helpful, but wearing an expression that indicated she’d just found out Obamacare was going to cost her family $20,000 a year.
We went upstairs, sat and waited maybe 10 or 15 minutes and were called to the back by Vernelle, a nurse, who was the first in a series of wonderfully kind and caring people. She has a great sense of humor, which was a real blessing. It was very cold in the… well, I was going to call it waiting area, but it was more like a staging area. We were all on our gurneys, waiting patiently to be called upstairs to an OR. I had to take everything off above the waist, which baffled me. It was my eye being operated on, not my chest. I also had to take off my rings, earrings, watch, and bracelets. They really should let you know ahead of time, so you can leave all that stuff at home. Hubby took care of it all, so no worries, but it would have saved some trouble. They brought me warmed blankets so I wasn’t too cold, kept commenting on how cold my hands were. That’s normal for me, but it seemed to unnerve them so they kept bringing me warm blankets. Which I appreciated greatly; it was cold. They also hooked me up to an IV, and then I waited, and waited, and waited… and then I had to pee. Not much fun with an IV, you have to haul all that stuff with you and it’s a bit difficult getting your pants off and then back on with an IV port in the back of your hand.
At least they let me keep my pants on. And my socks. Small blessings.
The nurses warned me that the OR was much colder than the waiting area, and when we got there, they rolled me in head first and oh baby. It’s been very cold here, spring hasn’t arrived here either, and I think it might have been warmer outside. It was like being rolled into a refrigerator.
The doc had said he didn’t want me to get the happy drugs until I was in the OR because he wanted to mark my eye. That baffled me a bit, as they’d already put a dot with a pen over my right eye, and then he drew an X over that eye with another marker. Turns out what he meant was he wanted to mark my eye, literally. They’d been putting in the anesthetic eye drops (and the dilating drops) at regular intervals for the previous 2 1/2 hours, so the eye was numb. But it was still a bit surreal, sitting up in the OR while he drew where he was going to make incisions in my eye with a fine point felt-tip pen. I kinda wish someone had taken a picture.
The surgery itself took, and I’m guessing here, about 20-25 minutes. I couldn’t really tell what was going on. There was a buzzing noise when he was destroying the lens with cataracts using ultrasound. He told me at one point to hold my eye still, not to let him push the eye, so I tried to keep focused, so to speak, on one of the 3 or 4 little lights I could see. I don’t know if they were on some sort of headgear he was wearing or on the ceiling. Without the glasses, nothing was clear.
They finished and rolled me out into the hallway, where the temperature was at least 20 degrees warmer, not kidding, and then to recovery. He’d told me to keep my eyes shut for 10 minutes. It was kinda hard to guess when 10 minutes was up but when I asked a recovery room nurse if it had been long enough, she said it had and then some. So I opened my eyes.
I had a shield over my right eye, with holes in it so I could see through it. I covered my left eye and peered through the holes to see what I could see.
And oh. Oh, baby. I could see. There was an exit sign at the end of the hallway in front of me and it was completely clear. Two beds over there was a monitor facing my direction and I could read the numbers on it. They were clear. Completely, awesomely clear. I didn’t jump up off the bed right there and do a happy dance (I was still a bit drugged), but I sure wanted to.
This artificial lens implant thing is the best thing ever, you guys. Utterly, completely awesome. I’ve been thanking God for everything starting with the person who first had the idea to come up with a lens that could be implanted in people’s eyes so they didn’t have to wear glasses or contacts, and could correct problems that people had previously just had to live with. And then for the people who did the design, and the research, and development, and ran the wickets of the FDA to get the thing approved, and the doctors who learned to implant the lenses and all the support staff, especially the nurses who bring you warm blankets so you don’t freeze to death waiting for your surgery.
For I don’t know how many years, when I took my glasses off the world was a blur. More recently it’s also been getting darker and darker. My brain has already learned to switch to the right eye when I take my glasses off — not a surprise, I did the monovision thing with contacts some years ago so it’s not a new skill. The whole world is brighter, and clearer. A friend said it would seem that someone had taken Windex and cleaned off the window of the world, and she’s right. I had no idea how much I’d lost, the vibrancy of colors that had gone away, how murky things were. It’s stupendous!
I can’t wait to get the left eye done. I have no idea when that will happen, but when it does I’m just going to be running around singing.
I have to wear the shield when I sleep for the next 2 weeks so I don’t rub my eye in my sleep. No problem. More bothersome are the eye drops; I have two types that I have to put in 6 times a day. Whoops, I’m overdue, hang on a sec.
So, that’s it. Cataract surgery is awesome. There was no pain at all, even when he stuck a needle in my eye because the eye drops work so well at deadening the surface. It was a bit uncomfortable after the surgery, felt like I had something in my eye, but that’s passed. There is a bit of a wobbly flickery thing going on at the right edge of my vision, but the doc saw me today and said everything is healing just fine. The eye pressure is fine, and if I remember correctly the woman who checked my vision said I’ve gone, just two days after surgery (and before healing is done) from 20/250 in my right eye to 20/25. And it might get better.
If that’s not Totally Awesome, I don’t know what is.
I’m wearing over-the-counter reading glasses (I’ve collected several strengths over the years), these are 1.75, and I can see the computer monitor perfectly. Woo hoo!
Just for grins, here’s me in Hubby’s truck right after the surgery, on our way to lunch. One happy geek.
Cheers, y’all.
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