Well, unlike Eliot and Bethany, I did go to chapel today. I haven't been to many chapels yet this semester because if I walk that far, I'm done for the rest of the day. But today's chapel was in the Mall instead of the Assembly Building, so it wasn't too far to walk. I had to find a seat since I couldn't stand very long, so I ended up sharing a bench with two students I still haven't met. They welcomed me to their bench, but chapel had begun, so we couldn't really talk. Balloons. A bit strange, yes, but life is strange. The plan was to let them loose all at once, all 3,000 plus of them, one for every life lost on September 11. But lots of them got away early or popped, leaving their owners holding lifeless strings. Yes, life is like that. When we finally relased them, they looked like a scatter of red, white, and blue bubble gum balls thrown across the sky. People hesitated, paused, watched, some for a long time. They slipped away quickly into the wind, then seemed almost to stand still and wait--like something else was supposed to happen. One of my students asked whether 9/11 should be a national holiday, and the class talked about that for awhile. It's an argument class, after all, so why not? Make a claim of policy: 9/11 should or should not be a national holiday. Defend it with a claim of definition: what constitutes a national holiday? What qualifies? Add a claim of value: national holidays are good to make us remember--or do we just spend another day at the lake? My friend is hurting tonight, and I can help only so much. Pain is personal. School may be too much right now. She needs wisdom. She needs sleep. Balloons. Rising into the sky. Light, airy, fragile, nothing but vapor, here and gone. I will lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord.

posted by Annie 9:20 PM

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Cast-away I always thought that people who take off their own casts are crazy. I was right. Last night I was crazy. Gauze, 2 layers of stocking, ace wrap, plaster, and fiberglass--who wraps this much stuff around any part of their body in the 105^o heat index of a Texas summer? Equation: all that stuff + heat index = heat rash (aka burning pain). Worse than the surgery. It had to go. Missed Kodak moment: 4:45 a.m. In response to my call, "Ken, I need help," my husband appears in the living room to find a pile of plaster and padding in front of my recliner chair. Missed home video opportunity: watching a sleepless crazed woman ripping a cast off her leg with her bare hands. Captured digital image: stitches, bruises, wires with round tops that look like small eyes sticking out of my foot. I'd post the image, but it's not for the faint of heart. Literary allusion(s): Call me....Frankenfoot.

posted by Annie 9:48 PM

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The wonders of modern medicine--making me wonder--- Why does one walk into a hospital, voluntarily and not under coercion, to have one's foot cut open? That question occurred to me a few weeks ago when I did just that walking and for just that purpose. Never mind that every step of the walk hurt--carefully disguised pain most of the time but steadily worsening. How dishonest that we disguise pain--of the body and even more, of the spirit. How ironic it takes pain to get our attention, that pain is the precursor to healing. How much more ironic that pain must become so much worse in order to get better. Post-surgical nerves scream in protest and the weight of a cast matches the one my spirit struggles against. We talk of walking by faith. This is non-walking by faith--trusting in healing, trusting that if, as doctor orders, I stay off of this foot for 4 weeks, the healed version will be better than the pre-surgical state and the process worth the pain. I wonder, will it work?

posted by Annie 4:08 PM

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clouds and sunsets Tonight I flew from Dallas to Salt Lake City. We flew just under a rift of dark, heavy clouds and were pummeled about by them a bit, but the view was beautiful. As we approached the valley and saw our first view of the Great Salt Lake, the sun was slinking down behind the mountains, leaving a red glow to mark its path. It was a moment of brilliance and beauty, the kind that is shrouded by earth's smog and best viewed from the sky.

posted by Annie 12:51 AM

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A few days ago, I was weeding my vegetable garden when a storm moved in. It sounded like a large vehicle approaching, getting louder as it moved closer. The only weird thing was that it was moving in from the back corner of the pasture, over the top of the woods where no roads exist for vehicles to travel. I watched and listened as the storm moved up to and over me, first in small hesitant droplets, and then in heavy splashing drops of rain. I left my tools and started for the house, still on the edge of the storm and keeping pace with it as I walked. It didn't fully overtake me until I reached the carport. Then, as if to win in a game of tag, the storm reached ahead of me and began to pelt me with the heavy rainfall at the heart of the storm. I walked right through the house and out onto the covered deck where I could watch it and bask in its mist. The next day, I was weeding again when another rainstorm blew in. This one was not at all like the first. Instead of a steadily-moving storm, focused and directed, this rain began right overhead and around me, letting go a few hesitant drops here and there as if to try it out and see if it felt good. I sat on my weeding stool and contemplated whether to head for the house. I figured that if I picked up my tools and walked up, the rain would quit as soon as I reached the carport or the deck. Then I heard my mother's voice, deeply ingrained in memory. When I was young, she used to tell me, "You don't have the sense to come in out of the rain." I guess that was excuse enough, so I decided to stay right where I was and try it out. I bent back over my beet plants, carefully sorting the seedlings from the weeds surrounding them, and let the cool drops fall blissfully on my back and shoulders. After a few minutes, the clouds moved on, and the rain stopped. I almost missed it. guess that maybe I had the sense not to come in out of the rain.

posted by Annie 10:13 PM

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