This is a Long One

Jan and I had a great 4-day trip to my old stomping grounds, the Central Valley. Her cousins were celebrating their 50th anniversary in Selma, so we went up for that, went to church in Porterville, then spent a couple of days with my sister at their cabin in Shaver Lake.

Got in about 3:30 on Friday, then went to see my mom in Reedley. She's going to be 93 in September, and her health continues to gradually deteriorate. Spent about an hour with her before she wanted to go to the dining hall, and most of the conversation has to be "yes" and "no" because those are the only intelligible words she can say now. She did say, "Go" when it was time for dinner, and Jan swears she said, "I hate dinner"--they were having mac and cheese. She has to be fed, bathed, changed, and lifted in and out of bed. But she didn't cry when we left--a victory in itself--mainly because we promised to drop by again Tuesday on our way home.

After dinner Friday Jan's family was sitting around looking at pictures and telling family stories, and I had nothing to contribute--and didn't really feel like watching O'Reilly or Glenn Beck--so I went outside and sat on their porch swing. There was barely a hint of breeze and I realized they don't make summer nights in Huntington Beach like the ones in the Central Valley. We were far enough away from the freeway to not be able to hear it, and I heard voices from probably a couple of miles away as kids got in their last playtime before dark. I flashed back to my youth, where I rarely slept inside during the summer. I slept out in our backyard, often with a couple of friends, and fell asleep to millions of stars in the sky. I slept under the clotheslines, so on occasion we would drape a clear dropcloth over the lines and watch the thunderstorms over our heads. My dad eventually built me a bed further back, between our two peach trees.

Saturday's celebration was good, and there were enough people I knew to make it enjoyable.

Sunday we delayed our trip up to Shaver to go to the Porterville Church of the Nazarene. That wasn't part of the original plan, but circumstances made it impossible for us not to go. Their pastor, Mark Pitcher, was our youth pastor in Garden Grove when our kids were toddlers, and we worked in his department and got close to him and his wife Karen. Two weeks before Karen had to be hospitalized with bleeding on the brain, we followed her progress with Facebook updates, and Mark posted that he was going to share the story Sunday morning. Turns out they just moved into a new sanctuary 3 weeks ago, and it was an emotional experience for Jan since her grandfather and uncle both pastored that church in the 30s and 40s.
Karen had complained of a severe headache on Friday night the 10th, and Mark finally had to call the paramedics and have her taken to ER. Bleeding on the brain was diagnosed, probably from a ruptured aneurysm, and she was transported to Fresno. By the time she got there it was 4:30 am Saturday and Mark hadn't had a chance to phone anyone to let them know what was going on. By the way, his sermon title was, "Strong Men DO Cry," and as he led us through their ordeal, there were many strong men and women tearing up in the congregation. He pointed out he had often been at the bedside of parishioners in peril, but this was a first for him. So here was what he learned in a brand new way.
1. The Ministry of Prayer--Once he had a chance, he posted a status on facebook, asking for prayer. Karen had been administered a "coma" test, and her responses were heavily leaning toward a "mortal" result for her. Jan read the post, sent messages to our Garden Grove friends and her cousins in Lake Elsinore, and before long Mark and Karen were on at least 3 prayer chains. He said he had over 200 emails and comments on facebook, including one from a former member who now lives in Holland that started with, "I was just thinking about you and..."
2. The Ministry of Presence--Karen was in surgery to relieve pressure on her brain, Mark was alone, crying out to God waiting outside surgery. It was about a half hour since he had called his staff to spread the word. The elevator opened and out walked 2 of his staff and 2 lay members. They rushed to him and he collapsed in their arms. His 2 kids ignored his "wait and see" advice and immediately started heading to Fresno from southern California. He said that in that situation, "There's nothing more healing than a granddaughter who just wants to give Papa a hug." I hear that. He then showed a picture from facebook of he and Karen as newlyweds at Garden Grove, sent by our friend Dennis who was in his youth group at the time.
3. The Ministry of Peace--As they were going in again to try and locate the aneurysm and tie it off or send them to Stanford if it was in a difficult place, he sat outside and cupped his hands and cried out his heart to God. (As I have done myself and it always "works") he told God the burden was too much for him to bear, so he turned his hands over, palms down, and gave Karen to God. He then experienced an infilling of peace that is indescribable unless you've been there yourself.
4. The Ministry of God's Power--It was almost anticlimactic about 10 minutes later when the hospital tech came out and informed him they could find no evidence of an aneurysm. Another check a couple of days later yielded the same results. The latest is that Karen is due to go home tomorrow unless the bleeding reoccurs. Mark is claiming a miracle healing, and who can dispute him?
Afterwards we got a chance to talk with him for just a minute before he headed back to the hospital, and he assured us Karen would know we had been there. We then went to the welcome center and got our first-time-visitor gifts (Portnaz coffee mugs, what a concept!) and headed off to Shaver Lake.
Great two days with my sister and brother-in-law, despite the lack of internet. Jay is an insurance agent specializing in health insurance, and is worried that universal health care will completely annihilate his business. We talked a lot about that and his options, and it's one of those situations where there is so much to worry about because so much is unknown. I tried to reassure them because they have always been faithful tithers and God's ability to bless is greater than the government's ability to tax and socialize, but it's easy for me to say because I'm not in their position. So, if you are reading this and have a prayer list, please put Jay and Karen on it.
Saw Mom for about 5 minutes on the way home. She was already back in bed and dozing after lunch when we got there, so I'm not sure she'll even remember we were there, so I was having, "Bad Son," thoughts all the way home. And again resolving to make the drive to see her more often.
Told you this is a long one. If you're still reading, thank you. Don't think I'll even go back and proofread.

That's Gotta Hurt

Love listening to the gkids watch TV when they can do it without fighting. We had them for a couple of hours this morning while Jen was at cheer practice. Disney channel was showing the Kurt Russell movie, "Sky High" so they had it on. Now when it first came out in the theatre, they had to leave early because Jolie just got too scared to finish it.
This time they were cackling all the way through it. The capper came with about 2o minutes to go there was some kind of spectacular crash and a giggling Jolie said, "Wow, that's gotta hurt!"
Yep, growing up.

Precious Cargo

Jeff has to run a basketball tournament this weekend, and Jen has cheerleader camp at UCLA, which means Jan and I have had another chance to revisit to whole parenting thing. We had the girls all day Thursday, Friday, and until about 4 pm today. They spent Thursday night with dad and he brought them back over Friday morning.

Thursday was a full day. Swim lessons at 1:30 at OCC. It was their last day of this session, and on the last day they were given the chance to jump off the diving boards. Jolie somehow thought she would be forced to jump off the high board, so she was stressing about that all the way over. Not the case. She went off the low board. The first time it was being held by a coach and "jumping" into the arms of the other coach, but by the third time she was doing it unassisted. She also discovered grampa wasn't lying when he said swimming in 12 feet of water was the same as swimming in 4 feet of water. To our surprise, Jeslyn also had a chance to jump off the low board, which she did, twice, and I'm sure she'll now be lobbying for a board at our community pool. Then I took her to gymnastics. She's obviously the most talented and athletic in her class (no grampa bias at all), and needs to move to the next level to avoid further boredom, both on her part and on the part of family members watching.

Friday was less crowded, schedulewise. Jolie went to a sleepover at 5. Jeslyn spent the night with us, on the floor at the foot of our bed, to be close to gramma and grampa.

Jan left for a women's retreat this morning, so I took Jeslyn over to pick up Jolie about 9. The party was about 7 miles away (Heil east of Bolsa Chica for you OC people), and on the way home they were having a great time. Jeslyn had drawn some dress designs, and Jolie was offering praise and suggestions, and they were negotiatin just how much Jolie would pay Jeslyn for the design.

As I listened to my grandchildren play in my backseat, I was struck with this not-so-profound, yet moving, thought. I have been entrusted with more responsibility, and have a more valuable cargo, than any Brinks driver on the planet.

Mobile Homes at IKEA

The creative juices have dried up for the time being (some would say for quite some time!) , so this is borrowed.

Jan and the kids were coming back from Arizona Sunday afternoon. There is an IKEA about a mile before our exit, and Jan saw what appeared to be a manufactured home in the parking lot (it WAS, as we verified on Monday). The following exchange took place:
Jan: Look, IKEA is selling mobile homes
Jeff: Yes, but you have to put it together yourself.
Jen: Yeah, and the instructions are in Swedish.
(Lest we get sued, our inspection the next day did not validate Jeff or Jen's statements)

"Don't Let the Door Hit You...."

By now you know how excited I am to be retired. You may have read some posts from kids who enjoyed being my students and apparently will miss me. Well, I found out yesterday that my district is apparently as happy as I am about my retirement. I knew they would be happy about the money they are saving--they could hire two new teachers for what they were paying me. But they apparently would not be upset if I did not come back in any capacity. Here's the scenario: I have had some colleagues tell me I should sub and they would definitely ask for me if I were on the list of possible subs. I didn't really want to sub next year for a couple of reasons, first because I just would like a full year off, and second because our district has about 75 recently laid off teachers who are a priority on the sub list, as they should be.
But, I was considering at least being on the list if it meant that as a recently retired employee I would have some paperwork advantages--mainly that I could go straight on the list while they still had my employment info, bypassing the paperwork such as transcripts, C-Best test results, fingerprints, etc. When I checked at Personnel yesterday, I was told that as of July 1 I was no longer a district employee, which means if I want to apply to sub I have to go through the same procedure as a first-time employee. That assumes they are taking applications for new subs, which they aren't.
Now, granted, I didn't really want to work next year, anyway. But, it was kind of a jolt to realize that after 36 years, I was basically a non-entity. They weren't singling me out, of course, though perhaps they know how much I am like the guy in the cartoon below.

And now I have finally have something in common with the guy to the right.

Graduation

I think everyone who reads my blog is on Facebook, so I thought I'd write about the new profile pic I posted. It's of this year's graduation at Foothill High School, and because I was retiring I got go be one of the 4 "shakers" who shook hands and posed with graduates after they got their diplomas. But I posted it not because I was in the picture, but because of the young man with whom I'm shaking hands. His name is Baldwin. Baldwin and his sister came to Foothill in the fall of 2005--right after Katrina destroyed their home in downtown New Orleans. He is one of the reasons I get very defensive when anyone disparages public education in California. You can see he is very large, and our initial contact with him saw visions of him leading our basketball team to their best season in recent memory. When they enrolled, I took the time to check out their schools in New Orleans. His sister went to the neighborhood school--where only 3% of the seniors passed the Louisiana High School Exit Exam. I'm guessing that exam is not as difficult as the California one. Because of his athletic potential, Baldwin went to a magnet athletic school--where 50% of the students passed the exam. Now Foothil High School has a rather rigid curriculum, and they both understandably struggled from the start. Baldwin's sister and mother moved back to New Orleans as soon as it was habitable. Baldwin wanted to stay, and one of our families graciously allowed him to move in with them. He tested and qualified for special services, and--as you can see from the picture--passed the CAHSEE and graduated with his class.
If you looked at his athletic career at FHS, statistically it wasn't memorable. He played football the last two years, but not very much. He was on our varsity basketball team this year, and though he also didn't play much, they won their first league championship in 19 years. I think Baldwin's teammates would tell you he played a big part in that championship, not because of how he played, but because of who he is. His impact on that team and the rest of the students at Foothill High School is immeasurable. He started the next-to-last game of the year, got the biggest ovation, and played very well. His mom had made the trip to see him play, and I can only imagine what she was thinking as she watched FHS love her son. On senior night at home, his was by far the biggest cheer when introduced.
Katrina destroyed many lives and much property. But I think she saved Baldwin's life. Because of caring students, staff and parents that make up the Foothill community, and because of his own hard work, he has a future. I don't know if his high school in New Orleans could have done that for him. He's back in Louisiana now, and his FB posts are full of his desire to get back to Cali and of his friends who can't wait to see him again. And I had the honor of shaking his hand when he got his diploma.