Parking and other woes

Well, a few weeks or a month ago I dreamed that I parked and lost my car. On Thursday this week, I forgot where I parked and went to the wrong parking lot. As soon as I got there and could not see my car anywhere, I remembered that I parked in the HFAC parking lot. I had gone to the temple early in the morning, and then straight to the HFAC parking lot, where I have not parked for months. And during those months, they had been busy changing all the roads and the parking lots.

When I parked in the morning, I just pulled through into a spot like I used to do when I parked there, and went merrily on my way. So, on Thursday afternoon when I realized where my car was, I headed over to that lot, and as I got closer I noticed that the entire front row is now "service vehicles only." "OH NO," I thought, "I hope I pulled through to the front row, otherwise I am going to get a ticket."  Well, I HAD pulled through, but now THAT row is ALL thirty minute parking! And I had clearly been there for something like 8 or 9 hours!

So, if I got a ticket, I deserved it--I clearly broke the rules and I knew that I didn't even look at the signs. I just assumed.  I saw that there was a piece of paper under my windshield wiper. I was the only car that had one, so of course I thought it was my well-deserved parking ticket. BUT NO!! It was an advertisement for the BYU hockey games! So, no ticket for me!

What do you think happened? Are they just super lax with the 30 minute parking? Or...do you think that piece of paper LOOKED like a ticket, so that every time the parking enforcement people came around, they thought "Oh, that car already has a ticket..."

I guess we will never know. But lucky me! No ticket. I was even feeling a little upset with myself because I didn't march over to the traffic office and demand they give me a ticket, since I was clearly in the wrong! Had it been an undeserved ticket, I would have complained, so why not complain when I DO deserve a ticket, but they didn't give me one? That is just not how human nature works!

On Saturday, I had to park at the U of U. The last time I was there, I found a little hidden parking lot not too far from Gardner Hall. But this time, I thought I would park along the U-shaped drive in front of the hall. Well, all the parking was pay by phone. (Which is a pretty odd concept, when you think about it...) I have not done pay by phone before, but I thought, well this is the way it is done, so suck it up and learn how. So I parked, and tried to pay by phone, but it kept telling me that the spot I was in was not available today. I moved my car a few times, but no luck.

So I drove all the way up and around to visitor parking. And the machine would not dispense a parking token for me! So I parked anyway, but then I was not sure where Gardner Hall was, so I went into the Student's Union building to ask directions. In my conversation with the girl I found in an office there, I realized that all parking is free at the U on Saturday. Which NONE OF THE SIGNS SAY. None of them. So I drove back down and parked by Gardner Hall.

After I was done at the U, I went to visit my brother Bruce and his wife Sara.  I was worried about where to park there, because their building does not have a friendly attitude about parking any more. At first I drove in the back, but I didn't know where to park, so I backed out and went back onto the street. The only way to park on 200 South is to back into the parking stalls. Which are also free on Saturdays--but at least the signs say that! And I did it! I backed in just fine. Go, me.

I was pretty proud of myself about that...but my moment of humiliation was still to come. When I got to B and S's condo, I rapped on the glass, and my brother passed me the key, but I could not open the door! There were three keys, and I tried them all, but none would even go in the lock. Then I felt some rain? thing? fall on me. Just little bits of stuff falling on me. And then more and more and more stuff, until it was coming down on me thickly and I didn't know where to go to get away from it! Sara came out onto the balcony and got hit with stuff too. Turns out someone on the fourth floor was sweeping off their balcony right on to our heads! Sara told me that I don't use one of the keys--just the key fob has to touch the lock and it will open! Oh, silly me. Had I known that, I could have saved myself a dirty shower! (And Sara, too, who unfortunately got caught in it, too, when she tried to come to my aid!) By this time, my brother had come around and opened the door for me. Thanks to him for saving me from any other mishap that might have occurred while I was out there being silly.

Question 22: What medical issues have you had to deal with throughout your life? 3. Mens.

Nancy's friend Bridget does a blogpost every Friday called "Outsourced" where she lists things that she likes, or hates, or that are noteworthy on the internet for that week. The last one, October 16, she had this delightfully mindblowing Swedish video, and I think that Andrew was maybe the person who told Bridget about it.  Well, in case you have not seen it, you should, so here you go:

(If you, like me, need to know more details about things like this, Alex, the star of this video, is
one of the hosts for Swedish television channel Barnkanalen, and you can read more about him and this Mens, mens, mens video here.

The timing was perfect, because I was thinking about the biggest health challenge of my life, that I didn't particularly want to write about, because, as Alex informs you, periods are NORMAL and good, a sign that your body is working correctly. Except maybe not.

My periods were Horrible with a capital H. And actually, many if not most of the females in my family share with me this lovely, enviable trait. When I was in Junior High, I could plan on missing a week of school every month. Because not only was I "cramping" but I got to have diarrhea and vomiting and to lose copious amounts of blood. Like if I walked, it would be running down my legs. If I sneezed, it would be gushing. I was back to needing a towel or pad of some kind in my bed, like for a child who wets the bed, except this was blood. And lots of it.

I was delighted to learn to use tampons because then I could wear a tampon AND a pad, and then maybe, just maybe, not leak ALL THE TIME. Only part of the time. Needless to say, I hated periods. I thought, who was the idiot who thought of this? My mother took me to the doctor to find something that would deal with the pain, and as I took stronger and stronger pain killers and they didn't work, I realized that pain killers only mask pain, they don't take it away, but they do make you lose lucidity. So eventually, I just took nothing and learned to grin (grit my teeth?) and bear it.

My periods were so bad that when I had my first baby, and the doctor said, "You will know when you are in labor because it will feel like nothing you have ever felt before" and then I had the hardest time with labor because really, how bad did it have to get to be like nothing that I had ever felt before? I know that Nancy struggled with the same issue on her first baby. Because trust me, periods are as bad. Depending on the baby, periods could be worse. Because sometimes after only ten hours of labor or so, you are finished and you get a baby at the end, whereas period pain at the same level of intensity can go on for days, and there is no prize at the end.

One day, when I was older and resigned to the interruption in my life that periods were, Dr. Wolfe said, "Did your mother take any medication when she was pregnant with you?" And I asked my mom, and she said she was on medication for the entire pregnancy, because she was in danger of losing me. She was actually on bed rest the entire pregnancy...which is probably what saved me, not the medication.  And that medication was DES. So I learned at about age 20 or so that I had been a DES baby.  This was a drug given to women threatening to miscarry that did not actually work, but that did wreak havoc with the reproductive organs of the babies. And there is evidence that some of the problems also appear in second generation. My mother felt sooooooo bad about that. It was not her fault; she just followed doctor's orders. One of the many reasons why I am pretty anti-medication.

Still, other people in our family had a hard time with menstruation even though they were not DES babies; the DES just added another layer of complication.

Anyways. I am all done with that, and have been for a long time. I did not write it down, but I was not yet fifty when I had my last period. That is young, and a doctor I went to once was concerned about that, and she wanted to see if something was wrong with me and get it started going again. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That was not something I wanted back, thank you very much, and if there is something wrong with me that is stopping that prematurely, stop away is what I say!

Thinking about all that mens, mens, mens, reminded me of a song I heard on CBC radio once. I know right where I was when it came on the radio. I was sitting at the light at the one-way bridge in Port Coquitlam--the one on the little narrow short-cut road. And more than twenty years later, even though I only heard it once, I can still sing the chorus:

I'm hurtin', I'm achin', I'm menstruatin', don't touch me, just leave me alone!
I don't want to make love, and I sure won't make supper, till these cramps are gone, gone, gone, gone.

In this internet age, I have looked for that song several times, to find out who sang it and to hear it again, hear what the verses are like--but no sign of it.  So, with it freshly in mind again thanks to our Swedish friend Alex and his video, I searched yet again. Yet again, nothing.

So yesterday morning, I decided to write to the Canadian Music Centre and see if they could find it for me.  I sent an email that said this:  
I am trying to find the lyrics, sheet music and/or recording of a song I heard on CBC Radio in about 1991-ish. I lived in Port Coquitlam B.C. at the time. I heard it on CBC only once, and I remember that it was a Canadian singer/songwriter, but I have no clue who. I have tried to google it--nothing. I still completely remember the chorus--pretty good, eh? for only hearing it once.

The answer came back from one Stefan, with MLIS and MMu after HIS name. A HIM. Gaah. (I wanted a girl to answer!) He said:

Hello,

Thank you for your message. This might be a difficult search, but I'm willing to give it a try if you provide me what you remember of the chorus.

All the best,

Stefan

I got that message from him at 11:50 AM.

I wrote back a bit abashedly, sharing the lyrics that I remembered.

He wrote back at 12:06 AM. SIXTEEN MINUTES. And he said:

Hello,

I found it -

It's 'The Menstrual Blues' by the Welfare Starlets. Here it is (in a collection) on WorldCat.

http://www.worldcat.org/title/welcome-to-the-machine-2-a-sampler-of-manitoba-music/oclc/60434170

And here is the original album on ebay:

http://www.ebay.ca/itm/The-welfare-starlets-underground-CD-1993-Made-in-Canada-/281419507463

Unfortunately, I can't find a downloadable audio recording.

All the best,

Stefan

I wrote back and said: A) Thank you. B) You are good! C) You are fast! Well, I did not write it like that, but holy cow! I am a good librarian, but he was somewhat amazing. And long story short, that ebay CD is on its way to the Harold B. Lee Library. 

So, yes, I would say that challenges with mens, mens, mens, was huge in my life. It kind of messed with making friends--hard to plan anything, since my periods were pretty much on their own schedule which was not a 28 day cycle. It was a whenever it wants to cycle. And since I was absent from school a lot, I think that was a contributing factor to my best friends being my sisters and cousins. A contributing factor to not very great friendships. And I was so not dependable for like school projects and things like that. And another contributing factor to sucking at PE more than I already did on my own without THAT, too.

And honestly, when I hear of boys/men who want to be girls/women, I am like, "Really? Why? You have NO CLUE."

BUT, one very positive thing about this particular health challenge: it did make me one tough cookie. So that is a good thing.

Question 22: What medical issues have you had to deal with throughout your life? 2. German Measles and the Emergency Room.

After my encounter with yellow jaundice at age 5, I was pretty healthy. I did contract German Measles at some point, but just had a light case of it. It was, again, an opportunity to hang out at home, lie in bed and read and watch The Friendly Giant and Chez Hélène. There was also an afternoon show in French that I really enjoyed, but did not see it enough to remember its title. But I can still la-la-la the theme music. Want to hear it?
La-la---la,la,la,la,la,la
La-la---la,la,la,la,la,la,la----
La,la,la,la,la,la.
If you know what the song is, tell me. I want to know!

The cool thing about getting German Measles was how I was diagnosed. If we were ever sick, and if our parents felt we needed medical help, the first person they called was Auntie Beulah. (And if you remember, Conrads had a CB radio, not a phone, for several years after they moved to the farm. So don't be automatically thinking telephone when I say call. Even after they got the phone, radio was our most common way of communicating with them.) Auntie Beaulah was a nurse, and she could pretty much diagnose most illnesses. So, if it was not worth a trip to town, then we would not go. If it was, Mom would call and make a doctor's appointment for us. In this case, Mom told Auntie Beulah she suspected German Measles, which was going around; so Auntie Beulah came over to have a look at me. And she confirmed Mom's suspicions.

Now, Auntie Beulah knew exactly what to do for German Measles (rest in bed, drink plenty of fluids, that kind of thing) but Mom still called the doctor. Because we are Canadian. So that means that you don't look at an illness as just your problem: you look at it as "how does this affect the community?" So Mom needed to call the doctor so that he would know I had the disease, and he could let Nurse Gamble, the community health nurse at my school, know about it--they liked to keep track of where the disease was and how many people got sick, things like that. And I had to be officially quarantined, because that was a part of how we dealt with communicable diseases. I remember Mom calling a few parents of children she knew I had been around, too, to let them know I had the disease.

But here is the coolest part: Dr. Campbell was going to the clinic in Vauxhall that afternoon anyway, so he told Mom not to bring me in to town, but that he would just stop in on his way to Vauxhall. Because we lived right on Highway 36, so we were literally right on his way.  So, he stopped, and visited me right in my own bedroom, and said, "Yes, it is German Measles." And then he gave his instructions to Mom and set my quarantine, and after that, it was just lay in bed and feel a little bit miserable, but also enjoy some rest, relaxation and reading. And la-la---la,la,la,la,la,la....

When I was in grade five, I got glasses. It was very cool to be able to see! So, I am not sure if this happened in grade five or six, so I was about ten or eleven years old.  My sisters and I were watching television. I think it was a Saturday night, because I was all clean from my bath. And we only bathed once a week, on Saturday nights. Do not be grossed out! We lived in the middle of nowhere. We had to haul water. Our cistern only held one tank of water. That water was used for all our indoor water needs--we had an irrigation ditch for watering gardens and crops, and a pond for watering the animals--so all our cooking, our dish-doing, our laundry, our bathing--that all had to come from our cistern. We were very conservative with water.

We bathed in order by our age. I was first, then Arlene, then Colleen, then Bruce, then Mom, then Dad. After my bath this night, I put on my favorite nightgown. It was my pink checked granny gown. I had been wearing it forever. It started out at my ankles, and as I grew, it got shorter. So it was right around my knees at this time.

I don't remember what we were watching on TV, but if it was Saturday night, I am going to guess Don Messer's Jubilee or the Tommy Hunter Show. According to Wikipedia, "Outside of Hockey Night In Canada, in the mid-1960s Don Messer's Jubilee was the #1 show in the country, earning higher ratings than even the imported CBS variety show, The Ed Sullivan Show."

As was (and is) my habit, I wanted to sit with my knees up. But I was wearing a night gown, which is like a dress, and so if I just sat with my knees up, then I would be sitting immodestly, and my mother had me well-trained not to do that. So, what to do? Of course, I pulled my knees up inside my nightgown, and the gown down over my knees, so that I was sitting completely inside my nightgown. I had sat that way a gazillion times. Well, something exciting happened, and I wanted to get up and jump around a bit. (Another habit that has not really changed...) And somehow, I rocked forward and didn't get my legs out, and rocked off the couch and onto the floor, and the corner of my glasses hit my left eyebrow and it really hurt. But mostly, I just felt silly, rocking off the couch onto my face like that.

I ran down the hall to tell my Mom what had just happened to me, and then Arlene said, "Mom! Look at her face!" And though I had been just fine except for a little bit of soreness and hurt pride, the sound of her voice saying that scared me, and I started to cry, and ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and saw that there was blood running down my face. And then I screamed and screamed and screamed.

Mom could see that the cut was long and deep, so I got bundled into the car and driven to the hospital.  You know, I totally only remember my mom and us girls being there...so it must have happened in the summer, and Dad and Bruce must have been out working in the fields (since it doesn't get dark until like ten). I think that all four of us went to the hospital in Taber, where they froze my eyebrow, and then they took me to the operating room, and I laid on the operating table with all the bright lights shining, and they sewed me up. And then I went home, and got lectured a bit about not sitting with my knees up. But I still did it. I still do it. And I still pull my legs up into my nightgown, and one time recently, I ALMOST tumbled onto my face, but I didn't--only almost. Phew! If I was embarrassed by this accident at age 10--which I was--imagine how embarrassing it would be to do it again at 50+!

Sleep, Sleep, I Couldn't Sleep Tonighr...

I just smile as young mothers post about their sleep challenges on Facebook. As if they imagine that, once they don't have a baby anymore, they will get to be the master of their sleeping. Dream on, I think--that is, if you ever can get enough sleep to get to the dream stage...

I have been a mother for 35 years. I started out with two children, one who was two years and five months old, the other one year and five months old when we married. They were old enough to be sleeping through the night, but also one was ready to be potty trained. And so I began waking up at night to take her to the potty a couple of times a night. By the time I was finished with her, the second one needed the same kind of waking up on my part. Plus, the older one was a bit of a sleep walker, so that meant still waking up, because if she got up to go potty she might not really be awake, and could be trying to do her business anywhere, so a bit of supervision was called for.

Then we, the parents, got jobs working for the same 24/7 company, so the work schedules were challenging in the sleep department. And then I was pregnant and waking up to go to the bathroom myself every other moment.  And then the baby was born, and he did not sleep through the night until two weeks before his sister was born when he was two years and four months old. That new baby was less inclined to wake up at night, though one memorable night, she pulled herself upright in her bassinet, which was at the end of our bed, and bit her dad's toe, which was sticking out of the blankets. I don't remember how young she was, but I do know that she was shockingly young to be pulling herself upright. (She always had phenomenal upper body strength, shimmying up ropes like nobody's business a few years later!)

I suppose there were many nights of good sleep between baby #4 and baby #5, since baby #4 was such a good sleeper. Just the occasional or frequent or expected waking up due to illness or potty trips or sleep walking or nightmares, either a child's or my own. Then once again, the waking up of pregnancy and the waking up of baby #5, who was also a pretty great sleeper.

When things got dicier in the sleep arena, it was due to having a troubled teenager. She was 14. I had, at that point, had the role of her mother for 11.5 years. Little to no sleep for a long time due to worry, late night phone calls, lots of praying, etc. And then I was pregnant again and all that waking up took place again. And when she was born, she did not sleep at all. Born at 7 pm, still wide awake 12 hours later, and that kind of set the trend for her life's sleep schedule. Plus, her sisters were teenagers. Up with the baby, up waiting for one sister or the other. At that point, I had been married for 14 years, and I just finally accepted the reality that sleep was a precious commodity that I would not be getting very much of, so suck it up, sweetheart!

Even when your kids are mostly grown up, a champion worrier like me can stay awake, or wake up repeatedly, to worry, think, ponder and pray about those children, plus more! Because some of them have children, and some of those children are troubled teens in their own right, now keeping their parents awake with worry at night.

So the night I just had: took Patrick to the airport, was home by just after 9:30 pm. He texted me at 10:03 "Boarding in ten minutes. I'll text you from New York. Turning off my phone now so love ya!" I went to bed at about eleven, but I could not get to sleep. Did some relaxation exercises, tossed a bit. Finally fell asleep, probably around midnight. I keep my phone on silent, but I am such a light sleeper that the faint buzz of the phone against the table is enough to wake me up. And buzz it did at exactly 12:59.  And then it buzzed again, and I was instantly wide awake. Because I have children.

It was Josie. "Are you awake?" The second one said, "If not, could you come get me?"  Oh dear. What is wrong? I texted back, "I woke up because of your text. What is wrong?" (Because at that hour of the morning, the text is probably about wrong, not right, am I right?) "Oh man. My room mates just have a lot of people over and are watching a movie. And I am exhausted. But I cannot fall asleep."

This I could totally understand. We are not a family of party animals. We are a family of quiet, introverted people who, though definitely all sleep challenged, like to have it quiet while we toss and turn and try to shut our brains down to sleep. Even my niece Heather, while she was a university student, was very well known for calling me and saying, "Auntie Myrna, my room mates are so loud, and I really need some sleep. Can I please come over and sleep at your house?" Even though we still had four children at home, one of whom MIGHT just get up in the middle of the night and hop on her pogo stick in the storage room for hours at a time. Even then, we were still quieter than a lot of young adults watching a movie or playing games or talking and laughing.

So, I had total sympathy for Josie. And I was awake already, like fully awake, because of the buzzing for her text anyway. So I said, "Okay. I will come." And she said, "Thank you. Love you so so so much." And who does not appreciate hearing that? Or reading it.

Holy cow. I had been asleep and it was all night-time-ish in my neighborhood, but over where Josie lives right by the university, lots of traffic, lots of people, lots of lights on. She was out in the parking lot--she actually kind of scared me--but then there were people milling around outside of her building, and she did not want to mill with them, so she was in the parking lot.

We came home, and I hope she was able to go right to sleep. It had been 1:07 when I left the house. It was 1:24 when we got back. 17 minutes to drive there and back again. Not bad at all. Now to fall asleep. AARGH. My body wanted to sleep on my right side, but there was a funny smell that direction. I still don't know what it was. I would sit up and sniff around, and couldn't smell it, but when I would lay back down, there it was. So I would turn onto my left side. No smell, but my body didn't want that side. More tension and release exercises. More reciting Articles of Faith. Please go to sleep, I was begging myself. Just like young mothers beg their babies, please go to sleep, that is the way I have to beg to me.

Toss and turn. Toss and turn. Worry about Patrick on the plane flying to New York. Try to relax. Try to fall asleep. I thought about getting up to read, but my eyes were my most tired body part. Look at the clock. 2:40 already! I have been trying to fall asleep for more than an hour?  Then the buzz of the cell phone. "Landed in New York." It was 2:42. Good thing I was up, so that text didn't wake me! "Great! Now maybe I can sleep. Love you." I texted back.

And then--it worked. I slept! Glorious sleep! Until the phone buzzed again, this time with the phone call buzz and also the lights of a phone call. It was Patrick. He wanted to tell me that the flight to Jo'burg was overbooked, so they had offered cash on the spot (well a check for cash) of $1300 if you would give up your seat. So he tried, because $1300, but they could not find a flight from Jo'burg to Port Elizabeth that would get him there in a timely fashion. He did have one extra day built into his travel plan, but given the whole connection thing, it just was not possible for him to be one of the bumped people. He was excited at how close he had come to practically being reimbursed for his travel costs. And to tell me that if that happened on the way back, he was so going to do it. That call came at 6:11. So I had been able to sleep about three hours?

Well, I was awake. So I got up and unlocked the dead bolt on the front door, since Bruce works nights and would be home between 7:15 and 7:30. And then I had a shower and crawled back into bed and slept for one more hour, and now I am up for the day.  So I had approximately five hours of sleep, one hour here, then three hours, then one more. Sounds like a normal amount of sleep for a mom, am I right?

And I was up for Patrick's text to tell me that he was boarding. So that was a good thing, so I could text him back. Safe travels!