Life Gaurd

My Hubby helped save a life yesterday.

I get regular, incredibly detailed descriptions of his flights. While I could never land a plane, I've begun to understand when he starts talking "flaps 22, gear down, chop and drop" (basically it means it was hard to get the plane down to land because of a difficult set up.) Honestly because of the immense technical details, I tune most of the conversation out. But yesterday's description garnered my full attention.

Before taking off on his first flight of the day, he was informed that he was given "Life Guard" call sign. This sign is given to planes with critical body parts aboard. While he's transported a few eyes and even a liver once, this was his first time flying with a human heart in his cargo bay.

Usually most of his stories are riddled with descriptions of annoying people: this Air Traffic Controller wouldn't clear them to land, that Ramper was totally lazy and wouldn't answer the radio, the Gate Agent was late, etc. Hubby's description of when he was Life Guard was much different. Everyone got out of their way, bent over backwards to help smooth the way. At one point he said "it would be awesome if everyone treated every flight as if it was a Life Guard."

He landed, watched as they transported the organ to another plane for a continuing flight across the nation, and went on with his day. But I could hear the touch of pleasure in his voice as he took pride in helping someone live. Just by doing his job.

How often does one get a chance to be a Life Guard? Hubby did nothing special, not really even different than the dozen of other flights he performs in a week. But by being there, just doing his job, he saved a life.

Do I do that? By just doing my job, have I helped someone else? Hubby has no idea who the recipient is, no idea even where the heart will end up. What actions do I do that could change someone? How can I behave, help, guide, just be there to help someone else.

Even more than that, what about all the other people that didn't fly the plane but made it easier. They just treated with respect, and did their job the best they can. To find joy in your job, to do the very best no matter what. What a hard thing to do when all around us we are told that we "deserve" better, that we ARE better, that this is beneath us.

I work. I work hard. I do not get a paycheck for my job. I do not always find satisfaction in my job. I do not always do my best job. There are times when I just want to give up, run away, be someone else for a few days.

But I don't. There is no way to know when me just doing my regular job will make the difference in someone's life. Just to be there could make me a Life Guard too.

That's enough to inspire me to get back to work. I do love my job, just as Hubby loves his. But sometimes you just need to feel like you can make a difference.

And now I remember that we can.

Shamless plug for a giveaway

Not here, but here. Oh, I can't even express how much I'd love to win this one. Have you ever heard of Silhouette? No? Well, I'm sure you've heard of Cricut. Picture that, only 100000 better. No cartridges to buy, can use any font on your computer, awesome downloads.

Thrifty Decor Chick is giving one away. Love that blog!
Of course, there are way too many other people wanting this too. So don't bother entering (that way I've got a better chance!)

JK. Go check it out.

Super excited!

Ok. Bit of randomness today. But I'm so excited by my super deal today that I had to share.

My local Joanns is closing. And I'm stoked about it. Normally this would cause me some major bummage, but not this time. You see, it is honestly the smallest store I've ever seen. You can barely fit a cart down the isle, so if you're trying to pick out quilt fabric, you've re-created rush hour down I-5 in LA. But, in just a short 5 more weeks, they will move across the street and like quintuple their space or something!!! A VERY needed upgrade.

Anyway. Everything is on super sale. I needed some cross stitch stuff, so I thought I'd see what they had left.
Things were pretty picked over, so I only managed to get one color. And then I wondered over to the home decorating fabric.

Oh. Wow.

Everything was on sale, 40% off. And then an additional 75% (!!!) off of that. You did have to buy the whole bolt, but still. I've really thought about re-covering my $10 wing back chair, but it's so low on the priority list because of the price of fabric. But I got this beautiful sage green fabric, for less than $10! I think there should be just enough to do my chair.

I also found the first fabric for my boy's room too. And I let my kids pick out some silly buttons (for only a quarter, you would too.)

So here's my loot:
All for 15 bucks. I saved over $70. And I am super happy now.

Girl's room project update.

Enough squares for my 2 twin sized girl quilts. Hard to tell from the piles, but Girly-Lou's will be slightly more pink, and 'Lil's will be slightly more green.

One day at a time, this room is SLOOOOOOOOWLY coming together!

How to turn a 2.5 hour car trip into a never ending saga

The official guide.

Step one: procrastinate the 6400 things that need to be done until a maximum of 24 hours before it's time to leave. Including the 87 loads of laundry so you can actually pack for this 4 day trip, shopping for "sanity savers" (aka treats for the car), and thorough cleaning of your kitchen so that ridiculous never ending ant trail you finally conquered two days before doesn't re-appear.

Step two: Add in the need to drive 30 minutes in the wrong direction to pick your husband up from the airport. Also helpful to not even be loaded in the car when he calls to inform you that he's already landed.

Step three: Live somewhere so that the easiest entry to the freeway is right next to the mall. Then plan on leaving around 2:30 on a busy Saturday afternoon. This will make the 1.5 mile drive from your house to the entry at least 15 minutes!

Step four: Finally get on the way. Drive 5 miles over the speed limit, while obsessively watching that "estimated arrival time" on the gps so it will slowly click down one minute at a time (because arriving at 6:07pm is sooooo much better than 6:14).

Step five: Hit . . . . something on the road which causes your tire to explode.

Step six: Chant "Stopthecarstopthecarstopthecarstopthecar" as you finally manage to actually stop. the. car.

Step seven: be insanely grateful that this happened when your hubby was in the car so he can take care of it.

Step eight: manage to have lost the lug wrench/jack handle sometime in the last 3 years so there is no way to change your tire.

Step nine: pray.

Step ten: 3.7 seconds later, have an exceptionally nice man stop by to help.

Step eleven: wait 45 minutes for your hubby and the nice man to drive the 10 miles to the closest town, find a new lug wrench, and drive back.

Step twelve: be happy you have enough gas to keep the car running so no one dies from heat stroke, and the kids can watch the silly squirrel movie instead of driving you crazy. Also be happy you decided to fill one bottle with water so you can actually feed your screaming baby.

Step thirteen: finally start driving on that flimsy doughnut to the closest town. Be happy that there is a superwalmart so you can actually buy a new tire ('cause who else is open 4 pm on a Saturday?). Wait a hour or so for the new tires to be put on.

Step fourteen: Decide to walk to the burger king for dinner while waiting. It will help add to the saga if the said burger king is much further away than you realize and also in the opposite direction than you start walking. Not to mention carrying that 2400 lb infant seat.

Step fifteen: Agree that hubby should just walk back by himself to pick up the car while your offspring play on the tiny play place.

Step sixteen: Have Hubby decide to buy a "cool" new jack, and then spend 30 minutes tying up some strange flapping plastic piece on the wheel well.

Step seventeen: Finally get back on the road 3 1/2 hours later.

Step eighteen: Drive remaining 90 minutes.

Step nineteen: Get really, desperately needed, wonderful, restorative hug from your mom that makes the whole saga worthwhile. Also: have an amazing baby that manages to sleep 10 1/2 hours the last night of the trip. Saga is now complete, and life is good.

20 Years Ago . . .

I love memorial day. Honestly, I never thought of it as a patriotic holiday growing up. We did more honor to all of our departed ancestors than just military. A big part of that, I imagine, is the greater number of non military ancestors.
I have so many memories of memorial day (wow that sounds redundant!) But there is one memorial day weekend that will always come to mind before others. And it's been exactly 20 years ago.
(ok, so at this point my entire family knows where I'm going with this. But for the 7 of you I'm not related to, I want to share my tale. My family can just indulge me.)
My parents built a cabin. Determined not to go into debt for this luxury, they decided to quickly finish the outside and then complete the inside on a when-funds-available plan. This story takes place in the first year or so of the work.

I loved my Dad. Hero worshiped might be a better phrase. My father was not blessed with an abundance of sons. Knowing this, I was determined to be the second son my father never had. From my current adult perspective, I'm sure I was usually more hindrance than help. Nevertheless, I was a very willing extra 9 year old hand.
On this excursion, brick was on the list. It was one of the last things needed before the outside was complete. My dad took an extra day for the long weekend, and we headed up to get the brick laid.

I remember so many things about that particular trip: sleeping in the top of the camper with my dad snoring below. Getting all our water from our wonderful neighbors. My dad joking when I pointed something out "Second mistake I've ever made in my life. And the first time was only when I thought I was wrong but wasn't!". The beautiful sunny weather making the spring leaves glow on the mountains. Dad knew when the shadows started up the mountains across the valley, we better start cleaning up. He sent me over to clean out the mixer we were using for the mortar.

Honestly what happened next I've blacked out. One minute I was wiggling two plugs together to get the machine started, and the next I was sobbing in my dad's shoulder. Later my dad would tell me that he heard me screaming and knew exactly what had happened - my shoulder length hair was caught in the pulley. He jumped off the scaffolding and ran to my side, all the time wondering if it would be better to disconnect the power underneath me (a time consuming process), or go to the source across the street. As luck would have it, neither was needed. By the time he reached me my hair was no longer attached to my head, and I pulled away.
We were over an hour away from a hospital. He looked me over, saw there was no bleeding, and decided the best choice was to quickly finish cleaning up and drive home.

I still remember my mom's gasp of horror when she saw my head. I believe her next words were "has she seen a doctor?" She got on the phone to a nurse and described what had happened. That's when I learned just how lucky I was to only loose my hair. It could have taken off my face too.
And it wasn't all my hair, just the back. A few weeks later we actually thought to take a picture. I spent a hour today searching for that picture. I have no idea where it is! So here's my phenomenal artist rendition:
No, I didn't forget my face. There really was that much hair gone from the back of my head. Completely smooth off. And I got home around 8:00 pm on a Saturday night. Off my mom ran to the store to try and find SOMETHING to cover that up for Sunday. Armed with two clearance Easter bonnets, I at least could not horrify the ward the next day. She also picked up a cap for school (which required special permission to wear).
Later my dad would go back and dig out all the hair he could from that pulley. My mom carefully arranged it, sewed it into a strip of fabric, and I had a wig of my own hair. Every Sunday, we'd carefully brush it out and load it with hot curlers. Then Mom would pull back the remainder of my hair into an elastic and pin the wig on. I still have the wig (a bit worse for the wear!)


I only wore the hats for a few months school got out. By the next year enough had grown in that I was able to sport an awesome side pony tail until we cut it all short. But I learned a lot that year.

I learned how to roll with some punches. That it was easier to get help from a teacher than chase stupid boys around the playground to get my hat back. I learned that how I looked didn't change who I was. I grew confidant in my ability to handle difficult situations. I learned when life gets hard, there isn't much you can do except keep plodding on and make the best of it.

We are the sum of our experiences. While I'd never wish having the majority of your hair ripped from your scalp on anyone, this is one experience I am grateful for. Much of my confidence and "just go for it" attitude I can trace back to a small yellow cement mixer 20 years ago.

Happy Memorial day to you all.



UPDATE:

I found the picture. My drawing had me loosing less hair than reality! This was taken a few weeks after, when my hair had already started to grow back. And to this day, I still seriously wish we would have taken 12 seconds to brush my hair. But at least I have the picture!

Piano Chair makeover

Some day I'm going to have a real piano bench. It will look beautimous in front of my real piano. Until then, we have a very nice keyboard, and a VERY old chair. Not old as in cool and antique, but old as in my-parents-had-thrown-it-out-and-I-rescued-it old. For the last 7 years it's looked like this at my house:

Obviously seen better days. It was actually coming apart in places and I worried anytime someone sat on it that it would collapse underneath them.
So I took it all apart, gave 'er a good sanding, tightened everything back down, replaced several stripped screws, added more screws and glue to try and overcome the support worries, painted the whole thing, recovered (and added a TON more padding) the ugly cushion and VOILA!
Ahh that's so much better!

I do have to admit I was a bit nervous about tearing apart a chair. But I'd read so many stories about how easy it is to do I decided to just go for it. It really is super easy to recover a chair like this!
(and look, my new living room paint color! I'll post a better one on the whole room once I figure out how I'm decorating the walls)