Contagious Hype

It is week two for the College Football season.  Living, as I do, near to the heart of Cougar Central, we hear an awful lot of hype about the BYU Cougars.  But we also hear a lot of teasing about the University of Utah's Utes. 

The Utes opened the season as a new member of the Pac-12 Conference.  And today they battle USC in Los Angeles.  Those in RED this weekend like to schmack talk the advantages of the new conference, of playing "big time" teams, and of the super-big money the U is now a part of from its new affiliation.

The Cougars are in Austin, Texas to take on the University of Texas Longhorns today.  Still much hype as BYU has become an independent team this year--no conference affiliation at all.  The advantages, however, include the agreement with ESPN to televise the games to a wider audience, the freedom to play teams from all other conference and the handful of other independent teams, and the rights to re-televise the games on BYUtv once they are over on ESPN.

I guess, in the bigger picture it all boils down to money and exposure.  But from listening to some folks around here, you'd think these kind of games were means to world-economic and societal end solutions.

A Numbers Game

I have already heard it ad nauseum. This weekend, of course, is the anniversary of the terror attacks of September 11th.  The Tenth Anniversary.  I understand the media, especially, is making a big deal out of this.  They just don't have many original ideas.  But this year's anniversary seems to indicate that last year's, or the year before didn't mean as much.

I don't think that is right.

Simply because this year's anniversary is a nice round number, doesn't mean that the years since didn't matter.  If anything, this year's number only amplifies the years since that terrible day.

Maybe I'm just uncomfortable with all the media hype for this weekend, because it brings up some tender feelings I have still about that horrible day.  One most days I can suppress the feelings, while still remembering what happened.  But when the media keep pounding it over my head, there is no where those tender, wounded feelings can hide.

I can't help but recall the shock and devastation I felt when I was told by my neighbor to "come in and see this" just as The Girl was to catch her carpool to school.  I can't forget the feelings of helplessness I felt seeing the towers crumble, knowing the hundreds that were still inside never to be found.  I can't shake the memory of the cell phone calls from those aboard Flight 93 telling their families they love them and knowing that was the last they would speak to them.  And I can't forget the feeling of loss of innocence that day for my children and families everywhere.

Just because it has been ten years, I haven't forgotten those things. But it still hurts to remember.

Deer In The Headlights

Today we had day two of Vision Screening at the junior high school.  My job was to check the kids in against the class list, and then to ask if they had contacts or glasses already--meaning "Are you wearing contacts or should you be wearing glasses?"

More times than I can count, I was met with a glassy stare in answer to that question.  What is wrong with these people?  Am I saying it too quickly?  Is it not coming out like a question?

"Contacts or Glasses?"  People!  This isn't a menu option.  I'm asking if you are wearing contacts or if you have glasses I cannot see on your face.  Not difficult questions. I guess it is yet another example of a teenager who has an underdeveloped frontal lobe . 

But dang, they are funny to watch.

Sounds Familiar

Flashback

Today I had a chance to help with some physical therapy for Orin Voorheis.  He was shot in the head as a missionary in Argentina several years ago.  He has several disabilities from that injury and for the years since neighbors and church members have been going in at assigned shifts to help with his exercises.  Today was my day.

I have not signed up to do this before as it was always just as school was getting started and I had other obligations, but today was a guilt-induced volunteer job.  And to be honest, I was nervous about going in.  But once I got there, I had a flashback that I didn't expect at all.

Initially, I thought I would recall how my grandparents became more and more bedridden as they aged and their illnesses took over their lives.  But instead, I had some fairly emotional flashback of Dear Friend Tammy, who passed away a year and a half ago from ALS.

Today my assignment as to help the little home health nurse with some exercises, and for that we took Orin outdoors to the grass and worked with him on a crash mat before trying to get him back into his wheelchair and back inside.  The little home health nurse is quite petite, and spoke beautiful Spanish, but her English was not so good, so I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to be doing.  Today, Orin had little energy left to help us lift him off the mat and into the chair. 

All I could think of was that I couldn't do this and was going to hurt him.  The same things that happened once with Tammy when she was choking and I couldn't get the "coughing" machine to work for her.  It was terrifying.

I really thought after my experiences with my grandparents I would be OK to help Orin today.  But the fear of hurting him--just like it was that day with Tammy--was overwhelming.

And I should add, adrenaline not only makes your heart race when you are scared, but I broke into a sweat that made me look like I had just run a marathon.    My hear was racing like it had run too, but I know it was just from the fear.

I don't think I'll be going back.  This was my only date on his schedule for the month.  But should I be guilted in to signing up again, I think my fear and trembling will be enough to keep me from giving in.  I know it is a good thing to do, the charitable, right thing to do.  But there must be other good, charitable things I do in the schools and community that can count for that kind of service.  I hope.

Labor Day Holiday

The title alone warrant a chuckle.  It is a holiday for those who labor.  Well, for most of them.

A mom's work is never done, as the piles of laundry are here to attest.  Also, I forced The Boy to help me power wash the back of the house and the patio...probably  just in time for the rain to come...and for me to be completely pelted with dirt, leaves, gravel and mud from the power wash process, thus creating even more laundry.

Some things change, and then there is laundry.  Time to change it.

Video Sunday