Where the Wild Bergamot Blooms

We Have a Baby.

July 24, 2015 by Tipton

For the earlier pieces to this tale, please read Dominiques and Quitters.

When I ordered my much longed for chick eggs I had not considered the beach vacation that was already planned and the gestation period and care new chicks require after hatching. Impulsivity was in charge the day I clicked the “place your order” button. So, the only course of action was to take the eggs with us on our seven hour journey via car to the beach. I packed and prepared making sure I had everything I would need, just as a mother packs for a needy newborn on a journey out of town. E stood in the doorway of my office watching me fumble with “gear.” He stared at me, his expression patient and bland. Me knowing him as I know him, I knew he had questions. The emotion behind the mask swirled with inquisitiveness and maybe even angst. His hands rested in his pockets.

“When are the chickens going to hatch?” he asked. Anxiety.

“Tuesday,” I replied. Calm reassurance.

“We’re going to be at the beach. Who’s going to watch them?” he asked. Worry.

“We’re taking them with us. That’s why I bought this power cord that has a cigarette lighter adapter thing-y,” I held it up to show him. Proof of a solution. Further reassurance.

“Oh,” he knew what I meant and seemed satisfied that the chicks were going with us. Puzzled he asked. “Why is it called a cigarette adapter?” Resolution.

“Because cars used to have cigarette lighters in them.” I keep forgetting all the things his generation doesn’t have a clue about… Ash trays in cars, smoking allowed in the teachers lounge in schools, call waiting, rotary dialed phones, busy signals, having to drink milk with lunch at school, riding in the bottom of the shopping cart at the grocery store, using coins in a pay phone, pay phones. Moving on.

Now, thankfully, we can use that cigarette lighter thing-y to charge all manner of things including my egg incubator. My four remaining eggs remained at a constant, ambient temperature of 99.5 degrees all the way to the coast. Each time we stepped out of the car on “rest” stops I was reminded by a blast of hot, humid air of eastern North Carolina that the situation would not be that dire if my incubator stopped working. A sunny ledge in the back of the car would keep them nice and toasty. My uncomfortably warm forearm in the sunny part of the car window was attestation to this.

Did the eggs survive the bumpy car ride? Was my paper towel padding sufficient? Waiting another day or two for hatch day would be like waiting for Christmas. The night we got to our rented beach house would be incubator lock down. No lifting of the lid until hatching. Once the shells “pip” lifting the lid risks drying the inner membrane of the egg making it stick to the tiny chick inside. Hatching could be difficult and deadly.

By Monday night all four eggs had pipped. Yet, hatching can still take as long 24 hours. A damp paper towel I placed in the incubator the night before raised the humidity as my self-accumulated information folder on “What To Expect When You Are Hatching” recommended. This simple action assists in a successful hatch apparently. It’s like the warm bath of a natural birth and the pitocin of an augmented birth – sort of. So, I sat down to have my morning coffee and study since I was setting out to be a new upstart poultryman and all.

Only one sip of coffee and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. A baby chick popped out of an egg. Just like that! The shell broke in half just like in the cartoons. I rushed over to the incubator and crouched around it, gaping. The new chick was just like every baby is at birth – wet, floppy, and stunned, gasping. But, within moments the chick started chirping and trying to move around.

Little Man emerged from his room shortly after the chick hatched and I smiled excitedly. It was such a rush to get to make an announcement. “We have a baby,” I said and watched his eyes light up. He came to crouch around the incubator also. “I’m going to go get E,” I said. “I don’t want him to miss this.” The new baby was flopping over the other eggs and they were beginning to stir with signs of hatching also. E came to watch and we gathered around the incubator. The three of us sat watching it as if it were Christmas morning and this was the one present we had to open. When Honey woke, he too, came to watch. And for the next three or four hours we all watched the next two eggs hatch.

I waited most of the day hoping the fourth egg would hatch. It was concerning that nothing was emerging and no peeping could be heard beneath the shell. The other chicks chirped sweetly before hatching out. I’m new at this business and I had to consider when to remove the hatched chicks from the incubator versus keeping the unhatched egg undisturbed. All that I read recommended leaving the chicks in the incubator to dry but they seemed to not be drying. I was eager to move them and increase the humidity again to try and salvage the remaining egg. So, that’s what I did. I moved the chicks and added another moist paper towel to add more humidity. It worked. By nighttime our three chicks became four.

First Baby!

Hatch No. 2

Buff Orpington, Light Sussex, Rhode Island Red (light)

Three Babies – Two Doms and a ?

The Fourth Egg

My rudimentary brooder set up

One Day Old

Outside of the brooder for a bedding change

What Breed Am I?

Dominique chicks are born with black and gray down. As you can see we had a surprise. We don’t quite know what this little girl or boy is. Buff Orpington, maybe? But there are brown tips on the wing feathers. I don’t know if Buff’s do that. Too light for a Rhode Island Red perhaps. A Light Sussex? That would be doubtful. I asked the seller and she was vague. “They should have all been Doms,” she said. “I don’t know what the yellow one is. An egg must have gotten mixed up.” Weelllll. Don’t you know what kind of chickens are already on your farm? Can you give me a ballpark guess?

It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. E was excited to see a yellow one. And the little thing is awfully cute. If I knew what it was, I’d order a couple of day old chicks to go along with it so it won’t be outnumbered.

So, here we go. They’re here. We have a baby!

Posted in Family, Life, Sustainable Living | Tagged Chickens, Dominiques | Leave a Comment »

Death and Dignity and the Oscars

July 18, 2015 by Tipton

My final graduate school paper was about the controversy over physician assisted death. The assignment was to discuss a “policy issue” in healthcare, how it has been addressed, how it affects nursing, etc, etc. Oregon was the first state to legalize physician assisted death in 1997 with the Oregon Death with Dignity Act. Fourteen years later Washington state followed with their own Death with Dignity Act in 2008 and Montana followed soon after that. The next state to legalize physician assisted death was Vermont with their Patient Choice and Control at End of Life Act in 2014. Then, in Bernalillo County in New Mexico a patient won a case in trial court to have the right to “aid in dying.” The latest battle wages on in California after a 29 year old woman dying of brain cancer fought, and lost, for her right to end her own life. She moved to Oregon in order to die a peaceful death. California is currently waiting to find out if the End of Life Option Act will pass the California Senate.

Why all the fuss? Well, we’ve become better at keeping people alive but not always better at curing or improving quality of life. Research shows that most people want to die at home yet most people still die in hospitals. We’re starting to listen. A palliative care approach is growing. Helping patients and families plan for end of life care improves the grieving process a great deal.

What made me choose the topic of physician assisted death? Curiosity, maybe. I had to pick a topic so why not that one? Getting older. Watching the people around me getting older. Losses among my own family and friends. What would I do if I was ever in that much agony or one of my loved ones was dying an “intolerable death?” Would I choose that for myself and would I be supportive of them if they made that choice?

There’s more.

Honey discovered a few years back that he has a gene that predisposes him to blood clots. So, he and I decided to do genetic testing through one of the available laboratories. We were curious what other crazy stuff might be hidden in our DNA. The company offered testing for both health and ancestry. I was more interested in who my distant ancestors were. He was more interested in what else he was predisposed to. The kits were on sale so we did it kind of for fun. The company made a really big deal of opening the results about breast cancer and Alzheimer’s genes. I felt like I was about to find out if I had won an Oscar. Only it didn’t feel like a good thing. It felt like it would be a “go and sit in the corner” kind of Oscar. Turns out I don’t have the BRCA genes but most people don’t. They’re pretty rare. On to the Alzheimer’s Oscar. I was a winner. I have the APOE4 gene. Should I be worried about that? Is that why they made me click the button twice, “Yes, I’m sure I want to open this?” Forty percent of people with the APOE4 gene develop late onset Alzheimer’s according to the National Institutes of Health. You can click on the link to read more. Yet, there are people with Alzheimer’s who don’t have the gene and people with the gene who never develop Alzheimer’s. Seems like there is still time to perfect diagnosing the disease. I’ll just try to stay healthy and exercise my brain.

But, what if I do develop Alzheimer’s? I know what happens. It’s almost worse for the family than the patient. Not almost. It is worse. I don’t want to leave my home confused and freeze to death in the cold. I don’t want to take my clothes off every night at dinner time and become combative. I don’t want to shrivel up in the fetal position and forget how to eat. Worse, I don’t want my loved ones to be burdened with the energy of caring for me or drained of their finances paying for me. What difference will it make to me at that point? I want to leave this world as myself, as who I am now, remembering everyone I know, remembering my children. I don’t want them to just remember me. I want to leave remembering them. And I don’t want their last memory of me to be ugly. Morbid thoughts? Yes. Getting ahead of myself? Maybe. Planning? No.

I told Honey if I’m being sweet and pleasant he can keep me but if I’ve forgotten everybody and I’m starting to act out and curse and swear all the time he is to put me out of my misery. He looked at me levelly and I knew what he was thinking without him having to say it. “You’re not sweet and pleasant now, Banshee. How will I know the difference?” And he winked.

But, physician assisted death doesn’t work that way. It is only for the terminally ill, mentally competent, who can self administer the lethally sedating prescribed medication to ease pain and suffering and avoid an intolerable death. My plan for Honey to whisk me away to Vermont or Oregon when I become unmanageable won’t work.

I’m not really very worried about having the gene. Maybe I should be but I’m not. Science is constantly changing and moving forward. Nobody in my family has had Alzheimer’s or dementia. Maybe in five or ten years it will be discovered that I also have a protective gene against Alzheimer’s. My Oscar days aren’t over yet.

Share your experiences and what you think about end of life choices. You can read more about some of the topics mentioned in this blog here: Compassion & Choices, Alzheimer’s and Dementia, End-of-Life Care

Posted in End of Life, Family, Health, Life, Nursing, Personal, Religion, Spirituality | Tagged alzheimers, palliative care, physician assisted death | Leave a Comment »

Quitters

July 10, 2015 by Tipton

My first chicks died on me…or eggs. In the hatching world they’re called Quitters. As if this is a path they chose. I felt what can only be described as a sense of loss. Truly. Was it something I did?

These sweet little baby chicks were gone before they were even born. I’m no expert at what is called “candling” a process where a light is used to shine through the egg to check for life and growth. So, I had to be absolutely certain that these eggs were not alive or growing. No veins, no movement, no embryo.

I lost three. I expected to lose some out of my 10. The books say not to expect a 100% hatch rate. Ho-hum.

I wasn’t sure what to do with the little things. I couldn’t just throw them in the trash. And I couldn’t put them in the compost or throw them in the woods for some night creature to come and get. So, I buried them.

We’ll see what happens with the seven that are left. Fingers crossed.

Posted in Appalachia, Community, Family, Life | Tagged Candling, Chickens | 1 Comment »

Eyes Wide Shut… Take Your Baby

July 8, 2015 by Tipton

I read an article recently that a friend posted on Facebook about how melatonin plays a role in facilitating birth. I think the article boiled down to saying that women give birth better in darkness than light, turning inward rather than out in the open. This explains a lot about the births of my two sons.

I’ve been a nurse in varying OB settings for 20 years now. I love it. I love birth and I love all the different stages of pregnancy women go through. I love the wonder, the questions, confusions, frustration, joy, happiness, even the anger and disappointment. Some people may imagine that obstetrics is easy or always happy. It isn’t easier or harder than other nursing specialties. It’s just different. All I can say is I love it. I love my work.

I love hearing pregnancy and birth stories. For whatever reason I feel pangs at the memory of my own and hearing other’s comforts me. Whatever went wrong in my head, well… that’s another chapter. Everything went very normally for both. I was able to have both babies without epidurals which was just the way I wanted it to be. My first son, I asked for an epidural during the transition phase but I knew that I would. I knew, as a labor and delivery nurse, that transition would be my moment of weakness and the nurse that I had chosen, and my stalwart husband guide, coached me through it. I pushed through and did it without an epidural. The nurse said, “Tipton, you’ll get an epidural, you’ll have a baby and then you’ll be numb.” And I sighed in futility knowing she was right and knowing she was doing what I had asked her to do. God, what an awful position I put her in. My second son came fairly rapidly. I don’t know that there would have been time to get an epidural even if I had wanted one.

I gave birth to both of my children with my eyes closed.

Whether this really happened or whether this is how I remember it, I don’t know. At any rate, I turned inward. My so-called melatonin worked. With my first son I advocated for myself. My water broke. I went in to the hospital and made sure he was okay by having him monitored for a short while on the fetal monitor and then I went back home to wait and see if I went in to labor on my own. The doctor on call would never have let any other person do this. She only let me because I was a nurse who worked there. I was very lucky. And by the time I accepted pitocin to augment my labor 16 hours later things proceeded very rapidly. I had a baby two and a half hours later. I had wrapped my mind around it, so to speak. I was ready. I had meditated on it.

With my second son, I went into labor on my own. I had contemplated for many months early in my pregnancy on having a home birth. But, I heard my coworkers whispering criticism about this when they thought I wasn’t listening. I caved to the criticism and to the fear it engendered in me, not so much the fear of the birth but more the fear of not being accepted by my peers. Isn’t that crazy? And I walked down the hallway 40 weeks pregnant, seven centimeters dilated, pausing with every contraction determined not to appear in pain because I didn’t like to show my emotions outwardly. I wanted my birth and my labor to be private. It was very difficult for me to give birth in the place where I worked.

The one wonder about giving birth with closed eyes is that when I opened them it was as if someone had said, “Surprise!” and I saw this beautiful creature before me. Both of my babies are imprinted on my brain. Both of their expressions at birth are solidified in my memory. Of all the things that are fuzzy in my memory, their first word, their first tooth, their first whatever…the faces of my two newborn sons at the moments of their birth are as clear as a bell. Nothing can replace those two moments.

Neither of my pregnancies or postpartum periods went the way I wanted. Breastfeeding was a bitch. Anyone who ever says it shouldn’t hurt is a liar. I’m telling you as someone who succeeded at it – eventually. Let me say again, eventually.

Those were tumultuous times for me. I struggled with severe postpartum depression probably more than anyone except my husband knows.

My labors are another story. They were fast and easy and man… that moment that I opened my eyes. That rush of irreplaceable adrenaline, of utter joy, that someone with a soft voice next to me said, “Take your baby,” were two of the greatest moments of my life.

We’re still perfecting birth in the OB world. We’re still going around our elbows to get to our thumbs to make it a memorable moment, doing things that need to be done to keep momma and baby safe. Yes, it’s okay to get that epidural. Yes i’s okay to not get it. No, there are no medals for not getting it. But, it’s also okay to close your eyes. It’s okay to burrow. It’s okay to go inside yourself into that dark place and just check out for awhile. Trust me, everything is going to get taken care of. Highly trained people are going to take care of it and you. Your support people are there. Just go with the rhythm of your body and soul. Pray. Whatever. Labor. Roll with the tide. Let it go. And at the culmination of it all open your eyes, “Take your baby.”

Posted in Family, Health, Humor, Life, Parenting | Tagged Breastfeeding, Nursing, Postpartum, Postpartum Depression | Leave a Comment »

Dominiques

July 1, 2015 by Tipton

Here I go. Chicken eggs. I have always intended to have chickens. I had originally intended to order day old chicks instead of eggs so that I didn’t end up with a rooster but oh well. We will just have to see what happens. After two years of working on my bachelor’s degree in nursing and then going straight in to a three year master’s program in nursing education I’m almost finished. I requested a two year extension from Honey to get a post-master’s certificate in nurse midwifery but said life partner said no or he was packing his bags – or sending me packing my bags, one or the other. I can’t blame him. He’s been flying solo for the past five years. I have difficulty with deadlines and multi-tasking. Don’t mention that to any future employers I may decide to interview with. I ultimately do okay on the job. On the homefront I kind of let it all go. Hence, chickens.

Raising chickens has been on my bucket list for sometime. And so one night I ordered eggs from a local farm I’ve been reading about. I try to shop locally when possible, though while in school I rarely ever actually accomplish this. I haven’t ventured from my house beyond a three or five mile radius in approximately three years. My employer may be within a ten-mile radius, so I at least stretch it two nights a week. My master’s program is online and I’m glued to my books and my computer. I write a good paper but it takes me awhile. Occasionally, to get “outdoors” I’ll sit at the window in the guest bedroom to read and watch the kids play in the cul-de-sac or I’ll look out the window while I cook dinner or unpack the dinner I brought home from take-out. I can’t wait to be a real parent again.

I’m not sure how Big E will take to the chickens. He has been asking for an indoor rabbit. Not happening. That would be food for the cats or competition – or at best another mess to clean up. However, he loves animals so I’m sure he’d show some interest in the chickens. Little Man is excited though. He also wants goats and they just happen to be on my bucket list too. They are absolutely NOT on Honey’s list. I want to know what is wrong with an animal that shouts, “Hey?” I don’t understand. I think it’s better than, “Yip” or “Bark” or “Arf.” He insists that goats apparently also exclaim in a rather distressing way, “Ahhhh!” from time to time. I just shrug. Pygmies, I ask hopefully? Snow white pgymies? Their so cute! Yeah… not happening.

The chick eggs are Dominiques from Nantahala Farm & Garden, a rare heritage breed. I ordered eight eggs and the seller threw in some extras for me. I didn’t think the chickens were a pretty breed at first but now I do. They grew on me. Maybe just because they’ve been around a long time and the description says they’re hardy. They have a proven track record as survivors. Who knows? I think mostly it was because the farm was close by.

Learning how to raise something and learn a craft is part of a bigger plan, a project I hope to fufill. I can’t unveil it because I don’t know if it will be successful. I don’t want to jinx myself. For now, I can hope at least that I’ll be successful in incubating and hatching these chicks. Maybe my success with these chicks will foretell the success of my project to come. I believe in omens. People are as sustainable as the environment in which they live. We cannot only make the homestead on which we live sustainable in order to survive but also the community around us and the people around us. Otherwise, no true and lasting sustainability will have been achieved. The only true sustainability is when we improve our entire community cohort. Fingers crossed.

Posted in Community | Tagged Community, Family, Sustainability |

Can I Go To Peru?

March 12, 2015 by Tipton

What was I thinking?

That’s it. That’s exactly what I want to say. What was I thinking? I won’t be weaving an intricate story, well maybe a small one, one of a mother’s love. For the most part, I’ve said it straight out. I was absolutely and positively not in my right mind when Little Man flung the car door open with the glee of a starving church mouse believing it has struck the BIG cheese. “Can I go to Peru?” he assailed me. I was in the middle of a nap, an eyes open, hope nobody saw my mouth hanging sideways nap. I blinked and cleared my throat but somehow managed for once to avoid the crushing blow of an instant, “No, “I’m sorry, honey. We just can’t…”

I’ve been in graduate school for the past three years and have worked night shift for two of those. Anyone who knows me has heard at least one of these lamentations and has lamented at hearing these lamentations… over and over and over again. Anyone who knows me knows I do not cope well without sleep. I admit it. I have not been keeping up with what would be the equivalent of “The Jones’s” in the parenting world. I’m just me and we are just us.

His light aqua eyes were imploring me not to give him the usuals. For the past three years he’s been given a list of usuals, “I have to work, your father is working, we don’t have the money, we don’t have the time, it’s too expensive, I have to study, I have to go out of town, I have to sleep, who will take you, who will pick you up?” His soft, indearing voice tugged at my heart, pleading as if the air he breathed depended upon it, “Can I go to Peru, please, can I go to Peru?”

This time something told me to at least say, “Wow… That sounds like a big deal. Let’s talk about it.”

That was six months ago. In two weeks, my baby is going to get on a plane and go to Peru… without me.

What was I thinking? Maybe that this is the world in which he lives. Maybe that he will learn something that none of the rest of us know and grow from it, that he might make the world, even just around him, a better place. Maybe that he might become a bigger and richer person because of it. I will be a ball of nerves. That is my job, my role. Going forward in his world is his.

Posted in Family, Friendship, Life, Parenting, Personal | Tagged Family | Leave a Comment »

Hurricanes

September 7, 2014 by Tipton

I went on a hike in mid August just before my most turbulent and hopefully final year of graduate school. Cramped up in doors by rain, fatigue, tutoring sessions, work, or whatever other excuse I could muster, I broke free and did what my heart and body were begging me to do. I went on a hike – by myself. I was a little afraid but not much. I had pepper spray for the people and an air horn for the bears and I went to a frequented location. After about ten steps my lungs were stinging and I laughed at the resting bench there on the left side of the path. I said to myself, “That’s there for people like you, Banshee who have stayed off the eliptical too long. What you say, girl? Giddy up? Yep, I’ll go.” It was an uphill climb all the way. I’ve climbed up Craggy Gardens before. It isn’t difficult but in my quest for an advanced practice degree I’ve become sedentary. And my joints have become what’s “to be expected” for a woman of my age as a rheumatologist so delicately told me over his Devil-esque goatee and his Dracula style widow’s peak – all artificially colored, I’m sure. If he had only known I could have torn his limbs off with my non-RA positive arthritic joints at the age of 40, he would not have smiled at me so condescendingly. That was three years ago. I don’t hold grudges… clearly. I didn’t take the bench. I kept walking. Because according to him, I’m obviously healthy, just old. Did I mention what I thought of him?

And that this was three years ago?

And that I don’t hold grudges?

I wanted to see plant specimens I knew I wouldn’t have time to seek out until spring and I wanted to breathe in what might possibly be the last breath of summer for me. It was August the second, Lughnasadh, the beginning of harvest season to the old folk in Gaelic times, nothing to some, the end of freedom to me. Yet, a harvest of knowledge in some respects as I was about to begin graduate school again – hopefully my last year. The climb to the top of the bald was lovely but taxing. I had to stop several times to catch my breath mainly for the sake of being able to smile and say hello in case I met others on the path. I did happen to meet some other people – all on their way down. Nobody else was on their way up. Was I the only one hiking this late in the afternoon? Was I the only one this out of breath and out of shape? This old? At 40? Three years ago? Okay, let it go, Banshee. I saw lots of yarrow. It was lovely. I’ve never seen yarrow in the wild. I’ve wanted to grow it in my garden but knew I would have to buy it from a nursery and here it was, right in our very own forest. I was just reading about it in a book two days ago and here Mother Nature was showing it to me. I saw cow parsnip so big, bold and beautiful, large blooms already unfurled so like Queen Anne’s lace but larger and new blooms about to burst from the purple stalks. I could not remember if it was poisonous but referencing my book saw that it was not. The similar Poison Hemlock, however, is. Tons of other beauties carpeted the forest floor, ferns galore. Old trees called me closer, their arms outstretched in welcome, their palms of gnarled thin branches opened and reaching towards heaven. I did not tarry too long at these wonders. It was the bald I wanted to reach, the open top. And once I got there the insecurities of bears and Boogie men left me. The beauty and peacefulness settled on me and I felt like I was at home. I could see the mountain range before me for miles and a silent, errant breeze let me know that ancestors and spirits whether human, beast, or plant lingered close by. The ancientness of these mountains will be eternal and it cannot be purchased. I took my camera out to take a picture of this breathtaking beauty before me but no lens could capture this. Not even the eye could capture this. Only the soul could capture this moment and maybe only my soul. I was completely and totally alone. I had not seen one single soul for quite some time. Only the yarrow, the mustard garlic, the wind warped oaks and rhododendron thickets were there. It wasn’t totally silent. Unlike other balds which are remote enough as to be completely removed from traffic, I could hear the echo of cars on the highway. The high-pitched whir of them on the road below reminded me of my youth and filled me with nostalgia of another time and place. I live in what I call the west now, that is, western North Carolina, but I grew up in the middle of North Carolina, the southern region where the Piedmont meets the Coastal Plain. I grew up in the oldest mountain chain in the world, the Uwharrie Mountains, a little known wonder. I can drive from one end of my home county and see rolling hills of green pasture lined with oaks turn to flat lands of peach orchards growing on sandy soil and pine forest. There’s an actual finely contrasting difference almost just like on a map. Oddly enough I was feeling homesick recently at work while we were talking of things from our childhood. Several of my coworkers are from Florida. Asheville has lots of Florida natives. I said one thing I missed about home was hurricanes. Some hurricanes are so vast that the squalls come far inland enough to feel the impact of the wind and the rain. Sure, that has happened as far west as the mountains of western North Carolina but not with the same frequency. It was a seasonal expectation. I was so ready to leave when I was younger. Now, I’ve lived away from home longer than I lived there but it will always be home. After sitting for awhile longer, absorbing the silence I decided I should go. It would take me 30 minutes to get home. The descent was much easier save it’s a good deal harder on my 43 year old knees than climbing up. Either way, the exercise felt good. Cruising down the Blue Ridge Parkway I approached the Folk Art Center near town and saw a bear crossing the street with three cubs following behind her. The sight reminded me of a bumper sticker I saw years ago that read, “I’m the mother of triplets. What’s your excuse?” It was ironic that I should go into the woods so prepared to contend with a wild creature just to enjoy a peaceful hike and she’s right here in town prepared to contend with civilization just to enjoy a meal. She wore a tracking collar around her neck and she gazed at me with strained patience. I thought to myself, she’s the mother of triplets AND she has to contend with humans. Wow, a cocky, dumb rheumatologist is nothing. I should count my blessings. Today that is exactly what I did.

Posted in Family, Life, North Carolina, Personal, Southern Heritage | Tagged Blue Ridge Parkway, Craggy Gardens, Family, Uwharrie Mountains | 2 Comments »

Americanisms

July 1, 2014 by Tipton

I saw a post on Facebook that read, “12 Facts About…” Being the self-absorbed person I am, according to…, I instantly wanted to talk about the twelve facts I’m interested in. Twelve is a magical number. It depends upon which religion you follow. To some the holy number is always seven, to some it is five. To others the numbers three and nine are the winning ticket. I always believed when I was younger the number twelve was the Most Holy, second only to the number Seven because of so many references in the Old and New Testament. I was raised in the Christian faith and owe a great deal of what I consider my humble grovelings of wisdom to it. I could digress into what I believe Christ to be but that is not what this post is about. That is a completely different post which I composed in my head on a long drive during which my son and I had an argument.

I speak of religion only in regards to my recent visit to the popular local theme park, Dollywood. One would not automatically associate a theme park with religion but if thou hast not ridden a roller coaster in the heart of the deep of the Great Smokies during the peak of our great religious revolution, what will probably be referred to in five hundred years as the second Reformation, then thou hast not visited Dollywood. The park is an icon of American culture, a certain sector of American culture anyway. There is an actual chapel in the park in which one may sit a spell and yes, pray, if moved to do so. Songs with religious meaning are broadcast overhead, old ones and new ones. I heard In the Sweet Bye and Bye by Johnny Cash all the way to Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Bible verses adorn rocks along with song verses from the Great Lady and there is only one lady greater than Dolly herself…and that is Loretta Lynn. Sorry Dolly. I was in the heart of the Smokies but I couldn’t help but think of my true idol, Kentucky born and bred, Loretty Lynn. She won my heart the moment I watched Coal Miner’s Daughter on TNT when I was sixteen year’s old. If Dolly had made a better movie I probably would have put her first. Instead, I was met with The Best Little Whore House in Texas in the prime of my own religious revolution when I was just about fourteen, and pious. I loved Dolly then too but Loretty won out. Still… I loved the Coat of Many Colors. It was a sweet, sweet song and who can forget I Will Always Love You. I broke it back out again when Whitney Houston died and realized I liked Dolly’s version better. It made me want to remind everyone that Dolly wrote that song, not Whitney. And Oh! Islands In the Stream! Lawd! Can’t forget that one.

I’m an American born and bred. I’m an American dyed in the wool. My American lineage goes back all the way to the seventeen, and a few times to the sixteen hundreds. I can trace it on multiple lines. Thank you to Sister Becky for getting this started for us all. And thank you to Ancestry.com for making it so easy to just click and add family members to our family tree with very little substantiating evidence to the claim. The roots, however, are validated. I’ve been here on this North American continent for a looooooooooong time. Not only on the continent but in the South. That cannot be denied.

Our family claim to join the DAR, according to my sister was once denied because we could not fully substantiate our claim to an ancestor of the American Revolution. Now, thanks to online databases, DNA, message boards, etc. I know that I have MANY direct ancestors, MANY, who fought in the Revolutionary War. And thank God and Country we did not join the DAR. I would not enjoy at all, going to tea or dinner eating on fine china in dresses with stuffy women. I like dresses but I don’t like panty hose. I don’t know if that’s how it actually goes down, the stuffiness and snobbiness, but that’s how the movies portray it. When I do use my fine china, which took me a decade to collect, I use it on my husband and two sons for our Thanksgiving meal, even if it’s just the four of us. I even use the crystal candle sticks. I dim the lights and I light them. They all look at me like I’m weird. It feels uncomfortable to them AND me but we do it. That’s what America is. To me. Special china for special people as Ma Ingles said in Little House on the Prairie. Ah, how I loved Little House on the Prairie.

What does all this blabber about Dolly Parton songs and American culture have to do with Dollywood? The songs are easy to figure out but the rest you might need a little help putting together. Dollywood is just one icon of Americanisms. Geneology research another, television culture another. It is very evident when visiting the park that the intention is for the visitor to have an American experience, an Old-Timey American experience. I guess I would be called a Liberal by some. I believe in religious freedom. I believe in women’s rights and the right of women to control their own bodies. But, I also believe whole-heartedly in the Spirit of America because personal freedom was the seed of that right. That was the spark that began it all. We wouldn’t be having the argument of it all without those Revolutionaries. There would be no debate without those Patriots. I’m a Patriot. I celebrate the American way. I love that they have an Eagle rescue reserve in the park. I love that I stood in front of a bald eagle and learned that bald meant white and not hairless. I had not known that before. Some may believe Dollywood to be a hick place, a country town. It is. What’s wrong with hick-ness. It’s just another part of our culture as Americans.

Happy July the 2nd a day early, the day the Constitution was signed. I hope I got that right. And happy Independence Day. Cherish it. It came at such a dear cost to so many. The men and women who believed in the cause were called Rebels then. They’re not called that now. They’re called Patriots. Be a Patriot, to God and Country, to your deity and land, to whatever God that may be to you. Be thankful that you have that freedom.

It is a holiday whose meaning lies in fireworks, sparklers and flag shaped blueberry, red sugar striped icing cakes, hotdogs, and hamburgers. This year instead of a foreign war or some or other current event, think upon America and her grand history. Sing America, the Beautiful. Remember the ones who earned your real freedom, long buried in their graves.

Now, I am free to believe whatever I want to believe and so are you. That’s what Dollywood made me think of as I stood and gazed at the bald eagle so majestic in its beauty and regal unaware of the icon it has become…

Posted in Appalachia, Celebrities, Country Music, Life, Nationalism, Patriotism, Personal, Religion, Sisters, Southern Heritage, Spirituality, Theme Parks, Travel, World News | Tagged Dolly Parton, Dollywood, July the fourth, Loretta Lynn, Patriot | Leave a Comment »

43 and Grateful

March 1, 2014 by Tipton

I always receive so many more birthday wishes on Facebook than I give out. So, on my birthday I am filled with the paradox of joy and guilt. How can this many people think of me when I give so little back to them? Yet, I have this idiot savant (kind of) thing for birthdays from my school days. I know that Andy Taylor from Duran Duran’s birthday is Feb. 16. He wasn’t even my favorite band member. John Taylor IS my favorite band member and his birthday is June 20. Amy Dennis’s birthday is June 12. Amy Brown is November 4th, Deana Robinson is November 2nd, Don Chandler is December 16th and Matt Thompson is Dec. 8. Marion Garner is January 8th, the sam day as Elvis. Michelle McRae was February 11th.

It is my birthday today and unlike most people I am excited to be 43. With each passing year I await the turning of the next number with enthusiasm as if new knowledge or wisdom will be bestowed upon me. I await new status and a new notch in my invisible challenge card in the sky.

The truth is, I’m just glad to be here. Each year that goes by I read of one or two class mates or teachers passing from my school days. I read of a person my age being diagnosed with a terminal illness or dying suddenly leaving their family behind. This year a friend from childhood died from cancer. I had lost touch with her but the loss was poignant as we had shared memories that were early and dear. The rampages of second grade can sometimes mean more than the trivialities of tenth grade when the mind goes wild with the torment of hormones and boys. We were truthful and genuine in our elementary years. My friend’s death reminded me of my own tenuous hold on this world.

I’m grateful to see my children each day, however briefly. They’re changing so fast and the choices I’ve made in my life – pursuing an advanced degree and a change in my work schedule has meant less time with them. Will it be worth it? The goal is a boost in their quality of life, an example for them to strive for. It is always a mother’s curse to doubt, to hope, to dream, to work harder, to love more, to wonder, to question, to stay up later…. I am reminded of Proverbs 31. I won’t quote it. You can look it up for yourself if you’re interested. It is a bittersweet Proverb in that a woman’s lot in life should not be this way. We make it so for ourselves out of our own need to take care of our families and do everything… into the wee hours. Just look at Pinterest. Who has that kind of time?

I am most grateful for my husband. I apologize to him endlessly for getting tangled up with one such as me and he just says, “I love you.” When the house isn’t clean he just says, “It’s okay.” When messages aren’t communicated, he just says, “No problem.” Truly, his reward will be magnified in heaven. He does so much more for me than I do for him.

I can’t say what my birthday wish was because if I do, it won’t come true, right? Let’s just say I hope my boys wish the same wish. If they’re able to do this, mine will have come true.

I’m grateful for 43 and will be grateful for 44 and more.

Posted in Creativity, Family, Friendship, Life, Love, Marriage, Parenting, Personal, Relationship, Uncategorized | Tagged birthday, Family, husband | Leave a Comment »

The Pauperess to the Prince – Come Live With Me…

October 16, 2013 by Tipton

I could have been happy in a yurt with goats and chickens

Whatever, you couldn’t cut it

I could have, I love dirt,

I love earth, I love grass and water and wind.

Now there is this castle

An expansive waste of time

Keeping up escalates and absorbs

Time that could be spent doing other things

I love…

I stay indoors

I fight it but the war is draining

The moon is waining

Soon I will be a crone

And then I will be gone

Posted in Appalachia, Creativity, Humor, Life, Love, Marriage, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged Permaculture, Simplicity, Sustainability, Wealth | Leave a Comment »

Veronica Cartwright and Healthcare Power of Attorney

September 28, 2013 by Tipton

Seriously?

Yes, I just finished watching the season premier of Grey’s Anatomy. I had to watch it on Hulu Plus as I forgot to add it to my playlist on Direct TV and it isn’t available on Netflix. I want to make sure I indicate all the avenues with which media is available to me and that I rarely ever watch any of them. I also want to add that Grey’s Anatomy is one of the most annoying medical dramas ever made… ok, not ever! ER, was probably worse. Grey’s is great on plucking at the heart strings. I always cry at least once during every episode. But, it’s very heavy on physician activity. I’m a nurse and doctors don’t adjust IV drips. They are bossy. They don’t fix sheets. They don’t draw labs. They don’t stand around in patients rooms for hours on end. But, they do care. The show annoys me in that the only nurse activity I see is a doctor yelling at a nurse to get someone on the phone, get a chart, or sleep with me in a call room. Let me just say that I’ve never had enough time during my shift to sleep with anyone in a call room. Ew!

Veronica Cartwright? Serendipitous that she would show up, ay? The character in the season premier who triaged everyone by writing their vitals on their skin with a Sharpie? Not sure what she checked their vitals with but a heroine nonetheless. And yes, I say, heroine because there is nothing inferior about the feminine form of a word.

The gist of the two opening episodes is that Richard a.k.a. Dr. Weber, has chosen Meredith to be his Healthcare Power of Attorney. They may use a different word in the show but in North Carolina that’s what it would be called. Meredith is faced, just after giving birth, with some difficult decisions. What would she do for Richard? She puts logic above emotion.

Surreptitiously, my husband and I had a similar conversation earlier the same day. I told him he needs to write down what he wants. I asked him if he knows what I want? He does for the most part. But, this really pertains to funeral arrangements. And really, forgive me, by the time the funeral comes, does it matter? Yes, I would like for you to listen to the songs I picked and celebrate in the way that I planned but will it really matter if I was kept on a tube for forty days when I didn’t want to be?

So, that’s what we need to decide. That’s what we ALL need to decide. In the 80’s and 90’s doctors and nurses or whoever (I’m not picking) were fairly inept at navigating the Living Wills and Healthcare Power of Attorneys that were coming to light. Now, however, it’s becoming a part of our culture. It’s expected and honored. It’s wanted. Yes, there’s a fiscal reason. We all cost money, sadly to be cared for and kept alive. We have to consider quality of life rather than quantity. I’d rather cost my family as little as possible and have the song, “Thanks A Lot,” by Raffi played at my Gathering, Thank You. I have a whole list of songs for anyone who is up for the challenge.

So… Everyone, designate who you want to speak for you. Pick your Meredith Grey. And then pick your back up Meredith Grey.

Posted in Creativity, End of Life, Family, Friendship, Health, Life, Love, Marriage, Personal, Spirituality, TV Drama, Uncategorized | Tagged Family | Leave a Comment »

Haiku

September 22, 2013 by Tipton

Swift blow heart wrenching

Ties before so strong now weak

Truth bent unmended

Posted in Creativity, Friendship, Life, Personal, Poetry, Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

Big Sisters and Veronica Cartwright

August 12, 2013 by Tipton

I don’t watch very much television… not very much. When I do I tend to get sucked in wholly. I will record multiple episodes of a show and then watch four or five of them at a time or I’ll watch an entire season of a show in one weekend on Netflix. Who has time for that? Not me. Not any person with kids, a job, or any hobbies other than television watching. So, I don’t do it often.

However, my husband made me a delicious blueberry pie and helping myself to a piece of it with a side of red wine (of course), I sat down with him in the living room to watch whatever it was he was watching on television. My interest was captured instantly by the airplanes, jets, and pilots on the screen. I recognized the name Yeager and the term “sound barrier,” so I prepared to get hooked. I like planes and jets. I told Honey, “I think I’ve seen this movie before.” He smirked at me and said, “I’m sure you have.” At the point where the guys in suits and ties go to recruit the astronauts from the Happy Bottom Riding Club and say they’re looking for the, “Right Stuff,” it hit me.

Honey and I play this infernal game whenever we watch television together. If we see a familiar actor we’ll invariably say, “Remember what she was in?” or “Remember what he was in?”

As the actress who played the wife of Gus Grissom glittered on the screen I said, “What movie was she in? Do you know?” He said, “Alien.” I frumped. That wasn’t the movie I had been thinking of. “The Witches of Eastwick.” I added, “She was the preacher’s wife who projectile vomited the cherry pits all over the place.” My memory was not as sophisticated in movie history as his was, I admit. One was a classic, the other was less so.

Then…. Oh, then… Just because Honey and Banshee have to have more, Honey looked up said actress on the internet. He knew she had been in much more than we could think of. We just couldn’t think of it. See, we’re talented. We can watch a movie and search the internet at the same time. And my kids tell me I lived in the olden days. Puh-leeze.

The aforementioned actress was Veronica Cartwright. And the most important movie for me she was in was Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The cascade of connections began and memories unravelled. How could I ever forget her bulging blue eyes and her flared nostrils, her finger pointing alerting the “whatevers” that there was an “unsnatched.” In the dark theatre my small hands gripped the hand rests, my head was fixed forward, eyes wide, back pressed to the back of the seat. I can still hear the horrible hollow sound that came out of their opened mouths. I believe Donald Sutherland was a conspirator in this phenom.

You see, I saw this movie when I was just a wee thing. I was seven, maybe eight. Somewhere in the realm of being way too young to be in a theatre in the 1970’s watching this movie. But, I was with my big sister and her boyfriend. She was being cool enough to take me out with her. I remember these human bodies in sacs attached to watermelon plants. That’s what they looked like to me. To this day whenever I eat a watermelon I think of the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Seriously. But, I like watermelon anyway. It’s one of my favorite fruits. Is it a fruit or a vegetable? I suppose it depends if there is a body in it or not. Wink, wink.

Each of my three older sisters has a certain element – all of them cool, of course. This sister’s element was elusive. Whenever I got to do something with her it was ultra sweet because it was extraordinaire. It was unusual. I will never ever, ever, ever forget seeing Invasion of the Body Snatchers with her. Not because it traumatized me. It didn’t – AT ALL. I brag about it almost because I think it’s awesome that she took the time to take her kid sister on a date with her boyfriend.

That’s some stuff. The right stuff? Yeah, I think so.

Posted in Family, Friendship, Humor, Life, Personal, Relationship, Sisters | Tagged Big Sisters, DPChallenge, Family, Kid Sisters, Movie Trivia, Veronica Cartwright | 1 Comment »

Suture or Staples

July 24, 2013 by Tipton

A patient asked me recently if her surgical site was closed with suture or staples. I stared stupidly at the thick white bandage covering the wound as if I my x-ray vision was going to kick in at any moment and allow me to see through it. I hesitated for a moment and stuttered and then told her I would go check her chart. I’m not always a quick thinker.

I recently started a new position at work. I wanted a new perspective. I’m learning new things and I’m working to find my footing. For example, in that moment with my patient it occurred to me that unless I read the physician’s operative note, which can take some time to do, or perhaps listened more carefully in shift change report, I would not know if the patient’s surgical site had been closed by suture or staples. In the old days I might know this first hand because I might have actually been the scrub nurse and seen it for myself. Now, as a floor nurse, one day out from surgery with the dressing still on the surgical site, unless that piece of information was still getting passed along in report, I would not know without looking it up. And in reality, it doesn’t really matter. My job is to make certain her bandage stays dry and shows no signs of bleeding no matter how it is closed.

The patient had her own reasons for wanting to know. Suture looks better. The wound will heal whether it is closed with suture or staples but the patients prefer suture because of their perception of the grotesque appearance of the staples in the skin. That’s the patient’s perspective. But, staples go on faster and suture takes longer. A physician literally uses needle and thread to bring the two layers of skin back together in a very refined, seemless, hidden stitch. So, why use them? I don’t know the exact reasons some doctors use them and some don’t. I could ask them or I could do the research. I think it’s mostly preference.

On a more relaxing note…

On my days off, I would check the online news websites regularly for updates on the Royal Baby and was finally rewarded a few days ago with the headline that Princess Kate had gone into labor… or labour. That afternoon the Prince of Cambridge was born. It was very exciting. It was something good and happy, warm and fuzzy. It was right there amongst the headlines of doom and gloom, corruption, greed, and tragedy. I don’t normally watch the news or read the papers. I take short glimpses. I check in periodically and I glean world events from various sources other than the major networks or headlines. I just simply cannot read and watch the negative onslaught day after day. I cannot read about murder, suicide, bombings, rapes, nuclear threats, war, injustices the world over every single day. I cannot read about our politicians warring with one another day after day knowing in my heart that none of them have our best interests at heart. It is too much and I am too prone to be overwhelmed by anxiety. I can’t change the world. I can vote, I can write letters, I can vote with my dollars. I can teach my children. I can help others. What else can I do?

Well… I can be positive. I can send out good energy for, “As you sow, so shall you reap.”

This quote can be found in Proverbs and Galatians in the Bible. It is a proverb in many other cultures too. There are various ways to interpret it. But the way I interpret it and the way I try to teach my children to live is that what you put out into the universe will come back to you, usually in a greater capacity… threefold. You could look at this proverb in literal or materialistic ways but that isn’t how I look at it. I look at it from the perspective of thinking, feeling, energy. Try to think positively. Try to believe good things will happen. If you believe for certain something bad will happen then you are inevitably bringing it to you. If you are filled with negativity then you are like a lightning bolt extending up from the ground to meet its counterpart from the sky. You attract negative energy. The best way to be is positive. People will call you naive. They will call you names and say you have your head in the sand. What does this reflect? Their negativity. What they put out there has gone back to them. Do I succeed in living this way all the time? No. Do I try? Yes.

Because I’ve been exposed to so much news in my quest to follow the royal birth I was left rattled by all the bad news I read. The mainstream media would have you believe there is so much bad in the world – especially for women. The battle is not an easy one for sure. To be silenced is to be captive but to live in fear is to be a slave. There is so much bad in the news but there are many good things going on in the world. I know there are. I read about those too. It is naive for me to think if the majority of the news reported was good news there would be more hope in the world but isn’t it nice to imagine.

As I stood outside on my deck last night to sip some wine and gaze at the full moon I wanted to let go of this negative energy and reset my barometer. It was dark and nobody was around and maybe I was a little tipsy from my wine. I was thinking of my own babies when they were little and I closed my eyes as I started to sway the way I used to sway with them when I tried to get them to sleep. In my mind I imagined a needle and thread, a suture, pulling together two ends of the fabric that would close the veil over my negative thoughts. On one side I would think a positive thought and on the other side a negative, to bring closure.

Sway to the right… My oldest son.

Sway to the left… My cousin in Turkey and her plight there with the unrest.

Sway to the right… My youngest son.

To the left… The state of things in Afghanistan.

To the right… My husband.

To the left… The women in Egypt assaulted in the square during protests.

To the right… My mother, all my sisters, brothers-in-law, and nephews, cousins, aunts, and uncles.

To the left… The girls in Pakistan who just want to go to school.

To the right… My love of herbal medicine.

Left, right, left, right….

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until both sides were positives and my eyes opened. The rest of the world was gone, sutured tightly behind the veiled curtain. All that was left was my yard, my home, my family, my life and the bright full moon.

HRH Ethan, Prince of Lemon Balm and HRH Liam, Duke of Bergamot

Posted in Family, Life, Love, Personal, Spirituality, Uncategorized, World News | Tagged Family, Galatians, Positive thinking, Princess Kate, Proverbs, Threefold | Leave a Comment »

Changes in Latitude

June 15, 2013 by Tipton

I awoke yesterday morning to broad daylight and felt a surge of panic coarse through me thinking we had slept through our alarm. We were supposed to rise at 5:00 am in order to catch the Seattle public transit known as Link Light Rail to the Amtrak Station for our 7:40 train. After a quick glance to my phone, I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t sleep through my alarm. It was broad daylight because of the difference in latitude between Seattle and Asheville. Still, we had to rush, rush, rush. It isn’t easy to mobilize a family of four with their belongings, feed them, get them on unfamiliar public transit in an unfamiliar city in time for the only morning train bound for a beautiful city in Canada. My itinerary was tightly scheduled.

The itinerary. That beautiful piece of work I spent weeks on was blown out of the sky like a duck in hunting season.

Our flight was canceled on “Day 1.” What do you think that spelled for all the activities I had planned in Seattle for “Day 2?” We were still in Asheville on “Day 2” waiting to board the aircraft at 5:35 am EDT when we should have been in Seattle striking out on public transit bound for the Museum of Flight at 8:35 am PDT. Nope, didn’t happen. Tornado warnings and severe thunderstorms in Chicago grounded our flight and caused tons of delays and mayhem for thousands of travelers and airline staff not to mention my gold-plated itinerary. Dare I mention that I nearly burst into tears at the ticket counter when the United Airlines staff told me there was no way she could seat my eleven year old near one of his family members because the plane was booked solid. My carefully chosen seating arrangement on our two-legged journey had been scrapped as part of the wreckage of those storms in the Midwest. I was left with not one connecting flight but two and seating assignments where none of us were together. My eleven year old was seated out in Neverland. This was not the five hour journey from Chicago to Seattle I had envisioned.

Every January or February I start to think about our family vacation. I grew up going to the same beach (for the most part) or at least the beach year after year. This was how memories were made, traditions were formed and routines were established. The vacation was a relaxing and comfortable affair that involved little effort – for me, at least. Being the wife and mother and vacation planner of the family I now realize that for my mother or father, or both, it might not have been so relaxing or easy.

Honey wanted to do something different this year. He had a hankering for something more. I almost always get my way. So reluctantly, I relaxed the reigns of control, yes, I have some control issues, and said, “Tell me where you want to go and I’ll make it happen.”

He waffled a bit but said, “I’ve always kind of wanted to go to Seattle and Vancouver.”

So, we set out to do it and alas, we made it intact. We crammed into a day and a half what I had planned for two and a half in Seattle. I didn’t get to go to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and Patrick only got to stroll through Pike Place Market rather than linger like he wanted. But, we realized in our day and a half visit. It was nice, but it was enough. Seattle is checked off the list. We don’t really feel we need to come back. In regards to downtown, they have some work to do.

We’ll see what Vancouver has to offer. We’re all very excited about the train ride.

The Itinerary notebook.

Ethan collapses into bed once we finally reach our hotel.

Dad and Liam enjoy the view from the hotel.

The Museum of Flight, Liam’s dream come true!

Seeing all four surviving Concords is on his bucket list. The one in Seattle – check!

He was also excited to see the world’s first ever 747 jumbo jet. It was huge!

Ethan and I got a tour of a B-17 Bomber.

We visited Pike Place Market. The flowers and seafood selection were amazing!

Next, up (haha) the Space Needle. It’s difficult to see it in the background, but the mountain in the distance is Mt. Rainier. It looked like it was floating in the sky.

And last but not least, Chinatown or the International District. The website makes it look like a very beautiful place to visit with cultural attractions and restaurants. It did not live up to the website’s advertisement.

Posted in Family, Humor, Life, Parenting, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged Air Travel, Family, Kids, Seattle, Travel | Leave a Comment »

Honey and The Banshee, a Texting Love Affair

May 25, 2013 by Tipton

This has got to be fast… and short… and sweet? Love IS sweet, right?

I was going to post this as a Facebook status update, “There are benefits to couples arguing by text.” But then I realized there was so much to elaborate on. How would I know this? Well, I don’t know. Recent experience, maybe?

You have to take turns for the most part.
You can’t hear the escalations in one another’s voices and neither can the other people in the near vicinity, i.e. children in the house.
You can’t name all the reasons why your reason for being angry is more stressful than the other person because it takes too long to type it out and you’re worried the other person will reply sooner than you will. The pressure to be succinct in words and timeliness is ever present.
Despite this, there comes a point where you have less restraint over what you say so that more gets off your chest and out into the open. Believe it or not this is a good thing – sometimes. Most of the time resolution comes about sooner.
You can keep getting work done, making the argument less meaningful which you already know it will be as soon as you reach an agreement.
Peacemaking comes faster to those in their 40’s than those in their 20’s (more than likely) due to manual dexterity. I did see someone “dictate” a verbal text to her significant other recently, commas and periods included. I haven’t been able to get Siri to do that for me in regards to punctuation. In this heated battle she would not have been able to keep up.

Best regards,

The Banshee

Posted in Humor, Life, Love, Marriage, Texting | 1 Comment »

Wild Ginger

May 19, 2013 by Tipton

A few weeks ago I accompanied my younger son’s fifth grade class at Evergreen Community Charter School on a camping trip to Robbinsville, NC near the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest. Even though I have lived in North Carolina my entire life, I’m ashamed to say I’ve never traveled this far west in the state. I’ve never been to the one little piece of forest spared from the massive logging that took place in the early 1900’s. I’m also ashamed to say that even though I knew Joyce Kilmer was a poet, I thought he was a woman.

Standing at the trail head as we were about to begin our hike, I read one of the brochures with the description of the man and the story of the forest. He was a poet but he was also a soldier in World War I. Interestingly, he wasn’t from North Carolina at all. He was from New Jersey.

So, how did we come to have the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest? The brochure attests that the VFW petitioned the government for a tract of land as a memorial. You can read about it here in Wikipedia. A plaque along the trail, which I highly recommend to everyone, contains the poem “Trees.” It’s a lovely poem highly criticized in its day for being too simple while at the same time being praised for the same property.

Hiking along this trail I immediately began to see plant specimens that were on my bucket list of plants I want to see in the “wild.” I saw trillium, the common violet, wood sorrel, galax, blood root, solomon’s seal, and false solomon’s seal and the forest floor was made of a carpet of may apples. The most exciting was wld ginger in bloom! Sure, they’re at the North Carolina Arboretum and alot of people probably see these often. For me, it was a novel experience.

We, European descendents, have made such an impact upon this land. We’ve changed it so drastically. As I gazed up at these giant 400 year old Tulip Poplars I felt I owed them an apology that we had to create a sanctuary where they could live unharmed. Their cousins, the American Chestnut and the hemlock have not faired so well even in the sanctuary. Introductions of a fungus and the wooly adelgid from places outside of America killed and are still killing these trees.

Time passes and landscapes change. A wise woman I was introduced to said when all the animals of a species are gone from this world that means they have done all they need to do. They are finished. Is it the same with trees? She also says everything happens the way it is supposed to happen.

I watched the children as they hiked and as they listened to their teacher impart her knowledge to them. She would stop and turn every so often and say something of interest along the path. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Were they catching it? Were they grasping the importance of this tract of land? Probably not to the depth that I was. But, I did hear them reminding one another to stay on the path so they didn’t disturb the plants, or sharing their plant knowledge with one another. Then, they would go back to laughing and running and jumping across a stream. What was interesting was how in the moment they were. They were in the forest. Their focus was the plants, the trees, the rocks, the ground, the bugs that swarmed around their heads. Maybe they will grow up and undo some of the impact we have made upon the land or at least not make it worse. Hopefully.

Just before the hike descended out of the bright green may apple carpeted forest and into the darker, damper Rhododendren-lined trail, the teacher had us sit and take two minutes. We had used our noses, our eyes, touch, smell, and hearing, but we had not taken the time to use hearing by itself. We had not stopped and simply listened.

So, we did. Every student and parent chaperone sat in absolute quiet to see what forest wonders we would detect. There were no vibrating mufflers of motorcycles, no cars or trucks, no lawnmowers or weedeaters or chainsaws. Not even other voices. There was only the lilting melody of birdsong and the gauzey sway of the wind way up above our heads in the leaves of the trees, those giant four hundred year old trees… And that was all.

In that still, expanse of two minutes I was able to imagine three hundred years ago a small group of Cherokee walking quietly through the forest traveling on their way to somewhere with gentle purpose. I imagined that their mocassin-covered feet fell softly upon the forest floor and that their movements created little disturbance as they passed. I could see them in my mind’s eye, one with the landscape. I then imagined further back four hundred years ago a lone black bear loping along passing through on her way to forage for food, unafraid of rifle fire or that she might not find anything to eat. It was as it should be or as the Wise Woman had said, just as it was.

These thoughts and images enveloped me with the renewed awareness that I live in a place of sacred ancientness. I was reminded to hold fast to all that is sacred to me for it will surely slip away before I’m ready.

Liam caught up to me on the path and walked along beside me. He asked me if I was having a good time. I told him I was. I asked him if he was. He said yes, but he wished he could have tasted the root of some of the wild ginger we had seen. I explained to him we can’t pick the plants in a national park. They’re protected, sacred. I hugged him, kissed the top of his head, and breathed in a deep breath of the sacredness of him.

Posted in Appalachia, Family, Life, Parenting, Spirituality | Tagged black bears, Cherokee, Environmentalism, Family, Joyce Kilmer, nature, North Carolina, outdoors, Robbinsville, trillium, Tulip Poplars, wild ginger, Wise Woman | 2 Comments »

Plage

May 11, 2013 by Tipton

I’m way past due for a blog post. I was given notice last night by a little birdie. Procrastination, forgetfulness, poor follow-through, distraction – these all describe me. For those around me it can be frustrating, I am sure. It was frustrating for the grocery store clerk and manager who had to ring my groceries up and then void the transaction because I discovered I had left my wallet at home. The kind manager said it was no problem and took my groceries to the cooler so my ice cream would not spoil while I made a quick trip home to retrieve it. However, when I got to my car, alas, there my wallet sat in the center console. Silly me! So, back to the check-out I went. The manager saw me approaching as he was just returning from the cooler and I held my wallet up. “It was actually in my car,” I smiled apologetically. He was very gracious. And yes, this is the same grocery store as the Uppity post. Sadly, I didn’t have just a few groceries. I had a buggy full. What does this have to do with anything? Hmmm… Distraction…

Plage. I had to look it up. The Wikepedia summarization is that it is a bright region of the chromosphere of the sun usually found near sunspots. In the sun, plage-like brightenings extend away from active regions as their magnetism appears to diffuse into the quiet areas of the Sun, but constrained to follow certain network boundaries. That just sounds really neat, doesn’t it? Whatever scientist chose this word for this phenomenon in the sun borrowed it from the French word for “beach.” A plage is also a sandy, bathing beach at a seaside resort. Either place seems happy, connected, and warm. Happy, connected and warm… Mmmm.

I didn’t know either of these two definitions when I was planning my Twelfth Night party back in December. This past December was our second Twelfth Night party. I decided to begin this tradition because my own personal celebration of the winter holidays does not fall between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. Growing up in a Christian home, the holidays did not end for us on Christmas Day. It kept going until the Epiphany. We didn’t necessarily do anything special on that day. I just remember hearing the word. As I’ve gotten older and I see the holidays becoming more and more about buying presents my own personal commitment is for it to be about something more. Everyone celebrates in their own way. I like to celebrate the Solstice and Twelve Days of Christmas. I borrow from a mixture of traditions to keep celebrating and keep the light on into the dark of winter. I’m an introvert by nature but I wanted to share this light, this warmth. I suppose even an introvert can have the inclination to stay happy… connected… and warm.

During food preparations and planning I would listen to music so I could put a playlist together for the party. As I wrapped bacon around dates, rolled meatballs, and assembled artichoke dip my mind would wander. I would have thoughts of what the party would be like. How many people were coming? Hardly anyone had RSVP’d. What if it rained? It was too bad it was going to be cold because our porch is a nice place to hang out. What if people didn’t have a good time? Worry, worry, worry.

And yet, when fun songs would play I would have these grandiose daydreams of doing something really silly during the party. Wouldn’t it be really fun to stand on a table and sing a duet of, “Islands in the Stream,” with someone. Or what if someone sang the rap part of, “Rapture” by Blondie? How about dancing? It would be so cool if someone, or several people could do cool dances like Swing, Shag, or even Salsa. Grandiose, I tell you.

To the song Plage by the Crystal Fighters I had a a very specific daydream and let me say, I had every intention of carrying it out. I think if I had remembered to initiate it and people had had enough to drink they would have done it with me – maybe. But, remember, I’m forgetful and prone to distraction. So, it never came to fruition. I was too busy hostessing and having other fun.

After the guests had gone and it was just me and my in-law family, my sister-in-law asked me was it what I wanted it to be. I said yes, I had a good time. It seemed that others had a good time. I thought it was a succes. She asked me, if there was one thing I would have wanted to happen that didn’t happen what would it have been. I told her I wanted to get everyone to do a train dance and circle through the house while we played the song, “Plage” very loudly. She nodded her head and said, “Let’s do it.”

So, me, Amy, and our two sons did a train dance through the house to the song at full blast at one in the morning after the party was over. It was so much fun. It was as much fun as if everyone at the party had been there. I remember laughing so hard I could hardly walk and I didn’t even care if I looked stupid. It’s one of those memories frozen in my mind the way a movie plays a happy ending in slow motion at the grand finale.

The train dance to Plage was my grand finale. Thank you, Amy.

Posted in Family, Holiday, Personal | Tagged Crystal Fighters, December, Family, Plage, Twelfth Night | Leave a Comment »

Thin Skin

December 20, 2012 by Tipton

This particular post has been rattling around in my head for about a month or so. It seemed to be coming to formation in my head and then the school shooting in Sandy Hook happened and it seemed pertinent and unimportant at the same time. My thoughts took a detour and my endeavour to make a weekly blog post yet again, failed. Now, as I sit in the quiet, at last, and reflect it is coming back to me… a little. How does one gather thoughts after twenty elementary children are killed. It all began, admittedly, as a very self-centered thought. Post-shooting it isn’t self-centered at all.

A friend who I admire greatly as a possessor of great, but silent and dignified wisdom, told me I might need to grow a thicker skin. This is, of course, not the first time I have been told this. I’ve been told this for most of my young and adult life. It used to make me seethingly mad. I would hate the person who told me that, vow to dislike them forever, go home and cry, and then begin again a week later. That was twenty or so years ago. I try now to reflect on what the person means when they say this. What could I have done differently? What did I do that made them think I was being sensitive? Needless to say, regarding the thicker skin comment, my feathers were still a little rippled for days even if only on the inside – hence, the need, albeit in her opinion, for thicker skin. But, I am left to wonder. What are thicker skins for? To have less feelings? To endure, to filter, to shield, to turn a blind eye? To remain immune to injustice?

We need to FEEL. Say it with me. Weeeee neeeeeed to feeeeeeellllll.

I feel things and I feel things very deeply. There has been much in the news about Sandy Hook and some of you may have read other blogs or posts about it so I’ll leave that artistic license to that owner. With every swipe of my card, each time I locked my car to go into another store, every time I stood in line to check out, I could not help but think of the anguish those involved in the tragedy are feeling right now. I felt so empty. Putting my money in the Salvation Army tin did nothing for this particular grief I felt. This was a burden of my heart, my soul, my thin skin.

Feeling the sadness makes me human. The intention is not to dwell on the sadness or be gloomy. The intention is to acknowledge – their grief and my own. I am sorry for the loss of those lives even though I did not know them. I am sorry for the families even though I do not know them. I am so, so sorry for them and that any of this happened at all.

My oldest son tells me every morning before he leaves for school, “Bye, I love you.” And he makes a conscientious effort to make sure we hear him and that he hears us too. This was even before the shooting. Our younger son says repeatedly, “I love you. Bye. I love you. Bye. I love you. Bye.” He says he isn’t anxious about the shooting which saddens me in a way because, that’s the world in which he lives. I think he is anxious. He just doesn’t know it. He is being conditioned. That’s sad too.

In the movie, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” Profressor Hooch gathers her students outdoors to teach them the basics of riding a broom. She strides up and down the rows of novice students and observes that many of them are struggling to gain command of their brooms, to possess them, to adequately feel the vibration of the magic within. She puts a hand on her hip and waves a clenched fist in the air as she pronounces a very impassioned,

“With feel!”

Posted in Life, Personal | 1 Comment »

The Turning of a Gift

December 4, 2012 by Tipton

I grew up in a house with the gift of music all around. My father was supposedly a self-taught musician. A family member will surely correct me if I am wrong for I am one of the younger members of the family and much of what I know is third and fourth hand information subject to the good-humored embellishments of time. What I know is that my father taught himself to play the piano “by ear.” He did not receive lessons but plucked out the tunes of songs according to how they sounded. I believe he later learned how to read music. He also played the bass drum in the high school marching band. At any rate, he learned well enough to play the piano in public. My mother received music instruction, playing the violin as a child. She said that during one of her violin recitals she stood up to play, everything went black, and so she sat right back down again, never having played a note.

Our house had two pianos. Our “nicer” piano was upstairs. This one was used when Mrs. Barton came to the house to give piano lessons. My second oldest sister has this one. The player piano, which was actually an antique, was in the basement/playroom which made it subject to children tampering with it. My oldest sister took this one and had it restored. My mother’s violin sat near the upstairs piano and I was always impressed when she took it out. I don’t think she was very comfortable playing it. She didn’t do it often.

The music was overflowing. Someone was always playing on the piano or singing. I grew up listening to Handel’s Messiah at Christmas and Easter and reveling in the special choral music in church at that time of year. Trips to the grandparents’ house always involved singing. We would sing songs like, “Beautiful, Beautiful, Brown Eyes,” and “You Are My Sunshine,” to “Lay Down My Burden” and “Little Church in the Wildwood.” When my Aunt Bobbie came to visit once I have very clear memories of her doing “The Charleston” to my dad’s piano playing. Dare I mention my father’s gospel quartet that could have rivaled the Oak Ridge Boys?

I did my junior project in high school on Mozart. He was quite a character. Never underestimate the power of a research project. But, alas, I am no Mozart. I flunked out of elementary school piano lessons. I opted to play outdoors and run free instead. Mrs. Barton would sit and wait patiently annoyed for me to show up for my lesson. I would arrive sweaty and dirty, my older sister angry that I was late. I joined band in middle school. They were out of drums and clarinets so I had to do the saxophone. I only stuck with it for a year. I rejoined band in high school and played the xylophone. That was pretty awesome. I played the handbells in church, however during this time. Me and my friend, Deana, did a duet to, “O Holy Night.” It was probably my finest hour.

Sadly, I have not been able to pass this passion on to my children. Even with all the music so available at our fingertips, I haven’t been able to get them intrigued enough to stick with lessons. They each did one instrument for a year before rebelling. One got fired (gently) by his guitar teacher. The other planted his feet firmly in the car and said he was not getting out and, “going to violin lessons today!” What’s sad is they both have natural talent.

Sigh….

Some things slip away into the sands of time and it’s easy to say it was meant to be that way. I find it easy, maybe too easy, to let things go. Often we waste so much time clinging. We fall to our deaths because we are clinging, clinging. Yet, it’s painful to let all those memories go knowing they’ll never come again, knowing a time has passed for good. The days of driving down a curvy road to grandmother’s house listening to my father sing, “You are my sunshine…” are gone. They only live in my heart now.

I hear memories in music. A certain song will evoke joy or pain, heartache or remorse. I even use certain music to invoke creative writing ideas. Music has been such a gift in my life, probably one of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave to me.

“Simple Gifts,” is one of my favorite songs. I used to think it was called, “Lord of the Dance.” When I found out what the real lyrics were and what the real origins of the song were it meant even more. It is a Shaker hymn written by Elder Joseph. It contains one verse but the words in their simplicity are immense. Aaron Copeland’s, “Appalachian Spring” and Sydney Carter’s, “Lord of the Dance” are both beautiful versions. The original words, however, cannot be improved upon.

At this time of year when the days are still getting shorter and the nights longer my nostalgia becomes the most severe. Music particular to this time of year will carry me through the darkness so that it will not even seem like darkness at all. It will be more like revelry and when it is over, I will miss it.

Simple Gifts

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

‘Tis the gift to find out where you ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight,

When true simplicity is gain’d,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d.

To turn, turn will be our delight

Till by turning, turning we come round right.

by Elder Joseph of the Shaker Community

08 Simple Gifts

Posted in Family, Life, Personal | Tagged Family | 4 Comments »

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