Thankful

I realize I'm over a month late in this, but I can't help but think of what I'm thankful for. Mostly, for Dad's melanoma cancer. As terrible as that sounds, if it wasn't for the full body scan after they discovered the melanoma, they would have never found his colon cancer. Dad wouldn't have gotten checked for colon cancer for another 5-10 years. By then, he would be gone. So, on a daily basis, I thank God for the melanoma.

While the melanoma was the worst of the cancer, the colon cancer has been the most difficult on Dad. While it was the easiest to get rid of, it was the most difficult to deal with. The colostomy bag (which he had for ages) was more than annoying for him, and just a few weeks ago (the weekend of my brother's wedding) he had it removed. This made everyone happy, until a few days after sewing him back up (he actually helped hold the hole shut while the doctor sewed. Awesome.), it became infected. I drove Dad in that day, hoping they would give him some medication and be done with it. I settled back into the waiting room and began watching the TV. They finally had something other than Oprah on. It was a show on Naturalization.

A little while later, Dad emerged hobbling and pale. He was still his cheerful self, but he needed his pain meds. They didn't just prescribe him  medication for the infection. They had to take out the stitches and pull apart the hole (they needed to pry it apart because it had already begun healing together) in order to scrape out the infection. The hole is surprisingly large (Dad showed Marc and I one day before changing his bandages), so when Dad whimpered as I took his arm (no where near his stomach, but I'm sure the skin moving hurt), I was alarmed. Dad doesn't whimper, let alone hobble. I left Dad in Mom's office (she works at the clinic doing insurance forms and things) and I ran to see if the medication was ready. Of course, it wasn't. Not only wasn't it ready, but the doctor forgot to put directions down for how to take the pills. So they couldn't even fill it until he told them what to do. This didn't end up happening for another day, but I ended up running back and forth a few times before they told me to come back tomorrow.

This time, they didn't sew the hole back together. They want it to heal by itself. Dad hasn't had to take his pain meds as often anymore (for this, I am also thankful), and he has gone back to work full time.

So, as awful as it sounds, I am thankful for his stage two melanoma skin cancer. That damn golf ball on his upper arm. Because if that wasn't a warning sign from God, I don't know what is. 

Semester Vacation

My semester vacation began (for me) on the 13th of December and will end the 9th of January. Almost a whole month! While I am loving the time to do absolutely nothing, I past the point of 'slightly bored' a while ago. My brain has shut off so completely that I am saying things I never thought would come out of my mouth. Yes, I am blond, but this is ridiculous. Just the other day I asked if the Kalua (we needed it to make chocolate ice cream) needed to be "refridgerized." This is an example of that yes, I love this vacation time, but I wouldn't mind being back at school either.

I can't complain about Christmas though. This year was the biggest one we've had yet. While there were enough presents that they stretched a good few feet out in front of the tree, that's not the point. Most were for my seven month old niece, Jade, anyway. Our family grew by a few people this year, and it made the difference.

My family has always been it's own unit. My mom, dad, brother and I occasionally stretch to include my mom's parents whenever we are in the Bemidji area, but outside of that, I rarely see any of our family. And I have been informed that we have a lot of family. It has always made me a little sad (okay, a lot sad) that feuds and distance (most my dad's family live on the west coast) have kept us apart, especially when I grew up knowing nothing of the arguments between them all. Just that one great uncle smokes like a chimney, another great uncle is German and therefore awesome, and my dad's sister and I used to write to each other all the time. . . ect.

So seeing our living room full of people this year made this Christmas special to me. Not to mention it was fun opening presents and not having everyone stare at me while I do it. When Jade is around, no one looks away from those dark sparkling eyes.

Speaking of Jade, I got a kick out of watching her with her presents. She started by trying to eat the wrapping paper, but when someone made a tear in it, she began smacking it and attempting to get a good enough grip to rip it apart herself. She was almost as eager as Nikki (our Pomeranian) was to open what I know she smelled to be her favorite bones. Nikki was so much in the way and licking my fingers it took three times as long to get it open. Man, that tickled.

Here's the rest of the family (Mom was taking the pictures):

Marc is happier with his juicer than I thought was possible. I mean, it's a juicer. But I don't like cooking of any kind, so perhaps that is why I can't fathom his excitement.

 I bought Nilda this hilarious book called "Porn for Women." It's on Amazon, if anyone is interested.

Poor Jade looks a little irked in this snowsuit. It could be that her arms are a bit too short, but her torso is long enough that she might outgrow it before her arms grow into it. . . But at least she'll be warm!

This was also Marc and Nilda (and Jade)'s first Christmas together. They got married on the 12th of December.

Nilda made the cake herself. The top was vanilla, the bottom was chocolate. She's a talented woman. She even made the frosting from scratch. No wonder Marc is finally beginning to grow (width-wise) after all these years.

Nilda's mom, Alicia. The smallest, sweetest woman I've ever met. Dad wasn't able to make it to their wedding, but I video taped it and we all went to see him in the hospital so he could watch it. Funnily enough, he was discharged just a few hours later.

Time to ring in the new year! I've got to figure out what my resolution is going to be.  Hmmmm. . .

Myth

Today was the final day of myth before our final exam next Monday. Our professor showed us the one essay question we would be answering (it was more like an opinion on our own myths we created and it applies to what we've studied) and then had us vote for MVPs and runner-ups on group work. Then he gave a speech. Yes, it was a bit long, but it was great. I can not believe how passionate and optimistic he is. He spoke about hope for our futures, even if we might be handed a heavy load (economically and otherwise). He asked us to come away from challenges as heroes, like the ones we studied through the semester. He thanked us profusely for being apart of the class and allowing him to learn along with us, and was nearly in tears when he said we were some of the most creative students he had the pleasure to be amongst. He was breaking up when we all burst into applause (not that 'oh thank lord you are done' applause, but genuine, 'you were amazing' applause) and had to leave.
Talk about misjudging a person. In the beginning of the year, I thought he was insane. Who was this guy with the electrified hair and funny mustache and the extensive vocabulary that far outstretched any other? I almost resented him for making me work so hard in a class I thought was going to be a breeze. Who cared about Gilgamesh and what the meaning was behind his quest? Where were the explosions?
It was around the end of the first section (Eastern mythology) that I began to catch on.
This was college.
So I took notes as quickly as possible and began to research what I was fuzzy on in my spare time. Then I realized this man, this guy with the heavy smoker's hack that bothered me for ages, was not crazy. He was passionate. Taking notes became easier (though I still had to research some terms I couldn't write down fast enough) and I began to understand his sense of humor. I looked around me and saw sleeping freshman, people drawing or scribbling all over their notebooks. Then I looked to the front of the room and saw him laughing, making dirty jokes, and telling stories in funny voices so we could try to grasp what it would be like to listen to some Irish man singing a song. Literally, he sang to us in an Irish accent. That jump-started people awake. Who is this crazy, passionate guy? And how can I be like him? Or embody that spirit of passion that I have had the fortune to study under other teachers?
He managed to make me have fun listening to lecture, and then geared everyone up to create their own societies, to be the masters of their own kingdoms. He balanced the serious lectures and creative opportunities so well; why is this so easy for him and yet there are teachers out there that still drone on to the point I'm advised to just try to get things done and get out?
It isn't just my myth teacher who emanates passion either. I think professors have a bit more freedom to be eccentric. Even my astronomy teacher, though not so enthusiastic, has his moments of fun (the first day he played the Monte Python song about the universe, and then the other day he sang a wizard the oz song about courage. . . not sure why). Then there is my American Lit professor, who glows when she talks about history of any kind. I mean, literally, her wrinkles disappear and she looks twenty years younger. I wonder if Maybelline knows how to bottle passion into an anti-aging cream?
Anyway, I guess the point to my rambling is that it overwhelms me to see such passion even after so many years of teaching. It gives me hope. I like thinking that my love for the subjects I pursue isn't going to fade away from time. I like feeling excited about myth, reading, writing, and traveling. I'm happy to see that 40 or so years from now I'll still be just as excited. And maybe even have a head of electrified hair to accompany my enthusiasm.

Encouraging

Today I had a final meeting with my Advanced Writing professor. He set up individual meetings for all twenty of us to discuss our writing and responses written though out the semester. All I can say is: what an encouragement. I've never been very confident about my writing; I always feel like something more needs to be improved. I never felt my writing was 'college level,' despite encouragements from high school teachers. It's nice to hear, from a college professor, that I am doing well. He told me my style is pretty well developed and that I have little else to work on, and "you're only a fu**ing freshman." I'm not sure about any of that (I know for a fact my formal writing needs improvement), but it made me laugh. He also encouraged me to pursue my BFA and BS majors. So all around, a great meeting.

Then there was Myth. Two more groups presented today. One, Hawaiki, actually put on a play. I love watching people come out of their shells to create these societies, especially when the only requirement my professor gave us was: "Make a society, make the myths believable, and make sure it is . . . half way decent." Even though our group had a hard time coming together to make things work, everyone was equally excited. The first day we were allowed to meet in class, everyone was talking over each other at once. "What if we were an evil society?" "What if we were centered around fire?" "What if we had a pleasant society front but really we were poioening everyone?"  "What if we. . ." And so it continued.
What would happen if a teacher in a high school was to do that in a group of 30 kids? I wonder if they would run with it, or if kids that age aren't responsible enough? What's the difference between juniors, seniors, and college freshman? Have we really matured that much? I don't think kids are used to being in control to that extent, to have that much responsibility expected of them. I wonder what would happen if someone gave them that much power. I wonder if we are creating our own monsters; teaching kids to expect so little of themselves that they are confused when someone asks more of them. I wonder.