I recently attended a wood turning symposium in Franklin, Tennessee where I learned, among other things, a new word: Namaste.
A presenter was demonstrating how he makes small bowls from wood in a series he calls Namaste. When I watched the demonstration I didn't think too much about the word but later got curious and looked up the meaning. The term refers to a greeting used primarily in India used upon meeting someone or taking leave from the person. The greeting involves a slight bow, the hands held up to one's chest, palms inward and pressed together, similar to what I grew up thinking of as praying hands.
I didn't think much of the word until a short time later when the US president visited India and used and was greeted with the gesture.
I heard the term again recently when it has been suggested that this be used to replace the handshake or hug traditional in western greetings as it is safer in a time of concern about spreading a virus.
At the symposium I spent two days in close quarters with others and was concerned about the flu so I took extra precautions, washing my hands frequently and using hand-sanitizer even more frequently. Two days after I returned home, I was diagnosed with Flu A! Makes me wish I had known about Namaste earlier!
Health experts tell us that the most serious threat from the COVID-19 virus is to elderly men. While I don't consider myself to be elderly, I do fit the demographic to be concerned so I'm trying to find ways to protect myself and those around me. My experience in Franklin shows that good hand hygiene, while critical, alone can't protect against airborne viruses. So I'll practice "social isolation" when I can. I mean it will be hard to spend more time in my workshop alone but I think I can make that sacrifice for the good of mankind! And, since our emergency stock of food includes a lot of cans of beans, you'll want me to stay in my workshop!
As far as greeting someone, I'll use the elbump instead of a handshake and a wink instead of a hug and I might even greet you with a Namaste but if I do, consider that I'm saying "I'm pleased to see you but let's not share cooties right now" when I do.
We've been taught that a firm handshake is a sign of good character. How do we judge character in an elbump or a Namaste greeting??
At Home I'll Stay until this passes.
Namaste!
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
Thursday, March 7, 2019
A Dresser for Maddie
The ultimate compliment I can get as a woodworker is when someone asks me to make something special for them. This is true even if it is a family member asking and made even more special when it is a request for one of my grandkids! I'm not certain if those type requests are made because they think it's the best way to get a well made piece furniture or if it's a way to get Poppy to pay for it!
Either way, when Jonathan and Kim asked for a dresser for a growing Maddie, there was noway I could refuse. It was time for her to give up the transitional furniture of her toddlerhood and get big-girl stuff.
I first had a design consultation with the clients (that's the way professional custom furniture makers talk). Kim gave me a basic idea of what she wanted in the dresser then we spent some time discussing the dimensions.
I then took to Sketchup for a design. I use this software drawing package about once a year so I spend more time re-learning than designing but I gave it my best shot. Pictured below is what I present for design approval.
After getting the design okay'ed, I set out to make the dresser.
I learned that they wanted it to be painted rather than stained and varnished. I have come to realize after decades of making items from wood that paint tends to make the more difficult. You would think that the paint would cover up any boo-boos one might make but I've found paint tends to highlight errors. No problem, I tried my best to make this piece perfect.
After four-dozen trips to Lowe's for wood, a special order to Amazon for a new DeWalt thickness planer (honey I swear I need this for Maddie's furniture!), and many days and nights of shoptime, the dresser began to take shape.
As I neared completion, I started asking for color selection along with the choice of hardware, the knobs or pulls for the drawers. Maddie chose pink for the color. Kim chose "distressed" for the style of finish.
Now, I've never made anything to intentionally look like it was old and beat up but I can learn!
So to Google I went to find out how to make this finish. I found that I needed a contrasting base color to make the distressing more evident. We chose a medium gray for this. I painted it medium gray. The best paint for this finish is a chalk paint., a very expensive type of paint.
So after priming the wood, painting the base gray then several coats of pink chalk paint, it was time to sand the pink off!
Turns out, while paint might not cover up boo-boos, sanding to create a distressed look does! If I drop a tool into the middle of a perfectly sanded piece of wood, no problem! I meant to do that!
Once I put the pieces all together, it was quite difficult to move to a place where I could get good pictures so I took them in the shop. Selective use of Photoshop isolates the clutter that I call a workshop.
Either way, when Jonathan and Kim asked for a dresser for a growing Maddie, there was noway I could refuse. It was time for her to give up the transitional furniture of her toddlerhood and get big-girl stuff.
I first had a design consultation with the clients (that's the way professional custom furniture makers talk). Kim gave me a basic idea of what she wanted in the dresser then we spent some time discussing the dimensions.
I then took to Sketchup for a design. I use this software drawing package about once a year so I spend more time re-learning than designing but I gave it my best shot. Pictured below is what I present for design approval.
 |
| Maddie's dresser as designed in Sketchup |
I learned that they wanted it to be painted rather than stained and varnished. I have come to realize after decades of making items from wood that paint tends to make the more difficult. You would think that the paint would cover up any boo-boos one might make but I've found paint tends to highlight errors. No problem, I tried my best to make this piece perfect.
After four-dozen trips to Lowe's for wood, a special order to Amazon for a new DeWalt thickness planer (honey I swear I need this for Maddie's furniture!), and many days and nights of shoptime, the dresser began to take shape.
As I neared completion, I started asking for color selection along with the choice of hardware, the knobs or pulls for the drawers. Maddie chose pink for the color. Kim chose "distressed" for the style of finish.
Now, I've never made anything to intentionally look like it was old and beat up but I can learn!
So to Google I went to find out how to make this finish. I found that I needed a contrasting base color to make the distressing more evident. We chose a medium gray for this. I painted it medium gray. The best paint for this finish is a chalk paint., a very expensive type of paint.
So after priming the wood, painting the base gray then several coats of pink chalk paint, it was time to sand the pink off!
Turns out, while paint might not cover up boo-boos, sanding to create a distressed look does! If I drop a tool into the middle of a perfectly sanded piece of wood, no problem! I meant to do that!
Once I put the pieces all together, it was quite difficult to move to a place where I could get good pictures so I took them in the shop. Selective use of Photoshop isolates the clutter that I call a workshop.
So now it's done and delivered. Time to start another project. Oliver, it's your turn!
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Ashes to Ashes And a Box to Keep Them In
I've been involved with woodworking in some form for a very long time. Over the years, I've been asked to do tings for people, build furniture, refinish furniture, repair items, carve a special item. I've sold many of my works.
But I recently received a phone call asking for something that was a first for me: the caller asked that I make a box to contain the ashes of a cremated loved one. I was certainly intrigued so i made an appointment to meet and discuss the project.
I met Judy McCreery and her daughter, Jennifer Morgan at Judy's home. Her husband, Jon, died recently and was cremated. Rather than scatter the ashes, Judy chose to keep them and wanted a special container for them. She also wanted a container big enough so that when she died, her ashes would also be placed in the box.
She and Jennifer had searched the internet for a box and found many of the size and basic shape they wanted. Many boxes can be purchased with a theme meaning that if the deceased was a sailor, one could be purchased with a scene of a sailboat on it, a golfer could be placed in a golf themed box.
None of the ones found on the internet matched Jon so they wanted one to show Jon and Judy's interests and nothing quite fit. That's where I came in.
Most of us have at some point been involved with the planning of funeral arrangements and meeting with a pastor who would get the family to talking about the deceased to get to know him or her better. This is exactly how I felt in our meeting. I had to get to know a man I'd never met so I could design the perfect box for him and keeping in mind the box was also for Judy.
Jon was a creative doer. By that I mean, if he wanted a gate for the driveway, he built it. Not just any gate, but a well designed, well made, attractive gate. When it came time to make a new mantle for the fireplace, he designed and built it along with a surround for the fireplace.
I was shown these and other things that Jon built. One of the favorite activities of Jon and Judy was to sit on a bench they had in their garden and watch the hummingbirds at their feeder. This bench was at the end of a long pathway made of bricks that Jon laid.
Since Jon was a woodworker and had a supply of wood, I was asked to incorporate some of it into my design.
Jon was also a doodler, stopping to sketch items that caught his fancy, often working on a napkin or any piece of paper that might be handy. One such drawing that is prized by the family is a group of rose bushes drawn on a yellow legal pad. While Jon would have never consider this art, his loved ones cherish the image.
Judy asked that I somehow include Jon's birth and death dates, her birth date and their marriage date.Within a few minutes, I felt I had an idea what I wanted to do. I left to put together a design and proposal.
My research led me to design the size of the box to accommodate the ashes of two people. An interesting fact, a cremains container must provide 1 cubic inch of capacity for each pound of the deceased's weight at the time of death.
I spent several days working with my drawing table and then on my computer using a program called Sketchup. This is the design I arrived at.
The blank white space is where I would insert the scene I carved. I took this image and the drawing of what I proposed to be carved to meet with Judy and Jennifer. I'm always nervous when I present a proposal to someone, not knowing if I'm on the right track or how it will go over. When the tears started flowing, I knew I was on track.
The finished box is pictured below.
The low relief carving of a man and woman on a bench reflects Jon and Judy's love for their garden and sitting at their favorite spot, watching the hummingbirds. Their gate, complete with supporting bricks columns, sits at the end of their brick path, emblazoned with their names and dates, symbolizing their journey through life and to eternity together.
Jon's drawing of the roses bushes is copied on the lower right.
Jon's wood is used for the splines that help bind each of the four corners together, providing strength. It is also used as the cap of the box's top.
I delivered the box last week. I spent many hours over two months working on every detail. It was all worth it when I finally got to present it and see their appreciation, and tears.
In some ways I felt like I got to know Jon and wish I had met him while he was alive. With our similar interests and tastes, think we would have gotten along just fine!
But I recently received a phone call asking for something that was a first for me: the caller asked that I make a box to contain the ashes of a cremated loved one. I was certainly intrigued so i made an appointment to meet and discuss the project.
I met Judy McCreery and her daughter, Jennifer Morgan at Judy's home. Her husband, Jon, died recently and was cremated. Rather than scatter the ashes, Judy chose to keep them and wanted a special container for them. She also wanted a container big enough so that when she died, her ashes would also be placed in the box.
She and Jennifer had searched the internet for a box and found many of the size and basic shape they wanted. Many boxes can be purchased with a theme meaning that if the deceased was a sailor, one could be purchased with a scene of a sailboat on it, a golfer could be placed in a golf themed box.
None of the ones found on the internet matched Jon so they wanted one to show Jon and Judy's interests and nothing quite fit. That's where I came in.
Most of us have at some point been involved with the planning of funeral arrangements and meeting with a pastor who would get the family to talking about the deceased to get to know him or her better. This is exactly how I felt in our meeting. I had to get to know a man I'd never met so I could design the perfect box for him and keeping in mind the box was also for Judy.
Jon was a creative doer. By that I mean, if he wanted a gate for the driveway, he built it. Not just any gate, but a well designed, well made, attractive gate. When it came time to make a new mantle for the fireplace, he designed and built it along with a surround for the fireplace.
I was shown these and other things that Jon built. One of the favorite activities of Jon and Judy was to sit on a bench they had in their garden and watch the hummingbirds at their feeder. This bench was at the end of a long pathway made of bricks that Jon laid.
Since Jon was a woodworker and had a supply of wood, I was asked to incorporate some of it into my design.
Jon was also a doodler, stopping to sketch items that caught his fancy, often working on a napkin or any piece of paper that might be handy. One such drawing that is prized by the family is a group of rose bushes drawn on a yellow legal pad. While Jon would have never consider this art, his loved ones cherish the image.
Judy asked that I somehow include Jon's birth and death dates, her birth date and their marriage date.Within a few minutes, I felt I had an idea what I wanted to do. I left to put together a design and proposal.
My research led me to design the size of the box to accommodate the ashes of two people. An interesting fact, a cremains container must provide 1 cubic inch of capacity for each pound of the deceased's weight at the time of death.
I spent several days working with my drawing table and then on my computer using a program called Sketchup. This is the design I arrived at.
The blank white space is where I would insert the scene I carved. I took this image and the drawing of what I proposed to be carved to meet with Judy and Jennifer. I'm always nervous when I present a proposal to someone, not knowing if I'm on the right track or how it will go over. When the tears started flowing, I knew I was on track.
The finished box is pictured below.
The low relief carving of a man and woman on a bench reflects Jon and Judy's love for their garden and sitting at their favorite spot, watching the hummingbirds. Their gate, complete with supporting bricks columns, sits at the end of their brick path, emblazoned with their names and dates, symbolizing their journey through life and to eternity together.
Jon's drawing of the roses bushes is copied on the lower right.
Jon's wood is used for the splines that help bind each of the four corners together, providing strength. It is also used as the cap of the box's top.
I delivered the box last week. I spent many hours over two months working on every detail. It was all worth it when I finally got to present it and see their appreciation, and tears.
In some ways I felt like I got to know Jon and wish I had met him while he was alive. With our similar interests and tastes, think we would have gotten along just fine!
Friday, May 18, 2018
Grandma's History Museum
Grandma Sellers lived in an aged two-story house on a few acres of land on North Mobile Street in Citronelle, Alabama. She and my grandfather, whom I never knew, bought the house and moved there in the late-1940's. Grandpa died in 1949 and Grandma lived in the house until her death in 1966, leaving the property to my father and his siblings. Daddy bought out the others and then owned the house and land with the intent of repairing the house for our family's use.
It was determined that renovations on the house were more costly than the value of the house so it was to be torn down, a task we would do ourselves.
So we started at the very top by taking off roofing materials. At that point we had no idea exactly how old the house was but one indication was the number of layers of shingles, tar paper and rolled roofing. I recall removing up to 10 layers of such materials on some areas of the roof.
But the surprise was what was under all the roofing: layers of newspapers! Most of the paper was brittle and crumbled at the touch. The paper was made even more difficult to save as one doesn't remove roofing gently, a heavy shovel is wedged under the material and use to pry the nails from the boards so not much of the newspaper was salvaged.
But we were able to collect large portions of some pages containing interesting tidbits of news from 1913 and 1914! We saved what we could although newspaper print that was over 60 years old at the time and full of nail holes doesn't lend itself for unlimited handling. A few years later, my younger brother, Johnny, would use the salvaged newsprint in a high school history project, placing some of the material in a photo album, thus preserving it for the future and our current use. Please understand that this also makes for a tough job in copying or photographing them for their use in this writing so I apologize in advance for the faded images and difficulty in reading them.
The newspapers were dated in 1913 and 1914. Many articles were from The Evening Post, a newspaper in Mobile, Alabama. Some material was from another Mobile paper, The Register. The Register is still around today (kinda) as a part of AL.com, an on-line news source that publishes the Mobile Press Register three-times weekly.
Although I can not find any reference to The Evening Post at any on-line sources, including the Library of Congress, it carried the below banner:
It was surely a newcomer to the area as this banner comes from Volume 1, Issue 9. It may not have survived very long but 1 cent per copy might explain that.
The Register touts itself as the only paper in the area authorized to print news from the Associated Press wire service:
Bright school boys are solicited to become carriers of the Post with an opportunity to enrich themselves!
One thing about "news as history" is that news is reported by those living in that particular time with the biases and attitudes contemporary to the era. That is very evident in the stories we found as they were told during a time of change in the role of women in society.
The picture at the left is titled She Manages her Garage and Does Not Need Any mere Man to Help Her, Either. The story comes from the mid-teens of the 20th century.
The next picture and article tell of a Parisian fashion designer touring the US in 1913 or 14 and alerting readers that Women Will Soon Wear Trousers! Compare to the story on the right from the news this week! You can own a pair of these "trousers" for only $695!
At the time these newspapers were published, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States was still 6 years away from ratification by the states and giving women in the US the right to vote. But some states and localities were allowing women to vote. However, this article suggests they needed help! The article, which could not be copied sufficiently to be read here, states that suffrage organizers in Chicago were holding classes to teach women the registration and voting process.
My readers from my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama may find it interesting that the county school board was considering bids to build a new school Could this be the three-story building that was recently demolished?
Modern news has been filled recently with stories of hazardous materials being sent through the mail with the intent to cause harm to the receiver. According to this article, that's nothing new except this time it was physician doing the mailing and the state health department being shut down after the workers were exposed to diphtheria! The physicians only wanted to confirm diagnoses.
What newspaper could survive without advertisement? This grocery market ad gives then-current prices for all the groceries you would want, and some you don't: Tripe or Smoked Tongue! Who would have thought that Smoked Tongue was more expensive than Tenderloin! Of course, Brains and Liver are cheaper!
I don't know what grade Johnny got when he presented this as a history project some 40-plus years ago but I think the effort deserves an "A"!
It was determined that renovations on the house were more costly than the value of the house so it was to be torn down, a task we would do ourselves.
So we started at the very top by taking off roofing materials. At that point we had no idea exactly how old the house was but one indication was the number of layers of shingles, tar paper and rolled roofing. I recall removing up to 10 layers of such materials on some areas of the roof.
But the surprise was what was under all the roofing: layers of newspapers! Most of the paper was brittle and crumbled at the touch. The paper was made even more difficult to save as one doesn't remove roofing gently, a heavy shovel is wedged under the material and use to pry the nails from the boards so not much of the newspaper was salvaged.
But we were able to collect large portions of some pages containing interesting tidbits of news from 1913 and 1914! We saved what we could although newspaper print that was over 60 years old at the time and full of nail holes doesn't lend itself for unlimited handling. A few years later, my younger brother, Johnny, would use the salvaged newsprint in a high school history project, placing some of the material in a photo album, thus preserving it for the future and our current use. Please understand that this also makes for a tough job in copying or photographing them for their use in this writing so I apologize in advance for the faded images and difficulty in reading them.
The newspapers were dated in 1913 and 1914. Many articles were from The Evening Post, a newspaper in Mobile, Alabama. Some material was from another Mobile paper, The Register. The Register is still around today (kinda) as a part of AL.com, an on-line news source that publishes the Mobile Press Register three-times weekly.
Although I can not find any reference to The Evening Post at any on-line sources, including the Library of Congress, it carried the below banner:
It was surely a newcomer to the area as this banner comes from Volume 1, Issue 9. It may not have survived very long but 1 cent per copy might explain that.
The Register touts itself as the only paper in the area authorized to print news from the Associated Press wire service:
Bright school boys are solicited to become carriers of the Post with an opportunity to enrich themselves!
One thing about "news as history" is that news is reported by those living in that particular time with the biases and attitudes contemporary to the era. That is very evident in the stories we found as they were told during a time of change in the role of women in society.
The picture at the left is titled She Manages her Garage and Does Not Need Any mere Man to Help Her, Either. The story comes from the mid-teens of the 20th century.
The next picture and article tell of a Parisian fashion designer touring the US in 1913 or 14 and alerting readers that Women Will Soon Wear Trousers! Compare to the story on the right from the news this week! You can own a pair of these "trousers" for only $695!
At the time these newspapers were published, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States was still 6 years away from ratification by the states and giving women in the US the right to vote. But some states and localities were allowing women to vote. However, this article suggests they needed help! The article, which could not be copied sufficiently to be read here, states that suffrage organizers in Chicago were holding classes to teach women the registration and voting process.
My readers from my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama may find it interesting that the county school board was considering bids to build a new school Could this be the three-story building that was recently demolished?
Modern news has been filled recently with stories of hazardous materials being sent through the mail with the intent to cause harm to the receiver. According to this article, that's nothing new except this time it was physician doing the mailing and the state health department being shut down after the workers were exposed to diphtheria! The physicians only wanted to confirm diagnoses.
What newspaper could survive without advertisement? This grocery market ad gives then-current prices for all the groceries you would want, and some you don't: Tripe or Smoked Tongue! Who would have thought that Smoked Tongue was more expensive than Tenderloin! Of course, Brains and Liver are cheaper!
I don't know what grade Johnny got when he presented this as a history project some 40-plus years ago but I think the effort deserves an "A"!
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Ballet of the Bullfloat
A couple of weeks ago, I spent two entire days watching a ballet. Now before you think I've suddenly gotten all cultured or something, let me explain.
Now this ballet was not staffed with men with names like Rudolf Nureyev or Mikhail Baryshnikov, nor did they wear tights and satin toe-shoes.
These were guys with names like Willie, Billy, Freddie, Dave, Albert, Tim and their leader Matt. The shoes they wore were work boots for most of the time then calf-high rubber boots for the rest. You see, my guys are concrete guys, they put in a concrete driveway for me.
About now you're thinking there's no way this rube (the writer) can be at all cultured if he doesn't know the difference between pouring a driveway and ballet! Au contraire, mon ami! (I threw in some French to show I do have a little culture!)
Matt and crew showed up on a Wednesday morning to begin demolishing the poor tired asphalt drive that should have been replaced years ago. With picks and shovels and sledge hammers they began their work. Without a lot of planning and scheming about how to tackle this job, they turned in and started. After Matt, the owner, left there was no clear foreman on the job, they all knew their job and did it.
A short time later a tractor and driver arrived to do the heavy lifting. The tractor was equipped with a front loader and a box blade on the rear. As the guys with the hand tools loosened the asphalt around the edges, the tractor would move in to scrape it away then pick it up to haul to the dumpster parked on the street.
This is where the ballet comes in. As the tractor did its work going back and forth, the men would move in synchronization with it. He pushed debris forward, they moved in to clean up. As he backed up, they moved out of the way just in time. To and fro they went for hours. I sat in amazement that they weren't run over or caught with the blade of one of the tools. There was no shouted warning or instructions, they moved as if choreographed. This is art even if it does involve a Kubota tractor and guys in work boots!
As the work progressed down the drive, some of the men started putting in the form boards. this continued until the drive was clear and the forms ready for the next day when the concrete would be poured.
The next day, the art continued but this time without the tractor. Now it involved three concrete truck loads of wet, heavy concrete mix and the men spreading it while wearing their rubber boots.
The truck backed close to the back of the job site, lowered its trough and began to pour the mix. As it hit the ground, the men using special rakes and shovels, moved it to where it were needed. Again, there were no instructions or orders, these men knew their work and did it. As two men would use a screed board to start leveling the mix, others were ready with shovels to throw in extra in the low spots or to pull excess away with their rakes. Again this appeared to choreographed. They moved to where they needed to be, they made the motions they needed to make as if they were following a script or a musical score.
What adds to my amazement of these men and what they do is the fact that Freddie, I'm told, is over eighty years old! Two of the others are in their seventies! They worked harder than men half their age would have.
You've probably wondered in reading the title of this missive about the word "bullfloat." As pictured above, (an internet photo, not my guys), a bullfloat is a large flat metal piece attached to the end of a really long arm. This metal is glided over the surface of freshly poured concrete to help create a smooth, level surface. The worker stands outside the concrete and, using the long pole, gently pushes the float across the surface in a continuous motion. It is important to keep the blade of the float at the correct angle for the duration of its travel. It reminds me of a violinist moving his bow across the strings except that the bullfloat is 20 times longer! It is true artistry in motion to watch someone who does the job well.
When I was probably a senior in high school, I had a conversation with Mr. Melvin Rosen, a highly respected merchant in my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama. Our conversation was comparing college football with professional football. I was arguing that college was much more interesting to me. Mr. Rosen, who was a season-ticket holder for the New Orleans Saints told me that he preferred pro football as all the players were highly skilled. He stated that he could spend all day watching brick masons work if they knew what they were doing. That comment has stuck with me over the years and I've taken it to heart.
I enjoy watching guys like my concrete guys work. It is truly a pleasure to watch, much more than watching a ballet!
But now I can't get the image of Freddie in a tutu out of my head!
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
The Power of Words
noun
- 1.a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence
- (Source: Google)
There is an age-old debate about which is mightier the pen or the sword, interpretation: can words cause more harm than weapons? Philosophers and essayists have weighed in over millennia on each side of the issue. I submit that the pen, words, should be declared the more powerful.
Mary and I were in a doctor's office recently where the nurse practitioner was asking questions of Mary and establishing her health history. As she finished, she looked at Mary and uttered the words: "You are disgustingly healthy!" Now those are the words you want to hear from a health professional as they're reviewing your current condition.
That is until we remembered why we were in the doctor's office in the first place. More words from a healthcare professional: "invasive lobular carcinoma,"- breast cancer. Mary has breast cancer.
There is no debate in my mind, a sword can inflict harm and even cause death but words like those in the line above can and did cause a lot of harm.
There is no debate in my mind, a sword can inflict harm and even cause death but words like those in the line above can and did cause a lot of harm.
An "annual OB/GYN checkup" and "mammogram" are the words that led to more words. A technologist doing the mammogram said "let me take another image, I didn't get a good image", medical speak for " I found something that I can't tell you about and I want to make sure I get a good image for the radiologist to see."
The OB/GYN doc saying she's very concerned, you need to see a surgeon. The surgeon using words like I think this is cancer, you need a biopsy. The radiologist doing the biopsy using words 'this is very worrisome" and the path report will be back after 3 pm on Monday.
So now there is a weekend, a long weekend of running those words over and over in my mind, interpreting them in so many ways that they cease to have any relationship to reality. Words coming like water over a tall waterfall, there's no way to stop them or corral them or manage the way they bounce around.
Then Monday arrives and the official diagnosis of cancer is confirmed. Appointments are set with medical oncologist, radiation oncologist and a surgeon. During these visits we learn new words, acronyms and abbreviations for drugs, tests and procedures. Things I could have lived my whole life without knowing and been much happier!
Then we hear words that at the same time offer encouragement and instill more anxiety: "people don't die from breast cancer, they die from the cancer spreading to other organs. Since yours has already spread some, we need to see if it has spread beyond the lymph nodes we know about." So now there is more waiting for the test to be scheduled then for the results to come back.
At a time when the words have overwhelmed, other words come to the rescue.
Karen, a former co-worker and now Facebook friend, is a breast cancer survivor. Karen chronicled her experience with the diagnosis and treatment with almost daily posts on FB. At first, I didn't want to read her posts. I didn't want to hear about her experience because, I guess, I was afraid of the outcome. Before her journey to recovery was complete, I looked forward to hearing the latest. She was so open that it was encouraging and her outcome was very positive.
At the point where I was being overwhelmed, I recalled her words about her experience and was calmed. Her words gave me hope and thus, some relief.
Jean, Jerrie, and other breast cancer survivors' stories made us realize that, although the road to recovery may be long and difficult, at least there is a road!
Then more encouraging words, this time from the oncologist: "the scan was negative for the spread of the cancer!" And his words on which we hang: "This is curable!"
As we talked about the battle we faced, Mary's words were "God has this. I won't worry about it." And then she says, "I'm tough, I can fight this if you'll help me." I can't think of many more humbling but empowering words!
So Mary has commissioned an Army. God is, of course, the Commander in Chief. I've been commissioned as General, I really wanted to be an Admiral since I was a Navy man but.... She granted various ranks to our family as we wage battle but we also solicit the support of other warriors. We, along with other cancer victims and their families, need your prayers, kind thoughts, encouragement and support. You are all drafted!
Today Mary received the third of six chemotherapy treatments. She has fared extremely well and we are encouraged by a shrinking of the tumor and the lymph nodes even after just two treatments. She will follow the chemo with surgery and later with radiation therapy.
The effects of the words has softened. They are now more like water in a mountain stream as it cascades over the rocks, they're still there but maybe less frightening.
We look forward to the day when the words we hear are: "You're cured!"
The OB/GYN doc saying she's very concerned, you need to see a surgeon. The surgeon using words like I think this is cancer, you need a biopsy. The radiologist doing the biopsy using words 'this is very worrisome" and the path report will be back after 3 pm on Monday.
So now there is a weekend, a long weekend of running those words over and over in my mind, interpreting them in so many ways that they cease to have any relationship to reality. Words coming like water over a tall waterfall, there's no way to stop them or corral them or manage the way they bounce around.
Then Monday arrives and the official diagnosis of cancer is confirmed. Appointments are set with medical oncologist, radiation oncologist and a surgeon. During these visits we learn new words, acronyms and abbreviations for drugs, tests and procedures. Things I could have lived my whole life without knowing and been much happier!
Then we hear words that at the same time offer encouragement and instill more anxiety: "people don't die from breast cancer, they die from the cancer spreading to other organs. Since yours has already spread some, we need to see if it has spread beyond the lymph nodes we know about." So now there is more waiting for the test to be scheduled then for the results to come back.
At a time when the words have overwhelmed, other words come to the rescue.
Karen, a former co-worker and now Facebook friend, is a breast cancer survivor. Karen chronicled her experience with the diagnosis and treatment with almost daily posts on FB. At first, I didn't want to read her posts. I didn't want to hear about her experience because, I guess, I was afraid of the outcome. Before her journey to recovery was complete, I looked forward to hearing the latest. She was so open that it was encouraging and her outcome was very positive.
At the point where I was being overwhelmed, I recalled her words about her experience and was calmed. Her words gave me hope and thus, some relief.
Jean, Jerrie, and other breast cancer survivors' stories made us realize that, although the road to recovery may be long and difficult, at least there is a road!
Then more encouraging words, this time from the oncologist: "the scan was negative for the spread of the cancer!" And his words on which we hang: "This is curable!"
As we talked about the battle we faced, Mary's words were "God has this. I won't worry about it." And then she says, "I'm tough, I can fight this if you'll help me." I can't think of many more humbling but empowering words!
So Mary has commissioned an Army. God is, of course, the Commander in Chief. I've been commissioned as General, I really wanted to be an Admiral since I was a Navy man but.... She granted various ranks to our family as we wage battle but we also solicit the support of other warriors. We, along with other cancer victims and their families, need your prayers, kind thoughts, encouragement and support. You are all drafted!
Today Mary received the third of six chemotherapy treatments. She has fared extremely well and we are encouraged by a shrinking of the tumor and the lymph nodes even after just two treatments. She will follow the chemo with surgery and later with radiation therapy.
The effects of the words has softened. They are now more like water in a mountain stream as it cascades over the rocks, they're still there but maybe less frightening.
We look forward to the day when the words we hear are: "You're cured!"
Sunday, October 16, 2016
On Calf Licking and Quality Assurance
I suppose we all reach a point in our lives where we suddenly have an appreciation for things our parents said to us while we were growing up.
Now I don't mean those things like "close the refrigerator door, we're not cooling the whole neighborhood," or "don't make me stop this car." Nor do I mean that comment that got immediate action like when my Mama would tell me to"come in now and let me whip you or wait til your Daddy gets home and I'll let him take care of you."
I mean those things that you hear many times over and thought were so stupid but then at some point, usually a lot later, you suddenly realize the wisdom of the statement.
My favorite of these that my mother was fond of saying is "you'd better lick that calf over. "
Now I claim absolutely no expertise in things bovine other than that relating to the glass of milk I have every morning with my breakfast but as I understand it, the first thing a mother cow does when she delivers a calf is to start licking it.
This serves several purposes. First, it cleans the calf of the residue of the birth and it bonds the mother to the calf, making sure she knows which calf is hers. Otherwise she would reject it and wouldn't allow it to nurse. In fact, this step is so important that farmers and ranchers may cover the calf in grain to help insure the cow continues to lick the calf until the identification and bonding takes place.
Mama's admonition to "lick that calf over" was her way of saying the job I did was insufficient and that a "redo" was in order. Although I knew at the time what she meant and carried out her instructions, I didn't understand the need to do it right the first time. I only knew I needed to do the job quickly so I could go play or do something I wanted to do, not what she would be inspecting! Besides, it was a hokey expression and I didn't care anything about cows or calves!
I would later spend almost four years in the Navy working on aircraft. As a structural mechanic I would be called on to make repairs to components that make up the body of the aircraft, everything from changing the tires to repairing control surfaces. For every repair I made, I signed a work order indicating what I had done, what parts I used and that the job was complete. Every repair had to be countersigned by a supervisor and a quality control inspector. The lives of the flight crew and the completion of their mission were that important.
I would later spend 34 years in hospitals where quality monitoring, measuring and improvement was a constant emphasis of everyone involved. The licensing and accrediting agencies made sure that hospitals developed programs addressing quality in every aspect of the operation. From cleaning of the floors to the details of patient care, all aspects were covered by the quality programs. Again, peoples' lives depended on the healthcare team getting the job done right.
Over my years in hospitals, the name of the programs designed to insure proper and improving care changed every three to five years. We had quality assurance, quality improvement, quality management, and others including process improvement. My mother never worked in healthcare other than that involved in trying to keep her 8 children reasonably healthy on limited resources, so she would never have used the terms above. She would have said "do it right the first time" or "lick that calf over." The many fine people I worked with over the years with titles like Director of Quality Assurance or Manager of Process Improvement would never had cottoned to being called the Director of Calf Licking but it's all the same. Mama just said it the best way she knew.
As much as I now appreciate my mother's lesson and know the importance of doing a job right the first time, I also feel at times like her words are a curse. I don't call myself a perfectionist but I derive a certain satisfaction when I know I've done something correctly or have done it well. And then there those times when I've failed that Mama's words ring in my ears: "you better lick that calf over."
Most readers will know that I am a serious hobby woodworker. The last two furniture projects I have made, I have completed only to become dissatisfied with the finish I applied. Correcting this requires that I remove the finish, either with chemicals or laborious sanding.
In fact, I'm in the middle of removing the finish on my latest project, spending many hours correcting my work. It's tedious, messy and very time consuming. I think I'd rather lick a calf, literally!
Thanks, Mama!
Now I don't mean those things like "close the refrigerator door, we're not cooling the whole neighborhood," or "don't make me stop this car." Nor do I mean that comment that got immediate action like when my Mama would tell me to"come in now and let me whip you or wait til your Daddy gets home and I'll let him take care of you."
I mean those things that you hear many times over and thought were so stupid but then at some point, usually a lot later, you suddenly realize the wisdom of the statement.
My favorite of these that my mother was fond of saying is "you'd better lick that calf over. "
Now I claim absolutely no expertise in things bovine other than that relating to the glass of milk I have every morning with my breakfast but as I understand it, the first thing a mother cow does when she delivers a calf is to start licking it.
This serves several purposes. First, it cleans the calf of the residue of the birth and it bonds the mother to the calf, making sure she knows which calf is hers. Otherwise she would reject it and wouldn't allow it to nurse. In fact, this step is so important that farmers and ranchers may cover the calf in grain to help insure the cow continues to lick the calf until the identification and bonding takes place.
Mama's admonition to "lick that calf over" was her way of saying the job I did was insufficient and that a "redo" was in order. Although I knew at the time what she meant and carried out her instructions, I didn't understand the need to do it right the first time. I only knew I needed to do the job quickly so I could go play or do something I wanted to do, not what she would be inspecting! Besides, it was a hokey expression and I didn't care anything about cows or calves!
I would later spend almost four years in the Navy working on aircraft. As a structural mechanic I would be called on to make repairs to components that make up the body of the aircraft, everything from changing the tires to repairing control surfaces. For every repair I made, I signed a work order indicating what I had done, what parts I used and that the job was complete. Every repair had to be countersigned by a supervisor and a quality control inspector. The lives of the flight crew and the completion of their mission were that important.
I would later spend 34 years in hospitals where quality monitoring, measuring and improvement was a constant emphasis of everyone involved. The licensing and accrediting agencies made sure that hospitals developed programs addressing quality in every aspect of the operation. From cleaning of the floors to the details of patient care, all aspects were covered by the quality programs. Again, peoples' lives depended on the healthcare team getting the job done right.
Over my years in hospitals, the name of the programs designed to insure proper and improving care changed every three to five years. We had quality assurance, quality improvement, quality management, and others including process improvement. My mother never worked in healthcare other than that involved in trying to keep her 8 children reasonably healthy on limited resources, so she would never have used the terms above. She would have said "do it right the first time" or "lick that calf over." The many fine people I worked with over the years with titles like Director of Quality Assurance or Manager of Process Improvement would never had cottoned to being called the Director of Calf Licking but it's all the same. Mama just said it the best way she knew.
As much as I now appreciate my mother's lesson and know the importance of doing a job right the first time, I also feel at times like her words are a curse. I don't call myself a perfectionist but I derive a certain satisfaction when I know I've done something correctly or have done it well. And then there those times when I've failed that Mama's words ring in my ears: "you better lick that calf over."
Most readers will know that I am a serious hobby woodworker. The last two furniture projects I have made, I have completed only to become dissatisfied with the finish I applied. Correcting this requires that I remove the finish, either with chemicals or laborious sanding.
In fact, I'm in the middle of removing the finish on my latest project, spending many hours correcting my work. It's tedious, messy and very time consuming. I think I'd rather lick a calf, literally!
Thanks, Mama!
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