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Chantaclair's Parlor

Issue 4 August 2000
An Ezine of Poetry, Humor, Recipes,  Hints, Links

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There are monsters in my darkness

Monsters hiding near
Monsters with scary teeth
Monsters point and jeer. 

There are monsters in my weakness
Monsters in my mind
Monsters in my lonliness
Monsters in my pride. 

Help me slay the monsters
Help me turn them away
Help me tickle the nice ones
realize they only want to play. 

Living my life with monsters
who take over my today
or living my life without them
a livable everyday. 

Monsters have thier own names
like 'Pride' and 'Jealousy' and 'Mistrust'. 
some are complex, some are simple
like 'Fear' and 'Insecure' and 'Lust'. 

Naming my monsters helps me
understand their different needs. 
In naming them I tame them
so no one is frightening. . . but me. 

---<--{© Marsha Steed 8/2k

"The arts are an even better barometer of what is happening in our
world than the stock market or the debates in congress."
-Hendrik Willem Van Loon, The Arts, on Art
Link for the Week
Williams Holler
The link for this month is for those who enjoy music with a twist. There are wonderful origional compositions to just muse to, or to reflect on. 
GIve it a try. 
Chantaclair's Musings
(My apologies to those who have already been sent this) ~10 pm.  The phone rings.  "Is this Derek's mother?"... my stomache
sinks, one always, always dreads such calls.  My fears are well founded
it seems, "This is Sutter Memorial, we have your son in the Trama
unit."  Oh no, is he alive?  Is he alright, is he going to be alright,
what happened?  "There has been an accident."  What was he driving?  Was
he driving... my car is still in the front yard.  Who was with him, how
are they?  Questions come faster than they can be answered.  Answers are
vauge, unsatisfying. We fly out the door, noticing nothing but our destination.  "Why...
What.." Going through our minds.  The sight of the strong fiesty 17 year
old stretched out on a board, with his neck in a collar and tubes
running in and out of him is sobering.  He is lucid, or nearly.  He
repeats over and over the same questions, "What time is it?  Is Katie
alright?  Am I OK?  Really, is Katie alright?  I really like her.  What
time is it?  Am I grounded?  Are you mad?  " The doctor comes in, first we were told that it was 'some abraisions'...
now it seems that there is internal bleeding.  Probably a ruptured
spleen.  His stomache is filled with blood and he has a gash about a
foot long and about an inch wide on his right calf, to the bone.
Sutured, surgery are the next words... then recovery, a week. Plans now change, funny how life stops on a dime and everything shifts.
Family is thought of, but as of yet, no one is called.  We wait to
hear.  Talk to the young girlfriend.  She is lucid, she says her foot
hurts, but she seems more shaken than anything.  I pray for her safety. What do you tell a child in such a state?  Knowing it was his own
inexperience and cockiness that put him where he is?  Indestructable, he
believes himself unfallible, capable of handling things.  Then the
worries begin, a hug, and I am disolved.  Decisions, papers to sign... a
life to contemplate, gratitude for what *didn't* happen.  Gratitude for
those who invented seat-belts, for the drilling that resulted in him
wearing it that night.  Gratitude for a future that could have
evaporated, and yet... concern. A streetlight that the city will now bill us for.  A friends '97 car
that is now totaled. A young girl whose life was in danger, her parents
wrath and pain.  Driving with passengers on a restricted juvenille
license.  Unsafe speed.  New cloths ruined... will these things matter?
Will they be reflected upon?  Will he learn anything? Worry.  Surgery.  A surgeon, anetheseoligist who explains in too much
detail what could happen.  An old nurse with no compassion drilling us
and him with questions.  An internest with a ready smile and excellent
bedside manner, nurses working tirelessly, professionally, and still
with humor and a sparkle in their eye that speaks of thier caring...
their love of what it is they have chosen to do with their lives.
Wonder.  Will he now choose something that will make his eyes sparkle,
will he repay all of those who have supported him? Phone calls.  Family members awoken from sleep.  Tears from a sister
just moved across country within the week.  Grandparents arriving,
friends coming with sleepy parents who are supportive and kind.  So much
to be grateful for, so much to see in the true interworkings of this
existance we call life.  Threads what sparkle through the mundane to
show what parts of our lives we have woven that have mattered.  Those
golden ones that hold everything else together.  Family traveling
distances just to come and be supportive.  Will he see it?  Will he see
his family, or will only his friends matter?  How do we teach him. Then... what now.  Do we try tough love, and remove his privaledges, do
we call it inexperience and not recklessness?  Do we make him pay for
his damages, robing him of his freedom, or did he do that himself?
Natural consequence.  Pain... will that make him understand? Waiting.  Waiting.  Friends come and we chat.  Joke, tell stories.  What
else is there when there is an under current of fear, of 'that could be
me'... Youth sobered, grateful that it wasn't worse.  Finally the doctor
comes back.  Too soon, he is an hour too soon... more instant dread.
Comforting words from a very straightforward surgeon.  They can't be
emotional.  Fixing bodies is what they do, like fixing cars, or
repairing elelctrical faults.  Technical terms, a lifetime of elbows
length gloves of other peoples blood.  Can he know of my gratitude for
his years of study, for his dedication to his craft, that he can do what
I am helpless to do?  He will be paid, and yet... there is something
magical about all of it, mysterious and awesome.  The news is good.  He
will be fine.  They had to remove the spleen, infection is now a much
greater risk, a lifetime of innoculations and pnenomia fear.  Still, he
is alive and limpid, coming out feisty. We visit with him.  He is thirsty.  Onery.  Loving, fearful, grateful,
tender.  He kisses my hand and apologizes. I am flooded with gratitude
and love for him.  He is like a little boy.  My little boy.  He thanks
his friends for coming, apologizes for worring them.  They let another
come in.  There is a heart monitor attatched to his right arm, on his
index finger is a red light... his friend enters, and he lifts up his
finger... touches Jeremy's belly... "ET phone home..." He is going to be alright.

Marsha Steed 8/10/2000

Musings on  an accident

Tip for the Month


    1 Quart Water 
 2 Tablespoons Ammonia or Vinegar 
1/4 teaspoon liquid dishwashing detergent 
1/2 cup rubbing alcohol . . 

Your Money
Whirlpool (WHR: NYSE)
                         Shares in the appliance maker could be boosted   Monday by a report in the latest edition of  financial weekly Barron's that said the stock is undervalued. The report said 
Whirlpool shares trade at a low price-earnings ratio compared with competitors such as 
Maytag (MYG: NYSE)
and added that the company has a strong international business, with 40% of its sales
                         outside North America. The report also noted that Whirlpool has posted 20% growth in quarterly operating profits for the last 15 quarters. Whirlpool shares rose 13/16 on Friday
to close at 43 3/16.
~A young man wanted to get his beautiful blonde wife something
nice for their first wedding anniversary. So he decides to buy
  her a cell phone.  She is all excited, she loves her phone. He
  shows her and explains to her all the features on the phone.

 The next day the wife goes shopping. Her phone rings and it's
 her husband, "Hi hun," he says "how do you like your new phone?"

 She replies "I just love it, it's so small and  your voice is
 clear as a bell but there's one thing I don't understand though."

"What's that, baby?" asks the husband.

 "How did you know I was at Wal- Mart?"

Quick and Easy

1/2 cup butter -- melted
1-1/2 cups vanilla wafer crumbs
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup pecans -- chopped
12 ounces caramel topping
Combine butter and wafer crumbs in a 13- x 9- x 2-inch baking pan; press into bottom of pan. Sprinkle with chocolate morsels and pecans. Remove lid from caramel topping; microwave at HIGH 1 to 1-1/2 minutes or until hot, stirring after 30 seconds. Drizzle over pecans. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 12 to 15 minutes or until morsels melt; cool in pan on a wire rack. Chill at least 30 minutes; cut into squares.
Yield: about 2 dozen 

Quote for the Month
- " Suffice it to quote the answer which Anatole France gave to a philistine who admired his library and then finished with the standard question, "and have you read all these books, Monsieur France?"  "Not one-tenth of them.  I don't suppose ;you use your S'evres china every day?" 

For us biblioholics out there...

Notes - The background was created by Chantaclair's Designs
---<--{@ Marsha Rose


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