Vincent

Vince's First Picture--April 9, 1985

Vincent was born on April 9, 1985. 

He was my first-born son, so his birth changed my life completely.  As most mothers can attest to, the human heart swells to gargantuan proportions after the birth of a child and from that day forward, your life is forever defined as “before” and “after”  that  baby.  One moment, it’s all about you and the next moment, everything is about them, them, them.  I was twenty-two years old when I became a mother to this baby—who is now a man. 

Vince's First Fish--Lake Alpine

I got out my calculator today and figured it out—because I don’t believe it. Today Vince is thirty-three. When I gave birth, I was twenty-three, ten years younger than he is now.  I was oddly unprepared for the task of raising a man, and he grew so quickly, taking big leaps that made my heart swell and break at the same time.  Today he is mechanical minded, strong, and wicked smart.  He owns—and maintains—a big monster truck that scares me.  He is a good father to Scarlett, our beautiful granddaughter, and a wonderful partner to Rikki.  It is a pleasure to see them together as a family.

Vince,  Rikki and Scarlett --Thanksgiving 2016

The cliché that life goes by so fast is very true.  I am grateful for every moment we have together, because the blessing of family is one that I will never take for granted.   

Happy Birthday, Vince!  I love you, my dear son.  As long as I’m living…well, you know the rest.

happy

I was ten years old on Balboa Drive, chasing my sisters down the street because they dared me to.  We were not supposed to leave the court without permission, but Shari and Colleen were feeling naughty and wanted to run from me, screaming.  I took off after them as they did, even though it was nearly dark and I was barefoot.  The wind whipped my hair back and I was laughing and running at the same time. 

I remember this moment because it is a measure of happiness that I remember as one of the happiest in my life.  It is a true blessing to have this as a memory.  It makes me happy just by writing about it.

Happiness is something that humans pursue more than wealth – which is saying something.  It is a more than a feeling, it is a state of mind.

According to Aristotle, the purpose of every human being’s happiness is dependent on their  ability to achieve something which is good. His theory on happiness was that anyone could achieve it through knowledge and good actions – provided that our motivation is pure.

The Bible portrays happiness as a place of safety and peace, accompanied by contentment in knowledge of who you are in relation to who God is.  This happiness is fulfilled by Jesus, the Messiah who brings peace to the world.

In every belief, in most religions, happiness is championed.  It is usually seen as something to be shared, something to be attained and given freely.  Buddha even said, “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” 

I have seen the richest people I know be miserable because of circumstances (mainly bitterness and unforgiveness).  We have sat in Sudanese villages where a woman has told us that there is nothing that makes her quite as happy as watching a sunset and smoking her pipe.  

The youngest people seem to figure it out the fastest: happiness is simple. A baby experiences laughter and it raises our spirits; a child realizes that playing outside is perfect with a box or a ball.  

Happiness is simple; it’s amazing how we have polluted it.

Today I will be happy.

I decide to be happy today because I will allow myself to feel the miracle of life around me.  I will seek to share this happiness with others, just because I want to be happier.  I will laugh too loud, be kind to strangers and say hello to someone I don’t know.  I will text my kids and tell them that they are miracles to me.  I will do something for someone else without them knowing.  I will write something beautiful, reach out to a friend and make gorgeous food for my husband. 

And I will be nice to myself.

Will you be happy today with me? 

I dare you.  

emergency

Life Fourways in Northern Johannesburg - you can see, very first-world hospital

Like all things that are thrown at us with a curve, the incident yesterday at the hospital tested our faith.  Yesterday’s hospital visit was supposed to be a couple of hours and it turned out to be a whole day.  

Let me begin by saying that we’ve had had a very stressful week.  We got home from a 4-day holiday, where we relaxed like champions, and were thrown into activity, as most people can attest to in their lives.  A friend of ours, whose twin 15-month-olds had been hospitalized for infection, had lost one of them, and was devastated by grief.  Sepsis, a potentially deadly medical condition, in any country, had racked this poor boy’s body.  His last days were characterized by a whole-body inflammatory state, where the blood infection multiplied too fast for the immune system to keep up. 

Lucky, the father, is a precious man with a strong but gentle spirit, and works at the church.  He asked Mario to do the funeral.  In reality, this means walking through the funeral arrangements, making sure the family is well-tended and comforting the grieving mother.  It was a sad situation, and even the other twin, still in the hospital,  seemed to miss his brother. 

On Tuesday, at the funeral, the service, although well-done, was the saddest I have ever been to.  The baby’s mother, Dineo, collapsed collapsed at the graveside, grief-stricken, and unresponsive.   

It was devastating.  She was later taken to hospital, leaving  Lucky torn between one hospital with his baby, and the other with his wife.  We were on our way to training at church when we asked our friends to pray for this family... It later turned out that Dineo was released from the hospital, much better, and that the baby, Obvious, was getting much better as well. 

Lucky’s message to us that night was so encouraging: “Hi Mario and Janet.  Thank you for all your prayers, because Obvious is getting better as you said and DINEO IS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL AND I CAN SAY GOD IS GREAT.” He asked us not to give up on praying.

 That night, at the training at the church, I was happy to be around friends and listen to great teaching, but I yearned for my bed, exhausted from the events of the day.  At the very end of the night, I don’t even remember getting into bed. 

The next morning, Mario kissed me and said good morning, as usual.  Then he said this weird thing:

“Hey, why not grab a cup of coffee and let’s go sit down and chat.”

I did, half in a fog. 

Morning is not the time to chat with me. 

“I didn’t want to tell you last night,” he began, snapping me into wide-awake mode, “but last night at the training I went out to get tea and felt a weird  tightness in my whole upper body."  

He went on to explain how the incident was strange, but not painful, and that he wanted to call the doctor and be seen.  I completely agreed.  The only plans we had that day was to deliver his car to our mechanic, since it was in desperate need of repair. 

Our doctor suggested that he have an EKG at the hospital.  We went in, and since our (basic, bare-bones) insurance only covers hospitalization (all care provided on emergency needs) we went through the emergency room.  

Mario's wait was unusually long, and he decided to go home and come in the very next morning.  There, in the crowded emergency room, I froze.  I turned to the reception desk and said, “He’s about to go home and he was having chest pains last night.  What would you do if he came in on an ambulance having a heart attack?”   

“Well, we’d take him right in,” the man said, as politely as he could.  I started fuming. 

“This is chest pain, and it is very serious!” 

Mario was there, with me, at the counter, saying “Well, it really wasn’t chest pain, but...”  I flashed him a “talk and die” look, which certainly wouldn’t help in a stressful situation.  He led me outside, and talked slowly to me. 

“I am not going to wait four hours without my ipad or my studies.  If you are that concerned, let’s go home and get them.  I think this can wait until the morning, don’t you?” 

My head was cloudy with panic, and my eyes were heavy with tears, but even in that state I knew that there was no chance swaying Mario's mind when it is made up.  We left, dropping the idea of the EKG for that moment.

At home, we faced reality: Mario’s car, long needing an engine tune-up and brake work, needed to be turned in to our local mechanic.  We delivered it.  Later, we went to our small group in its idyllic location of Lanseria, and had a fabulous dinner, then Mario led us in Bible study.  I tried to act like everything was normal, but I was very concerned. 

The very next morning, Mario got up very early and went to the emergency room (without me).  He was first in line, and was given the test immediately.   The EKG was perfectly normal and showed no signs of stress.  

His only concern, while he was there, was that he had arranged a meeting at 9:00 and it didn’t look like al of the testing would be finished by then.  Jake, an American with a very similar heart as ours, was the guy he was supposed to meet with, so he called him and explained the whole situation. 

Jake ended up coming to the hospital for moral support, since he had just been there a few days before (he missed the baby’s funeral because of it) for an inner-ear infection. 

Even though all the tests were normal, there was still more to be done.  Mario called me to tell me the news.  “They’re admitting me, but talk to the doctor!!” 

The doctor got on Mario’s cell phone, explaining the process and the length of the testing that they would do “just to be sure” that there was no stone left unturned, medically speaking, to answer the question of the chest tightness.  She decided to admit him so that he could see a cardiologist and so our insurance would pay for the barrage of tests.  I asked my basic questions, and then decided to try to get a ride to the hospital to be there. 

 I asked for  a lift from a friend across the way, Terry, who explained that he was on his way to work and could give me a lift if I could leave now.  I assured him I could, and hung up.  As I was leaving, our daughter called.  I was rushing to leave, and explained to her that the only reason I couldn’t talk was that I was “rushing to go to the hospital” and I realized I alarmed her.  The more I tried to explain what was going on, the more rushed I sounded, the more stress was in my voice.   I guess there’s no way to tell your daughter on the other end of the world that the heart tests on her dad are just precautionary measures....

 When I got there, Jake and Mario were chatting it up like they were having a party.  As soon as I came in Mario said, "Hey babe!"  like it was any other meeting I was coming in to.   Everyone seemed so calm, and I soon realized, there was no real cause for worry.

They moved him to cardiac care - a sobering ward. Then, the doctor (a Japanese South African), Dr. Yip came in and asked a BUNCH of questions, making me realize two things: 1.  we were here to do these tests as a precaution; and 2. Mario is an extremely low risk for heart disease. 

 He ordered the tests, and we waited.   It was definitely going to be an overnight stay for Mario.  

They soon started a heart test that was scheduled to take 24 hours from start to finish.  It was a "Portable EKG computer" so small, it looked like Alicia's insulin pump.  

  

They shaved parts of his chest and slapped about fifteen adhesive sensors that they attached wires to, leading to the portable unit.  After this came a very daunting shot in the stomach with medicines to relax the heart and the lungs (it made him sleepy).  He slept for a few hours while I studied at his bedside.  

By the time he woke up, they had brought him tea and we chatted a bit, but he was mainly restful and relaxed.  “You know,” he said, “It’s actually a very restful day.”

As things in that room became more and more digestible to my soul,  I decided to beat the traffic home, and drove the car Mario had been driving back to our house, where our dogs were happy to see me.  I had picked up a very generous donation for a few families in Diepsloot, the township where we work, and was trying to arrange on the phone, when I could deliver them. 

It was raining...I missed Mario.  As much as I knew the tests were all routine, I wanted to be with him.  I decided to call him and ask if he wanted me to deliver pudding to him (an excuse) that I had made for him the day before.  

 "You're never gonna believe this!” he said.  “I'm discharged!!"  

Apparently the doctor made a second visit to his bedside, just after I left.  He decided to give him the heavy stress test now and put him on a treadmill to test the heart's reaction.  He brought him up to a level on the treadmill that was two away from very top, and was "satisfied" that Mario was beyond healthy in the heart area....his exact words were "You're the oldest person who I have tested at the level with such success."  

I jumped for joy, selfishly happy that I would have the chance of having him back in our own bed that night.  

“I’ll be right there!!”  I yelled, into the phone.  “I just have to make a drop in Diepsloot, and then I’m coming!” 

I drove to the hospital, after dropping stuff with Portia at her place in Diepsloot.  “Hey,” she said, as she came out to greet me, “I just saw the sms!!  Great news!!”  Apparently Mario had sms’ed everyone that he had been discharged... and this was a reason to celebrate.  Inside of her place, Portia and the goup of ladies she normally meets with on Thursday nights, were whooping and hollering celebration.  It was awesome. 

On my way to pick up Mario, I was overcome with gratitude.   The tests were not just normal, but better than...and I would be receiving my husband home to sleep in his own bed. 

Three months ago I lost my brother-in-law, Mario’s brother.  This week, we buried a baby so small that the coffin could fit on the back of a car.   Life is fragile.  Fragile and fleeting and precious.  Life, with all of its challenges and heartbreaks, is ours to enjoy. 

As I pulled up to the hospital, I saw him standing outside, waiting for me under the cover of the turnaround.  As I drove up, he stuck out his thumb for a ride.  I laughed...and cried.

cribbage

Tonight in a beautifully aromatic evening on our back porch my husband, Mario and I played a game of cribbage.  The board we bought from a local SPCA thrift store, complete with pegs and cards and directions on how to play. 

Turns out that the directions were probably translated from Chinese, and we couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so we had to youtube a video on “How to Play Cribbage”.  We learned right away.

I should say Mario learned right away.

 I am the one in our relationship that has a problem recognizing abstract patterns, so card games are not easy for me.  When I first visited Lake Tahoe with Mario he took me to a Black Jack table (his idea of fun then) after he taught me the basics of how to play.  Since I can’t add numbers quickly in my head, I usually resort to adding with my digits, which I chose to do under the table.  The dealer wryly warned me to keep both of my hands on the table and not to try any tricks.  I thought she meant counting tricks...turned out she meant cheating. 

Anyway, back to cribbage.  I decided about a year ago that I would play a game with my husband that HE would enjoy.  After years of Trivial Pursuit, Scene-It and Scrabble (not to mention sacrificially watching cooking shows) I realized how much he deferred to my preferences. 

In this realization, picking up the cribbage game made me think that I would buck up and learn his game, on his terms – his way.  He walked me through our first games, then let me pick my own hands. 

In cribbage, each player is given two pegs that they place at a starting point on the board – a wooden strip with holes numbering 120 until the finish.  Each player is dealt six cards.  Once the cards have been dealt, each player chooses four cards to retain, then discards the other one or two face-down to form the "crib" which will be used later by the dealer.  At this point, each player's hand and the crib will contain exactly four cards.  The goal of play is to take turns in creating number combinations that will get you to 31. 

As you play you speak aloud the value of your card, then add against the last play.  If Mario laid a 9 down he would say “9” if I were to lay a 5 after that I would say “14”, etc., and we would take turns  without the total going above 31.

A good player gets used to recognizing basic card patterns (pairs, 15’s, runs, etc.) and the longer you play, the more you can see the best order to lay down cards- even if your hand is not so great.  The first player across the finish line wins.  It is a game that you can play while discussing world events, drinking wine, etc.  It isn’t like Othello or Chess...it’s an old bar game.

 

According to gamecolony.com, cribbage is one of the first classic card games.  Originally called Noddy (no kidding) its origin is accredited to a man of quirky description:  an Englishman named  John Suckling   A poet, playwright, traveller, and expert at cards and dice, he was also known as a womanizer and a notorious wit. 

In one of his biographies, he was described as something of a scoundrel with a gambling problem so well known that “... no shopkeeper would trust him for sixpence".  

In 1641, John Suckling was involved in a conspiracy to save a friend who was jailed in the Tower of London.  The plan failed and Sir John had to flee England for the Continent. Unable to return to his country, Suckling ended his life a year later, at the age of 33.

It’s kind of sad, those out of a life lived so “out loud” he took his own in utter despair.  He left behind a game we play to distract us from thinking too hard some 400 years later.  What a contradiction. 

Each time I play I watch Mario light up and recognize pattern after pattern while I am busy trying to add in my head.  It shows how we have different strengths, different preferences. 

This small game was a purchase for about two American dollars and was born out of a desire to show appreciation for my husband ...and the desire to learn something new to show love for a man who does so much for me.  I suspected I would not be good at it, at first, but I love it because it has become a little secret pastime for us. 

Even the small things that you can give to each other to show love is important.