Seige: Day 2

Have you ever tried to turn a Styrofoam cup inside out?

I can now relate with the cup.

I don't know if I qualify for the medical term "flu" but whatever was in my stomach yesterday is now free, making a new home somewhere in the Minneapolis Waste Disposal System.

As Sgt. Miller said to Private Ryan, I now say to the bugs that have found new freedom via the porcelain god, "Earn this."

Stadium Rock

There's a funny thing that happens to you when you're anxious. You develop that oft-mentioned "tunnel vision," like when a car slams on it's brakes in front of you. You find that you are only able to focus on one thing at a time.

At least that is my experience these days as we anticipate Monday.

Last night it seemed like everyone just kind of fell apart at home. Ian seemed extra fussy, Silvi threw a tantrum that would make John McEnroe proud and I retreated to one of my favorite escapes - stadium rock.

Queen. Coldplay. Chicago. Patrick Bruel. Rage Against the Machine. Midnight Oil. And, because my wife is reading, even Abba. (The first step toward recovery is admission).

Last night it was Robbie Williams Live At Knebworth. The entire concert. As loud as my neighbors would allow.

I love the loss of self that the concert brings. You are one of thousands, united by love of music. It's a transcending experience.

When you're going through that "dark night of the soul," there really is no room for complex philosophy or theology or even deep conversations. I have barely touched the books on Down syndrome that I bought. That's for another day.

Today, it's What About Bob and Robbie Williams and Die Hard XXIVIIIVIXX and books like The Devil Wears Prada. Yes, I read the book. And saw the film. (I'm secure in my masculinity. I've got some married friends who like cheerleading films such as Bring it On; you know who you are.)

God knows that we're wired this way. That's why He gave us the Psalms.* Simple, yet deeply profound. And an easy read when that's all you've got the strength for.

Whatever you think of Mr. Robbie Williams, he gave me an hour-and-a-half of joy last night.


*I love how this Psalm is almost a mirror of what Christ prays in the garden. "Remove this cup." then "Your will be done."

I will update everyone about how Ian's pre-op examination goes this afternoon.

A "Routine" Life

I heard the word "routine" a lot yesterday. In the doctor's office, from family members and fellow bloggers. I'll be honest: At first the word really bugged me.

"It's a routine procedure. What we're going to do, Tom and Annie, is take this here scalpel with the size #10 blade and make a a six-to-eight inch gash in the side of your one-month-old son. Then we're going to take these here rib spreaders and ever so gently ..."

Well, you get the picture. The "routine" I'm used to is my daughter's scraped knee, and that still breaks my heart.

But as I've been thinking about the word today, I think I've come to terms with it. "Life is hard," as my Dad often says. And it really is. Pain and grief and suffering, these are characteristics of the "routine" life. If you choose to love someone, you open yourself to hurt and to being wounded. Any day without suffering is outside of the norm - abnormal.

I'm thankful for being reawakened to the "routine" life. The alternative seems to be a dead life.