Of Providence, Patience & Pride

Providence
Rhode Island? No, more of the Divine kind. That's what mom says it was anyway.

On Friday, my father battled with a chainsaw ... and lost. The beastly piece of equipment cut through his deltoid and down into the bone, draining 1/3 of his blood and requiring a very immediate surgery, 50 stitches and many months of painful recovery. So, why do we claim ourselves truly blessed despite the bloody panic? For several reasons:

1) Mom & dad were planning a beach trip on Saturday and mom was to drop their dog at the sitter – set to leave just 10 minutes after The Incident. Had she left early to run an errand, zoom by the Coffee Zone (as she often does) or whatever, Pop wouldn't have had a snowball's chance in hell of making it outta that mess.

2) The chainsaw, with new chain that day, got tangled up in dad's loose shirt preventing it from cutting off his arm entirely (or !!!! into his jugular)

3) As always, mom rushed him straight to Haywood Regional .... gasp! Yes. The hospital name strikes fear in those of us who live in the area. The same institution that only recently got its accreditation back after being stripped of all worth earlier this year. So, I receive panicked call from the emergency room ... needs surgery ... lots of blood loss ... can't wait ... no time to get to Asheville.

His surgeon? A recently retired Army doc very adept at dealing with deep, icky war wounds (that's actually what he said it looked like). His name? Dr. Cutting ... no lie. When he arrived for surgery, he actually brought a photo of a very similar operation he had performed in Iraq. So, out of our tremendous fear of leaving my father's life in the hands of a questionable hospital, comes a surgeon fit just perfectly to his particular trauma.

My, oh my, He does work in wonderful ways. And as for my dad ... lesson learned.

Patience
Of the qualities that I (attempt to) cultivate in the Garden of Me, there are some – empathy and a sensitive disposition in particular – that come in, season after season, often in overwhelming quantities, whether I tend to them or not.

And then there are traits such as grace, that I strive to carefully nurture and grow in my garden. In my case, grace pertains to both the physical and inner kinds. I am renowned for being a dropper, spiller, breaker and faller ... just overall, not very graceful. So I really try to pay attention. I also closely tend to my inner grace and decorum, trying to be the honorable, respectable and respectful person that my parents taught me to be.

And then, in the Garden of Me, there are qualities that I must simply will out of myself sometimes. Ones that I long to have as abundantly as the others, but often find quite deficient ... the most apparently lacking is the elusive virtue we call "patience."

Now, I'm not talking about the kind of patience you need when waiting in line for a little old lady to count out pennies at the register; and not the kind you need while waiting for food at a busy restaurant; or even the kind required when you're late getting somewhere and are stuck in traffic.

I'm talking about the kind of patience required to deal with consistent ball-droppers, whiners and beggars in the workplace ... the people who don't do what they're supposed to do and then ask you to cut them some slack. The kind of patience required to not grab said people by the shoulders and shake the living snot out of them because, hey, if I'm doing my job then why the hell can't they do theirs?

That's the kind of patience I lack. The kind that I really do try to cultivate (by not responding, taking deep breaths and "calm down" walks) but that seems to escape me time and again. And when it does escape me, I lose my composure and my grace and my garden goes to pot.



So, if anybody out there has any advice on how to grow one's patience, I'm all ears. Leahpet? You deal with PIA teenagers all day ... got any hints? You always were better at letting things go than me though. This part of the Garden of Me will just have to hang in there until I find some good fertilizer I guess.

Pride
I haven't posted since The Big Day 2 weeks ago but, very simply put, I am proud. I am damn proud. I am proud of my fellow Americans who overcame decades, centuries, of deep-rooted feelings to come together for the promise of change. I am proud of all the young people who came out and voted for the first time and for the countless volunteers who spent sleepless nights championing The Cause. I am proud of those who crossed over the line in hopes of something better than we've had the past 8 years. I am so proud of North Carolina. Carolina blue, Duke blue, Panthers blue ... but BLUE. I love it. And I am proud.

In the center of this bubbly glittering glob of pride, however, I am also troubled about steps taken backward. The biggest one being in California with the passage of Proposition 8. It's like we push for change and tolerance and hope, and then at the same time, take away hope from a whole contingent of fellow Americans. It's hard to digest. But, we are a people of hope, and so I sincerely hope that very soon things can change for the better for ALL our people.