A Physical Manifestation of Friendship

If you've read my blog before, you might have heard me talk about my life-long best friend, Mary. (Click here to read our story) We've been best friends since third grade and until college, it was rare that you saw one without the other. 

Best friends often do activities or sports together. Mary and I joined the figure skating club about the same time, but other things interested her more. 

She went into gymnastics - the girl was super flexible. (I have memories of her putting her foot behind her head <from the front of the body> and me telling her to stop that!) So while Mary was in gymnastics, I was at the ice arena. 

Mary studied ballet. I took ballet, too (to help with my skating), but while I was learning the five positions, Mary was on pointe. 

Mary was in band. I was in choir. 

I've always wondered what it would have been like if we would have had interest in the same sport and trained together. 

Recently, I saw what that looked like. I saw the physical manifestation of friendship. 

Two young women, friends since they were toddlers, Syd and Bryn have played basketball together for about as long as they've been able to dribble a ball. When they are on the court together, there's a certain amount of synchronicity to their play that isn't as dominant with the other players. 

Maybe I see it this way because I don't know as much about basketball as others (didn't play it - hard to dribble a ball on ice skates), but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I would guess that their coaches, and maybe their parents (who are sometimes both), would say it's from years of practice and playing together. 

Nope, not buying it. It's not just about practicing. There are plenty of people who practice, practice, practice and never master this. 

• In their playing, I see trust. Trust that the other person will be there when they need them.
• I see knowledge. Knowledge of what the other person is capable of and how to help them succeed. 
• I see confidence. Confidence that their friend pushes them to be the best they can be. 

I see the physical manifestation of friendship. And it's pretty cool. And I could sit and watch it for hours. 

The Experiment

I grew up in front of a television. I knew the jingles for every commercial (better than my multiplication tables) and I was a media junkie soon after being potty trained. 

I remain a media junkie to this day. It's this reality of who I am that makes last month's decision so surprising. 

Like everyone, I'm trying to watch my spending and each month, there were two bills that really, really irked me; the cable bill and my cell phone bill. Something had to give.  In the battle between television and the phone, the phone won. I called Charter last month and told them to discontinue my cable TV. Everything was unplugged on January 20th. 

I'm sure you're wondering how I've managed to make it through the media withdrawal. How have I survived without my connection to the outside world? 

It's called Apple TV. It's not the be all and the end all, but it's darn close. 

There were only a handful of shows that I watched on a regular basis and through iTunes, Hulu Plus and video podcasts, I think there is only one that I haven't been able to watch. I get Law & Order: SVU, The Daily Show and Glee through Hulu Plus ($8.00/month). I can watch NBC Nightly News, Morning Joe and the Rachel Maddow show via video podcasts (free) and the only one I have to pay for is NCIS via iTunes (at a whopping $2.99 per episode for HD)

Anything I can watch on my iPad, can be fed onto my Apple TV. All of my iTunes music can be played on the TV. 

It's not perfect, I can't watch live TV shows like the Super Bowl or the Grammys, but via Twitter and Facebook, I know if it's good or not and I'll be able to see the highlights on YouTube the next day. 

I'm also getting more work down around the house. I don't spend all night in front of the television. Ideally, I'm hoping to spend more of that non-TV-watching time at the gym, but one step at a time. 

And this is an experiment with potential end date of July 1st. That's when my lease is up where I'm currently living and when I move into a new place (location TBD), I can make the call if I'm going to sign-up for cable tv again or not. 

As for now, I'm not as much fun around the water cooler because I don't know what happened on Gray's Anatomy last night, but then again, I have never watched Gray's Anatomy anyway. 

If I die

Painting of the old hospital

Merry Christmas, y'all!  Not exactly the opening line you would expect with the title of this post, eh? But don't bail on me. Have some patience.

During the three work days following Christmas this year, I am working remotely virtually way-off-campus.

Generally, I spend this time in Albert Lea because my bestest friend is in town from Atlanta. But I'm a bit low on PTO, so I figured I would work during the day and hang with her and her family in the evening.  And to save the planet (and my budget), I asked permission to work from Albert Lea.

As fate would have it, Mayo Clinic Health System in Albert Lea has the Mayo employee wifi, so instead of the endless frustration of trying to work on a VPN connection, I am taking advantage of the hospitality of the MCHS Public Affair staff and working from their offices.

The offices are located in the old Naeve Hospital building, a historically significant site as it is my birthplace. I was a patient here once when I was about 3 or 4, but other than that, I really don't have any memories of this place. The new hospital was built when I was a teen and even that hospital has changed substantially.

I remember hearing that most people die within 100 miles of where they were born. Maybe that's no longer true, but I've been thinking about it as I'm working here today. If I were to die here at the office (which would be a bummer), I would be dying, most likely, within 100 FEET of where I was born.

I know, I know, I'm a geek for thinking of stuff like that, but I gotta be me.

The consequences of failing to act

Last week, I learned about the premature passing of a high school friend. He died of a massive heart attack at age 53. And he may not have to died, if someone had taken action.

He was walking into his place of employment at the beginning of a work day with his cohorts. He passed out, but quickly came to, asking, "What happened?" And then he was gone. No pulse.

Those around him, surely in shock, called 911 and went to find someone who knew CPR. The people around him didn't know CPR.

They estimated it was four to six minutes before CPR was started. Four to six minutes of no blood or oxygen going to his brain.

In full disclosure, I've never been trained in CPR. But I have watched lots and lots of TV shows where it is being performed. If someone collapsed in front of me and had no pulse, I would have faked it and started compressions. At least until someone qualified came along.

We don't know if he would have survived if someone had tried CPR immediately. But I would guess, the odds would have been considerably better.

I wonder if his co-workers realize the consequences of their failure to act. I hope his employer is planning to have all their employees trained on CPR. For his sister and his brother and his mom, I really hope they do.

Why the church is breaking my heart

On a recent episode of Mike and Molly (a CBS comedy), a Catholic priest tells the couple that they can't get married in the church because Molly isn't a practicing Catholic. She responds, "I'm a practicing Catholic, I've just missed a lot of practices."

I've been tempted to use that as my excuse for my poor Mass attendance since moving to Rochester. The truth is that for the last 18 months, I've been pretty fed up with the politics of the Catholic Church.

First, it was the Archbishop in the Twin Cities who spent donor dollars to mail anti-gay propaganda to all registered Catholics. After which, I made sure I was no longer registered anywhere. Then the Bishop of the Winona diocese started the same anti-gay campaign in my new diocese.  I will never, ever, believe that Christ would approve of treating people like this. And for the church to lead the charge is heart-breaking.

My first exposure to a gay couple was actually in my home parish growing up. These two wonderful, selfless women, who have volunteered unmeasurable hours to help the parish, are now being told that their church doesn't believe they should have the same rights as others. Not that either of them would speak out against the church. So I guess it's up to me.

I think about them every time the church's opposition is brought up. They're older now and for one, her health is poor. Just as with a heterosexual couple, the healthier person is caring for the other. But what rights will she have if the other is hospitalized? Have they had to set up lots of legal contracts to make sure that nothing stands in their way? As if their love was a business arrangement?

Recently, I read about a Catholic priest and two Catholic laypeople speaking at a mandatory student assembly where they compared homesexuality to bestiality. The same trio, according to one student, also said that children adopted by single parents were "sociologically unstable."  I was very proud to learn that many of the student wouldn't stand for such junk and argued back. Unfortunately, the damage was done and many students left school very upset.

I'm not sure if I'll officially join another Catholic parish. That's sad for me because I've always thought of my Catholic faith as part of my heritage - not just Catholic, but Irish Catholic.  One saving part for me is that I've always considered my "faith" and "the church" as two separate and unrelated things.

P.S. If you know of any of the Catholic Churches in Rochester that are rejecting the Bishop's stand, let me know by sending me an email at MEHarty at usfamily.net

When will I have my heart attack?

That sounds like a silly question, but in reality it is a pretty important one. 

I was surprised to learn that a 37-year-old former co-worker had a heart attack last month. She blessedly survived, but hearing the news just set me back on my heels. Jen is a healthy, active (i.e. marathon runner) mom of two and I would never imagine that she would have a heart attack.

Me? Have a heart attack? That's just far too easy to imagine. I've been thinking about it since I was 11. 

[Flashback sequence] During an exam with a new pediatrician, he was concerned about the slow pace of my heart. I had to do a stress test right away and that freaked out my mom. He couldn't find anything wrong with my heart and I'm sure mom's heart must have stopped several times during the visit.

Immediately after the appointment, we stopped by my dad's office (which was right next door to the clinic) and, after hearing the story, he chuckled and told mom that I have the Harty heart; my heart just didn't go as fast as others. His mom had the same issue as did her mom. It's a family thing.

As any 11-year-old will do, I shrugged it off and moved on.

I think I was in junior high (1970's) when the cardiologists at Mayo Clinic found a blockage in my dad's aorta. They didn't operate because they felt the surgical mortality rate was too high. From that point on, our family started waiting for something to happen.

In 1988, my dad had emergency quintuple bypass surgery at Saint Marys Hospital and for the next six years, we had many trips to Rochester.

In April 1994, my dad suffered congestive heart failure and passed away. In the weeks leading up to his death, his diabetes was out-of-control and that also contributed to the heart failure.

In doing my family genealogy, I was able to view the death certificates of many of my ancestors. Both my Grandma Harty's (my dad's mother) and my great-grandmother's (her mom) death certificates listed the same cause of death: congestive heart failure with complications from diabetes.

So that's what Dad meant about having the Harty heart. Oh, joy.

So what have I done about avoiding my family's legacy? Actually very little because who has heart attacks in their 40's? I figured I would start worrying about it in my late 50's. 

I guess I have been lying to myself. It's time for me to be pro-active and learn about heart disease, get off my duff to start exercising, and start eating right to avoid diabetes.

All things considered, I just might be over-due and running on luck.

P.S. My former co-worker has started a blog about her experiences and recovery, you might want to check it out. She's a fabulous writer.

Regaining a slow childhood

August has always held a certain amount of symbolism for me. As a child, it was the month of transition from summer vacation to the start of school. August is my warning bell. 

August is a fair sandwich. The start of the month is the Freeborn County Fair, my hometown county fair, while the end of the month is the Minnesota State Fair. The State Fair starts in August, but ends on Labor Day - also known as the last un-official day of summer in Minnesota. Because in Minnesota, the day after Labor Day is the first day of school. 

Then it's fall and Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and then 2011 is over. Kinda depressing, eh? Especially for all the things that you planned to accomplish in 2011 that you haven't started yet. 

Where did the time go? The days and months go faster when you're a grown-up. Why? Why, as adults, do we not get the slow lifestyle of our childhood? 

Maybe it's a choice. Maybe because we try to do too much. So I thought I would challenge myself, and anyone else, to regain those slower moment between now and the end of the year.

Feel free to leave a comment and add some ideas for this 30-week challenge. Choose one thing each week to slow down and enjoy for yourself!

 

• Lay in the grass and notice the clouds
• Spend a day doing nothing except relaxing
  Eat your lunch outdoors
• Get a massage
• Turn off all your technology for a day (try to remember what it was like to be unreachable!)
• Hang out at Macy's and have them do your make-up
• Have Champagne for no reason at all except to celebrate life
• Call an old friend for lunch
• Compliment a stranger
• Compliment a co-worker
• Buy fresh flowers at the Farmer's Market for your house
• Ask a question and listen to the answer
• Brag about yourself and something you've done (it's okay to be proud of something you've done!)
• Say hello to a person on the street
• Pretend that you don’t know your age
• Make cookies from scratch (double the batch cuz you know you'll taste-test lots!)
• Smile
• Do a random act of kindness- possibly to a teacher
• Write a note to someone that impresses you. don't sign it
• Donate to a charity (and expect nothing in return)
• Eat your favorite ice cream without thinking about the calories
• Enjoy a bubble bath and a good book (the paper kind)
• Look through old photos and put them in a scrapbook. Write notes in your own handwriting.
• Make faces to amuse a baby

Hello! My Name Is....

What's my name?

I haven't suddenly been struck by the classic soap opera disease, amnesia, although this might qualify as an identity crisis.  So, I'll ask you again, what's my name?

There isn't a right or wrong answer, but there are several answers.  

I was baptized Mary Elizabeth Harty way, WAY back in 1960 and for the first twenty years of my life, I would say my name is Mary Harty. (As a child with a speech impediment who couldn't pronounce R's, everyone thought I was from Boston when I introduced myself) 

Once I got to college, I started using my middle name instead of my first. For the past thirty years, when I introduce myself, I'm Elizabeth Harty. My Facebook profile is Elizabeth Harty, not Mary Elizabeth Harty and I know high school friends haven't friended me because they don't know an Elizabeth Harty (seriously people, look at the picture - I haven't changed that much since high school)

I've had several occasions when friends find out that my first name is Mary, they'll tell me "you just don't look like a Mary." (Discuss amongst yourselves what a Mary looks like and get back to me on that)

I started using my middle name for one very good reason - being Mary Harty meant being one of many. There's my aunt Mary Harty, my niece Mary (MJ) Harty, my grandmother was Mary Harty and I have four cousins named Mary Harty - most of whom kept their maiden name when they married.

Don't get me wrong because I like all the other Mary Hartys - heck I'm related to almost all of them, but back then, I wanted to set myself apart. And now, after thirty years, Elizabeth is my identity and I'm comfortable with it. 

www.nataliedee.com

  

I'm in the midst of another identity crisis right now at Mayo Clinic that I've never experienced at any of my previous jobs.

Since my Social Security card shows my name as Mary E. Harty,  that is how human resources set-up my email and my company profile. And it is confusing the heck out of everyone. 

Last week, one of my bosses was sending an email to set up a meeting and she referred to me several times as Mary when she knows me as Elizabeth - the email address really threw her.  If you search for Elizabeth Harty on the Mayo Quarterly (it's the Mayo online phone book), you won't find me.

Oddly enough, when people who know me as Mary call me Elizabeth, that too seems a bit strange. There's just no making me happy, is there?

I've asked several times to have it changed, but as long as my SS card has my name as Mary E. Harty, that's how it will appear on EVERYTHING at Mayo Clinic. Some people may see this as a sign to surrender; I see it as time to change my SS card.

Kids Will Be Kids

Last Friday, a blogger friend of mine (@MollyInMinn) wrote an awesome post about adults behaving like two-year olds. It made me laugh and smile. Click here if you want a smile and to see if you recognize any behaviors you've lived through. 

While Molly's post walks you through the day as a two-year old attending business meetings and causing general chaos, it's really about completely dumping filters - saying what you want, when you want and how you want. Dancing on chairs, eating the cupcake before dinner or making a fish face at someone who bores you. Societal norms may tell us we shouldn't live without filters, but it doesn't stop us from dreaming about it. "I wish I could have said..."

Oddly enough, on that same day, Seth Godin - a marketing guru and blogger, had a post called, "Childish vs. Childlike."  It was the perfect companion piece to Molly's blog because it points out that acting like a child isn't a bad thing.(Childlike makes a great scientist)

This past weekend, I judged a Basic Skills skating competition where, if I could give points for cute, every kid would win. The sheer joy on their faces was contagious and 99% of them have no fear.  They don't know they are supposed to be nervous skating in front of lots of people. They don't know they are supposed to be scared of the judges. They just know that it's fun, that they're with their friends and their family (mom, dad, siblings, aunts, uncles & cousins) are all up in the stands cheering for them.

As Seth says in his post, "Childlike is fearless and powerful and willing to fail." Oh, that is so what I want to be. Let me dance on the chair - just be nearby to catch me.

My Mother the Journalist

My mom was a stay-at-home mom because in the 1960's almost everyone's mom was a stay-at-home mom. She didn't work outside of our home until I was in high school in the late 1970's.  If my mom had been a career woman, she would have been a journalist or a historian.

Why? Because this woman wrote about the day-to-day activities of her kids decades before there were Mommy Bloggers. I had a wonderful evening last night learning about the first five years of my life through my Mom's notes. It's important to remember that I'm the fourth of four kids, so the fact that I had any baby pictures at all is amazing, never mind that I can tell you that I cut my first tooth November 28, 1960, that I stood up alone for the first time on January 24, 1961 or that my first visit to Como Zoo was August 6, 1961. And I wouldn't go on any rides.

Dennis, Christine, Susan & ME (guess we didn't have booster chairs)

June 12, 1961 my mom was thinking I had the three day measles; the next day she realized it was just a mosquito bite. I don't think she would have been a good doctor because besides thinking a mosquito bite was the measles, there was the time she brought me along when she took my sister to see Dr. Demo and he put ME in the hospital - that pesky cough she noted that I had for two days prior to the visit was the croup. So I got to spend Halloween 1963 in the hospital. Don't feel bad for me because my siblings went trick-or-treating on my behalf - "This extra bag is for our little sister who is in the hospital tonight..." I got more candy than all of them combined!

But it was February of 1964 that showed my true individualism and refusal to follow the crowd:

1/2/1964 - Christine has the mumps

1/12/1964 - Rick VerHey has the mumps

1/20/1964 - Sue has the mumps

1/26/1964 - Peggy VerHey has the mumps

2/2/1964 - Dennis has the mumps

2/25/1964 - Mary has the shingles

Yes, the entire neighborhood has the mumps and I get something completely exotic and extremely rare for kids. I wouldn't get mumps until 1976.

I was a talented child - September 17, 1964 - "Mary knows how to whistle" (my uncles - her brothers - taught me).

And I was an annoying child - May 16, 1965 - "I took Mary to church and she whistled in church."  Yes, but was I at least in key? I'm sure that it was from this point on only my dad would take me to church. And we'd sit up in the balcony.

Thanks Mom for giving me my childhood history!  You could have left out the editorial that I was "not very nice in church" for cousin Catherine Ann's baptism.

A Trip to the Dentist

I have a dental appointment this morning to have the prep work done for my very first crown.  I had a root canal done in late March and I'm finally getting around to getting this part of the work done. I blame the delay on my ADD. Most of the day, my teeth are out of sight, out of mind. It's only in the very early morning and at bedtime as I'm brushing (and flossing!) that I remember.

And I shouldn't use ADD as the full excuse because, just like maybe 99% of non-dentists, non-dental hygienists and non-orthodontists, going to the dentist is not something I really look forward to.javascript:void(0)

or maybe I should blame it on painful childhood memories.

www.nataliedee.com

My childhood dentist was a gentleman named Dr. VonBerg. He was always old and I think his nurse was his wife. Up until the time I was about 12, I rarely had cavities (I credited it to the apple tree in our backyard - why? I have no idea). At age 13, I had to get braces put on and I had to have four teeth pulled prior to the installation. That was when my view of Dr VonBerg went from old, gentle guy to very scary guy with long needles. On the day of my first extraction and about 15 minutes after I got my first shot of novacaine, he realized that he had numbed the wrong side.

I was also the worst patient for my orthodontist. I got the braces on when I was 13 and didn't get them off until I was 18. I would always forget to wear my headgear! My monthly appointment was always the same - Dr. Sletten would ask me about the head gear and I would lie and say, "I wear it every night."

I think he tried reverse psychology on me the final year by telling me that I was so close and if I wore my headgear faithfully for the next month, he would take them off the next month.  Sorry, Dr. Sletten, reverse psychology doesn't work on ADD girl.

I finally got my braces off and was amazed at the feeling of my lips sliding down my teeth without get caught in the barb wire. My teeth were nice and straight (my parents were about $1200 poorer) and I've liked my smile ever since.

So, when I started having pain in one of my teeth, my current dentist said that there were two possible options - they could do a root canal and then I would get a crown OR they would have to pull the tooth and I would have to get a bridge.

Absolute mortification! The idea of losing a tooth and looking like a hillbilly with missing teeth was giving me nightmares. And it didn't help that my mom has bridges and when she's tired of having them in her mouth, she'll just pull them out and put them on the end table in her living room. (We always call in advance of bringing guests to visit her and tell her to make sure her teeth are in)

www.nataliedee.com

So, off I go to the dentist and hope it will be somewhat pain-free. I'm thinking the most painful part is paying the bill "at the time of service."