Thank you, Aunt Amy, who had the idea for this post, and who is, in fact, a builder of ice creams.
Is there ever a wrong time for ice cream?
No.
Can one ever be too full for ice cream?
No.
Can it ever be too wintery/cold for ice cream?
No.
Is ice cream unhealthy?
No. Not for the soul.
Needless to say, ice cream is my favorite dessert food. I would say it's my favorite food ever, but pizza and mac & cheese bring tough competition. Despite this, I have no favorite ice cream flavor, but some well-loved ones include mint chocolate chip, chocolate chip cookie dough, moose tracks, cake batter, mocha chip from Graeters, straight up chocolate, straight up vanilla, and many others.
Toppings are never a must, but they may be desired in the case of plain ice cream (like vanilla). Never nuts. Ever. As a topping or in my ice cream. But peanut butter is occasionally acceptable (for example, the little Reeses-like cups in moose tracks) Also, a sugar cone is preferred to a cake cone, but a bowl is always just as well too. I've had a waffle cone like once in my life, and although it was tasty, it sweated ice cream which was not very convenient or clean.
Ice cream is suitable for any event or social situation, always. It can be just as classy as it can be fun and playful. And if you dump it on your apple pie, or into a mug of hot chocolate, you're doing life right.
Ice cream, in short, is a gift from God. They call it soul food for a reason. While it may be cold to the tongue, it brings warmth to the heart and a smile to the face.
I guess all I can say now is...
I SCREAM YOU SCREAM WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM
God bless.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Singing
Summer camp means singing, of course.
I sang all summer long. I started out by shouting at the top of my lungs, and cracking my voice every now and then. The higher register went completely untouched, as I was going for volume, not tone. It wasn't, shall we say, "pretty."
As the summer went on, though, I noticed a change. By the end of the summer I had found vocal strength that I haven't had since I was in high school (when I was in 2 choirs and taking voice lessons). Now, I was making music all the time. I was either playing recorder, or whistling (I am a fine whistler), or singing. Walking from here to there, I sang songs to myself, even ones that I haven't heard in ages. I sang with confidence, strength, and volume. Even in my higher register. It was amazing to me, that all I needed to do to get that voice back was to sing more. I didn't need lessons, or a choir, for me to feel confident in my singing. I think it actually sounded decent. And definitely more adult-like than it did at the beginning of the summer.
Now that camp is over and I'm sitting at home all day, my amateur singing has come to a sudden and almost complete stop. It seems out-of-place here.
Whatever shall I do? School is starting soon and I doubt I'll be singing as I walk from here to there. People would roll their eyes at me and scoff, "music majors!" I am going to lose my fine singing voice yet again. Although, perhaps next summer I shall gain it back.
Or maybe I could spend a few hours in a practice room and finally learn to really, truly yodel...
God bless.
I sang all summer long. I started out by shouting at the top of my lungs, and cracking my voice every now and then. The higher register went completely untouched, as I was going for volume, not tone. It wasn't, shall we say, "pretty."
As the summer went on, though, I noticed a change. By the end of the summer I had found vocal strength that I haven't had since I was in high school (when I was in 2 choirs and taking voice lessons). Now, I was making music all the time. I was either playing recorder, or whistling (I am a fine whistler), or singing. Walking from here to there, I sang songs to myself, even ones that I haven't heard in ages. I sang with confidence, strength, and volume. Even in my higher register. It was amazing to me, that all I needed to do to get that voice back was to sing more. I didn't need lessons, or a choir, for me to feel confident in my singing. I think it actually sounded decent. And definitely more adult-like than it did at the beginning of the summer.
Now that camp is over and I'm sitting at home all day, my amateur singing has come to a sudden and almost complete stop. It seems out-of-place here.
Whatever shall I do? School is starting soon and I doubt I'll be singing as I walk from here to there. People would roll their eyes at me and scoff, "music majors!" I am going to lose my fine singing voice yet again. Although, perhaps next summer I shall gain it back.
Or maybe I could spend a few hours in a practice room and finally learn to really, truly yodel...
God bless.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
A Fear of Heights
*This blog post inspired by my good friend/roommate Amy's recent skydiving experience.
I wouldn't exactly say that I have the fear of heights. I can be up in a tall building, or even an airplane, and feel no fear whatsoever. Heck, I sleep on the top bunk of the bed for most of the year.
But I have a thing with ladders, and I have a thing with jumping.
It's hard to define both of them, because not everything about these things scares me.
When it comes to ladders, I am not afraid of ladders themselves. I can look at them, I can be around them. What I am afraid of is climbing them. Sometimes. I think the best way to explain it would be a feeling of insecurity, which means not all ladders scare me, because not all ladders are insecure. But most are.
A ladder that you have to take out, unfold, set up yourself, etc. = bad. How can a lightweight, foldy thing possibly bear my weight? Sometimes at the summer camp I work at, I actually have to climb them, and I always get short of breath and insist that someone hold down the other side and keep it steady. If it is leaning against a wall, that's still not good enough. Someone has to hold onto it from underneath. Believe it or not, even smallish step-ladders make me a bit nervous. Actually, just moveable ladders in general. They're terrifying. I'll climb them, but I'll probably die if I do.
A ladder that is built into a wall or some other sturdy structure = no problem. It's not an issue with myself. I mean, of course I trust my own strength (have you seen my guns?), and if I feel I can trust whatever the ladder is built into, then I'm good. For example, I climbed up the built-in ladder at the end of my bunk bed in my dorm room all the time, because I trusted the bed not to topple over and crush me. But a hook ladder you attach to a bunk bed and can move around--no. That thing is not firmly attached to anything and will probably kill me. Furthermore, the ladder on Turtle Island (the tree loft at my camp) is totally fine with me. It's a big wooden structure that I put my trust in. I even let go of the rungs with both my hands in order to close the door (difficult and sometimes painful to do, but actually not scary).
Now for jumping. I am scared of jumping off of high things usually. The zip line at the climbing wall at camp... no. Well, okay, the zip line itself is fine, even fun, but initially jumping off the platform is basically impossible for me. I actually can't bring myself to do it. The two times I've used the zip line, I had the person at the top push me off.
When I was little, I took swimming lessons, and to pass the course I had to jump off the diving board. Just once. I stood at the end of that board freaking out for who knows how long (seconds? hours? months?) and when it became clear that I couldn't jump off, a lifeguard snuck up behind me and pushed me off so I could pass the class.
I have jumped off a few diving boards in my day, but not many. I haven't done it in years, nor have I even jumped off the side of a pool in years. (Part of that now has to do with not wanting to immerse my dreads in water, but that's a conversation for another day.)
I'll jump off of a short wall if I think it's short enough that I won't break my ankle. But I won't jump off a swing. And I don't suppose I would ever, ever, ever, jump out of a plane.
Oh, and I also hate roller coasters. I don't feel like psychoanalyzing myself anymore, so I don't know exactly why, or if that has to do with my "fear". But they're terrifying nevertheless.
Why do I climb the rock wall if I'm scared of jumping off the zip line at the top? Why do I climb ladders even when I really don't want to? Because God did not give me a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and self-discipline (2 Timothy 1:7). I climb that ladder because of the spirit of love that causes me to want to serve. I climb that rock wall and jump off the zip line because I want to remind myself that God is in control.
And I jump off the diving board because... never mind, I don't. Ha.
God bless.
I wouldn't exactly say that I have the fear of heights. I can be up in a tall building, or even an airplane, and feel no fear whatsoever. Heck, I sleep on the top bunk of the bed for most of the year.
But I have a thing with ladders, and I have a thing with jumping.
It's hard to define both of them, because not everything about these things scares me.
When it comes to ladders, I am not afraid of ladders themselves. I can look at them, I can be around them. What I am afraid of is climbing them. Sometimes. I think the best way to explain it would be a feeling of insecurity, which means not all ladders scare me, because not all ladders are insecure. But most are.
A ladder that you have to take out, unfold, set up yourself, etc. = bad. How can a lightweight, foldy thing possibly bear my weight? Sometimes at the summer camp I work at, I actually have to climb them, and I always get short of breath and insist that someone hold down the other side and keep it steady. If it is leaning against a wall, that's still not good enough. Someone has to hold onto it from underneath. Believe it or not, even smallish step-ladders make me a bit nervous. Actually, just moveable ladders in general. They're terrifying. I'll climb them, but I'll probably die if I do.
A ladder that is built into a wall or some other sturdy structure = no problem. It's not an issue with myself. I mean, of course I trust my own strength (have you seen my guns?), and if I feel I can trust whatever the ladder is built into, then I'm good. For example, I climbed up the built-in ladder at the end of my bunk bed in my dorm room all the time, because I trusted the bed not to topple over and crush me. But a hook ladder you attach to a bunk bed and can move around--no. That thing is not firmly attached to anything and will probably kill me. Furthermore, the ladder on Turtle Island (the tree loft at my camp) is totally fine with me. It's a big wooden structure that I put my trust in. I even let go of the rungs with both my hands in order to close the door (difficult and sometimes painful to do, but actually not scary).
Now for jumping. I am scared of jumping off of high things usually. The zip line at the climbing wall at camp... no. Well, okay, the zip line itself is fine, even fun, but initially jumping off the platform is basically impossible for me. I actually can't bring myself to do it. The two times I've used the zip line, I had the person at the top push me off.
When I was little, I took swimming lessons, and to pass the course I had to jump off the diving board. Just once. I stood at the end of that board freaking out for who knows how long (seconds? hours? months?) and when it became clear that I couldn't jump off, a lifeguard snuck up behind me and pushed me off so I could pass the class.
I have jumped off a few diving boards in my day, but not many. I haven't done it in years, nor have I even jumped off the side of a pool in years. (Part of that now has to do with not wanting to immerse my dreads in water, but that's a conversation for another day.)
I'll jump off of a short wall if I think it's short enough that I won't break my ankle. But I won't jump off a swing. And I don't suppose I would ever, ever, ever, jump out of a plane.
Oh, and I also hate roller coasters. I don't feel like psychoanalyzing myself anymore, so I don't know exactly why, or if that has to do with my "fear". But they're terrifying nevertheless.
Why do I climb the rock wall if I'm scared of jumping off the zip line at the top? Why do I climb ladders even when I really don't want to? Because God did not give me a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and self-discipline (2 Timothy 1:7). I climb that ladder because of the spirit of love that causes me to want to serve. I climb that rock wall and jump off the zip line because I want to remind myself that God is in control.
And I jump off the diving board because... never mind, I don't. Ha.
God bless.
Friday, August 10, 2012
The Color Run
I wrote this a couple weeks ago but haven't edited until now. Sorry for the wait!
For those of you that haven't heard, The Color Run is a 5K race where you where mostly white clothing and every kilometer(ish) people throw powdered paint on you. Each kilometer is a a different color, so by the time you're done, you're a nice little rainbowperson. I went twice: once today, once a week ago.
❧
For those of you that haven't heard, The Color Run is a 5K race where you where mostly white clothing and every kilometer(ish) people throw powdered paint on you. Each kilometer is a a different color, so by the time you're done, you're a nice little rainbowperson. I went twice: once today, once a week ago.
I signed up for one with my mom, who is also a runner, way back in the spring sometime. Then I found out that the camp staff I work with wanted to do it too, so they signed up for one in a town that was a bit closer to camp. That one was a week before the one I was supposed to go to with my mom. I thought about doing both, since I wanted to run with my friends too, but it was fairly expensive and I didn't want to just pay that. So I signed up with my friend Alex to volunteer for the first one.
Alex and I got up at 5 a.m. last Saturday morning to get to town in time to volunteer. We ended up getting a bit lost because of construction on the highway, but finally got there, so they sent us to work at the yellow color zone. Our job was basically to squirt yellow paint at the runners.
It was pretty hectic, and the whole time was like living in a yellow haze, but it was really fun. By the end, we were all out of yellow powder, so we started scooping it up from the piles on the ground and using that, but eventually there wasn't really any substantial amount left on the ground, either.
People were so crazy. They wanted paint all over them and would come up and tell you where they wanted you to squirt it (on their backs, on their face, in their hair, in their cleavage...). When we were low on paint, they rolled around on the ground to get it on them. Their were thousands of them, and most of them weren't even running, but walking.
When it was finally over, Alex and I had to laugh at each other because of how yellow we were. We were pretty much head-to-toe the color of dandelions. It was caked on our skin and we could scrape it off of our faces. Our snot was a freaky orange-ish yellow color. When we took off our shoes, we could pour yellow powder out of them. We washed our clothes that afternoon, and my socks remained a deep yellow color (although, the rest came out pretty well).
It was a good time though, and we got a lot of good laughs. Afterward, Alex and I went out to lunch and ice cream before going back to camp, and since my school was in that town, I gave him a quick tour.
It was pretty hectic, and the whole time was like living in a yellow haze, but it was really fun. By the end, we were all out of yellow powder, so we started scooping it up from the piles on the ground and using that, but eventually there wasn't really any substantial amount left on the ground, either.
People were so crazy. They wanted paint all over them and would come up and tell you where they wanted you to squirt it (on their backs, on their face, in their hair, in their cleavage...). When we were low on paint, they rolled around on the ground to get it on them. Their were thousands of them, and most of them weren't even running, but walking.
When it was finally over, Alex and I had to laugh at each other because of how yellow we were. We were pretty much head-to-toe the color of dandelions. It was caked on our skin and we could scrape it off of our faces. Our snot was a freaky orange-ish yellow color. When we took off our shoes, we could pour yellow powder out of them. We washed our clothes that afternoon, and my socks remained a deep yellow color (although, the rest came out pretty well).
It was a good time though, and we got a lot of good laughs. Afterward, Alex and I went out to lunch and ice cream before going back to camp, and since my school was in that town, I gave him a quick tour.
In the shower, the yellow was all underneath my clothes. It looked like urine was pouring down my legs when the paint got wet and started to run. I washed everything, my hair, face, and body, at least two times, and still had yellow spots when I looked in the mirror afterward.
❧
Then this morning I saw a whole different side of this crazy event. Mom and I got up at 4:15 a.m. (as if the week before hadn't been early enough!) and left within about 20 minutes. I slept in the car a bit, but I was still pretty tired. We went with my friend Aimee and her mother, Lisa and younger brother, Pete. We ended up on the wrong side of town so we showed up to the race pretty late, but we stood in an impossibly long line, got our packets, and off we went.
We stood in line for half an hour after the race started before we actually went, because there were just so many people there. But then we were off, and it was awesome. There were a few times I got a little winded and wanted to walk, but with Mom and Aimee running with me (Lisa and Pete mostly walked, I think), I was able to keep pushing. Also, every time we got paint thrown on us, it gave me another rush of adrenaline to keep going.
The paint stations seemed a little anticlimactic, since I didn't get all that messy, but it was still fun. The 5K itself was somewhat hilly, but the weather was really great if not a little humid toward the end. There was nice scenery pretty much the whole way, since it was through a park and over a river on some bridges. Since most of the people were walking, we had to dodge traffic a lot, but the three of us stayed together.
We stood in line for half an hour after the race started before we actually went, because there were just so many people there. But then we were off, and it was awesome. There were a few times I got a little winded and wanted to walk, but with Mom and Aimee running with me (Lisa and Pete mostly walked, I think), I was able to keep pushing. Also, every time we got paint thrown on us, it gave me another rush of adrenaline to keep going.
The paint stations seemed a little anticlimactic, since I didn't get all that messy, but it was still fun. The 5K itself was somewhat hilly, but the weather was really great if not a little humid toward the end. There was nice scenery pretty much the whole way, since it was through a park and over a river on some bridges. Since most of the people were walking, we had to dodge traffic a lot, but the three of us stayed together.
At the very end, we waited for Lisa and Pete, then they had a "color throw" where we all threw color packets we had got at the beginning into the air and onto each other. That way, if you didn't get super colorful during the race, you were sure to get pretty painted now.
We hung out for a little bit, then left. We saw a bagpipe player on our way out, and it was so beautiful :) We went out to eat for lunch, which was fun(ny) because we still were pretty colorful in the restaurant. Then we went home and showered.
There are ways to preserve colored clothing, but the only thing Mom and I preserved was our previously white headbands. Although the rest of the color washed off our clothes and bodies, we will always have a little bit of color with us.
God bless.
We hung out for a little bit, then left. We saw a bagpipe player on our way out, and it was so beautiful :) We went out to eat for lunch, which was fun(ny) because we still were pretty colorful in the restaurant. Then we went home and showered.
There are ways to preserve colored clothing, but the only thing Mom and I preserved was our previously white headbands. Although the rest of the color washed off our clothes and bodies, we will always have a little bit of color with us.
God bless.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Poison Ivy
Before I get started, I want to apologize for completely skipping the month of June on my blog. Until now, I have succeeded in filling my four posts a month quota, but this time I have failed and I'm sorry. I am now taking suggestions on how I can make it up to you people.
Once upon a time, I started working at a Christian summer camp. This is actually my third wonderful summer working at this particular camp. We typically have two weeks of staff training before any kids arrive, and on our last day of staff training this year, our job was to clean camp so it was ready when kids and their parents arrived two days later. After a lot of the buildings were cleaned, a bunch of us were sent out to pull weeds by the front sign at the entrance, which is supposed to have nice little flowers and shrubbery around it, but was now covered with weeds and -dare I say- poison ivy.
At first we just avoided the poison ivy and focused on less threatening plants. But then someone came out bringing us "gloves" (plastic kitchen gloves) for the poison ivy, and towels for the prickly weeds that we also were unable to pull up by hand. I put on the plastic kitchen gloves and went about my work of tearing the dreaded poison ivy from its home and tossing it to the ground, trying not to touch it with any part of my body except my gloved hands. I had never had poison ivy before and didn't know if I was allergic to it, but thought it would be best to stay on the safe side and not touch it anyway, since for those sorts of things I am usually in the majority and it's been said that about 90% of the population is rather allergic to urushiol oil, which is what's in poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac. (http://poisonivy.aesir.com/view/fastfacts.html) So I figured I was probably allergic, and that the only reason I'd never gotten it was because I lacked the exposure (I have always kept a safe distance away from it, ever since I knew what it looked like.)
Needless to say, a couple "bug bites" showed up on my arm. One had a black streak on it which I thought was really weird, and I told a couple people "this is weird, I have this little black thing on my arm," but didn't do anything about it. Except scratch it, naturally. Because it itched.
Fast forward about 5 days, and I was complaining to my team coordinator and friend, KJ, that the weird thing on my arm was spreading and was starting to look infected. I was convinced that it was not poison ivy, because I didn't know that poison ivy could spread, and I didn't know what it looked like (the rash, not the plant). The part with the black streak truly did look infected, and KJ agreed. she gave me some sort of cream and some band aids. When the kids asked me the next day why I had band aids all over my arms, I told them I had infections on my arms. I also had some stuff showing up on my right knee, but it was mostly on the underside of both of my forearms.
I woke up in the mornings that week truly bothered by the itching; the first thing I would do when I woke up was sit up in bed scratching vigorously at my arms and knee. Genius, right?
When we got back to camp, the nurse had already left for the week, and since I was working the weekend, I just had to deal with it until Sunday. The nurse that came in on Sunday looked at me and said, "That's poison ivy." "It is? Awesome..." She told me to go the doctor's and get a prescription for prednisone and a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember, and also recommended I get over-the-counter hydrocortisone cream. Whatever that was. I called my mom, who was already aware of the situation, and she said a doctor would be unnecessary, and that hydrocortisone cream would do the trick, which she sent up to camp with dad, who was spending the week there. Dad looked at it, said "Yep, that's a bad case of poison ivy, but we wouldn't send you to the doctor unless it was on your face or in your lungs or something." Which I felt was reasonable.
For a week after that, I slathered hydrocortisone cream all over my itchiness at least 3 times a day. It helped the itching, but the rash was still spreading, still getting worse. It was completely covering my knee, traveling up and down my legs, were on the undersides of both my knees, and spreading up my left arm. Ironically, my right arm, where it originated, had slowed spreading and pretty soon stopped, and the infection went away. It also started itching less in that area.
Sarah, my sister, who also is working at camp this year, and I, got home late that Friday night. Saturday morning, Mom looked at my poison ivy, which I'd had for over 2 weeks at this point. She called her dad, who had known of a tried-and-true over-the-counter solution called Zanfel. But he also must have suggested I go to urgent care, because that's where mom took me. Apparently 2 weeks and still spreading was not good.
But when we got there, I wasn't alone. There was a girl there with poison ivy absolutely covering her face and neck. Since I have none in those areas, I almost felt unworthy to be there, especially seeing how miserable she was... She looked at me and I looked at her and neither of us said a word. But I looked away first.
Because there had been a big windstorm/thunderstorm the night before, urgent care had no electricity, but was still up and running. I went in, they checked out my problem, asked my a few questions about it, and decided I not only needed steroid pills (Prednisone, which the camp nurse had recommended to me a week before), but also a steroid shot in my butt. Woohoo. We also got the "ridiculously expensive" Zanfel. (I put that in quotations not because it isn't true, but because I am quoting my mom and her dad.)
I have been diligently taking the horrible-tasting steroid pills, have used Zanfel in the shower twice now, and my poison ivy is finally drying up. I stopped my use of the hydrocortisone cream because after doing a bit of research, I found that the cream moisturized areas that should be drying up in order to heal, and therefore sometimes did more harm than good in the long run. I was pretty close to trying an epsom salt bath, which my friend Janina recommended, but didn't get the opportunity, and at this point probably don't need anymore anyway.
And last night, I finally slept through the night without waking up every few hours with the unquenchable urge to scratch. It was glorious.
Moral of the story: it is just as important to know what poison ivy the rash looks like as it is to know what poison ivy the plant looks like.
God bless.
Once upon a time, I started working at a Christian summer camp. This is actually my third wonderful summer working at this particular camp. We typically have two weeks of staff training before any kids arrive, and on our last day of staff training this year, our job was to clean camp so it was ready when kids and their parents arrived two days later. After a lot of the buildings were cleaned, a bunch of us were sent out to pull weeds by the front sign at the entrance, which is supposed to have nice little flowers and shrubbery around it, but was now covered with weeds and -dare I say- poison ivy.
At first we just avoided the poison ivy and focused on less threatening plants. But then someone came out bringing us "gloves" (plastic kitchen gloves) for the poison ivy, and towels for the prickly weeds that we also were unable to pull up by hand. I put on the plastic kitchen gloves and went about my work of tearing the dreaded poison ivy from its home and tossing it to the ground, trying not to touch it with any part of my body except my gloved hands. I had never had poison ivy before and didn't know if I was allergic to it, but thought it would be best to stay on the safe side and not touch it anyway, since for those sorts of things I am usually in the majority and it's been said that about 90% of the population is rather allergic to urushiol oil, which is what's in poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac. (http://poisonivy.aesir.com/view/fastfacts.html) So I figured I was probably allergic, and that the only reason I'd never gotten it was because I lacked the exposure (I have always kept a safe distance away from it, ever since I knew what it looked like.)
Needless to say, a couple "bug bites" showed up on my arm. One had a black streak on it which I thought was really weird, and I told a couple people "this is weird, I have this little black thing on my arm," but didn't do anything about it. Except scratch it, naturally. Because it itched.
Fast forward about 5 days, and I was complaining to my team coordinator and friend, KJ, that the weird thing on my arm was spreading and was starting to look infected. I was convinced that it was not poison ivy, because I didn't know that poison ivy could spread, and I didn't know what it looked like (the rash, not the plant). The part with the black streak truly did look infected, and KJ agreed. she gave me some sort of cream and some band aids. When the kids asked me the next day why I had band aids all over my arms, I told them I had infections on my arms. I also had some stuff showing up on my right knee, but it was mostly on the underside of both of my forearms.
I woke up in the mornings that week truly bothered by the itching; the first thing I would do when I woke up was sit up in bed scratching vigorously at my arms and knee. Genius, right?
When we got back to camp, the nurse had already left for the week, and since I was working the weekend, I just had to deal with it until Sunday. The nurse that came in on Sunday looked at me and said, "That's poison ivy." "It is? Awesome..." She told me to go the doctor's and get a prescription for prednisone and a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember, and also recommended I get over-the-counter hydrocortisone cream. Whatever that was. I called my mom, who was already aware of the situation, and she said a doctor would be unnecessary, and that hydrocortisone cream would do the trick, which she sent up to camp with dad, who was spending the week there. Dad looked at it, said "Yep, that's a bad case of poison ivy, but we wouldn't send you to the doctor unless it was on your face or in your lungs or something." Which I felt was reasonable.
For a week after that, I slathered hydrocortisone cream all over my itchiness at least 3 times a day. It helped the itching, but the rash was still spreading, still getting worse. It was completely covering my knee, traveling up and down my legs, were on the undersides of both my knees, and spreading up my left arm. Ironically, my right arm, where it originated, had slowed spreading and pretty soon stopped, and the infection went away. It also started itching less in that area.
Sarah, my sister, who also is working at camp this year, and I, got home late that Friday night. Saturday morning, Mom looked at my poison ivy, which I'd had for over 2 weeks at this point. She called her dad, who had known of a tried-and-true over-the-counter solution called Zanfel. But he also must have suggested I go to urgent care, because that's where mom took me. Apparently 2 weeks and still spreading was not good.
But when we got there, I wasn't alone. There was a girl there with poison ivy absolutely covering her face and neck. Since I have none in those areas, I almost felt unworthy to be there, especially seeing how miserable she was... She looked at me and I looked at her and neither of us said a word. But I looked away first.
Because there had been a big windstorm/thunderstorm the night before, urgent care had no electricity, but was still up and running. I went in, they checked out my problem, asked my a few questions about it, and decided I not only needed steroid pills (Prednisone, which the camp nurse had recommended to me a week before), but also a steroid shot in my butt. Woohoo. We also got the "ridiculously expensive" Zanfel. (I put that in quotations not because it isn't true, but because I am quoting my mom and her dad.)
I have been diligently taking the horrible-tasting steroid pills, have used Zanfel in the shower twice now, and my poison ivy is finally drying up. I stopped my use of the hydrocortisone cream because after doing a bit of research, I found that the cream moisturized areas that should be drying up in order to heal, and therefore sometimes did more harm than good in the long run. I was pretty close to trying an epsom salt bath, which my friend Janina recommended, but didn't get the opportunity, and at this point probably don't need anymore anyway.
And last night, I finally slept through the night without waking up every few hours with the unquenchable urge to scratch. It was glorious.
Moral of the story: it is just as important to know what poison ivy the rash looks like as it is to know what poison ivy the plant looks like.
God bless.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
A book review- The Hiding Place
The Hiding Place is an autobiography written in 1971. Its author, Corrie ten Boom, was born in 1892 and raised in Holland. In her lifetime, of course was the second World War, which left a profound impact on her life. As a Christian full of love, she opened her home to persecuted Jews as well as managed an underground network helping other Jews find homes and food.
Eventually her work was discovered and she was sent to prison and solitary confinement. Later she was sent to Ravensbruck, a women's concentration camp in Germany, with her sister. There they saw horror upon horror, but they brought into this dark place the light of Christ by holding a "worship service" every evening and sharing the gospel with others. Eventually Betsie died, and Corrie was released shortly after. For the rest of her life, she traveled the world speaking, and opened a home to provide healing to people deeply affected by the war.
This story is quite moving, almost life-changing. I just finished it for the second time today and would recommend it to anyone and everyone. Corrie is an excellent writer and her story is incredible.
And that's all I have to say about that.
God bless.
Eventually her work was discovered and she was sent to prison and solitary confinement. Later she was sent to Ravensbruck, a women's concentration camp in Germany, with her sister. There they saw horror upon horror, but they brought into this dark place the light of Christ by holding a "worship service" every evening and sharing the gospel with others. Eventually Betsie died, and Corrie was released shortly after. For the rest of her life, she traveled the world speaking, and opened a home to provide healing to people deeply affected by the war.
This story is quite moving, almost life-changing. I just finished it for the second time today and would recommend it to anyone and everyone. Corrie is an excellent writer and her story is incredible.
And that's all I have to say about that.
God bless.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Mom
Happy Mother's Day to all! But especially, happy Mother's Day to my mom!
She's been with me since day one, through thick and thin, and I couldn't be more grateful, nor could I have asked for a better mom. She basically rocks.
This is a fun little picture I made of her, using words that describe her. The picture I used of her to create this was, in fact, from the "Mother's Day picture" we took last year--a tradition Mom likes to do where a picture is taken of her and her children, that is, I guess, the source of her motherhood. I thought the fact that this is last year's picture made this one pretty cool.
Some of the words repeat, and some of the words might be too small to read (although if you click on the picture, you should be able to see a bigger version), so here is a list of the words used in this picture:
Mother
loving
sweet
teacher
Godly
inspiring
beautiful
Paula
wife
mom
cook
awesome
wonderful
thoughtful
caring
joyful
Christian
patient
kind
good
faithful
gentle
example
passionate
joggler
smart
creative
generous
funny
goofy
fun
hospitable
friend
grateful
committed
PTL
dedicated
smiley
prayerwarrior
musical
family
I love you, Mom! Thanks for everything!
The original photos:
God bless
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