Shop 'Til You Drop

This year has taught me a lot about personal finances. No, I don't know the in's and out's of mutual stock options, hedge funds, or rollover 401k's, but I spent a good deal of time this year budgeting and mapping out my finances. You don't have to be a financial wizard to learn ways to save and spend your money wisely.

This year has also reinforced my love of finding a great deal. I remember clipping coupons out of the Sunday newspaper on my family room floor with good intentions of helping my Mom use them at the store. Coupon clipping is just one of the ways I have learned to save money this year. No matter how small something might seem, every little thing does add up in the end. Below are some of my "best practices" in savvy shopping.

*Before you do anything, create a free e-mail account that you use only for company coupons, sweepstakes, and other offers. This prevents your inbox from overflowing with "spam" and gives you the flexibility to check your inbox as often as you'd like. I've found that a lot of restaurants will send you a coupon for a free appetizer or dessert if you simply give them your e-mail. The same is true with clothing stores. Sites like Groupon or Tippr can also be useful if they are in your area.

*Coupons, coupons, coupons. If you look online, some stores will have coupons that you can print (but can only be used in their store) straight from the website. If you know someone who gets the Sunday newspaper, ask them if they use their coupons. Look for coupons/deals in free community newspapers or fliers that are near the entrance to the grocery store. Keep a small plastic expanding folder to hold your coupons. I try to either keep it in my purse or in the car for easy access.

*Sign up for loyalty programs. For example, I get most of my groceries at Stop n' Shop. For every $100 I spend in groceries, they take 10 cents off per gallon of gas that I buy. That might not seem like much, but do the math.... 14 gallons of gas per week x 52 weeks x 10 cents = $73 savings over the course of one year. Other companies will give you coupons based on what you buy in the store.

*Watch the store ads. If you don't get them in the mail (not signing up to get a newspaper = extra savings), sign up to receive them in your special e-mail account. I would also recommend shopping for groceries on Friday night if possible (very dorky but much more effective). This allows you to have the best pick of the sale items (especially with regards to produce and meat products that are on sale) *and* avoid crowds. If I go to the grocery store (or even Target for that matter) on another day of the week, I visit at night to avoid crowds and traffic, which allows me to go as fast as humanly possible down an aisle while still managing to fill my cart with the right items.

*Use store brands whenever possible. Many generic brands are made by the same company that produces the brand name product. For example, my company's brand of tissues is made by the leading brand name company that makes tissues. However, there are some times when you should not skimp, including peanut butter (nobody else does it like Jif), chocolate chips (proven in a taste test by my Mom), and barbecue sauce (only Sweet Baby Ray's for me!). That being said, I have found a couple of generic brands that I like more than the actual brand name. For example, the Malt-O-Meal version of Frosted Mini Wheats is crunchier, has more frosting, and is an amazing price.

*Free sample sites. Sign up for a daily e-mail from a blog that focuses on freebies and coupons. My favorite one this year is Free Snatcher- she does a fantastic job of providing her audience with deals and ways to even make money in stores. Two other great sample sites include Wal-Mart and P & G Brand Sampler. Free samples might not seem like they are worth it, but it adds up. I've probably gotten enough shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel to last me two months!! Plus, who doesn't love getting something in the mail? I usually forget that I have ordered a sample, and four weeks later I have a wonderful surprise waiting for me in my mailbox.

*Plan ahead. While you don't want to purchase something just for the sake of a deal, it is wise to anticipate your needs. If you can get something at little or no cost now and have the room to store it, why wait? If you don't have the room or don't need it, you can always give it to a friend, family member, or local shelter. You might not need something right this instant, but planning ahead is damage control. Maybe this is just me, but I am more likely to spend a higher price on an item that I need right away.

*Use your own reusable bag. Many companies now give you a small discount (usually 5 cents per bag) if you bring in a bag rather than use their plastic or paper ones. (Touted as earth-friendly but really focused on cost control.) If you use 4 of your own bags every week for a year, this adds up to $10. Again, it may only be $10 but that is $10 you can spend on something else.

*Keep your receipts. I've noticed stores getting much more strict about their return policies within the past few years. If you should have a reason to return something, this will prevent you from being reimbursed what the product is worth now. If you don't have a receipt, the company gives you its current selling price, which may be majorly reduced. Also be sure to understand a store's return policy before you purchase something you're not 100% about.

True story: last weekend I went to the drugstore to pick up some items. Between store sales and coupons, I only paid $6.89 for 2 boxes of Kleenex, a stick of deodorant, 2 full size bottles of John Freida (one shampoo, one conditioner), and a giant roll of paper towels. Normally, this would have cost me over $38!!! I had the biggest grin on my face when I left the store.

Hope these tips have helped inspire you to start saving money. If you have any great websites or ideas, I'd love to hear them. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check my mailbox... I might have a sample waiting for me.

Do What You Love and Love What You Do

During the middle of last week, I decided that I should take advantage of the positive forecast for the weekend and spend some time outside. After a bit of research online, I learned about Maritime Days, a month-long series of events designed to celebrate Cape Cod's rich maritime history. I was especially intrigued by a listing that featured an opportunity to kayak the lower waterways of Nasuet Marsh in the Cape Cod National Seashore led by Dick Hilmer who runs Explore Cape Cod.

Explore the maritime past by paddling Cape Cod’s storied coastal waterways with local science teacher and longtime kayak guide, Dick Hilmer. Kayak instruction is included during these natural history tours. Paddle through sheltered creeks, into bays and marshes, and towards islands rich in cultural history. No experience is necessary. Perfect for novice or experienced paddlers. All equipment is provided including kayak, paddle, life jacket and instruction – just bring a smile and a bottle of water, and $30 per person.

I mean, anyone who says "just bring a smile" has got to be someone I'd get along with pretty easily. I didn't really know what to expect, but I e-mailed the trip coordinator and was surprised when I received a phone call shortly thereafter. As soon as I started talking to Dick on the phone, I knew that this was going to be an amazing experience. (He's one of the few people whose enthusiasm is even contagious over the phone!) (FYI--the title of this blog post is his motto.)

Thanks to my new, handy GPS, I was able to find the location fairly easily. I met Dick and his wife Linda, our kayaking guides, near Eastham, Massachusetts. When I had talked to Dick earlier in the week, it sounded like it was going to be a small group of 6 participants, but I was happy to learn that some additional people had signed up at the last minute. There was a range of age and experience, but most of the other attendees had never kayaked before. I had never been, but it was always something I've wanted to do. When I normally think of kayaking, I think of going down a raging river and wearing a helmet, struggling every foot of the way to keep upright. This was much different.

We were kayaking in Nasuet Marsh, an area that our guides knew very well (they have been doing this for some 12-15 years). Their experience was definitely an advantage- we were able to base our route and timing to go along with the tide and weather. Dick and Linda helped to get us fitted into our boats (my model was called the Avatar!), and after some dry land instruction, we entered the water to do some simple practice before heading out into the water.

Our meeting spot... I guess this would be a public access point to the marsh, but no one else was there.

A close-up of the natural grasses on the mud flats in Nasuet Marsh

A lobster boat headed out to set their traps

Another lobster boat... they travel in pairs (but I'm not exactly sure why)

Part of our kayak group, with two of the friends I made in the tandem (2-person) kayak

A part of land with sand dunes that stretches out into the Cape gave us a place to pull up our kayaks and take a break.

Dick taught us everything you could ever want to know about the area, from wildlife to changes in the tide

The Atlantic Ocean from land...

... and from the sea. I was only 30 yards or so from entering the Atlantic Ocean

After a brief break near the entrance to the Atlantic, we headed to another area of the marsh, where Dick said he had a surprise for us. I was a little confused as to why we were stopping a second time, but I was getting hot and needed to take my jacket off (I didn't dare risk taking it off while kayaking--that is asking to fall into the water). We pulled our boats onto a sandbar, and Linda showed us how to go clamming! I had never seen or done this before- I was amazed at how fast the clams dive down into the ground. You first look for holes in the sand. When you think you've found a fresh hole, you start digging like crazy! (Picture your dog digging dirt in your backyard... Izzie would be a very good clammer.) When you start making your hole, the clam somehow goes deeper into the ground, so you have to chase after them.

Linda giving us instructions on clamming

Well, there's a first time for everything... I decided to dive right in. (I can't believe someone took this picture and actually kept it!)

I caught one on my first try! Guess what I said after I caught it? "I'm as happy as a clam!" (No joke, what a nerd.)

Although these clams are edible, it wasn't safe for us to eat them. When the water temperatures are below 60 degrees, a red algae (I forget the exact name) produce a toxic chemical. This is referred to as the "Red Tide." You can harvest and eat the clams in July and August when the water is warmer. (Too bad I'll be gone by then!) Linda said her favorite way to serve them was steamed with a side of butter.

Our kayaks waiting for us while we clam

The kayak tour stands out as a highlight of my entire year out East. Thanks to Dick and Linda for an amazing experience. If you are going to be in the Cape Cod area, this has to be a must on your list.

Doing Something for Those with Nothing

Last Friday my department spent half of our day performing community service at the Rhode Island Food Bank. They have a new marketing campaign they'll be launching at the beginning of May, and they needed assistance assembling displays that will be distributed to Dunkin' Donuts and Whole Foods stores in the area. Before we began, there was a short talk by the director- did you know that a $2.99 donation can provide 10 lbs of food to a family in need? It just goes to show that a little can go a long way.

I really enjoyed interacting with my co-workers outside of the office environment- I am lucky to have such a great team. (No, I'm not just saying that- most of them don't know I have a blog or know and don't read it.) Even though I'm excited about moving home, it will be hard for me to leave my RI work family.

Here are a few pictures from our department outing...

Our group picture--the lighting was not the greatest in the warehouse where we were working. Naturally, I'm on the left side right in the streak of sunlight and can't be seen.

Deb and I taking a break for a photo op

Here are the cans that we had to stack on the displays. Jim, Amy, and I raced Bill, Kevin, and Lauren to see who could stack the cans the fastest (we're not competitive at all!). The cardboard display was made of two parts, a top and a bottom, both of which had to be socked with empty tin cans (labels out, Dan!). After assembly, the team had to place a cardboard cover over the display without disrupting the cans! You'll be happy to know that my team came out on top.

Doesn't Lorna have a great smile?

Glenda (left) and Jeanne make building boxes look easy

Don't mess with Jim!

Deb! In the office (and outside of work, I guess) I always call Debbie by her first and last name together, so it feels a little incomplete to just type her first name.

Look for more pictures to come- I'm having some difficulty loading the rest of them onto my blog.

And speaking of volunteering, I'll tell you about the clinic I've been volunteering at in Providence later this week.

It's Not You, It's Me

I was going through my magazines, cutting out my favorite pictures and articles, when I came across an article I dog-eared from the January 2010 issue of Marie Claire (I got a free subscription!).


You're Not Lazy, Just Normal

Ever wonder who those people are, streaming out of the gym at 6 a.m., all finished that early-bird Spin class and raring to tackle the day? They're mutants--at least according to a recent article in Science. A variation of the DEC2 gene--known as the insomnia gene-- allows some humans to feel refreshed and energetic after just six hours of sleep. Mice with the mutant gene spend an hour-and-a-half longer each day on the running wheel compared to their counterparts. Humans born with the gene just make the rest of us feel bad.


Even if it's not 100% accurate, it does make me feel a little better though.

Spring in Indy Part II

On April 9, I drove from Novi, MI to my parents' house to stay while I was in town for work. (It feels weird to say that it's my parents' house, not my house, but I guess it's kind of true.) It was so nice to be at home- it's not every day that you have someone else offer to make you dinner or do your laundry when you're an adult. [Note: We have this joke in my family that comes from a line in the movie Ghostbusters. When they are on the top of the building with Gozer, she asks Ray if he is a god, and he says no, to which she replies, "Then you must die!" He and the rest of his crew and almost flung off the building by lightening out of her fingers. Winston then tells him, "Ray, the next time someone asks you if you are a god, say yes!" So, long short somewhat shortened, if someone asks you something e.g. do you need money?, say yes!]

Click here to see the clip from the movie (it's towards the end)

Other great quotes from this movie that are often referenced by my family include:

-Where do these stairs go? They go up!

-Does this pole still work?

-We can stay there tonight! You know, try it out!

-I collect spores, molds, and fungus.

-Ray has gone bye-bye, Egon... what've you got left?

-Whoa! Nice shootin', Tex!

We had gorgeous weather, which allowed for my Mom and I to take Izzie on lots of walks. It was the perfect time of year for spotting wildflowers- we saw purple, white, and yellow violets! I can't remember the last time I saw white violets, and I don't ever recall having seen yellow violets, except in pictures. Izzie is so funny- whenever I'm home and I put on my tennis shoes, she thinks I am going to take her for a walk! My Dad takes her for a walk every Saturday and Sunday morning in Cool Creek Park, a small park near our house that has trails through a wooded area. I love that spoiled dog.

I taught four classes the following week with Susan, a pharmacist from Ohio. She has been giving immunizations for 5 years now, so her field experience was very valuable and added a great deal to our presentation. Since she had more practical knowledge, we split up the day, and I took the clinical section, which is basically the first few hours or so. I talk about all of the infectious, vaccine-preventable diseases that the pharmacists already reviewed in their self-study prior to coming to class. It's a miracle I haven't had anyone fall asleep on me. I try to keep things interactive, and by that, I mean I pass around a sign-up sheet (pretending like I need it) that I then use to call on the pharmacists to read questions (I'm so sneaky!).

Monday's class was in Bloomington, home of Indiana University. I haven't really spent any time in Bloomington, except for the grad orientation meeting several years ago at Lake Monroe. Nick went to school at IU (absolutely loved it) and often raves about how wonderful Bloomington is. I'm looking forward to getting a personal tour someday. We had class on Tuesday and Wednesday at a company office in Indianapolis, which is where I saw many people that I previously worked with while I was in Indy.

Wednesday night I ate dinner with my pharmacy supervisor, Amy, at P.F. Chang's. I worked for her as an intern for five years before graduating from pharmacy school and will be working in her district when I move back to Indy this July. We spent a lot of time catching up, then talking details about my transition from RI to IN. I found out that I am going to be a pharmacy manager when I move back! I couldn't be more excited about having a home pharmacy, developing a team, and getting to know my patients, one thing I've definitely missed this year. (I only work in the pharmacy one day per week, so it's hard to become really close to any of the customers unless they come in every Thursday or Friday between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m.) Amy is a wonderful mentor, and I feel so lucky to be able to move back to her district. Indy is full of what I call "my people"--after working in the same area for a while, I've been able to get to know other professionals and develop a support network. (I also have also developed a support network in RI, all of whom I will miss dearly.)

On Wednesday night, I drove to South Bend in preparation for a class early Thursday morning. I'm glad that I chose to drive up the night before. If I didn't, I would have had to get up before 5 a.m.! Let's face it, I'm much more of a night owl than an early bird (although that is slowly changing- I've gone down from 4 alarms to only 3! I'm sure my neighbors hate me, but let them. If I told you what it was like living next to my new neighbors, let's just say that you wouldn't feel so sorry for them.).

I had a blast working with Susie- I was sad to see her go back to Ohio! Susie is high-energy, flexible, and always up for an adventure, all the things you want in a traveling work partner. Even though we were busy, we did have time to talk a lot about work, family, pharmacy, etc. She has a condo on Sanibel Island and if I ever have the chance, I'm going down there to visit. (Nick's parents and grandparents also have condos on Sanibel- sounds like the place to be!)

Other exciting news- I finally signed the lease for my new apartment! It is the first apartment I posted pictures of on my blog- click here to see them (it's the first apartment). My Mom and I went downtown on Friday afternoon so that I could sign the lease and show her the apartment. (She took a few hours of vacation to spend some time with me, isn't that nice?) She really liked the apartment- although not necessary, it's never a bad thing to have a Mom's seal of approval. After the apartment, we did a bit of shopping at Circle Center before driving back to Carmel.

Friday night, our family friends, Jim and Linda, were in town, and the entire family went out to dinner with them at Barcelona Tapas. I first discovered this restaurant through my brother, and I haven't been able to get enough of it since! I recommended it to Susie while she was in town, and she raved about it the whole next day. My favorite is their baked goat cheese with marinara sauce and warm garlic bread.

On Saturday, I met Nick's family for lunch at Clay Terrace. Andrew, his nephew, was given the release to be in public (he was born prematurely and had precautions about being in public due to the potential for catching RSV, which can be very serious for babies with underdeveloped lungs), so it was nice to see him out and about. After lunch, I headed down to Lisa's house in Speedway. There are very few places where I feel just as "at home" as I do at my own home, and Lisa's house and her parents' house (two different places) are definitely on the list. It's hard to believe I've been going there since the fall of 2003! (We met our freshman year in college at Purdue.)

Saturday afternoon Lisa took me to the Twist 'n Pup, a new local (you guessed it) hot dog and ice cream place. They have lots more than just those two items, but since those are their namesake, Lisa and I both tried hot dogs and butterscotch-dipped vanilla cones (amazing!!). Later that day, Junie came over, and we traded stories. Since I had been raving about Barcelona Tapas and neither of them had been there, the three of us went there for dinner with Lisa's brother, Sam. (Just as good the second night! My new favorite: the caramel and supposedly strawberry churros!).

Sunday morning was spent going to church with Lisa, followed by quick visits with her dad and mom. I had an early afternoon flight, so I went back to the airport after lunch. It was definitely a busy trip, but I was energized by the idea of moving back home in less than 3 months.

I didn't do a very good job taking pictures (Sorry Julie, Lisa, and June!), but here are a few I took around by parents' house.

These daffodils are lilacs are from my parents' backyard. I wish I could arrange flowers half as well as my Mom can.

I loved the crab apple blossoms in the spring. It looks like snow when the petals are blown down by the wind.

I was trying to take pictures of Izzie- I think she must have heard something when I was taking this picture. After this she got distracted and decided that she'd rather lick my camera than have her picture taken.

Izzie sleeping on her designated part of the couch.

Mr. Rocky! I can hardly believe he will be 19 years old this October. I've got lots to say about him, but I'll save that for another blog post.

It was great to be at home for a week! A little pampering, plus time with family and friends goes a long way. If I didn't get to see you when I was home, I'm sorry! Not much longer, and you won't be able to get rid of me!

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Did you remember to wear green today? I can't believe I subconsiously wore a green sweater (I'm usually still half asleep when I'm getting ready for work!)- why can't I train my internal alarm clock the same way I remember holidays?

When I called Nick today, he gave me a pop quiz on the history of St. Patrick. Don't worry, I failed miserably, too. Here is the "This Day In History" for March 17, 2010 from the History Channel:

"On this day in 461 A.D., Saint Patrick, Christian missionary, bishop and apostle of Ireland, dies at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland.

Much of what is known about Patrick's legendary life comes from the Confessio, a book he wrote during his last years. Born in Great Britain, probably in Scotland, to a well-to-do Christian family of Roman citizenship, Patrick was captured and enslaved at age 16 by Irish marauders. For the next six years, he worked as a herder in Ireland, turning to a deepening religious faith for comfort. Following the counsel of a voice he heard in a dream one night, he escaped and found passage on a ship to Britain, where he was eventually reunited with his family.
According to the Confessio, in Britain Patrick had another dream, in which an individual named Victoricus gave him a letter, entitled "The Voice of the Irish." As he read it, Patrick seemed to hear the voices of Irishmen pleading him to return to their country and walk among them once more. After studying for the priesthood, Patrick was ordained a bishop. He arrived in Ireland in 433 and began preaching the Gospel, converting many thousands of Irish and building churches around the country. After 40 years of living in poverty, teaching, traveling and working tirelessly, Patrick died on March 17, 461 in Saul, where he had built his first church.

Since that time, countless legends have grown up around Patrick. Made the patron saint of Ireland, he is said to have baptized hundreds of people on a single day, and to have used a three-leaf clover--the famous shamrock--to describe the Holy Trinity. In art, he is often portrayed trampling on snakes, in accordance with the belief that he drove those reptiles out of Ireland. For thousands of years, the Irish have observed the day of Saint Patrick's death as a religious holiday, attending church in the morning and celebrating with food and drink in the afternoon. The first St. Patrick's Day parade, though, took place not in Ireland, but the United States, when Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through New York City in 1762. As the years went on, the parades became a show of unity and strength for persecuted Irish-American immigrants, and then a popular celebration of Irish-American heritage. The party went global in 1995, when the Irish government began a large-scale campaign to market St. Patrick's Day as a way of driving tourism and showcasing Ireland's many charms to the rest of the world. Today, March 17 is a day of international celebration, as millions of people around the globe put on their best green clothing to drink beer, watch parades and toast the luck of the Irish. "

Here are a few of my favorite Irish things...

My surname is Irish. Click here to read the history behind it.

Who doesn't love Lucky Charms? I was only allowed to eat cereal like this on special occassions, and when I did, I would save all of the marshmallows for last.

My high school's mascot was a shamrock (I know, really tough, huh?).

Dublin was the last stop on Nick's and my trip to Europe- Here is a picture of the Temple Bar Area in Dublin at sunset.


If you can get past all of the swearing, it's a great movie. *Love* that it takes place in Boston!

And last but not least, one of my favorite quotes...

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,and rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Happy Birthday, Izzie!

"I hope to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am."

-unknown

For those of you that know Izzie, you'll be surprised to know that she is turning nine years old today! (Unless you really paid close attention to the lighter spots around her eyes, you'd have no idea... she still acts like a toddler!) I still remember going to the breeder's house when we first picked her out... she was such a cute little puppy and a character from the very beginning. She had a propensity for licking, sitting on your lap, and sucking on her blanket. Nine years later, nothing has changed! I have lots of great memories from our adventures together, but I'll just share a couple.

As I was leaving the house early one morning, I realized that I had forgotten something for my rotation in my bedroom upstairs. I pulled back into the driveway, opened the garage door, and ran inside. Izzie has a few favorite spots in the house- one of which is in the corner of the kitchen by the table. When I got into the kitchen, I was surprised that I didn't see her. As I rounded the corner from the dining room into the living room, I saw Izzie with her front paws on our blue sofa (one of the few places she is *not* supposed to sit). She turned her head towards me and looked like she had been caught red-handed! She slowly took her paws off of the couch and ran over to me, wagging her tail, as if to beg for forgiveness.

Some of my other favorite memories are from waking up in the morning to a giant golden retriever sitting on top of me! Izzie loves to jump up on the bed (she has no sense of personal space- she always has to be touching you if she is near you) and wake anyone up with a big kiss on the cheek. (I've even taught her what "give them kisses!" means!) She would sometimes wait outside my door until my mom would let her in to visit me.

Other favorite memories (in no particular order)

• Playing hide-and-go seek in the park with Izzie and my Dad
• Izzie jumping through the stream of water from the hose as I tried to water the plants in the backyard
• Her pet rock- this is the only thing Izzie will bark at! She'll pick it up, drop it on the ground, and start to attack it!
• Running errands (especially going to get take-out) with Izzie in the car
• Izzie's blankets... she sucks on the blanket like a toddler sucks on their thumb
• Catching Izzie after she dug up a small bush from the backyard
• Raking leaves into a pile for her to play in- she loves the fall
• Having someone to snuggle with when I was sad, cold, or sleepy

I wish I had more pictures from when she was a puppy, but I have yet to take them from home and scan them onto my (relatively) new computer. Here are some of my favorites I had on file...

Isn't this a sweet picture of her as a puppy?

I got a Mr. Mucus stuffed doll from a drug rep for Izzie to play with (she loves stuffed toys, especially ones with squeakers that sound like real animals)- I don't think it lasted more than 3 minutes

Ryan and I with Izzie in front of the Christmas tree

Izzie and I outside in our backyard

Izzie is one of two family members that has a designated spot in the family room. My Dad has a brown leather chair, and Izzie always sits in the corner of the green leather couch. If you are in her seat, you'll know it- she will sit right on top of you.

She looks so sad!

Izzie had a special visitor a couple of years ago for New Year's Eve. Kyle and Chelsea brought their dog Jackson (on the left with me) to visit Izzie (on the right with Chelsea) for the night! They had so much fun playing together!

Seems like Izzie has a lot of photo ops in front of the Christmas trees...

Some things never change...

Hope you have a golden birthday! Love you, Izzle!

Let Your Heart Be Your Guide

I got back late Wednesday night from my trip to Las Vegas for the ASHP Midyear Conference- what a whirlwind! I want to do my trip to Las Vegas justice, so I'm choosing to write a detailed post about it tomorrow rather than throw something together tonight. However, I wanted to share a short story with you that I ran across in one of my older journals.

----

Beautiful Day, Isn't It?
Barbara Johnson

The day started out rotten. She overslept and was late for work. Everything that happened at the office contributed to her nervous frenzy. By the time she reached the bus stop for her trip home, her stomach was one big knot.

As usual, the bus was late--and jammed. She had to stand in the aisle, and the lurching vehicle pulled her in all directions.

Then she heard a voice form up front boom, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Because of the crowd, she could not see the man, but she heard him as he continued to comment on the spring scenery, calling attention to each approaching landmark. This church, that park. This cemetery, that firehouse. Soon all the passengers were gazing out the windows.d The man's enthusiasms was so contagious that she found herself smiling for the first time that day.

They reached her stop. Maneuvering toward the door, she got a look at their "guide:" an older gentleman with a beard, wearing dark glasses and carrying a thin, white cane.

-----

This story always makes me tear up (shocking, I know)... I have such a clear picture of their "guide." It reminds me of the people I've met who have may have fewer possessions but have so much more in spirit than I ever will know. The first person that comes to mind is Regina, an elderly women in Montgomery, Alabama whose house I worked on during a summer mission trip. Even though her surroundings were falling apart (literally), she was full of gratitude, kindness, and love. I don't remember giving her my address, but the following September, she sent me a birthday card filled with her blessings and prayers. I haven't received anything from Regina since then (it was 1999), but the letter she sent me remains a very treasured keepsake and reminder of the "guides" in my own life.

Can't Help Falling in Love

I hope everyone had a great weekend. I was lucky enough to have today off in celebration of Columbus Day (we celebrate everything at corporate), and I went home to Indy for a three-day weekend. I thought I would try to fly out of Boston to save time, since there are no direct flights to Indianapolis from Providence. This might have worked in theory, but on Friday, my flight was delayed for 3 hours- I didn't get into Indy until almost 2:00 AM!

Today's flight was a little smoother (only 30 minutes delayed, and it helps that I'm beginning to get more familiar with the airport. I took a train in from Providence to save money on parking, but by the time I bought two train tickets (the first train broke down on the tracks, so I had to buy a different ticket, which was twice as much as the first one), a bus pass, and parking in Providence, I'm not sure it was worth all of the hassle and the $10 I might have saved.

After I got off the plane, I had to take the Silver Line bus to get to South Station. I had turned on my phone and noticed I had a new e-mail from Nick. Nick reads the news multiple times a day, so he sends me a link every once in a while to a story he thinks I'll like. Due to my curiosity, I couldn't wait to read what the article was about, so I opened the link and began reading it on my Blackberry. Before I knew it, I was crying in the middle of a crowded bus in Boston (shocker). I would have felt sorry for the guy sitting next to me, but I think he would have cried, too, if he had heard this story. If you read it, you'll see what I mean.

For your convenience, I'll post the story below, but here's the actual link if you're interested:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/3313452/The-man-who-keeps-falling-in-love-with-his-wife.html


The Man Who Keeps Falling in Love With His Wife

Clive had no idea that Tuesday, March 26, 1985 would be his last day of conscious thought. We weren't ready. Did he feel his brain disappearing that night? Why didn't he wake me? By morning he could not answer a simple question or remember my name. The doctor said it was flu and a lack of sleep that was causing the confusion. He tucked him up with a temperature of 104 and a bottle of sleeping pills.

"No need to stay home," he said to me. "These'll knock him out for eight hours. Go to work."

I went to work. When I came home that night the bed was empty. His pajamas lay crumpled in the middle of the bare sheet. I screamed his name. Running the length of the flat, I already knew something bad had happened.

"I'm never ill," Clive used to say. And he never was. Then all of a sudden he was. But instead of a normal illness, this one is rare, sneaky. Nobody knew what was wrong with him: not the taxi-driver who found him wandering the streets that night, nor the policeman who traced his address from his credit card and called me.

When we finally got him to St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, the doctors thought he was a goner. Only they didn't put it like that. They told me what they thought he might have, and said it had a high mortality rate. I didn't know if that meant probably live or probably die, and I didn't like to ask.

The diagnosis came 11 hours after our arrival at St Mary's. A virus had caused holes in Clive's brain; his memories had fallen out. The doctors said it was encephalitis, from herpes simplex, the cold-sore virus. The virus, they explained, lies dormant in most of the population. Once in a blue moon it slips its moorings, and instead of going to the mouth it goes to the brain. The brain swells up, and, before long, brain crushes against bone.
The virus does its damage before anyone knows it is there. Affected areas include temporal lobes, occipito-parietal and frontal lobes... thalamus, hypothalamus, amygdala; it just keeps on storming through. The part it wipes out completely is the hippocampus, Greek for seahorse. These structures are what we use for recall and remembering, and laying down new thoughts.

By the time they had figured out what was wrong with Clive and started pumping anti-viral drugs into him, all he had left where his memory used to be were seahorse-shaped scars. He could not remember a single thing that had ever happened to him, but he remembered me and knew that he loved me.

August, 1985: "How long have I been ill?''

"Four months."

"Four months? Is that F-O-R or F-O-U-R (ha ha!)?"

"F-O-U-R."

"Well, I've been unconscious the whole time! What do you think it's like to be unconscious for... how long?''
"Four months."

"Four months! For months? Is that F-O-R or F-O-U-R?"

"F-O-U-R."

"I haven't heard anything, seen anything, smelled anything, felt anything, touched anything. How long?"

"Four months."

"... four months! It's like being dead. I haven't been conscious the whole time. How long's it been?"

After two weeks, I decided it was legitimate to start saying, "Nearly five months," to skip the joke. It was all I could do to manage the dialogue itself, but finding the patience to react each time as if for the first time - so that he wouldn't feel that I was ignoring him - was sometimes beyond me.

Clive was constantly surrounded by strangers in a strange place, with no knowledge of where he was or what had happened to him. To catch sight of me was always a massive relief - to know that he was not alone, that I still cared, that I loved him, that I was there. Every time he saw me, he would run to me, fall on me, sobbing, clinging. It was a fierce reunion.

"I thought I was dead," he would say, "if I had any thoughts at all."

If I left Clive's side, the impact of my reappearance after a trip to the bathroom, a word with a nurse, was no less than at my first appearance that day. Clive was living in an abyss, and then out of nowhere, without any warning, I, his wife, would appear over the rim, right there in the room with him.

Sometimes his right arm shot up in the air and he would sing a high note, a little cadenza, he would lift me up and swing me round and laugh, then stop and hold me and look at me, study my face, grinning, searching to see if I had cottoned on to the fact that he was awake now, alive, truly seeing me.

"I can see you!" he'd announce triumphantly. "I'm seeing everything properly now!" It was hard to look excited and delighted for the umpteenth time on one visit, but being besotted with him helped. I was always delighted to see his face, to hold him and kiss him. Before he'd been ill, we would greet each other whenever we found ourselves in the same room together.

When we met at the end of the day or in the street or at rehearsal (Clive was a conductor and BBC music producer when the illness struck), we always hurried to reach each other, passionate and full of affection. So, although it was painful when Clive was so distressed, hugging him for some minutes after a visit to, say, the bathroom, was in keeping with our relationship.

In spite of Clive's amnesia, inside he retained his fundamental intelligence: the same intelligence that had propelled him throughout his career. He was often lucid and, apart from occasional episodes when he was full of rage, he was himself. That was what made his condition all the more horrific.

Clive no longer had any episodic memory, that is, memory for events. Clive did not have the brain parts necessary to recall anything that had happened to him in the whole of his life. But, as is the case with amnesia, he could remember general things. For example, Clive knew that he was married, although he was unable to recall our wedding - a civil ceremony in Camden Town Hall in September, 1983.

He could not have described my appearance, although he knew me as soon as he saw me. He knew he was a musician and conductor, but could not recall any concert. He knew his children by his first marriage - two sons and a daughter, all grown up - but expected them to be much smaller and wasn't sure how many he had. He was surprised to see that The Times no longer had personal columns on its front page, and thought it would cost fourpence, a pre-decimalisation price.

He knew his own name and the names of his siblings and childhood family. He knew facts about his childhood life: where he grew up, where he was evacuated to in the war. He knew that he went to Clare College Cambridge, on a choral scholarship, opting against King's because "everybody wanted to go there".

After that, his sense of his own autobiography got a bit hazy. It was just as well we'd been together six-and-a-half years, or he might not have been able to remember me.

We were looking around for treatment, a brain-injury rehabilitation programme that would take him on. But could rehabilitation stick when nothing else had? Clive could not remember the sentence before the one he was in. Conversation, watching television or reading were beyond him.

I learned that amnesic people have some residual learning capacity that is implicit; they can learn through a kind of conditioning process. A person can learn to respond to certain stimuli even if they think it is their first experience of the stimulus. For example, since the staff always gave Clive a small plastic beaker of water with his medication, he would expect it, raise the beaker and say every time, "Is this champagne, or real pain?"

Amnesic people can also recall by using "priming": that is, if they hear one thing or phrase associated with another, hearing the first prompts a statement of the second. So, if I said, "St Mary's," Clive could say, "Paddington," though he had no idea what it meant.

When Clive made the first entries in his diary it was at my prompting. But on Sunday, July 7, 1985 he made his first spontaneous entry: "Today: 1st CONSCIOUSNESS... Conscious for the FIRST TIME."

This probably marks the first time Clive was able to articulate to himself the strange phenomenon of immediate and blanket forgetting that he had experienced since he was brought into hospital.
Clive made entries in the diary every two or three minutes. People have sometimes interpreted that to imply a new awakening at two- or three-minute intervals. In fact the lapse between each entry signified only the time it took for the process of recording. It involved deciding to write down the fact of his awakening, pulling a pen from his pocket and writing; then a read-through of previous entries, scoring these out because he was sure he had been unconscious when he wrote them.

When he came to the last entry he checked his watch and saw that it was incorrect, so he amended it, reinforcing the last and only true entry by underlining it. Finally Clive would replace the top on his pen, put it back in his pocket and look around to get his bearings in the room. That process might take the few minutes between entries. His span of "consciousness" is actually a great deal shorter.

Every diary entry gives an eyewitness account of a life with no memory: "5.10am Conscusch FINALLY AWAKE AT - AM [a hotchpotch of successive times all scribbled out later] exactly. Newspaper arrived at 8.40am Medicines arrived at 8.45am AND I AWOKE properly AT 8.47am. And completely at 8.49am And became aware of the problems of understanding me."

I was reading medical books, but the cases I read about bore little resemblance to Clive's. For one thing, he started to talk backwards. It had the qualities of compulsion, as if it were his language of choice. He spoke backwards more quickly than anyone could decipher what he was saying. He thoroughly enjoyed this, and gave the staff a run for their money, giggling when they couldn't make him out. He didn't seem to be able to recall my name, but recognised it when he saw it.

"harobeD!" he said. "O harobeD, I evol ouy!"

The fact that Clive could spell and speak back-to-front with such facility and wit showed there was some real intelligence alive in there. His brain might be dark, and yet he was a crack backwards-speaker.

I was soon to discover that more of Clive's brain was intact. There were not many places to go off the ward with Clive but the hospital chapel was one of them, a familiar environment to Clive, who had spent his whole life singing, playing the organ or conducting in similar rooms.

I picked up some music and held it open for Clive to see. I started to sing one of the lines. He picked up the tenor line and sang with me. A bar or so in, I suddenly realised what was happening. He could still read music. He was singing. His talk might be a jumble no one could understand, but his brain was still capable of music.

This opened a door for Clive. He could sit down at the chapel organ and play with both hands on the keyboard, changing stops, and with his feet on the pedals, as if this were easier than riding a bicycle. Singing was in many ways easier than talking. It transcended language.

And the momentum of the music carried Clive from bar to bar. He knew exactly where he was because in every phrase there is context implied: by rhythm, key, melody. When the music stopped, Clive fell through to the lost place. But for those moments he was playing he seemed normal again.

I had long worried about Clive's future care. He continued to live in the same room in the psychiatric wing of St Mary's, but it was not ideal. Then, in 1992, a new residential unit for people with acquired brain injury opened that was just right for Clive: a beautiful house in the countryside in the grounds of a large rehab center.

With Clive settled, I could begin to plan my own extrication from the brain-injury world. I thought leaving England would perhaps be a way of leaving all the pain. I'd been 27 when Clive got ill. I was now turning 35. I initiated divorce. I took a plane to Washington DC and sold the London flat. I planned to stay away forever, make a new life. It didn't work out quite that way.

Clive never knew we were divorced because he was incapable of knowing anything. His family and his consultant agreed it would only upset him at the time, and he would remember none of it afterwards anyway. Legally he could not give informed consent, so his son acted for him.

Everyone understood that the divorce was partly one of expedience, since I would not be in the UK to look out for Clive; and partly an action to help me move on to a life beyond Clive. But I would remain joint next of kin with his son, because I wanted to continue to be involved in taking decisions about Clive, to continue to be his advocate. His family supported me in that.

I continued to visit him. Nine years into the amnesia, there was some difference in our reunions. For the first few years Clive had always found them intensely emotional, bringing on either grief, high-note joy or furious anger. Now, when I came back from America, it was my turn to feel intensely emotional. I was longing to see him.
When I put my head round his door, his face registered a rush of delight and surprise as if he were about to dash to me as usual and lift me up and swing me round, but then he checked himself. He stood where he was, diffident. He knew enough about himself to realise that although it might seem like months or years of absence to him, I might only have been to the bathroom.

He seemed to be learning, through a kind of interior rehabilitation. He was developing a growing sense that he had asked and heard these questions and answers of awakening before. Though his stump of memory never allowed progression from first moment to sustained time, he understood enough of his situation to help him relate to others without constantly shouting to be let out of his amnesia. As I observed these subtle changes since my absence, I could not suppress a flash of hope. What else might he accomplish?

For the longest time little changed. Clive and I were each in a limbo of our own. But one night in 1999 I discovered, during a phone call to a friend, that God is real and who He is. Suddenly I knew what was important. I was beginning to know how to live, and discovered the power of prayer.

Meanwhile Clive, from being withdrawn and morose in his room, became garrulous and outgoing. There were certain themes he stuck to, and some of what he said was rather odd, but he had come a long way from the years of the endless same few questions.

Now he would string all his subjects together in a row, and the other person simply needed to nod or mumble agreement. On days when he was in particularly good spirits, he might run through all his topics at once. Then I knew he was happy. If he was unhappy he would revert to the desperate old questions - "What's it like to have one long night lasting ...how long?"

Now that it had been 14 years, nobody liked to tell him how long. "It's like being dead!" The staff had come to call these his "deads", and they would count them and enter them in their records as a measure of how he was doing.
Clive was, granted, still perhaps the worst case of amnesia in the world, but there was no doubt he was learning new things and the difference it made to his quality of life to be able to converse more easily was significant.
One day I rang Clive and asked him how he'd feel about renewing our marriage vows. "What a lovely idea," he said.
And so, on Easter Sunday 2002, Clive and I dressed up to the nines. Clive's son Anthony came with his wife and two children, and so did Clive's care assistant, Laura. We had not made our marriage vows in church first time round so this would be much more powerful.

Clive was able to participate completely, remembering the Lord's Prayer and saying all that he wanted to say. The best bit was when we knelt down and our joined hands were wrapped in a golden sash. It went beyond a physical joining. It felt like we were touching something of eternity. Afterwards the tea room served us large slices of Victoria sponge and Clive, although he had no memory of what had taken place, was delighted, laughing and quipping and eating everything put in front of him.

Back at Clive's home, they had made up a bed for me in his room, strewn with red rose petals and balloons, like a fairy tale. The decorations made me sad. It's still sad - that he's like he is and that, apart from the heart-to-heart love, we have nothing resembling a regular marriage.

Even spending the night together in the same room doesn't work, as he wakes up constantly, several times an hour, wondering who the shape in the next bed can be.

Clive still writes his diary. The entries have barely changed, but the handwriting is calmer now. And his disposition is a lot happier. He knows he is in his place and I am out in the world.

"When are you coming?" is his regular refrain. But if I hesitate at all he reassures me that he is all right and he understands I have to do what I have to do.

"Get here at dawn," he says anyway. "Get here at the speed of light."

And one day I do arrive at dawn. I drive through the near-empty roads, hoping to be there when he wakes. But when they open the front door, he is there, already awake, and I am the first person he has seen and he clasps me to him and sings a high G and waltzes me into the living-room.

"My eyes have just come on," he says. "I can see everything normally for the first time."

"And I'm here!" I say.

He hugs me again, holds me at arm's length and smiles.

Later, when he makes me coffee, he knows where the cups are and where the milk is kept. I take him for a drive, and as we draw near to the house on the way back, he must recognise the place, for he unclasps his seat belt and offers to get out and open the gate.

When I leave that night my car doesn't start and I have to come in and call the breakdown service. We make a drink in the kitchen. Seven minutes after the last mention of my car Clive says, "Well, at least it means you can stay a bit longer!" Perhaps he had been rehearsing the event in his mind through those minutes. When the garage has repaired the fault and the engine is running, I come back in to get my things. Clive is ready to say goodbye and not hello.

"Remember I love you," I say.

"I can never forget you for a moment," he says. "We're not two people but one. You're the raison d'être for my heartbeat, darling. I love you for e-ter-ni-ty."

When I reach home several hours later I call him. I want to tell him I've arrived safely but he's forgotten I was there.

"When are you coming?" he says. "Please come at the speed of light!"

"I just got home from you," I say.

"Oh really? Well, come at dawn then..."

-By Deborah Wearing, 2005