Taft Tunnel

This is the Taft tunnel, nearly 2 miles connecting light to light.  

When we enter, Light comes with us. Following us, 

it is next  to us  and around us.  Then traveling into rock 

Light decides to stop without warning and leaves no hint 

that it was ever really with us.  Mid-tunnel, asleep in the 

black, a sign whispers that we crossed a border.  The ebony 

tunnels’ trails are seamless but Montana black is the same as 

Idaho black. It is dark, the black dark when eyes squeeze tight, 

shut and one lid pushes hard on the its pair.  This dark is 

unrecognizable but we must find its finish; ride up-right true, 

focusing the fragile searching beam shining from handles held 

tight, but unsteady.  The ray  settles on the reflective patch in 

front of me safe on your back, but the weak beam is skittish

and bounces quickly off and is lost inside dark, catching  

nothing solid.  Black takes over and I am lost again but then 

my glow finds that safe place on your back and each time it 

does, it stays steady longer and I am good in knowing you

are there to help get me out of the dark, back to light, and 

we’ll be safe.  It presents, far away, as the slightest pinprick 

of daytime. Insignificant but still magnificent against the 

endless black sheets that swallow. But as we travel on it grows 

and expands and moves. Our target shows easy, to know and 

maintain and we meet light as unknown knots relax  and untie 

themselves as  our old companion engulfs us with the sweet 

safeness we remember.

Lexie Wyman

"Good" Arm Gone Bad

     The bicep not affected by my head injury has been sore for over six months so I finally went to my doctor. I've had many surgeries but the two important here were for a herniated disk and torn rotator cuff. I thought my new problem dealt with my shoulder even though my symptoms mirrored the those of my herniated disc.  But I like my orthopedic surgeon better than my spine doctor so I went to him first.

Dr. E had operated on my shoulder so when he told me my pain was not coming from the rotator cuff I believed him.  One must trust individuals who have had their digits inside you.  He sent me to my spine person, his hands had been under the skin on my neck, fiddling with my parts, also. He send me to a guy who tested my nerves with tiny electrical shocks to identify which one was pinched.  After that I went to the hospital for a nerve block. It was a quick procedure and almost painless but it did no good.  The dull aching sensation in my bicep remained and when I saw Doc Spine he told me I needed to go back to my orthopedic man.

By now I was pretty tired of the run around and said, half jokingly, that one of them better fix it because it still hurt.  I could tell he was taken aback by my mini show of emotion because he seems to have none.  I call him Mr. Personal.  He does not care unless there is a chance he can perform surgery so when he realizes he can't, he is done with you.  I've been told he does care and because he is a fine surgeon I hold that comment close.

So I'm sitting on the toilet (number 2) the morning of my final appointment and I turn, using the sore arm, to wipe.  Yes, that's not pleasant but is an important part of the story.  My arm began to tighten but I had lived with the pain for what seemed like a lifetime so my arm continued its route.  Then I felt a pop, or a pull, or a strain and was unable to finish my job.  The pain was pretty intense but I wasn't too worried because I was seeing Dr. E in a couple hours.

By the time my appointment rolled around I had some slight bruising on the inside of my elbow but I attributed that to a recent bike fall.  I waited, in the examining room with my shoe off.  My barefoot would remind me to question him about a hammer toe.  He had previously fixed it but the toe had pulled back to its original presurgery position.  It was not why I was there but I was going to get as much information as a could without another appointment.   He looked and blamed it on my whacked brain.  It was 'tone' and my brain was doing it.  OK, let's move on.

I told him the nerve block did not work and the arm still hurt. I let him know I wasn't sure he could even check it because of the muscle strain or pull from that morning.  He examined me briefly, twisted and fondled my arm, sat down casually, legs crossed and arms behind his head and told me I had severed a bicep tendon.  And then with a big smile, said I had taken care of my arm issue, myself!  He said my pain had probably been chronic tendinitis and that surgeons go in and sever it, for relief. Therefore, it ought to be good in about three weeks, he said with a smile.  He said to come back in then but I made no appointment.  I already have less pain so maybe I did fix myself!

Facebook and Why I think the Way I Do

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Facebook (FB) has become my primary source of entertainment and I don't know how to categorize this fondness. Is it good or bad? Right or wrong? People who don't FB don't understand it and to tell you the truth I don't either. I worry about revealing my love of FB though. Wouldn't it be equated with the comment, "I love TV and watch it all the time!"? Maybe I shouldn't have to justify it but it still seems like a guilty pleasure. Sometimes I comment, usually on others' comments and sometimes I type one out and then erase it. I guess I think if I type it out, I've gotten it off my chest and I can let it go.  The erasures are the thoughts, made on the spur of the moment, with little or no processing. I "try" hard not to comment and sometimes my kids act as my overseers. They let me know when to tone it down and use my 'inside voice' but there are times, when I can't help myself.  I lay that issue in the lap of My TBI.   My head injury can be used as an excuse for lots of the things I do so why not throw that in?

My history with FB goes like this. I joined 9 or 10 years ago when I lived in Boise. Then, after my divorce, whenever I visited Montana, I met up with an old high school friend. He and I talked about this Facebook thing and decided to do it even though neither of us understood why we would want to. After joining we quickly forgot about it but, little by little it hooked me. The only way I can explain this trend is that, to me anyway, it is like a magazine with very short articles about my friends and family. At least that's how it started for me. That, and I could play a new kind of solitaire, and save a few jungle animals which, I figured, might help my damaged brain (severe TBI in 1991.)

I excused my new obsession by saying, "I get to see pictures or my kids and keep up with their lives on FB."  That part was easy because my grown children live a state away.  But then I retired, and my spare time seemed limitless so I found myself spending more and more time on my laptop.  Finally, after Tump became our president, I became seriously addicted to the crazy story that someday will be history.

"Facebook shouldn't be your only source of news Mom," Son-Harrison told me," eye roll included. But I have never been political so I didn't know what I knew.  I taught U.S. History to 5th graders so I know the basics but more was needed so I went the extra mile to educate myself about the current actors and key issues facing our country.  To that information I added what I found when I dug through the files in my brain.  Then I wrangled all that with my beliefs and put them into words.

I setup my FB feed to include both mainstream media and news from the right and far right and then I simply read, a lot.  Because I found out FAKE news is really a thing, I always check my sources' reliability.

Because of my head injury I can be fairly random and I am not timid about voicing my opinion, at least about our current president, so my FB friends know what I think.  You won't change anybody's mind on FB, daughter-Rachel said, and I am not even going to try. Instead, I want to explain how my world view came into being.

I grew up in the red state of Montana and don't remember seeing prejudice although I am sure it was there. The stools in my dad's bar were filled with all types of people and Dad treated everybody like a good friend. Then, I went to the University of Oregon and unlike Kalispell, it was very diverse. There were all sorts of different looking people in Eugene; ethnically and otherwise.  It was not uncommon to see a bare boobed nursing mother with dreadlocks, feeding her naked toddler at the local bagel shop and I competed against many African Americans, who to me were just athletes.  I never saw an angry, mad or mean hippy, though, and I never felt uncomfortable or unsafe anywhere.  I stand with all races, faiths, sexual orientations, rich or poor.

Then I lived in Lynden, Washington.  It was once the "Berry Capital" of the world!  All those berries as well as other crops needed to be picked but we were a town of only around 5,000.  High schoolers did some of the picking but it was also necessary to hire migrant workers, to bring in the crop, completely and timely.  Those farm workers' kids were in school with mine.  Parents worked hard to provide for their children the same way all parents do.  Therefore I stand with migrants who may or may not be legal immigrants.

Several years ago my best friend married a man, who rode under the floorboards of an uncle's truck from Mexico to California at a very young age and went to work as a dishwasher.  He worked his way up to Chef and was granted amnesty by President Reagan.  He works hard, pays taxes and is a wonderful man who has contributed, only positively, to our country.  Therefore I stand with immigrants.

Then, I moved to Boise and when questioned about my political bend, I said I was not sure.  A fellow instructor told me all teachers are democrats.  Still, I wasn't certain.  I simply voted for the candidate I liked more.

I taught at a school designated E.L.L. (English Language Learners) so we had a number of refugees and I came to know the my students' families.  They also only want, for their children and family, the same things we do.  Most were wonderful people and were in our country because they were not safe in their own therefore I also stand with refugees.

My years in education also taught me about the people living on the fringes of society.  I learned about hunger, violence and despair.  My belief is that we cannot know what we have not experienced and those on the edge are people who deserve respect unless we are given reason not to.  Therefor I stand with the poor.

So now people, whether in agreement or not, might be able to better understand my liberal rants.  And now you know how easily I can be contacted on Facebook because I'll probably be there!