Running the Race

In 490 BC, Pheidippides ran the 26.2 miles from Marathon to Athens to report the victory of the Greek army over King Darius' forces. After running the first Marathon and reporting the news, Pheidippides died.

Which explains why I feel half dead.

Kadie and I ran our first 1/2 marathon this morning, and lived to tell the tale. We ran the Chevron Aramco race in Houston, Texas. We've been doing some training for the 13.1 mile race, but Kadie's max run prior to this was 9 miles and mine was 5.

There's an entire running subculture that I really don't have a handle on. There are running clubs that ran together the whole way. Some people ran dressed as Winnie the Pooh (who could use a work out), Elvis, and even the Statue of Liberty. It was interesting. I saw several short shorts (on men, alas) that were in the design of the Texas flag. I couldn't decide if it was desecration or an homage.

The crowd of spectators was strange too. There are hundreds (if not thousands) of folks who come to the race and cheer the runners on. Surprisingly, one cannot underestimate the encouragement of perfect strangers. Our identification tags (referred to as "bibs") included our names. On numerous occasions strangers yelled "Great job, Taran!" as I went by. It felt a little like Norm walking into Cheers.

I've never been the biggest fan of Houston, but the 1/2 marathon was a great way to see a lot of neighborhoods. Many people came out on their porches and waved at us with their free hand while clutching mimosas (or beers?!) in their other. It was 7:30 in the morning. My brother Bartolo talked us into running this a few months ago and I'm glad he did. (Although he did leave us far behind him early on in the race.)

The Contract

This is week three of the Long March in our household; similar in many ways, to its historical antecedent (except, you know, without all the communism). A couple of times a year, Kadie takes out a contract at her hospital and commits to work more often than normal.* Normally she works for two shifts a week which allows us to meet most of our financial goals at this point. But there’s little $$ extra for things like major household and vacations. One of the frustrating elements of my own job is that I cannot really pick up any extra work. (Unless I moonlight at Chili's).

So during such times, Kadie bites the bullet and signs a contract in which she guarantees that she’ll work 40 hour weeks for the specified duration. Most of the time, these contracts are 6 weeks in length, but these are great days to be a Registered Nurse. Hospitals are desperate for their services and are grateful for any hourly scraps that nurses can provide. So Kadie has signed up for a four week stint.

So that explains the “Why?” but not the “How?” Whenever she signs one of these contracts, our household goes into lock down mode for the duration. Adding to the difficulty of these days is that fact that with this particular contract, she’s working the 11 pm to 7 am shift. So on a good day, she arrives just after the morning rush to get the kids off and goes straight to bed. She then sleeps until the kids start to get home at three, giving her a nice 7 hours of sleep.


Only it never works that way. First, in most instances, a busy night has pushed her morning arrival as late as 10:30 am. Then there are those mornings when there is street construction going on outside the house. We’ve also experienced multiple visits from assorted judges and representatives in the days leading up to the recent election who were out “courtin the electorit”. Lack of maternal sleep leads to increased tension for all.


But enough about her. These contracts are tough on the rest of the family. The kids (and the husband) have to be a little more self motivated than normal. Mornings are particularly eventful. Scooter wakes up Squealer at 6:00 and prepares him breakfast while I hit the shower. Then I fix his lunch while she fixes her own. At 6:40 we wake up Skeeter. Then we get dressed and three of us hit the door to get to Squealer and Scooter’s bus stops. I then return to make sure Skeeter is progressing well. At 7:30 she hops on her bike and I leave for work. I drive by her crosswalk to make sure the guard is there and then head for my own school.


The evenings are filled with homework and house cleaning. I try to pick up the slack because Kadie only has a limited amount of time with the kids. We’ll all be glad when the end of the week hits and her contract ends.

*I’m well aware that the phrase “taking out a contract” has a Mafioso connotation. I’m sure that this is intentional. In my experience, with both a hospital contract and a mobster contract there is a high probability that someone will die during its duration.

New Fangled Technology

Kadie and I recently procured separate cell phones. We’ve had one line for the last few years and only now have felt the need, and the possession of sufficient finances, to get a second line. Plus our old phone died.

New phones, however, brings new features. Our old phone was incapable of connecting to the internet machine, but our new phones can. But we’ve been unwilling to pay the extra $16.95 a month that will allow us to do so. They both also take crummy pictures, but without an internet connection…what can you do with that?

I’ve also been familiarized with the process of the “ring tone” that allows you to purchase a song and have that installed as your own distinctive ring. Furthermore, you can designate a particular tone for a particular person. With that in mind, I made two new ring “downloads” off the internet machine.

For my all-purpose ring I selected my favorite song by the late great Rich Mullins entitled “Calling Out Your Name”. Call my new number and that’s what I’ll hear.

Then I downloaded a distinctive ring for Kadie, something I’ll hear only when she calls. I decided to go with the (not late, but still definately great) Norah Jones' “Come Away With Me” a song by that singer and inspired by that book. It goes off only when Kadie calls.

It always makes me smile when I hear her call…

Wait....

December 2002

The cellphone went off around 6:15 on Sunday morning, waking me up from a blissful slumber. I was disturbed by the ring, but decided to wait for Kadie to answer the phone. Kadie’s hospital always called around than time. She works as an RN (part time) whenever she wants. They often call her early in the morning and ask if she will work and then she decides whether or not to go in. Most days, she decides not to do so.

And she deserves it.

Throughout our long days in graduate school she had worked full time. But now that I have a full time job (for the first time in ten years of marriage) she has cut back to two shifts a week. It’s been great for our two kids as Skeeter and Scooter love the extra time they got to spend with their Mom. And now Mom is pregnant. (Squealer, as we would later find out, would be born a short month later.)

The phone rang again and I reached out to jostle Kadie awake. But as I reach out, I realize I’m alone in bed…

And then I remember I’m not at home.

I’m in a Motel Six off I-35 in Waco, Texas. I groggily come to my senses as my hand fishes around on the night stand for my phone. I’m in Waco using the Baylor library as I wrap up my dissertation. For the last four months I’ve been going down to Waco every other weekend to complete the project. Every Thursday through Sunday I’ve left the family to make the lonely trip along Highway 31 so that I can live and work in a small carrel tucked away on the third floor, in the bowels of Moody library.

But this would be my last time to make the trip. Since it was at the end of the semester, I planned to stay for a whole week to complete the beast.

As I pick up the phone I confirm on the caller ID that it is Kadie’s hospital. I say hello and expect to hear the familiar voice of Kadie’s supervisor asking for her to come in to work.

But instead I hear Kadie’s voice telling me hello. She explains to me that she began to have intense contractions the night before and went up to the hospital with Scooter and Skeeter. My mom also came over and spent the night in the cramped maternity room. (The girls, then 7 and 4, thought it was an exciting camp out).

I’m stunned and concerned for her health and for the baby’s health. I tell her that I would pack immediately and if I hurry, I’ll be home by early afternoon. No doubt sensing the rising concern in my voice she simply replied

“Wait.”

Kadie “How much longer until you finish?”

Me “Finish what?!”

Kadie “Your dissertation.”

Me “Given the circumstances, I really don’t think….”

Kadie (patiently) “How much longer?”

Me “Uhhhh…I could get it done by Wednesday.”

Kadie “I think you should stay in Waco until you finish it.”

Me “I’m not going to stay in Waco while you have a baby!”

Kadie “I’m not having a baby. They’re just premature contractions. They’ll probably release me today and your mom can make sure we get home safely. We’ll be fine. You need to finish.”

Me “There is no way I’m going to be able to write in a library while my wife is being hospitalized in another state.”

Kadie “Taran…we can do this.”

What do you say to that?! (Besides yes ma’am). She was released that afternoon and I stayed and worked on the last two chapters. I finished my first draft of the dissertation that Wednesday and then graduated a few months later.

I could not have made it through graduate school or parenthood…or pastoring…or teaching…or (fill in the blank) without her support these last fifteen years of marriage. She doesn’t appear as often as she deserves in the stories on this blog, but does appear more often than she wants. Kadie’s been an incredible force for my own personal and spiritual growth in the twenty years we’ve known each other.

(And as I’ve mentioned before, she never reads this blog…thus demonstrating once again her exceptional taste).

Lies I Told My Wife

In preparation for Friday’s event, I told more lies than I have in the previous 16 years of our marriage combined.

1. On four occasions I told her that a person who called (usually her sister PT Girl, or a co-conspirator from church), in fact called for some other reason than her party.

2. I told her that we were going to my parents B&B because my brother had a choir festival.

3. I signed off on our monthly budget, realizing that I’d be busting it to fly Linda into town.

4. On the road to the surprise party, Kadie decided to call our baby sitter about a sitting time this Friday. Since our sitter was at the surprise party, I was afraid Kadie would hear the talking, so I quickly made up some fool tale about having to work this Friday evening in the computer graphics lab, so there was no reason to call her.


That is the sum total of lies I told my wife. Why recount them here?
1) To salve my bitter conscience and
2) because I’m curious what referrals the title will generate.

A Wonderous Evening

That was Fun!

On Friday evening, an event I have been planning for the last ten months occurred. We celebrated Kadie’s upcoming birthday with a huge party. Since it is such an important milestone (her new age rhymes with “sporty”) I wanted to do something special.

I decided to fly in one of her closest friends (Linda, mentioned here) from the east coast to surprise her. And things grew from there. I knew our Sunday School class would come, as well as just a few others from our home church. In addition, old college friends from the West coast as well as from the great Mid-West all made their way, like salmon returning home to spawn, back to the Deep South.

Mom and Dad hosted the shindig at their Bed and Breakfast. They also graciously fed everyone. (As Scooter said later “Grandmother and Grandaddy throw the most wonderful parties”). 35 adults and 15 kids attended, so I paid a couple of teens from church to make the drive out to the B&B and watch the kids so the adults could actually talk.

After a series of lies (more on those tomorrow) I got Kadie out to my parents for the surprise. It went according to Hoyle. She was stunned and amazed. Actually she seemed to be in shock for most of the evening. (It helps tremendously that her birthday is actuallytwo weeks from now, she never saw this coming!).

Finally I had made plans for six of her closest friends to spend the night there with her and go shopping the next day in the town square. After the party, I brought the kids back home and stayed up far too late talking to Mister Ginger and Bobby. In fact, the last time I Was up this late I had a paper due the next day.

I think the greatest part of the gift wasn’t the actual party, but the tremendous outflowing of love she felt from all who attended. It was a special, special event.

Kadie told me that it will be something she remembers for the rest of her life…

Fifteen Years and Susan Song

This has been an eventful week. Kadie and I celebrated our 15th Anniversary by driving a ways to Dallas where we stayed an inexpensive, luxurious hotel (thanks, Priceline) and gorged ourselves at the (cheesily named) Texas de Brazil. It is a wonderful churrascaria, which is roughly a Brazilian all-you-can-eat meal where they bring the meat to you. We consumed prime rib, sirloin steak, lamb, ribeye, etc. It was a wonderful meal (and expensive…sheesh, I think we might be able to afford it again when we celebrate our 30th!).

While there we caught two movies, Woody Allen’s new comedy Scoop and M. Night Shyamalan’s Lady in the Water. We enjoyed them both and I think I discerned an idea in Shamylan’s work that might make a nice paper presentation.

After we returned, Susan Song called me and asked me to serve as their interim pastor. I deferred their request and instead planned a meeting with the search committee. We will sit down this Wednesday where I will present them with the intentional interim process and request that they go through with it.

I also informed them that they would have to wait until we complete the intentional interim process before they could begin to search for a new pastor. Their chairwoman said that they have seven resumes but they had already decided to wait before calling another pastor. So I think that the search committee will vote to proceed with the intentional interim and I will present it to the entire church on Sunday. Please keep this process in your prayers.

There were more musical mishaps this morning, but I’ll save that for tomorrow ;)

Props for Kadie

JCAHO stopped by Kadie’s hospital this week. JCAHO is to hospitals what the Gestapo was to your average law abiding German and the KGB to your every day Russian. Not in a moral sense, of course, but in the sense that they inspire fear in the hearts of every hospital employee. They appear at random and quiz the employees on policies and procedures. Their job is to find mistakes. A negative word from them can result in an employee being written up at best, or even terminated if negligence is detected. (To get some idea of the sense of dread their name evokes, Googling the phrase "JCAHO sucks" reveals over 15,000 hits).

[Ed. note: I do fully understand the necessity of an accrediting agency. One of the reasons that we have educational and medical systems that are the envy of the world is because of the strict and rigorous processes of ongoing certification.]

In short, they are scary. This week they arrived on Kadie’s floor and began snooping around. They asked opened a chart at random and asked the nursing supervisor to show them an example of how the staff evaluates a patient’s pain. Now as I understand it (and Kadie rolls her eyes and shakes her head slowly whenever I speak of medical things) when a patient requests pain medication, the nurse must evaluate their current pain level, give the medication, and then a few hours later follow up and evaluate the pain condition again. But as busy as nurses are, at times they do not follow up and evaluate the patient’s condition again. The average nurse assumes that if the patient is still in pain after taking the meds, then they will let the nurse know.

So the JCAHO agent was checking the charts to make sure that the nurse had correctly followed procedure. Well, you can see where this was going. They pulled one of Kadie’s patients and checked her chart. The nursing supervisor said that she was holding her breath as they looked.

Of course, Kadie had perfectly followed proper procedure. Her supervisor expressed relief that they had pulled Kadie's chart. I was surprised by none of this. She is a remarkable nurse and is gifted for that occupation.

Regrettably, she also never reads this blog, so I will score no brownie points with her. I simply want to brag on my fine spouse.

An Impractical Joke

Kevin's query triggered this early marriage memory.

Flashback to February of 1992:

Kadie and I are in our first year of school in Fort Worth. I am in seminary while she is wrapping up her R.N. at TCU. Scooter, Skeeter and Squealer do not yet exist.

It is a cold morning and I am preparing to go to work at the library. We lived in B.H. Carroll Park in one of the two-bedroom apartments. I drove the 73’ canary yellow Volkswagon SuperBeetle and Kadie drove the first love of my life, a 1984 Suburban. (The wifey always gets the best car of course. Although in this case the "best" was certainly relative). Since the weather is cold, Kadie likes to allow the Suburban to heat up in the morning before she gets into it. She would turn it on, lock the doors to it, and finish getting ready in the house. (The parking lot was located very close to our apartment, maybe 25 feet away). The Suburban would then heat up and get toasty warm so that when she got in she would have a comfortable ride to school.

I expressed concern to her that it might not be the safest place to keep a running car, even with the doors locked. Someone might steal it. But we never reached a consensus in our conversation. One morning I went to work but forgot something. When I returned to our parking lot, I saw the suburban gently running, the tell-tale sign of condensation floating out of its tail-pipe.

I actually remember thinking “I’m going to teach Kadie a lesson.” [I interrupt this narrative, from the vantage point of 15 years marriage, to say that a husband should NEVER have this thought, and if he is foolish enough to think it, he certainly should never act on it]. So I parked the Bug down the street and then I returned and moved the Suburban. I parked it on the next block and then I returned to the parking lot, hiding behind some cars and watching our back door.

I shivered and waited about five minutes. While waiting, I planned on what to do next. I had thought she would walk out of the apartment and I would say something like “So, did you lose something?” amidst much laughter. But that is not quite how it turned out. There would be much less laughter than I had anticipated.

Finally, Kadie opened the door and….stopped. She stared for a moment at where the Suburban should be. Then I watched in horror as she turned, went back into the apartment and slammed the door. Now I was struck with indecision. Should I wait here for her to return? But then I realized she might be calling campus security, so I raced across the parking lot and went careening into the door as I clambered into the kitchen.

Now picture this from Kadie’s perspective. The car is missing, so she was worried about thieves. Then she went into the kitchen to call me at work to tell me what was going on. All the while she is terrified that these thieves might still be around. Then I came crashing into the kitchen, slamming open the door. (Who knew you could slam open a door?!). She immediately thought I was one of the car thieves and let out an unholy scream of terror.

She began speaking to me again last Thursday.

Two Little Monkeys, Jumping on a Bed...

Flashback: The year is Spring of 2000 and we are preparing to move from Waco to our new home.

We had a rule in our house that jumping on the bed was not permitted. The kids knew that jumping on the bed was akin to the laws of the Medes and the Persians that could never be altered. It was strictly forbidden. One afternoon, Scooter came downstairs with Skeeter in tow. (Scooter would often be the spokesperson while Skeeter stood there as silent and curly headed as Harpo).

Scooter: "Father, may we jump on the bed?"

Taran: "No daughter, you know that it is a rule of the house that you must not jump on the bed."

Scooter: "But Father, jumping on the bed is fun." (Skeeter nods emphatically).

Taran: "It is true daughter, that jumping on the bed is fun. But jumping on the bed is not good for the bed. Because of how badly it hurts the bed, you may not jump on it."

Scooter: "But father, isn't it true that we are buying a new bed for our new apartment?"

Taran: "Yes daughter, we will be getting you and your sister a new bed after we move."

Scooter: "So can't we jump on the bed since we will be getting a new one?"

Taran: (silence...thinking...thinking...silence)

Scooter: PLEASE!!!!!! (Skeeter makes a very pleading face)

Taran: "Yes daughters, you may jump on the bed."

The girls chirped their thanks and bounded up the stairs. I soon hear the little bed squeaking and groaning under their collective weight. Their giggles bring a smile to my face.

Then I ignored them and turn on the Texas Rangers game.

Time passes (minutes, hours?) and the front door unlocks and opens. Kadie has arrived at home.

Before I get in a greeting she freezes and says (like Samuel to Saul) "What's that sound that I hear?"

(squeak, giggle, squeak, giggle)

Taran: "Oh, that's the girls, they're jumping on the bed."

Kadie: (silence...silence...)

Taran: (sensing trouble, speaking quickly) "Well, as Scooter pointed out to me, we are going to be getting a new bed, and jumping on the bed is fun, so I told them..."

Kadie sliced off my explanation with "Taran!" (which sounded like an expletive). It then dawned on me that she was wearing her scrubs. I remembered that she was a nurse. I remembered then that she was at that moment a practicing pediatric nurse. I remembered then that she was a pediatric nurse who often worked with children who have experienced blunt head trauma injuries.

"Taran" she said, and held up her hand to stop my stuttering 'explanation'.

Kadie then took on a tone of voice that she had previously reserved for talking to three-eyar olds. "Taran, the danger is that they might fall from the bed onto the hardwood floors that are, you know, hard wood."

She continued "I am not concerned about the bed, but rather head injuries. Don't you even sing a song to them about it?"

Taran: "Ummm....I thought that was just a song."

Mother's Day Post Script

Note to self (and perhaps other fathers)

When your wife mentions to you a slight disappointment with the quality of her Mother’s day, DO NOT respond with the statement “But you are not MY mother. Why are you telling me?”

I now know from experience that this is not wise.

Seinfeld, Taran, and Uri

Kadie says that I am strange and have several idiosyncracies of almost Seinfeldian proportions. This is particularly true of silverware that must go in my mouth. All in all, I need for things to be smooth and even. Specifically, fork tines must be equal. Although Kadie insists it is yet one more sign of my impending institutionalization, I have sent forks at restaurants back because the tines were uneven. The lack of symmetry is horrific and makes for an unpleasant feeling in my mouth. I want to leave bent forks to Uri Geller.* I even coined the phrase "Lips that touch tines will never touch mine".

What brought on this particular post was a discussion (as opposed to a fight) that Kadie and I had the other day over a spoon dropped down the disposal. After the (self installed by the way) In-Sink-Erator chewed up the bowl of the spoon, I told her that we should throw it away.

"But it is still useable." she said.

I recoiled. "That spoon has no further use in our family and I pronounce it unclean!" I declared.

She ignored me and put it back in the drawer, taking great care to mix it up with the other, normal spoons. She doth vex me so.

Nevertheless, I remain convinced that there is something deeply unholy about cutlery that bites you back.

* I am intrigued that Uri Geller's homepage includes his views on such world critical issues as his favorite sports teams and a link to his own line of jewelry. BTW, Uri Geller makes a brief appearance in the lines of one of my very favorite Contemporary Christian bands.

Flashback: November 2004

The post that will make all the women who read this (all one of them) ANGRY!!

Part of the reason for this blog is to force myself to be disciplined enough to write a bit most every day. From time to time I want to include an older story from our family archives. These are little incidents that we retell in our family from time to time and I want to make sure that they are kept up to date in pixilated form.

In November of 2004, things in our household were stressed. Kadie was pregnant with Squealer and we were heading into the holiday season. As a result, we were busy making holiday plans. At the same time, I was concerned about an extended time off for from work. I was worried about what it would mean for my job if Squealer was born during the Spring semester. It was a tension filled holiday season.

And Kadie was large. No larger than should be expected in the eighth month of pregnancy, but large nonetheless. This is obviously an expected part of pregnancy, and with emotions/hormones raging as they are at this time, much grace should have been afforded her.

But I (foolishly) did not. One afternoon as we approached each other down a hall, we stepped aside so that we could pass. But, unsurprisingly, her belly brushed up against me and she sheepishly said “Sorry”.

And it should have ended there. I do not know why I then uttered the next few words. Had I been given a millenium to think of a more cutting reply, I could not do so. To this day my face burns with shame at the thought of what I said next:

“You seem to be acquiring a gravitational field.”

Kadie looked at me in shock and horror. She immediately raced to our room and cried, shrieking “You called me a planet!” It was a dark day in our lives and in our relationship.

I am amazed at what we husbands say at times. It is like we revert to grade-school level and forget everything we’ve learned about romance or chivalry. My cousin says that we need the voice in our head saying “Danger Will Robinson, Danger!" whenever we are about to say something stupid.

Basically, men should not speak to their wives during the nine months of their pregnancy, save for the occasional “Yes, my Queen.”

Introductions

Introductions are in order. Due to various job (mine) and safety (the kids) concerns, I am using pseudonyms for us all. Our home consists of the following:

Kadie is my long-suffering bride. We have been together for eighteen years, and married for fourteen. That means that I have now known her for over half my life. She is the most encouraging person I have ever known, and her intense compassion for others has had an incredibly positive impact on me. Her compassion works well in her profession of nursing. But she still makes me a little bit scared when she gets mad. She also has the widest sense of humor of anyone I know. She appreciates all types of comedy. One of my favorite things is to see her play straight to someone who doesn’t know her very well. She is, above all, enchanting.

Scooter is our eldest child and has entered what some are referring to as the tween years. She has her mother’s compassion and is a very caring, very mature ten-year old. She also reads voraciously and loves narratives in all forms. Her inquisitive nature keeps us each on our toes. "Dad, does God love Satan?" was one of her earlier questions.

Skeeter is seven and has a very distinctive personality. Essentially, this is her world, and the rest of us tend to be obstacles in her path. She is very focused and determined. I believe that she gets this intensity from her grandmother, because her mother and I do not possess it (it must be a recessive trait).

Squealer is three and, like Shiva, is the destroyer of everything. He is the most destructive force known to mankind and is the center of much that goes on in our household. His determination to force his will upon those around him is truly breathtaking. He is also gifted musically and is known for singing embarrassingly loudly in public places.

We are blessed!