The Best Laid Plans

April 18, 2018 / colleen arnold / 4 Comments

It was a hot, humid 4th of July. I had all sorts of family plans in mind – a walk on the river trail behind our house, a picnic lunch, an evening cookout with relatives, and of course, the annual community fireworks.

As so often happens when we make plans, nothing went the way I envisioned. The kids didn’t want to walk because it was too muggy outside. Neil wasn’t hungry so he didn’t feel like having a picnic. I was missing several key ingredients for the side dish I planned to make for dinner and had to change the menu. Frustrated by my thwarted daytime plans, I determined to make sure the evening went exactly as I intended. Continue reading →

The Fainting Doctor: Persistence and Humility

March 21, 2018 / colleen arnold / 2 Comments

I started fainting in third grade. At Catholic grade school we attended Mass every day during Lent. I could handle the standing, but far too often the kneeling got the best of me, and I toppled over, sometimes hitting my head on the pew, and sometimes just sliding or plopping onto the floor. The first few times, the dear Sisters were worried, but I never got hurt, so after a while, everyone just left me alone. I’d wake up in a few minutes, sit slowly to get my bearings, then participate in the rest of the Mass service.

As I got older, the fainting spells continued, not only from standing and kneeling but from fatigue and anxiety or even the sight of blood. I learned to recognize the signs of impending unconsciousness and was often able to lower myself to the ground quickly enough to prevent loud crashes. It didn’t always work though, and for a kid who wanted to be a doctor, it presented challenges. My dad said, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” Continue reading →

The Old Table; Treasure or Trash

February 21, 2018 / colleen arnold / 4 Comments

I am sitting at the ancient dining room table writing. As happens far too often, my concentration wanes and I look around the room. My gaze lands on the surface of the table and I notice the many scratches and stains that now live there. It has become worn and scarred from its years of use, not just as a place for meals, but as the central focus in my house.

I study the shabby veneer from my seated vantage point and then stand to see the damage more closely. My hands rub the once shiny surface as if I was reading Braille. I find one daughter’s name scratched into the spot where she so often sat. I feel pits where impatient toddlers once banged their utensils. I see ink stains where frustrated hands accidently pressed straight through their homework papers. I touch the burn marks made by meals served hurriedly to quiet hungry voices. Continue reading →