DOCTOR'S DEATH LEAVES SPACE

The doctor's fine, deft fingers worked with rapid, careful precision to close the gaping wound above my 8-month-old daughter's right eye.

Tawny yet clinically scrubbed to a whiteness of nail and knuckle, there was something incredibly gentle in the hands that stitched, in one continuous length of thread, a cut at least three quarters of an inch long.

And the voice!  It was quick to the point, and business-like, yet softened by a reverence for life that even little Julie seemed to sense.  In a moment she had ceased her frenzied struggle against the tight, blue canvas "papoose board" that immobilized her in the emergency ward at Humana Davis North Hospital.

One, two, three, four, five stitches.  And the doctor was gone to the side of another accident victim in another room.

Fascinated by the clean line of stitching he had secured by just two knots, I chatted momentarily with a nurse.

"You'll hardly see a scar," she said, handing a pineapple "Dum Dum" lollypop to my baby and a list of wound care instructions to me. "You were lucky to have had Dr. Amano."

I thought about that the other day, when word reached me of the untimely death of Dr.  Joe Amano.  I thought about what she'd said and about what I, myself, had come to know of the kind-eyed doctor who had first treated me as a little girl with an earache at the old Clearfield Clinic on Center Street.

Dr. Amano was a man who knew what had to be done and did it.  And if he couldn't help you, he'd find someone who could.  He checked things and then double-checked.  He always remembered you--asked about little things you'd thought he would have forgotten.

He was a busy man, busy with medical affiliations and offices, and yet you could still expect to see him at PTA meetings, places like that  He was honest and he cared

With stethoscope in hand, he served northern Utah for more than 26 years, listening to the heartbeat of a clientele who loved him.

Because he had been my parents' doctor, my doctor, and my children's doctor, I felt a need to pay him tribute.  Yet with all my flourishes of pen, I could find no more appropriate, more eloquent praise than the simple observation of one nurse who knew his work:  "You were lucky to have had Dr. Amano."

Note:  I edited and posted this old column to my blog upon reading that after so many years, Dr. Amano's wife Norma had passed away.  http://www.standard.net/Obituaries/2014/12/03/Norma-Hamatake-Amano

DIET: SERIOUS ABOUT WEIGHT LOSS

Just to show I was serious about losing weight this year, I began keeping a daily food journal on New Year's Day:

January 1
Dear Diary,
8 am--Woke up determined to keep resolution made at midnight:  I will not overeat.  (Frankly, after last night's buffet, it was easy to settle for the half grapefruit and celery stick on my breakfast menu.)
8:15--Began clearing away New Year's Eve party debris.  Emptied crock pot of bacon-wrapped meatballs (soggy) without eating one.
8:25--Triumphantly fed leftover eggnog (warm) to cat without taking one sip.
8:30--Cut tinfoil to wrap remaining half loaf of banana bread.
8:31--Banana bread loaf edge needed straightening.  Cut miniscule slice of bread to square the edge.
8:32--Hand holding miniscule slice of banana bread vacillated between garbage and mouth.  Mouth won (It was just a tiny slice).
8:33--Loaf edge still crooked.  Removed bigger slice.
8:34--Used calorie chart to check difference between lunch allowance of 2 hard-boiled eggs and slice of banana bread.  Difference negligible. Scratched eggs off menu.
8:40--Banana bread seemed dry.  Poured half glass of chocolate milk (low fat) to wash bread down.
8:42--Finished chocolate milk before bread.  Poured an inch more.
8:45--Finished banana bread slice before beverage.  Cut another slice (small).
8:46--Finished chocolate milk before bread.  Carton empty.  Spread remaining dry bread with cream cheese (just a dab). 
8:48--Cream cheese edge crooked.  Sliced off a smidgen to straighten.
8:49--Cut tiniest morsel of banana bread to use up smidgin of cream cheese.
8:51--Bread edge crooked.  Cut off piece to straighten.
8:52--Piece dry. More cream cheese (not much).
8:53--Cream cheese edge still crooked.  Straightened edge, spreading cream cheese over remaining heel of banana bread.
8:54--Scraped empty bread pan and sprinkled crumbs on remaining, crooked slab of cream cheese which I ate with a spoon.
8:55--Licked the cream cheese wrapper.
8:56--Chocolate milk gone. Banana bread gone.  Cream cheese gone.  Should be able to stay on my diet until dinner time.

Why not just put the cream cheese in the banana bread to begin with (low fat). Click on the link for a delicious recipe?
http://www.food.com/recipeprint.do?rid=109737

THIS YEAR'S POST HOLIDAY GIFT EXCHANGE

So this past Christmas, good, old Aunt Bertha once again outdid herself.  She gave you a pair of orange and purple argyle socks to match the gift tie she gave you last year?  Too bad you took that tie back almost 365 days ago.  But never fear. At least you had lots of company December 26, when you stood in the post-holiday exchange lines.

Manufacturers vying for Christmas shopping dollars really waxed creative  when it came to producing the kind of paraphernalia most of us could live without.  Top ten contenders on the year's list of gimmicks, gadgets, and gifts most likely to be returned the day after Christmas include:

1. Musical toilet paper dispensers that play the "Star Spangled Banner."

2.  Fire alarms that whistle "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." 

3.  Gift packs of hand-washable, reusable disposable diapers.

4.  My Little Pet Shop Designer Puppies like Great Dane/Chihuahua or Mexican Hairless/Old English Sheepdog mixes.

5.  Ceramic overnight chewing gum savers.

6.  Underarm sweat detectors with audible alarms for when the sniff test fails.

7.  Miniature spinning wheels to recycle hair from combs and brushes into workable 4-ply yarn. 

8.  Transformer robots that make into functional potty chairs.

9.   The Complete Deseret Tortoise and Spotted Owl Cookbook.

10.  Self-help books like Do it Yourself Liposuction.

The Complete Spotted Owl Cookbook

Click on the link below to compare this year's list with last year's:

http://sharonnautasteele.blogspot.com/2014/01/exchanging-is-big-post-holiday-activity.html


 

THREE BEARS OF TODAY FACING NEW PROBLEMS

"Read us a story," my little ones began the usual bedtime ritual, as the evening waned.

"Once upon a time, there were three bears," I opened the book and mouthed the old familiar words.

"But we've heard that one before," the children protested.

"Yes," I agreed, "But the last time the three bears went for a walk in the woods to wait for their porridge to cool, things turned out just a little differently."

"Different?" the kids worried.

"Differently.  Oh, you can be sure that Goldilocks made her usual way into the three bears' kitchen while they were out.  But when she tasted the Papa Bear's porridge, she could only exclaim, This porridge has too many chemical additives, and it’s probably made of genetically modified grain!

"Her reaction to the Mother Bear's steaming owl of porridge came in the form of a question?  Are the cooking emissions from the preparation of this meal environmentally safe?

"And she didn't even taste the Teeny, Tiny Baby Bear's portion once she realized that even organically grown wheat could draw toxic PCBs from contaminated soil.

"So she skipped breakfast and went into the three bears’ living room.

"Oh, my! she worried as she sat in the Papa Bear's chair.  The small, loosely sewed buttons on these cushions could choke a little child.

"She only sat for a minute in the Mama Bear's chair, because there was no way to tell if it had lead-free paint.

"And realizing that the padding in the Teeny, Tiny Baby Bear's chair could easily catch fire, she passed it up altogether.

"The situation was even worse in the three bears' bedroom.

"These blankets may have been treated with cancer-causing fire retardants, Goldilocks surmised as she tested the Papa Bear's bed.

"The feathers in these pillows could have come from an endangered species, she worried, as she examined the Mama Bear's bed.

"And she had barely bounced on the Teeny, Tiny Baby Bear's wee, little bed when she was engulfed by a cloud of allergy-causing dust mites.

"Screaming hysterically, Goldilocks ran out of the bears' house, never to return. (But she was careful not to go too fast and risk getting her heart rate above the optimum target zone.)

"As for the three bears, they never came back to their house either, when they found out out how close it was to the town's nuclear reactor."

"That was a good story, Mom," my oldest daughter said, "but you really shouldn't risk straining your eyes by reading at such low light levels!"

As for the three bears, they never returned to their house either, because it was too close to the town's nuclear reactor.

CHRISTMAS LIST PUTS FEAR IN MOM’S HEART

Atari's have gone the way of ancient electronics.  Modern moms:  Think X-Box! 

“Mom, I’ve got my Christmas list ready,” four-year-old Michael informed me two weeks after Halloween.  He handed me a roll of toilet paper inscribed with magic-markered hieroglyphics.

“Let’s see,” I began hopefully, “it says here that because Mikey has been pretty good this year, he thinks he’s entitled to one sack of marbles and a new yoyo.”

Not! That little boy who religiously watches Saturday morning cartoons with all their commercials, had more sophisticated plans.

“No, Mommy, that’s not what I wrote,” he protested, twisting his tongue on every “s” like Winthrop in THE MUSIC MAN.  “What I really want is a 10-speed.”  His voice was firm, despite the childish lisp.

“But, Son, your legs are much too short to ride a bike like that!”

“That’s okay,” he had it all planned out, “I don’t want to have to wait around for it when I get big.”

Next on the list—my hands began to shake as I calculated the impact of such requests multiplied by the demands of six children—was a television.

“What would you do with another TV?” I asked.  “We already have two!”

“I’d put it in my room, so I could play with my Atari there.”

“Honey, you don’t even have an Atari!”

“I was just getting to that,” he cut me off.

I wiped the cold sweat off my forehead with the napkin list and handed it back to him with a sigh.

“Young man,” I said, “it’s time you got a job!”

I don't think there's a television in here, Mom!

CHILDREN: HEAVEN, A PLACE WITH NO SKINNED KNEES

“What’s Heaven like?" three-year-old Matthew asks with eyes as wet as April and a trembling lower lip.

We have just buried the little boy’s pet hamster in a velvet-lined watch box, capping the tiny grave with a paving stone. Gone to Heaven, my husband has inscribed the marker with a piece of yellow chalk. 

 

“Heaven is happy,” I say, patting the pudgy hands that so often had cradled silky, little Munchie to his heart. 

“But, what is Heaven like?” my son asks again, because happy means too many things to really comfort him.

“Oh, Heaven is lovely and it’s warm,” I try again, remembering how poor Munchkin had shivered at the end.

By now the child is sitting in my lap.  I trace the even ridges where a plastic bandage protects one badly scraped knee.

“Heaven is happy and lovely and warm and safe--a place where little boys don’t ever get skinned knees,” I say at last.

My son relaxes then. I feel the tension ebbing as he settles back beneath my chin.

“Because the sidewalks there are soft?  He lifts his lighted face to ask.

“Because,” I say and hold him very close.

"Because the sidewalks there are soft?" he turns his lighted face to ask.