“If You Don’t Know Where You’re Going, You’ll Probably End Up Somewhere Else” is an interesting book to read. I had purchased the paperback book for $1 at a check cashing store. A friend told me about a stack of used books for sale there; the books were almost hidden in a flat display case. Always on the hunt for a bargain book, I rarely pass up an opportunity to browse through more or less forgotten treasures.
Here’s an article I wrote for Eden’s Own Newspaper. The article appears on page 14.
http://issuu.com/edens-own/docs/july12/16
Her name is Tammy and she’s a Certified Medical Assistant as well as a college instructor. Her stature is petite but the amount of knowledge in her mind is as vast as the ocean.
As a medical professional, Tammy wants to educate everyone about this covert and potentially deadly disease: toxic mold exposure, which is no ordinary diagnosis. “It morphs in the absence of knowledgeable, prompt medical intervention.” She wants you to avoid the grim lesson she learned firsthand.
In the interview, Tammy spoke with authority. “If chronic illnesses are ignored, it can be deadly…” Her voice softened but her focus strengthened. “It seemed like I was a magnet for viruses and bacteria.”
“A few of the warning signs include illnesses such as sinus infections, migraine headaches, eye irritations, sore throats, and extreme fatigue. Medical treatments are available but it’s a slow process. The treatments aren’t generally covered by insurance companies but how can you place a monetary value on human life?”
She paused to moisten her throat with a sip of water. “Recovery isn’t for the faint of heart. It feels like you’re climbing out of a deep, dark hole. But, it’s possible.”
When she spoke, the smile on her face waned as she recounted how her son almost died from it. “I had to sell one of our cars to pay for his medical treatments. His lungs were collapsing… The doctor who tested and treated us said, “You have to walk away from your home, from everything.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “All we had were the clothes on our back. Everything in our home was contaminated… with mold.”
I asked her, “How did you know what to do?”
A few years ago she’d attended a medical conference and learned about the toxicity of mold disease. “They shared documented information about toxic mold exposure. I’d heard of it before but I didn’t know how it affected people. When the speaker worked through the slide presentation about symptoms of toxic mold exposure, the thought occurred to me that both my son and I had every one of those symptoms!”
That evening Tammy recorded her thoughts in a journal. “Could this be the root cause of our ongoing illnesses? I have to find out. I decided to dig deeply into those handouts.”
She took a deep breath. “I did a lot of research. I even ordered a book called Mold Warriors and then purchased another book about toxic mold. I read everything. I found blogs about toxic mold and subscribed for updates. Collectively, it looked like Mt. Everest but I wanted to learn.
Tammy leaned forward in her chair. “I wanted to understand why we’d been so sick. All of our symptoms fit perfectly together. It was like finding the missing puzzle piece for a jigsaw puzzle, but our lives were in dire jeopardy. I was compelled to learn about the damaging effects of mold on the human body. There had to be an answer for those unrelenting illnesses. I’m certain there was a reason and a purpose for me to attend that specific conference.”
She sat back in her chair. “I knew one day there would be others exposed to toxic mold and by being well-informed, it could forever change many lives.”
“The wiring is probably defective because the smoke detector in our home office had not functioned properly in several months,” I thought. After replacing the nine-volt battery, it still did not work. My daughter and I went to a home improvement store to purchase a water filter for our refrigerator. We were welcomed and sales associates asked if they could help us. Silently, I reviewed my to-do checklist for that day, which included a water filter and a smoke detector.
Shelves were lined with the home safety devices made by different companies with different styles. I knew the devices in our home were wired to electricity rather than battery operated. All the boxes looked the same until one of the sales associates explained the differences and similarities.
“One of my friends told me that detectors need to be replaced every six or seven years. But, that only applies to the battery operated ones, right?” I asked but quickly learned that answer was defective.
We replaced the nine-volt batteries twice each year since we moved in our new home, but we had never installed new safety devices. Embarrassed at my lack of knowledge for fire safety in our home, I took immediate action and began checking the styles and prices. After arriving home, I began my internet research in addition to talking with one of our neighbors who is a fireman.
“Nine years? You are on borrowed time,” he said. I gasped after realizing the price was a minimal investment in comparison with the precious life of my family.
Pricing the home safety devices on the internet and at two local home improvement stores, I purchased a package of six detectors and nine-volt batteries. My neighbor, the fireman, offered to install them for us. After he installed them, we thanked him for his time and knowledge. He smiled and said, “You are just making our job easier. We wish other folks would be willing to maintain basic home safety procedures like you are doing.”
My family and I are fortunate we learned, before an emergency, that there is no difference in smoke detectors, whether battery-operated or electrically wired.
Learn from my mistake and check the issue date of your smoke detectors if you have not already done so.
A verse in the Bible states, “Night comes when no man can work…” So, do what you can everyday, while you can.
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All writings here are copyrighted by Angela Scott. You may not use them without written permission but you may link to the posts or give out a link to the posts.
Ten seconds might be a stretch for the amount of time our eyes met. He soared underneath the porch ceiling and landed within six feet from where I was seated. The brilliance of his ruby red throat caught me off guard.
He flew under the roof of the porch and landed on one of five blades in the motionless white ceiling fan on the back porch.
We had attended a 4th of July picnic on the previous day with family, most of whom I had not seen in over 30 years. Today, we relaxed and visited with family members we had not previously seen at the picnic.
I know the ruby red throated bird was a male because the color of his feathers was vibrant. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the unexpected visitor with wings. Although we only exchanged a brief glance, I knew he delivered a specific message to me. In the blink of an eye, I knew it was a moment which could only be understood in silence.
Silently, I told him about his beauty and the magnificence of this miniature moment in time. He flew away almost as quickly as he arrived but I will always remember the beauty of his story.
Thrilled at this rare sighting of my new winged friend, I exclaimed, “I just saw a ruby red-throated …” Their response was full of doubt because the next words I heard were, “Oh, you just saw a robin red breast.”
I knew their answer was incorrect because they hadn’t seen what I’d seen. With my sketch diary close at hand, I drew a rough diagram of the bird sitting on the ceiling fan blade. I recorded a few notes about our family picnic because I wanted to remember the gift even though the others remained skeptical.
I know what I saw. Like a shooting star, the arrival and departure of the ruby red throated bird was only a miniature memory.
On the drive home after the family picnic, we stopped at a roadside curb market for a break. We purchased fresh apples as well as walking a few minutes before beginning our long journey home.
As I walked through the aisles of the curb market, I spotted a book about birds and quickly thumbed through the book to look for the alleged ruby red-throated bird. The picture of my my new friend with wings was in the book but I was the only one looking for him.
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All writings here are copyrighted by Angela Scott. You may not use them without written permission but you may link to the posts or give out a link to the posts.
“What are you reading?” he asked. It was late Saturday evening and I was immersed in my reading. My response, “It is a book entitled “Puffy the Watermelon.” Although I heard his next question, I realized how silly my response sounded as I stated it aloud.
“You’re the only person I know who can go to the Farmers Market and find everything but fresh vegetables,” he remarked. He is right and wrong, of course, because I purchase fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as a unique item or perhaps two.
“It is a childrens’ book about watermelons,” I smiled as I returned to finish reading the book. “Where did you get that?” he asked. I believe this is when we both knew the real story was larger than both of us.
I had met the Watermelon Guy at the Farmers Market that Saturday morning. We had spoken about the magic of a highly effective technique my dad had used to check watermelons for the best eating quality. My dad died over fifteen years ago but I will always remember his story about the magic combination of a broom straw and a watermelon.
As a matter of fact, I usually carry a broom straw in my pocket just in case I find watermelons to purchase and need to check for eating quality… only by touching the outside of the watermelon.
Some people laugh at me when they hear my story about watermelons and broom straws. Others watch my technique and listen to my story. Before I realize what is happening, observers often ask me to select an equally good watermelon for them, too. Sometimes, vendors encourage me to allow their waiting customers to select watermelons on their own. I oblige, of course.
Dad planted all types of fruits and vegetables in our back yard garden when I was much younger. He loved fresh fruits and vegetables; he loved apple trees, fig bushes, plum trees, grape vines, peaches, and especially peanuts. If the tree or plant produced a fruit or vegetable, chances were quite accurate that Dad planted and harvested the fruit or vegetable either from plant vines or tree limbs in our back yard garden.
As a child I helped my parents in the garden, although I confess it was not as much fun then as it is now to reflect on what I really learned. There is verse I remember hearing as a child which supports this memory, “Who plants a seed beneath the sod and waits to see, believes in God.”
Bob Hope’s famous song, “Thanks for the memories,” is my adult acknowledgment of appreciation to my dad.
Angela Scott
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All writings here are copyrighted by Angela Scott. You may not use them without written permission but you may link to the posts or give out a link to the posts.
Resting in her little chair, sitting propped up on the computer laptop, I felt “Miss Kitty,” my dog puppet was sitting on a story about her coupon crack addiction. Her mouth was wide open and her hair was swept back over one shoulder. “Yes, she’s a woman,” I remember thinking.
Her red two piece outfit with a design of petite white hearts perfectly matched her red “Baby Gap” shoes. Yellow ribbons tied onto each ear resembled portions of a golden halo, which was partially hidden in her pure white hair.
Miss Kitty is now 2 years old. I adopted her in April 2006. She is quiet at first glance but I am certain she has many stories to tell. The Charles Schulz’ “Snoopy” character must be one of her heroes. I know this because “Snoopy” is embroidered on her blouse.
Staring into the other room, I wonder what her real story could be. Did she really purchase five Mead composition books, 2 packages of notebook paper and 1 box of BIC stick pens for 9 cents?
That is her story and she is sticking with it. She likes to shop in cost effective ways and she must know a secret if she bought 8 things for 9 cents.
One minor detail she omitted to share, her mom, “that story lady,” recycled a print cartridge and received a $3 coupon off the next purchase.
Kitty saw the opportunity to buy what she needed and save money at the same time. The entire purchase price was $3.09 and with the $3 coupon in hand, the balance was 9 cents.
She focused on her plan and followed it through. That is what happens when you are addicted. Kitty is practical and addicted to saving money, which is perfectly okay with me.
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All writings here are copyrighted by Angela Scott. You may not use them without written permission but you may link to the posts or give out a link to the posts.