The Long and Not So Short of It

The Long:

Two years ago, a doctor prescribed two different antibiotics within the space of a month. The result? A terrifying experience with a nasty little bacteria called "clostridium difficile," or C. diff. (With this ER diagnosis, I found a new doctor, who I currently see.) People can have C. diff and not even know it because "good" bacteria basically subdue C. diff, which is a spore bacteria. Think Ninja. You are completely unaware of their existence in you. They can hang out in your belly during (what they consider) adverse conditions and not harm you. However, antibiotic use, which kills the good bacteria, can allow C. diff to flourish. C. diff, as its name hints, is difficult to treat because of its ability to protect itself. There is also a drug-resistant strain.

The spread of this bacteria is completely preventable if everyone just washes their hands after using the restroom. It's not rocket science, and it disgusts me that some people think washing hands is irrelevant. Those of us who have experienced C. diff know it isn't because even though you don't have any symptoms of dangerous germs--NEWS FLASH--you can still spread them! So unless you're an outer space alien whose physiology doesn't require you to poop or pee, WASH. YOUR. HANDS. PROPERLY.

My experience with C. diff was and is like no other experience. It was the worst, the most horrific, the most dark, the most unbelievably painful time in my life. Not only did I have to deal with the symptoms of the bacteria, but I also had to deal with the side of effects of the antibiotic. This antibiotic caused such extreme nausea that I was on an anti-nausea prescription med, which, by the way, did very little to control the nausea let alone the vomiting. Round one of the antibiotic didn't do much of anything except make me sick, and because lab tests still found the bacteria, I had to undergo another round...joy! I lost 15 pounds in less than a month. Through all of this, my doctor insisted I wash sheets and towels in Clorox and spray the shower down with Clorox every night to protect my husband. I'm not even sure how I even managed to teach during all of this. The year was such a struggle, but I did it! (Side note: Hand washing was (and is) never an issue for me; this germaphobe has always (and will always!) employ the proper hand washing technique no matter where she is.) In the end, terrifying doesn't even begin to describe all I went through. Eventually, I managed to get a clean lab result, but little did I know the fun was just beginning.

All those lovely antibiotics that were pumped into my system completely destroyed my gut. Think nuclear explosion. The flora in my gut was completely decimated, so that even though I was technically "healed" from C. diff, it was like my intestines didn't get the message. I lived off of baked potatoes, chicken, and hard boiled eggs because everything else I ate made me ill. There were even times these foods were not tolerated. My doctor prescribed a med that would supposedly help my body digest food properly. It did very little. I couldn't gain weight, many foods I couldn't eat, and it severely impaired my short-term memory. My doctor's response? She asked me if I had ever been diagnosed with an eating disorder. I can't begin to tell you how furious that made me. I can see now that was the time right there to find another doctor. (For the record, I was never diagnosed with an eating disorder. I do not have an eating disorder. I don't plan on EVER having an eating disorder.) Here is someone who witnessed all I'd been through. I was a constant visitor in her office for months as she treated me for C. diff and then the illness that persisted afterwards, and this is all she could think of? Just because her magic, blue Bentyl med wasn't working like she expected? In the end, I had an endoscopy, which showed nothing but acute gastritis. So 14 days of Prilosec, the continuation of the Bentyl, and things still didn't improve.

I decided then that this medical doctor was not going to figure our what was wrong with me, so I went to a homeopathic doctor in Ridgway, Colorado. Dr. Seaver is truly a life-saver. Her "prescriptions" consisted of probiotics and other natural remedies/foods to help rebuild my gut flora and my immune system. Also, I learned that experiences like mine can actually create food intolerances, so that even though you think you're eating "safe" foods, you're not. She did a simple blood test (ALCAT) of about 200 foods. Results showed nearly 60 reactive foods I had to avoid: wheat, gluten, rice, eggs, dairy, soy, olives, canola, onion, avacado, cherries, oregano, basil, ginger, coconut, peanuts, turkey, beef, buffalo, codfish, tilapia, to name just a few. It was somewhat overwhelming, and I constantly reminded myself to focus on what I could eat. (Still do!) Reading labels became a part of my daily life. Eating out and eating at friends' houses? Awkward. But none of that really mattered because I eventually began to feel healthy again. I gained weight, I felt happy, and as a bonus, I learned I could get away with cheating as long as I didn't do it often and only with certain foods. Nearly three years later,  it seemed like my C. diff experience was finally behind me as long as I didn't stray too far from my diet.

And then...I woke up.

I still see my M.D. Since C. diff, she has drilled into me that antibiotics are always going to be a last resort. Because I've had C. diff, it's basically mine forever. It can reappear any time the good bacteria in the intestines are threatened.

The Not So Short:

Enter the present. This week my doctor was convinced I had an infection. She was so convinced she prescribed an antibiotic before she had lab results. These results were going to take 24-48 hours, and she wanted me to get started on the antibiotic because my symptoms could be much worse as time progressed. I couldn't understand why a simple test would take so long when other doctor's can do it while you wait. But, hey, she's the doc. She knows what she's doing, right? I nearly refused to take it. I knew the risks. She knew the risks. She suggested we keep our fingers crossed. Really?! At any rate, two pills in and the rash on my torso made it abundantly clear that I was allergic to this drug. She called in a second, but I made the decision to not take it. I can't go back to C. diff, and I'm certainly not going back there without the lab tests to prove the need for an antibiotic. I called the office 48 hours later, and the receptionist told me it didn't appear as if the results were in, but she would leave a note for the nurse to track them down and call me. Trinity, our Sheltie, who basically eats and sleeps all day, is probably a better tracker than this nurse because I never received the call. Seventy-two hours in, on a Friday, I call the office again. After I tell them why I'm calling, I'm put on hold. Then I'm told that there was a "lab error and things had to be resubmitted. The results probably won't be in until Monday." From 24-48 hours to 120+ hours. What do you say that? This just sounds so ridiculously suspicious. Like maybe the lab test came back negative. Like maybe a doctor prescribed an antibiotic and shouldn't have.

Within these last few days my emotions have run the gamut: fear of battling C. diff again; anger at my doctor for putting me in this situation...especially after assuring me that she never would; doubt because maybe she was right in what she did and I was doing my body more harm than good by refusing the antibiotic; grief because I can't return to life before C. diff; frustration because I didn't know what to do; finally, I just feel exhaustion. As I come to the end of this entry, I realize I also feel peace. I may be afraid of traveling down an extremely difficult road again, but I can take comfort in this knowledge:

• I'm not going to call for test results again. I'm going to put this in God's hands and assume my body is going to heal from whatever it's struggling with right now. It is certainly no worse than when I went to the doctor in the first place this week, and I have the antibiotics sitting in the cabinet if it does get worse.
• I am going to continue to trust in the Great Physician, but not my M.D. I realize if I ever have to travel down the C. diff road again, I want it to be with a different doctor. I can't go back to one I no longer trust.
• God will not abandon me.  Even when I struggle giving all my fear, anger, doubt, grief, and frustration to Him, He meets me right where I'm at to comfort me. He more than proved this when it seemed my body would not heal these last couple years. During that time it was like being trapped. Alone. In a dark tunnel. With no way out. Is it any wonder that I fear going back there? Yet God surrounded me with His loving care and blessed me with supportive family and friends. They were my tether to sanity and a healthier future. He continues to bless even now. He is my Creator, my Shepherd, my Provider, my Healer. 
• "I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the Land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord." --Psalm 27:13, 14

Facebook Pulpits

Semi-random philosophical--and undoubtedly inflammatory--observation: I heard recently that we have our own pulpits, and I think it's true. It got me thinking that every time Christians point their fingers at someone on Facebook that their neighbors, Christian or not, are doing the same to them. So-called "Christian," (dare I say self-righteous?) Facebook rebukes rarely, if ever, do anything but incite anger and hurt in the other person involved. You don't like someone's post or status and feel the need to "preach" to them? Don't private message that person or publicly comment on the person's wall. Jesus' ministry while here on Earth was intensely hands-on. He didn't like what he saw? He'd let you know. Not with sarcasm. With love. And face to face. The written word is powerful, but without the proper facial expressions and oral inflections that we use to convince people of our honesty, love, and compassion, it can do more harm than good. The only written word ALWAYS capable of rebuking with love is the Bible because it is the WORD of God.

So, you are firmly convinced you need to rebuke someone because of what you perceive to be an anti-Christian post on a Christian's wall? Then pray and ask God to give you guidance and wisdom. Talk to that person face to face and explain with love and compassion why you believe a status or a post is wrong-hearted and leave the rest to God. Can't talk to the person face to face, you say? Call them up and speak with him or her over the phone. Don't have the person's phone number? Perhaps you're not a close enough "friend" to pass judgement on the "offensive" posts. Consider this: We become Facebook friends with people and family all over the world, many of whom we've never even met. All we know is their online presence. We have no idea what these people go through on a daily basis, their triumphs, their struggles, their hurts, and yet we dare to pass judgement on their posts? THAT seems wrong-hearted.

If you still feel compelled to comment, don't resort to sarcastic comments. Again, pray for wisdom and guidance. God is surely able to give you words that breathe life into another--as He does with the Bible. Remember, before you are tempted to "correct" someone on Facebook in the name of Christian charity, none of us are perfect: "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God."

Don't let your Christian ego make your Facebook pulpit a stumbling block to your brother or sister in Christ. Prayerfully consider your comments before you respond to another. Why be a slave to your Christian ego, when you were made to be free in Christ?

Tried by Fire

Tonight I grilled chicken with Glutino Gluten Free Bread Crumbs. Corn, cane juice, and sea salt. I practically did a subdued dance in Walmart's aisle when I found the bread crumbs at a reasonable price. My homemade gluten free crumbs just don't cut it since I'm still working on perfecting the recipe. However, I kept the dance subdued because with a name like Glutino, the bread crumbs would undoubtedly  taste like cardboard. Wrong! I added a few spices to the crumbs, rolled the chicken thighs in it, and grilled them on the grill. I got a cross between movie theater popcorn and KFC. Sounds strange but it was super yum, as well as the perfect compliment to my corn bread!

While I sat in the garage enjoying the flavor explosion and watching my husband work on a car, I realized that it has been three weeks to the day of a restricted diet (minus that Chic-fil-A French fry/milkshake indiscretion...hey, no one's perfect). Three weeks. This is incomprehensible to me. And then it hit me.  Up until a few days ago, I really did think this diet would kill me, but as I ponder the rebuilding of the pantry and learning to cook\bake new foods, I'm discovering it's not about living without. It's not impossible. It's about accepting the challenge. It's about healing. It's about expanding the palate. Stomach issues aside, I'm also feeling good about this diet because I am eating healthier than I ever have. Do I miss the convenience of prepared foods? Yes! Is it  annoying to pack my food for every outing? Most definitely! Yet my meals are taking on a depth that has been lacking for many years. But NO prepared food for three weeks??!! That is  so incredible. No boxed pizzas. No fast food (see above). No candy. Very little sugar. It's akin to fasting! And it's even more incredible because I'm the one doing it! Who knew?

After all is said and done, I am just a tiny piece of this puzzle that has been perplexing me for nearly four months. Depression raised its ugly head, and I've been battling that until the Lord ask me this question: "Can you trust Me?" The Lord has been working steadily in my heart and mind to accept this new fact in my life, and most days I think I do a pretty good job of handling it. Then there are other days when Satan works overtime. Just a few days ago, I admitted to myself and my Redeemer that I have been having one ginormous pity party for myself. Instead of letting my God handle this, I've been frustrated with doctors. Talk about misplaced faith. The doctors aren't really the ones who can heal me. I feel like I'm walking through the fire, but I know that God is still with me, and I know I am being refined: such a wonderful feeling! I feel His presence and love surrounding me every single moment, and I know I am safe, no matter what the future brings. And once my 12 week diet is done, He'll be there if I say goodbye to it or if it becomes my new permanent reality.

I'm praising God for His faithfulness to one who gets tangled up in fear and frustration. Yes, I trust Him. I have been walking with Him for 16 and a half years. He hasn't let me down yet, and He never will. I'm a daughter of the Holy King; My days do not need to be filled with Satan's darkness because Jesus is the light that brightens my life and leads me every step of the way!

Fearless Frankenstein Creates Frankencakes

I’ve always been a little intimidated when it comes to the kitchen. My mom was always a fantastic cook, but I don’t appear to have inherited her skills. Now that my whole diet has completely changed it’s been more than intimidating. Take baking yeast bread, for example. In order to get the right dough consistency, I can always pull from the experience of baking it with my mom. The first time I made gluten free bread, I found myself feeling slightly panicked as my Kitchen Aid mixed the ingredients. It was like exploring unchartered territory. Gluten free dough is exactly the opposite of wheat bread when it comes to consistency. Add xanthan gum and it’s even scarier. It’s ooey and gooey and screams epic failure as you scrape the dough out of the bowl and into a pan. I feel like a pioneer who has no map to follow save what I find on the Internet, and I discovered that the Internet doesn’t really replace hands-on experience. However, I haven’t let my intimidation stop me from experimenting. I’ve had to be fearless in the kitchen, and the other day I donned the persona of Dr. Frankenstein.

In an effort to help offset the flops with the gluten-free flours in my kitchen, my wonderful mom found a recipe in one of her cookbooks for buckwheat pancakes made with yeast. I've never been a huge fan of buckwheat, but it's an acceptable food I can eat. The recipe seemed simple enough, but here’s where Frankenstein came in: I had to improvise with some ingredients. I had to do a little guesswork and math with the yeast. It called for just a portion of a yeast cake. I didn’t have a yeast cake, so improvised with active dry yeast. Once you mix the yeast, water, flour, and scalded milk together, the batter is supposed to rest all night. Well, since I wanted breakfast for dinner, mine rested all day. This questionable looking concoction that was resting in my kitchen looked something like this:

When it came time to add the baking soda, molasses, and egg, I was extremely nervous. Not only did I improvise with the yeast, but I also used almond milk for the milk; for the egg, I used Enger-G Egg Replacer. Well, as I dumped in the baking soda/water mixture, the batter came alive! It fizzled and fuzzled, and once it was mixed up it was ready to be fried.

The end result? They looked somewhat suspicious with their wrinkled "skin," but the texture was amazingly light and fluffy. Flavor wise, my little Frankencakes didn’t turn out quite as well as I had hoped. I’m speculating I may have been a little heavy handed on the yeast, and I’m wondering about that almond milk and fake egg I used. Someday (hopefully) when I’m able to use the actual ingredients, I will try these again without having to employ Dr. Frankenstein’s tactics.

Corn Tortillas (May Have) Saved My Life

Ever have those moments where you come out of a situation, not entirely unscathed, created by none other than yourself and wonder, “WHY DID I DO THAT??”  I had no idea that there were unplumbed depths to my stupidity. Stupidity? Perhaps I mean insanity. There’s such a fine line between the two…at least for me. What was meant to be just a short walk to view the smoke plume from the Pine Ridge fire turned into a nightmare trek across the desert on the hot tarmac in 100 degree temps. Without sunscreen. Or water. And did I mention, in my Crocs? I’m not sure at what point I decided to slip the leash and go for it, but the thrill of the hunt took me too far out to turn around and go back and really too far to keep going on in the brutal sun. I made the decision to go on because I could see heavenly shade in the distance from some trees. I knew there was no shade if I turned around. 

I didn’t remember the loop being so long or so sunny and scorching HOT. Perhaps because the last time I walked it I was with my sweetie. Time seems to fly when I’m with him, plus we walked it in the evening when it was cool. At any rate, I managed to drag my parched carcus the rest of the way home, all the while praying I wouldn’t dry up into a perfectly preserved mummy. I neared the house and but for the blisters on my feet, I'm sure I could have managed a spring in my step. Alas, I did have blisters and so I entered the house as dramatically as I could manage given the circumstances. After guzzling a gallon of water, I sprayed myself down with Solarcaine and decided to update my blog, which I’d planned on doing before I got the bur under my saddle. It feels good to be home in the AC with a cold glass of water, all the while nursing what is going to be one doozey of a sunburn and two lovely blisters on my feet. I often wonder how people bicycle in that kind of heat and on paved roads. I see them all the time. They probably have a lot of water with them. And I bet they don’t cycle in their Crocs.

I’m sitting here just shaking my head. I can’t fathom why I did what I did, other than I was feeling pretty good because of my little miracle pill, Bentyl. I’m very lucky to be home without passing out, but I knew I had to keep going because there was no way I was calling 911. How humiliating that would have been: Crazy Lady Hospitalized After Traversing Desert In Bright Pink Crocs. No thank you. Plus, it would have freaked my husband out even more than what he’s going to when he sees how much I’ve overdosed on vitamin D and ultraviolet rays.

Before my desert safari, my new post was going to showcase a picture of my corn tortillas I made for lunch today. Because of a 4-day rotation adventure diet for the next 12 weeks, there are only a finite number of foods I can eat. Non of which contain gluten or dairy or eggs or many spices. Basically if it tastes good, I can’t have it. You know, I was always impressed with people who willingly chose to go gluten-free and vegan, and I always bragged that I could never do that! Well, people, there’s a lesson in here somewhere. Watch what you say because it may come back to bite you. And did it. The girl who loves all things wheat and dairy has been forced to give it all up for 12 weeks. Of course, there’s always the little voice in the back of my head saying, “What if it ends up being permanent?” Permanent or not, I’ve been trying out recipes that will satisfy my craving for breads and sweets with some success.

I’ve made some pretty successful blueberry muffins and decadent brownies. Gluten-free corn bread is super easy to make. The gluten-free version tastes as good as the cornmeal/flour mix. Then for lunch today I decided to try flat bread and did some reading online for a simple recipe. I learned about a flour called masa harina, which is nothing more than corn soaked in lime and then ground into flour. I made a special trip to Vitamin Cottage Natural Grocers and bought Bob’s Red Mill masa harina that conveniently had the recipe on the back. You add water and salt to the flour. And wa-la! You have corn tortilla dough. Fry it up and your done. They are ridiculously easy to make and extremely tasty. So much better than anything you buy in a store or eat at a restaurant, and they’re infinitely healthier because there are no additives. Highly recommend whether you are on a gluten-free diet or not! 

I'm fairly certain these are the reason why I was able to survive that which tried to eat me alive this afternoon: the Desert.

Blessings and Raindrops

You know,  sometimes it seems that life can be a real drag. We make plans, have certain expectations of what we wish to happen and then we are disappointed when our plans or expectations turn out to be the opposite of what we expected. For the past year I have been struggling with health issues brought on by surgery that was supposed to improve my quality of life…instead it caused other issues. Many days and nights have been spent in prayer asking, “Why, Lord?” and “How long?” ...the cries of all who struggle with things in their lives. Yet I know that my God is with me. He shows His mercies each and ever day, but some days it is difficult for me to accept these in the light of the uncertainty I experience. Recently, however, God has been speaking to me from every direction it seems. Through the Bible, through Christian radio, through others. All of these were recently crystallized in the song “Blessings” by Laura Story. The first time I heard this song was on my way into school, and it was so powerful, so obvious that I started to cry:

We pray for blessings.

We pray for peace,


Comfort for family, protection while we sleep.


We pray for healing, for prosperity.

We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering.

All the while, You hear each spoken need


Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things.

‘Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops?

What if Your healing comes through tears?

What if a thousand sleepless nights 


Are what it takes to know You’re near?

What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

What if my greatest disappointments


Or the aching of this life


Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy


And what if trials of this life


The rain, the storms, the hardest nights


Are your mercies in disguise?

As I listened to these lyrics, it finally occurred to me that instead of asking “Why?” I should be pondering those “What if…” questions.

Even in the midst of all I go through on a daily basis, I know I am blessed. I am surrounded by my Christian family, fiancé, and friends, I have a roof over my head, a great job, and a God who cares about my day-to-day activities, thoughts, feelings, pain; a God who loves and cares for me. Yes, me!! Who am I to ask “Why?” when I have so much for which I am thankful? But even if all these were taken from me, I would still be able to rejoice because Jesus has saved me. In the light of eternity, this is what matters: that I serve and love Him because He first lived me and gave Himself to carry my sin and die on a cross and be resurrected to sit on the rand hand of God the Father. It also matters that I share this blessed news with others who struggle through life without my God who will do the same for them.

I am by no means perfect, and I have to remind myself on a daily basis to focus on the positive and not the negative that Satan prefers. Instead of asking, "Why me?" I am learning to ask, "Why not me?" If I really consider this past year, would I want to trade any moment? God has shown himself in many ways and to exchange that for a completely healthy body isn’t worth it. I know that these experiences have drawn me closer to Him, and I know that "I'm sheltered in the arms of God." You can't buy or trade that peace of mind for anything in this world.

Still, it is a constant struggle that I am learning to deal with, but I know that as long as I let Jesus guide me, I will obtain the highest prize, that of living an eternity with Christ my Savior. Until then, I am learning to rejoice in this burden that I carry because I know my God is faithful.

When All Else Fails...

We all know that men never ASK for directions and never READ the directions. It's somehow written into their genetic code at birth, right? As a teacher, I can't tell you how many times a day I ask my students some version of this question: "What's the first thing you do on a test before you start answering questions?"

"Write our names at the top of the papers!!" they shout.

After four years of teaching, I'm not sure why this response always surprises me. I mean, yeah, I want kids to write their names on their papers, but it's not the answer I'm looking for, and they get me every time. I feel like Buddy the Elf checking the jack-in-the-boxes...they get him every time too.

"What's the NEXT thing you do?"

Silence. Then a hand is raised and some student asks tentatively, "Read the directions?"

"YES!" I say while performing a happy dance. (No, I don't actually do a happy dance.)

At the middle school level, boys and girls alike never read the directions. Even if you go over them as a class, they never read them. Their brains shutdown when they hear the word "directions" because their neurons can't interpret why we even need directions. In the minds of students, directions are superfluous; Reading directions is just extra work the teachers give students to make their lives miserable. But somewhere along the way, girls develop those specialized direction-reading skills, whereas boys fail to develop even a reasonable facsimile thereof.

To illustrate...

Christmas this year was somewhat different for my family. It was decided that we would not be exchanging gifts. Some of that has to do with money conservation, but the main reason is because Christmas has become so commercialized. We wanted to focus on family and the real reason for the holiday. To paraphrase a friend, isn't it strange that we give gifts to each other on Jesus' birthday? For my own part, I believe that Jesus is the one who should be receiving the gifts. And what better gifts than the gift of ourselves? Anyway, my sister, who is the gift-giver in the family, decided to buy everyone gifts (much to my annoyance). However, she did a great job budgeting, including the ship-in-a-bottle kit she purchased for our nephew. He expressed that he had no idea how to put the thing together, and it was suggested that he'd have to read the directions. His response? "I'm not reading directions. I never read directions!" 

My brother-in-law chimed in, "I never read directions either, but for something like this I would."

Sure you would, buddy, I thought sarcastically, and then I cringed as a lightbulb burst forth in all its splendiferous glory as I reflected back to a few days earlier. For Christmas this year, my father wanted his digital photos put on a DVD. He's been fussing about the fact that as he gets older he may not be able to get out and about to see the scenery. (My dad is the glass-is-half-empty type.) "No problem!" I exclaimed. "I have a Mac. I have iDVD. The DVD will practically create itself!" 

I spent hours sifting through photos that would make a grand presentation. When I was done, I opened my iDVD app, and realized I had several options from which to choose: "Great. I'm not much of decision maker, but let's see... 'Create a New Project'? Maybe. 'Open an Existing Project'? Nope, not there yet. 'Magic iDVD!' Oooo, magic!!?? Sounds easy!! 'OneStep DVD'? Better yet! ...No, wait. Turns out 'OneStep' means I actually connect my camera to the computer. Not helpful since my photos are on my computer, not my camera."

Creating my own project sounded like fun, so that ended up being my next choice. I fidgeted and fiddled with it and got so frustrated, I finally gave up.

"Why can't they make this user friendly? I shouldn't have to read the directions; this IS a Mac, for crying out loud! So, 'Magic iDVD' it is. Let's see. I probably should pick a theme then I can drag and drop my photos and then add some music. Piece of cake!"

I did all that and figured out how to preview my project. It looked great with only one problem. My menu buttons were all squished together to the point that I couldn't even read them. Well, since, for some inexplicable reason, a person can't preview a presentation in full-screen mode, I thought that everything would be fine when it showed up on the much bigger TV screen, and I decided to burn the DVD. As it did its little deal, I noticed the timer: "TWO and HALF HOURS to burn? You have got to be kidding me!" I yelled. I could almost see the smoke rolling out of my little MacBook disc drive as it labored, but finally, the DVD was born! I popped it into the DVD player, and...BUMMER! I was devastated when the DVD menu looked exactly like it had in the preview: nearly impossible to read. There are no words to explain the depths of my disappointment. "'Magic,' my big toe," I muttered irritably.

A menu that looks strangely like my students' writing: illegible

The next day, I opened up the tutorials, worked my way through them, and created my own project. And what do you know? It turned out magnificent! So magnificent that I created three more projects and was able to proudly give them to my father.

Now that's more like it!

So, the point of all this? Either the world has been wrong all along and the belief that we don't need directions is a human curse rather than a manly one. OR, there's something drastically wrong with my feminine genetic code. Personally I'm voting for the former, but considering my family tree...it's probably the latter.

A final note: there is undoubtedly a way to upload a cut from the photo presentations I created, but in order for me to accomplish this task, I'd have to read the directions, so...pass.