A bonk on the head, emergency rooms and laughter ... life is about what you don’t see coming

By Mary Kay Roth

Leaving a friend’s house earlier this week, I whizzed around a blind corner just outside their front door and bonked my head on a low-hanging roof’s edge. Man, it hurt, but I forged ahead and hopped into my car to drive home.

A couple blocks later I realized something warm was running down my face,  the side of my head, and when I reached up to check – my hand was covered in blood. Grabbing a blanket from the passenger’s seat, I attempted to put pressure on my head while driving a stick shift … then determined I needed to find the nearest emergency room. 

Now, I pause here for a moment in my blog to try and remember exactly what I was thinking about when I came zooming out of that house – all the bits and bobs, odds and ends of a worrisome brain: An impending-scary-new president, the brutality of California wildfires, strategies to stop my dog from jumping up on people, how to help friends hurting from broken health, Ukraine and drones, tariffs and debt limits, the always-daunting task of stowing away holiday decorations.  

But I can definitely tell you the one thing I wasn’t worried about: Ramming my head into a roof and landing in a very crowded emergency room. 

So, I’ll start with this handy tip. You can get fast-tracked into an ER exam room when you walk into the place looking like a zombie, blood caked through your hair and over your face.

I would also add another tip. When you stop by the ER at night, always expect a bit of the odd and unusual.

My visit began with a very kind but very beginner nurse who sat me on an exam table and decided the best way to clean out my hair – so the doc could unearth the wound – was to pour water over my head, soaking all my clothes as well as all the sheets on the ER table. Whoa. 

Eventually an efficient, wise and likely overworked physician arrived to examine my head, determining the necessary appropriate medical protocol.  But his probing fingers re-opened my head wound.  

Hence, the nurse re-doused my head with water, then attempted some sort of makeshift compress with a thick rubber band winding around my head that kept popping off.  I volunteered to hold the gauze myself.

At some point the doctor returned holding up a very visible syringe and staple gun, at which point I finally admitted I was just a little scared.

“Why?” the doc asked in amazement, then proceeded to work his magic. 

A couple hours after arriving – after a tetanus shot, many shots of lidocaine and five staples – I was numb, soggy and ready to go home. 

“You’re fine to take a shower and gently wash the blood out of your hair,” the doc advised.

“But what can’t I do?” – I asked.

He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t go scuba diving.”

Ultimately, wearing a dry pair of hospital sweats, I gingerly walked back to my car, plopped down upon a seat of dried blood and started to laugh.

I think I’m writing this blog to figure out why.

Of course, there were plenty of people in the ER room that night who would not be going home nearly as quickly as I was – plenty of people without insurance and without easy access to health treatment.  I’ve had some whopping headaches over the past few days, but quality medical care has already commenced the healing.  

I was lucky. Ultimately, on that fateful ER night, I found my way home, safe and sound, a place untouched by fire or horrific smoke, a place offering a hot shower and a cup of tea.

Lessons learned?  

My kids roll their eyes when I tell them the universe tries to send you messages. But I truly believe when you don’t listen to that gentle, cosmic tap on the shoulder – ultimately you get a bop on the head.

The trick, of course, is to heed the call.

Over the past few months I’ve attempted to calculate strategies for surviving the next four years of possible calamity, exploring ways to salvage a spirit ragged from the injustices of humankind.

News flash, I don’t believe charging through life – while weighed down with apprehension and unease – is gonna help much.  Because living is almost never what you fret about and almost always what you never see coming. 

Possible new course of action?

There’s an old movie called Broadcast News in which a main character sets aside a certain number of minutes daily – with a timer – and forces herself to cry.

Perhaps I need that kind of contained worry.

Or maybe I need to wear a helmet.  Body armor.

I know this much: For New Year’s this year there will be no huge proclamations or resolutions.  Mostly I’m promising to worry less, laugh more, quiet my soul and – good grief – slow down.

Because when you charge ahead spinning around unknown corners, you very well might plow into low-hanging obstacles. 

But when you brake, decelerate and pause, you’re just as likely to find the beauty of a sunrise – someone with open arms to give you a hug – the melody of a favorite song – a grandchild’s smile – the love of a friend – a crackling fireplace – your dog’s soulful eyes.

Singer Billie Eilish tells us: “There are always going to be bad things. But you can write it down and make a song out of it.”

Or write it down and make a blog out of it.

Or – staples out in 10 days – just go scuba diving.

A look back with interest and love

5 Women Mayhem is pausing on this early January day to reflect on a year in which we wrote about wintering, our angst about some of our Nebraska leaders’ decisions, the prairie and a few of our favorite things and places. We had some things to say about how language matters, about our public schools, politics, power and rain. We told you about our mishaps, imperfect moments and the search for light, when darkness fell on us. We ended the year with our revelations about self-therapy. Thank you all for coming along in 2024. And stick with us in 2025. We’re not sure what and how, but the new year is bound to be interesting.

 

In the meantime, enjoy with us a look back at a few excerpts from the past year. 

Marilyn Moore, The Secret Bookshelf, Feb. 22, 2024:

Among the books that have been banned the most are classics.  To Kill a Mockingbird.  Catcher in the Rye.  The Diary of Anne Frank.  Is there a reader anywhere who hasn’t paused to think about justice after reading To Kill a Mockingbird?  Or a teenage boy anywhere who hasn’t found himself somewhere in the pages of Catcher in the Rye?  Or a student learning about WWII who hasn’t felt it all up close and personal after reading the story of Anne Frank?  Or who hasn’t pondered the future of the world after reading 1984 or Brave New World?  I get it, to some readers these books may have been dull, or uninteresting.  But is that a reason to ban them?

No, these books aren’t banned because they’re dull or uninteresting.  They’ve banned because they made somebody uncomfortable, or they caused someone to think they would make a student uncomfortable.  They make me uncomfortable, too.  Shouldn’t a miscarriage of justice make us uncomfortable?  Shouldn’t we vow “Never again,” when we read Anne Frank’s story?  Shouldn’t we be nervous about how easily truth can become lies and lies can become truth?  Of course we should, that’s what education is…to confront knowledge we didn’t know, and expand our understanding of the world in the process. 

Mary Kay Roth, The Darkness of a January Night, January 8, 2024:

As dusk settles early on these January evenings, something quietly shifts inside as we pull winter nights around us like a warm, frothy comforter, diving into the deep cozy cave of hibernation.

Sadly, from childhood on, darkness gets a bad rap, a scary monster to approach with shivers and trepidation. Look up “dark” in a Thesaurus and you’ll find words like bleak, dismal, dreary. 

If we truly allow winter to be our teacher, however, the darkness of a January night asks us to hug close – retreat and rest – discover its gifts and magic. Behind all the dark, long nights and cold winter mornings, there is something incredibly beautiful happening.  

Our bodies heal and grow in the dark while we sleep. Dreams dance in the dark. Music sounds infinitely better with lights off.  And throughout the coming months we will marvel at the unfailing human ability to find light in the middle of the darkest season.

JoAnne Young, Words to the Wise (Women), April 6, 2024:

Language is the next frontier that needs to be conquered in equalizing genders. It can tell us about the nature and extent of the inequality of women.

Power. Control of our own lives. Our own bodies. We are still struggling from centuries of limited power and limited control. There are people now – politicians, lawmakers, judges, influencers, swaths of the influenced – who would drag us back into the dark ages, who would decide how we should behave, spend our time, walk, talk, dress, and wear our hair. 

 Sticks and stones may break your bones but, as many scholars will tell you, words actually can hurt you. The link between language and culture is forever entangled, Montell says, and continues to reflect and reinforce power structures and social norms. The time has come, she says, to challenge how and why we use language the way we do. That means questioning the words we speak every day. And the words used, even when someone thinks they are being supportive. 

Penny Costello, A Few of our Favorite Vacation Sites and Sights, “There’s No Place Like Home,” April 22, 2024:

There are a lot of places in the world I have yet to see, and I do hope to see them before I’m through. I’ve had the pleasure of living in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, in Colorado, in Minnesota, and here in Nebraska. And I’ve found much to love and appreciate about all of those landscapes. 

But I’m a mountain girl at heart. And that started with my great good fortune of being born and raised in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The ranch I grew up on was ten miles north of Rapid City, and eight miles east of the foothills. I gazed upon them every day. To the north, I could see and feel Bear Butte, or Mato Paha to the Lakota, a long dormant volcano that juts up out of the prairie and is sacred to the Cheyenne and Lakota People. I grew up not only seeing but feeling those mountains in my soul. 

My grandmother used to drive us kids through the hills, showing us where our grandfather would drive his cattle in the summer to graze. Once in a while, my mom would say to me with a twinkle in her eye, “Let’s go play tourist!” And we’d spend the day driving through the hills, visiting attractions, and loving that time together.

My memories are filled with time spent camping with family, and hiking with my friends. And as I got older, I learned about the complex history of white settlement of the area, the displacement of Native tribes that had been there for thousands of years, and the spiritual power and significance of that place.

Mary Reiman, A Few of Our Favorite Things, “Making Rolls,” February 12, 2024:

I love making rolls. I love the process as much as the product. Maybe more. 

The recipe was given to me long ago, in my first year of teaching. It was a perfect Saturday activity because it includes a beginning and an end, with a final product. In teaching, we finish a semester, or a year, and send students on their way, often wondering how they are doing, or where they have landed in life. In baking, I see the result of my work. 

There is no mixer or bread machine involved in this recipe. I use my hands to get the right consistency before punching the dough (OK...maybe there’s a bit of aggression alleviated at that point). The stickier the dough, the better. Watching it rise, getting out the rolling pin, cutting and shaping, and then brushing with butter (because everything really is better with butter). There’s nothing quite like the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting through the house. 

As important as the baking, is sharing with others. Packaging them and rushing off to deliver while they are still warm. It’s my way of letting friends know they are important to me. 

Sharing the love and joy of something made by the hand, and from the heart. 

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My therapists come to me with lyrics and musical notes

We’re moving into a year in which none of us knows just what may happen, and we’re a little tense. Seems like a good time for something to soothe our souls. Which got us to thinking ... what helps when we need a little self-therapy to ease the mayhem? Join us in these days leading up to 2025 – we’ll post daily Dec. 28-Jan. 1 – as we share some of our favorite ways to get through these troubled times. 

By JoAnne Young

My daughter introduced me to the music of Sarah McLachlan and Patty Griffin. 

FM radio brought me to Paul Simon and Joni Mitchell and Elton John, and record  

stores to James Taylor and Carole King. My son ushered in Warren G. and the world of rap. My granddaughter launched Taylor Swift, and my husband helped me find Brandi Carlisle. 

 

Amazon Music, thanks most recently for Wolf Larson and Allison Russell. 

 

All these singer/songwriters play a part in my self-therapy. 

 

I listen to their songs and others when I need some relief from anxiety or uneasiness, when I need to calm down, to stay awake on a long car trip or get inspired. 

 

There are so many great poets in the world who set their words to music. I recently discovered that one of my favorite Christmas/winter songs, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” was from a poem written by one of my newly favorite poets, Christina Rossetti. 

 

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen
Snow on snow, snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago

 

I credit my big sister, Jackie, for taking me along on her musical journey when I was a child. We shared a room, and the radio on our bedside table was on day and night. She was nearly five years older, and her favorite Top 40 songs became mine. 

 

Jackie, who was artistic in many ways, wanted to be a singer in her teen years, and entered a contest to see how far she could get. I will always remember the song she sang: “Secret Love.” I think about that song from time to time and my sister dressed up and singing her heart out. 

 

Once I had a secret love,

That lived within the heart of me

All too soon my secret love, 

Became impatient to be free.

Music isn’t just self-therapy. It’s actually used by health professionals to treat people with brain injuries or strokes. People who can’t form sentences of three to four words can sing their favorite songs, be it hymns, Garth Brooks or the Rolling Stones. 

 

Neurologists say music can create a groove in the brain where the meaning of the words can be laid down deeply. Is that why we can remember the words to songs for a lifetime? 

 

I worked at a classical music station in Omaha when I was pregnant with my first child. Many mornings we both listened to Mozart, Shostakovich and Bach. He is the only one of our three who is a musician. 

 

I believe in the power of music to soothe us, like Patty Griffin’s “Luminous Places.” It’s like a daydream that lowers my heart rate and blood pressure. 

 

Love flows out of these luminous places 
Love lies down in the deep of the sea 
Falls out of the sky in millions of pieces on me. 
I've been over these highways for years in the dark 

Crisscrossing the land like a stitch on a wound.

Rolling through the night while millions were sleeping 

Under every phase of the moon.

 

I find it somewhat staggering that Paul Simon wrote “An American Tune” in 1973,  and not in 1995 or 2001 or 2020 or 2024. There’s been so many years Simon’s lyrics fit, especially now. Thank you for your words and the healing. 

 

We come on the ship they call The Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age's most uncertain hours
And sing an American tune.

Oh, and it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
You can't be forever blessed.
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day
And I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying to get some rest.

 

A little self-therapy...soothing my soul in the early morning hours

By Mary Reiman

We’re moving into a year in which none of us knows just what may happen, and we’re a little tense. Seems like a good time for something to soothe our souls. Which got us to thinking ... what helps when we need a little self-therapy to ease the mayhem? Join us in these days leading up to 2025 – we’ll post daily Dec. 28-Jan. 1 – as we share some of our favorite ways to get through these troubled times. 

When I dropped my phone in the sink, it wasn’t the angst of not having the phone overnight. It was the hassle of not having my phone during the holidays. Or so I told myself.

Chances are I wouldn’t be able to get a new phone quickly. Did I have a back-up of my calendar to know where I was supposed to be tomorrow morning? Was everything really in iCloud? Did I lose those pictures I had just taken that afternoon at the family holiday gathering? Yes, those are some of the negative thoughts/concerns running through my head two days before Christmas.

What does one do after grabbing a wet phone out of the water and drying it off? In the past I would have looked for the bag of rice. Alas, luckily my computer was on the table and within seconds I learned to never use rice. (Although I do remember being told in the past that it worked.) Instead, dry it off, turn it off, and let it sit on the counter for 24 hours. Why 24 hours, I don’t know. But at that point I knew they were the experts, I was not. 

So, I followed those directions which meant I would not be able to turn on my phone until later the following afternoon. That’s when it hit me. 

That’s when I realized what my self-therapy is each morning. My morning routine/ritual.

I structure my day around my success with Wordle, Connections, and Worldle. I don’t have to solve all of them each day, especially Worldle because I quickly realized I don’t know all the countries of the world, how they are spelled, or where they are located. However, those games bring a sense of purpose to the early morning hours, setting my brain in motion for the day. If I am highly successful at any of them, it brightens my day before it's even begun. 

And then there’s the Jumble in the newspaper. I can easily get through the day without reading or listening to the news, but not without the Jumble. Others have written about their angst when the Jumble was taken out of our local newspaper. It has returned, and I am thankful.

I turned the phone on the following afternoon and held my breath until the Apple symbol came back on. It's fine and I'm fine. I survived. I was back to my routine by Christmas morning.

So, am I addicted to those games? Well maybe I am. However, I see it as centering myself at the beginning of each day. My self-therapy. 

An aside...I never get the Wordle word on the first line. I always use the same word. I always have, I always will. So imagine my surprise when I put in that word on Christmas morning and up popped 'Genius!' I'm well aware it has nothing to do with being a genius, just luck. However, what a great Christmas present!

A Little Self-Therapy....Soothing My Soul by Getting Something Done

 

By Marilyn Moore

We’re moving into a year in which none of us knows just what may happen, and we’re a little tense. Seems like a good time for something to soothe our souls. Which got us to thinking ... what helps when we need a little self-therapy to ease the mayhem? Join us in these days leading up to 2025 – we’ll post daily Dec. 28-Jan. 1 – as we share some of our favorite ways to get through these troubled times. 

I seldom experience “down” moments. I do, however, experience frustrating, out-of-control, why-can’t-I-fix-this, edgy moments.  And in those moments, when I feel like the decision-makers in our state or country or world are making crazy decisions, that will only make things worse, or when my mind won’t stop racing over its out-of-control list of things to do, or when things seem to be more broken than fixed, or when it’s all just too much and I’m so tired of the frenzy, then I turn to what I have learned soothes my heart and mind and soul….getting something done.  

Sometimes I make a list, which shuts down the competing voices in my brain.  Sometimes I sit for five minutes of calm, letting the neediest “something” rise to top of mind.  Whichever way I begin, I do begin…to get something done.  Bringing a little order, a little peace, into my little corner of the world.  It’s amazing to me how much better I feel when I’ve sorted through that pile of paper that’s been waiting for such a moment, or when I organize a stack of books into piles to read, to give away, or put on a shelf.  Or finish, actually finish, the gift wrapped presents with bows and tags.  Or write that thank you note, or send the donation.  Or do the laundry…oh my gosh, washed, dried, and put away, all in one day!  Or weed the side flower garden, or put away the hoses, or prune back the sedum.  Something, anything, accomplished, reminds me to focus, to do, to pay attention, to celebrate the small wins, and to know there’s another day for the remaining tasks.

Like most everything that’s a good thing, “getting something done” can also be overdone.  If I’m still “getting something done” at 9:00 at night, it’s no longer therapeutic.  It doesn’t make me feel better, it makes me feel overworked, overwhelmed, and more than a little cranky.  At that point, what I most need is a cup of tea, a cookie, and a good book.  Another way to calm my soul….

A little self-therapy … soothing my soul with a voice from the past

 

We’re moving into a year in which none of us knows just what may happen, and we’re a little tense. Seems like a good time for something to soothe our souls. Which got us to thinking ... what helps when we need a little self-therapy to ease the mayhem? Join us in these days leading up to 2025 – we’ll post daily Dec. 28-Jan. 1 – as we share some of our favorite ways to get through these troubled times. 

By Mary Kay Roth

About a decade ago we were forced to take away my mom and dad’s car. It was not pretty. My parents were in their 90’s and we feared they were getting dangerous on the road. But after giving up on any sort of reasonable intervention we resorted to nefarious methods: We covertly started hiding their car keys and eventually had their automobile towed away.

My mom understood, more or less, but my father did not take this well.  Over the course of the following months he left me countless phone messages. Every single day. 

Now, I’m going to admit this is weird. But when I’m feeling angst and stress, and even the glory of a daily sunrise fails to provide relief, I rely on my dad’s voice for a session of silly self-therapy.

“Mary, this is your dad, Bob Roth.  Your Pop.  Old Man Roth.  How are you doing?  You know, I went out to the garage to get my car and it’s gone. I’m a little mad, damn it.”

“Mary, this stinks.  This is a bunch of baloney. You better be getting on the stick.”

“Where in the hell is my car? You’re in deep trouble now, deep doo-doo.” 

Eventually, of course, my dad begins to escalate ... cajole ... threaten.

“Mary, that car is still gone. You're a good daughter.  We need that car. Bring it back or your name’s gonna be mud.” 

“Little missy, I’m gonna call the police.”

“You better get your fanny in gear or somebody’s butt’s gonna be in trouble.”

“If you don’t bring back that car you’ll never drive again. You’ll be an outcast forever.” 

One of my very favorites in this long stream of messages comes when my mom apparently breaks in while dad is leaving me a message.

• “Bob, what are you doing?”  
• “Who is this?
• “This is Ardell, your wife.  Bob, forget about that damn car and go get dressed.”   

I have no memory of who told me to save these messages, but I am forever grateful.

And I have no deep analysis for why they make me feel better.  They are pretty fierce, yet whenever I listen – I start giggling and crying all at the same time.

I guess the simplest reason is that I simply love hearing dad’s voice.   

But perhaps the real miracle is, no matter how angry he gets, dad almost always ends each message with “I love you.” 

I’ve always been drawn to this special line in the children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are …  "And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all."

 

Truly, who needs therapy when you know there are indeed people in the world who loved and who love you best of all.  No matter what. 

“Now, Mary, damn it, bring back that car.  So, how are you doing otherwise? How’s life?”

“Mary, you know I still love you. Call me, sweetheart. Bye, bye.”

“I love you, hon.  I’ll be waiting for your call … about that car …”

If we make it through December ...

By JoAnne Young 

I knew December was coming. I keep it in the corner of my mind all through the year. It’s there beginning in January. It looms in the middle of summer, the beginning of fall. December unsettles me, even with its disguises of bells and ribbons, twinkling lights, angels, cookies and picturesque snow showers. 

 

It fools us with its jolly and sparkle, with the wreaths and evergreens and red splashes of poinsettias, all the while harboring an unwillingness to give up nights of howling north winds, morning chills of single digits, and the longest, darkest hours of the year. The skies turn gray and the earth goes fallow, to rest for the several months until April keeps its promise with slowly awakening color, dotting  our lives with hyacinths, crocuses and bleeding hearts. 

 

In December, we are so busy decorating, shopping, wrapping, along with working at our jobs and everyday chores, that we don’t have time to think about slowing down and finding peace as the earth below us and nature around us does. 

 

The women we know and love are in that December-busy now. If we’re being honest, the decorations and gifts under the tree, the wrappings, candles and sweet treats are the joys that happen because mothers and grandmothers, aunts and sisters make it so. We add that to our year-round responsibilities that don’t go away in December. 

 

I am thinking, especially right now, of the friends and loved ones who must consider their holiday spirit among health concerns and grieving of loved ones who have left them, very recently, or in past months or years. Walking invisibly with us through the holidays are our mothers and fathers, brothers, sisters, children and beloved friends with whom we’d love to share this season.

 

The memories of past Christmases and Hanukkahs and Kwanzaas pulsate in December. We buried our mother a couple of decades ago in mid-December, just five weeks after our dad had died suddenly. Then my only sister died three years ago on a March afternoon. Some of you now will be gathering to celebrate with a newly empty chair at the table. 

 

I could be writing about the joys of December and holidays and families gathering around beautifully set tables and the excitement of children opening gifts, but I know two of my neighbors are missing daughters and my friend across town is wondering what she can scrape together for a holiday meal. 

 

How I wish we could dig a moat around December to keep out sadness, disappointment, worries and stress. We can’t. Those things have a way of walking on water, breaching our castles. Beloved teams lose heartbreaking matches. Illnesses cross our immune barriers. Dear hearts stop beating. 

 

We will make it through December. We will work it out or wait it out with courage. We will do it with attentive and thoughtful friends, with appreciation of those loved ones who travel across the state or country to be with us, or those who we will travel miles to see. 

 

Then, we will start to think about the New Year and the hope it brings, even with its uncertainties. I have great expectations for a return to normalcy in early 2025 from being off my feet for two months after a missed step in September and then spending a month practicing the get-up-and-walk-woman incantations, with a lot of help from physical therapists. 

 

I look forward to 2025, to hope mingled with craziness and the tiptoeing of light back to the spring equinox and the longest day of summer solstice. In the meantime, I will grow comfortable with my Eddie Bauer parka and sherpa-lined stocking caps. I will look forward to early morning walks in the cold that fire up my metabolism and boost my mental health. 

 

Until then, God bless you December, with all your faults. 

 

I will leave you with this message by Louise Erdrich, from The Painted Drum. (I love writers.) 

 

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apple falling all around in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”  

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