November 2004 Archives

Craig left me a comment about my experience as a clown. Particularly, he asked me if I told bad puns while I clown. The short answer to his question is no. But since he asked and stirred up the memories, I thought it might be fun to stroll down memory lane a bit.

I joined Acts 29 (my campus's travelling ministry project that involved puppeteering, clowning, and similar activities) when I was in my sophomore year at Susquehanna. Though I didn't really get all that involved with the group until my junior year. That's when the project moved into a house on University Avenue. I shared the one downstairs bedroom with my roommate, Gerry. I immediately got involved in puppeteering and clowning. I enjoyed both, but in some ways, I enjoyed clowning the most.

I inherited one of the four or five clown costumes the project had. My friend Merion had actually used it the year before I became an active member, and it fit me quite well. I also went out and got a rainbow-colored wig to go with it and started working on a design for my facepaint. Unfortunately, I don't remember everything I included, though I do remember I'd always draw a blue star on my one cheek. I always had such hard time with that, too. I was such a perfectionist, and I'd spend a few minutes trying to get the star "just right" before finally giving up and letting it go with however it looked. Don't get me wrong, it always looked fine, really. At least no one ever complained or asked "what's that blue splotch supposed to be?"

Acts 29 almost always did silent clowning. (The only time our clowns spoke was when they performed at the home for developmentally challenged individuals in Selinsgrove. We felt it was necessary to bend our rules of silence for the sake of being better able to get our message accross to our audience in those cases.) Our clowning mainly consisted of small skits with some sort of message. For example, we had this one skit called "Return to Sender." For this skit, one of the clowns would take a big red heart and tape i to their chest, over where their own heart would be. Then the skit would begin. Through a series of events, each of the other clowns would be mean or thoughtless to her (I say "her" because more often than not, Amanda's clown character, Rosy would play the part of the clown being hurt). For example, we might not let her join in a game we're playing. Or we might get mad at her for a mistake she made and push her away. And each time one of these things would happen, she would tear another little piece off her heart. Near the end of the skit, her paper heart would be nothing more than small shreds. At this point, she would be very sad until she got an idea. She would then grab an envelope, put the torn heart into it, and seal it up. Then she would write on the front of the envelope "To God" in big black letters so everyone in the audience to see. Then she'd give it to someone (usually one of the non-clown facilitators that was accompanying the group) to send to God. A bit later, the same person would come back with another sealed envelope. The clown would open it up and find a new, untorn paper heart in it. Of course, all the other clowns would see this and get excited and everyone would hug and make up and play together.

I think that my favorite experience as Bobo (my clown name) was when we decided to write our own Christmas skit. It was a particularly interesting skit because we integrated a number of our ministry forms together. In this skit, we involved clowns, puppets, and at least one "normal person" part. (That part was the poor narrator who had to try to keep the whole thing together. In that skit, Bobo ended up playing the part of Joseph (we were re-enacting the nativity scene after all). And things just weren't going well. The narrator would tell Rosy (playing the part of of Mary) and I to go to Bethlehem. Well, being two clowns, we immediately pulled out our map and started trying to find out how to get to Bethlehem. We would both sit there running our fingers over the map trying to find it (usually not looking in the same place). Usually, we'd end up turning the map as if we had it upside down for good measure. I loved that gag.

Needless to say, the whole experience didn't get any better. Not only could Rosy and Bobo not find Bethlehem, but our Shepherd (another clown) couldn't find her sheep (though she was able to find a cow and a duck, to the annoyance of the narrator), one of the wise men was sick and couldn't make it, and above all else, we ended up forgetting the baby Jesus. This last put the narrator into absolute hysterics until our lovely Shepherd (played by Amy's clown character, whose name escapes me at the moment) bring out one of her animals. Rosy immediately falls in love with it and decides it can stand in for the baby Jesus, and we ended the skit with a very sweet -- if unusual -- nativity scene.

I think the other thing I liked about clowning was the playtime. You see, before any service or event began, the clowns were given free reign. While people would be coming in, we had the honor of running around the place with our variou toys (after all, like any good clown troop, we had a suitcase full of them) playing and being silly. We'd be playing kazoos, blowing bubbles (which the children always loved to pop -- and so did the clowns), and finding all kinds of make believe games to be playing with a simple length of rope.

Ah, the memories. I haven't thought about my days as a clown in a long time. I enjoyed the stroll through the past.

...and probably didn't want to.

1. At one time, I was involved in an online "relationship." At the time, I considered the other gentleman -- who lived in the UK -- my boyfriend. However, for various reasons (the fact that I never actually met him in person not being the least of them), I do not count it as a "real relationship," nor do I count him as an ex.
2. I have never kissed a man.
3. I have, however, kissed a woman.
4. I actually worry about kissing. Even at thirty, I worry I won't be "any good at it."
5. My favorite drinks are pina coladas, strawberry daiquiris, mudslides, and long island iced teas.

So, I had quite the adventure yesterday. I got up at 10 in the morning, checked my blood sugar, and took my pills. Then I sat down to my computer and played Insaniquarium (I beat the adventure!) while I waited the requisite thirty minutes. Once that time elapsed, I decided to go ahead and have breakfast. I got everything around and ate, then spent the rest of the morning puttering around online. It gave me a chance to get caught up on friends' diaries and respond to a few emails and posts on message boards.

As it got to be about 12:30, I decided it was time to think about lunch. I decided that I wanted to go out for lunch, as I was having a restless day and just needed to do something to get my mind and body in a calmer state. So I took my shower and grabbed an apple out of the bag. I ate it as I drove to the mall.

I got to the mall at about 2:00. I knew I had to take my walk (it was my last chance to get the third day of exercise in for last week), so I decided to get that out of the way before I ran upstairs to eat. I wasn't all that hungry since I had the apple, and I was feeling great. So I took my usual circuitous route through the halls of the mall and through a few of the anchor stores. Towards the end, I was getting hungry, but I finished my twenty minutes before getting my back out of the locker at the entrance and heading up to the food court. Once inside Friendly's, I gave my waitress (Diane) my order and then headed for the bathroom. I was feeling a bit lightheaded, so I decided it was time to get out my glucometer and check my blood sugar again.

Well, I had trouble with it. For whatever reason, the first time I stabbed myself with the lancet, my finger didn't want to bleed. I got a tiny drop and decided to try it. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough blood there to fill the test strip and the machine errored out. So I grab another strip, and poke another finger. Now by this time, I'm starting to get concerned because I've started sweating profusely. I know I just went for a brisk walk, but I didn't exert myself that much.

The second time, I got enough blood and the machine flashed up a number. That number was 50. So I immediately spotted Diane, flagged her down, showed her the results (fortunately, she understood what I was showing her) and asked her to get me something sweet NOW. She blinked, ran back into the kitchen and came out with a full glass of Coke for me. (She didn't even take time to put ice in the glass, bless her heart.) Needless to say, I chugged that down. By this time, the patron sitting at the table across the aisle from me has figured out what's going on and starts in asking "are you okay"? (Note: While the concern is appreciated on some levels, diabetics are not exactly in the best state of mind when they're blood sugar is critically low. As such, overbearing acts of concern like CONSTANTLY asking if they're okay is not a good idea. If you're in that situation, give the diabetic person something with lots of sugar -- fruits are best -- and then leave them alone. I managed to be courteous, but not much more than that.)

I get the impression that Diane also went back in the kitchen and told them to move my order to the front of the line, because it wasn't that long after that incident that my food came out. It may have just been that they were having a slow day, but it just seemed rather fast to me. But I got the soda and real food in me and in fifteen minutes my blood sugar was up to 72. That's not fantastic, but it's generally stable for me. And by the time I got home, I was clear up to 166. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised that it wasn't even higher with all the sugar from the soda. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

So I learned a very important lesson. Even if I had a late breakfast and a light snack, I will NOT go walking before I eat if I'm having a late lunch. I should've known better, really. But I figured I ate breakfast late enough and had that apple so that my blood sugar should be just fine. Apparently, I was wrong. Not that this totally surprises me. I've found incidents where my blood sugar level seems to be time-dependent as much as food-dependent. For example, I've noticed a tendency to have higher blood sugar in the evening if I eat supper after 5:30 than if I eat it around 5:00. The fact that I take my medicines later and test my blood sugar later when I do that doesn't matter. Even with everything moved the same amount of time later into the evening, the results come back higher. So apparently, this is another of these oddities.

It's been a pretty good day. I went for my walk on my lunch break. That's the second one for this week. I need to get one more in. I'm looking at Saturday for that. I figure I'll give myself tomorrow off. Besides, I have to run out to lunch tomorrow. I figure I'll need the extra time to stand in line at Subway.

While I was at the mall today, I picked up Mike's Christmas present. I got him one of those "pictures in motion." They're a neat idea. Basically, they're a picture of some scene with water in it. There is a light behind the picture and there is some sort of mechanism that causes the light to shift slightly. The net result is that the water looks like it's actually flowing. The specific picture I got Mike has a watefall flowing into a pool. It's absolutely gorgeous. Hopefully, he likes it. I think he will, because he was practically cooing over such "moving pictures" when we saw them at the Carousel Mall. So when I found the same place had a kiosk set up at the Pyramid Mall, it became a pretty obvious gift idea.

This evening I tested my blood sugar when I got home. It was 55. Needless to say, everything got dropped and I made a quick hunt for food. I ended up having yogurt, six cups of popcorn (the proper serving I'd normally have in the evening is three cups), and a quarter cup of dried pineapple -- which had way too much sugar added. Frighteningly, though, when I tested my blood sugar again at 9:30 or so, it was still only up to a 78. This is just insane. I hope Dr. Lee changes my medications soon-ish.

This has been a bit of a hectic week. Between getting the rust spot on my car fixed, taking care of work, and doing my stuff for the endocrinologist, I've been a bit busy. And on top of that all, I've been trying to get more rest. I feel like I'm still on the verge of being sick again. I think I'll be fine, but only if I can keep myself rested up and relatively well. That's why I haven't been online much this week. I mean, heck, I've even been late reading Catharsis on a few days. Reading the latest Catharsis strip is usually one of the first things I do when I have access to the Internet. But things have been so crazy, it hasn't been happening.

I'm curious to see what's going on with my blood sugar. I've come pretty darn close to bottoming out on two nights this week. On Wednesday night when I checked it at 7:30 (about two hours after supper), it was down to 67. I immediately had a yogurt before Mom and I ran the van to the body shop. And then Thursday night, I was clear down to 59. I stood in the kitchen eating a snack and I felt like I was wolfing it down. I also felt myself slightly shaking at the time, too.

The good news is that it was quite a bit better last night. When I got home and took my "after supper" reading, I was at a 96. I'm not entirely sure what made the difference. The only thing I can figure is that I actually ate supper half an hour later than normal. I'm not sure why that'd make a difference, but it's the only thing I can figure. Everything else, I did practically the same on each of those days.

I have about another hour before I can test my blood sugar tonight. My parents and I went out for supper and that made for a late meal. I'm a bit concerned about what it might be. After all, I had a lot to eat tonight -- the restaurant we went to gives ridiculously large portions -- so it might be a bit high. But then again, it can be up to 140 before Dr. Lee's going to get too concerned. And if it's only one test out of the entire week, that's probably not too terrible anyway. I just can't make a habit of it. (Taking the test every day and having to send it in to Dr. Lee's office sure helps keep me honest about just how habitual something like that is becoming, too.)

My car is fixed. The body shop managed to get it in on Thursday and finish the job up yesterday. So I left work about two hours early so that I could get there in time to pick up my car before they closed. They did a fantastic job. If I ever need body work done again (may the gods forbid!), I'd definitely consider going back there. Once I had the car, I also decided to run to the Ford dealership. I need a second key made. And unfortunately, I have one of those cars that uses the keys with the anti-theft microchips in them. So that's something you have to get directly from the dealer. On top of that, because I only have the one key, the dealership has to program the keys by hooking the car up to the diagnostic computer. To do the "easy programming" method, you need two previously-programmed keys. I'm a bit annoyed about that because it means I have to pay a bit extra. But ce'st la vie, I suppose. I'm getting it done on Monday morning because they said they couldn't do it yesterday. They said it would take a half hour to do the job and everyone was getting ready to go home for the evening. I just stood there shaking my head. It was only 4:30. Most of us have to work until 5:00. But nope, these guys were "getting ready to go home" and therefore couldn't start a half hour job. People talk about "banker's hours," geez, I want to start working "mechanic's hours." Oh well, now I'm just being silly. I'm not really upset, but it gives me something to mutter about. Sometimes, it's just fun to do that.