Angels in Blue

I have a daughter who is the adult version of ADHD.  Her lack of focus causes her to constantly “shoot herself in the foot.”  When she was little, well-meaning folks would tell us that if we didn’t intervene, and she suffered the consequences of her behavior, she would eventually learn.  What they didn’t understand is that she DID suffer the consequences of her behavior over and over and over again.  She is nearly 40 and is still doing so.

A couple of months ago this inability to keep the pieces of her life put together caused her to allow her auto insurance to lapse.  Most of us would not have allowed this to happen, because we pay attention to things like bills and notices of termination.  But, she went on her merry and oblivious way.  Early in December she was short on money and hoping she could make it to and from work with the gas in the tank.  She got to work, but not home.  She left the car on the side of the road, hitch-hiked home, and begged a few dollars here and there from neighbors, planning to hitch-hike back with a can of gas.  By this time, a passing policeman had noticed the car, run the plate numbers, and determined that her insurance had lapsed for 15 days in September.  The plates were confiscated and the car impounded.

Daughter has trouble holding a job…of course.  Someone who lacks focus does have difficulty showing up on time and doing their work. Besides that, when one is doing the modern equivalent of "ditch-digging," one is not always treated well by employers, and she has gotten some rotten deals.  She has done relatively well at the current job and desperately wants to keep it.  So, for the 15 days she had to go without plates and therefore, her car, she tried every conceivable way of getting to work.  She apparently wore out the generosity and patience of all her friends, acquaintances and enemies.  A couple of nights ago, the person who was to pick her up at 9 PM and take her home, did not show up.

And so it was, that after 10 PM, she called me sobbing.  I, by the way, live at the other end of the state, so I could not help her.  She was trying to walk the 14 miles home in the dark and cold of December in New York.  She was walking with traffic on a busy highway hoping someone would take pity and pick her up.  I could hear the cars whizzing by.  She called 3 times, as it became increasingly apparent that she simply couldn’t walk 14 miles in the cold.  I tried to think of possible solutions to the dilemma.  The buses don’t run after 9 PM.  A taxi all the way home would take more money than she had.  She talked of trying to go to a friend’s house along the way, or spending the night in the bus station.  Finally, I suggested that she try finding a shelter….she was within the limits of a small city…perhaps, the city had some shelters. 

Between these phone calls, I prayed.  “Oh, Lord,” I said, “I have no idea how to solve this problem.  She isn’t safe.  Please have mercy.  In your grace, send her an angel.  I don’t know what else to pray for.”

She called back a few minutes later.  She had called the police, and they were coming to pick her up.  I thought that if there was a shelter available, surely they would know of it.  I couldn’t go to sleep wondering where she was, and if she would be safe and warm.

The phone rang again.  “I’m home,” she said.

The policeman who had picked her up had been given permission to take her as far as the interstate exit nearest her home.  He had pushed a bit beyond his permission and delivered her to her doorstep.

The next day, she walked the 3-plus miles to the end of the bus route and caught the bus in to the DMV.  She picked up her plates, took the bus back to the end of the route, and began the 3-plus mile walk home.  Along came a different policeman, who picked her up, lectured her about the dangers of walking with the traffic on a busy highway, and delivered her to her front door.

I have no idea what municipalities these two policemen work for……city, county or state.  That is, I don’t know who pays them.  I do know who they were working for in regard to this story.  They were the answer to my prayers.  God sent some “angels in blue.”

"Ave Maria"

A few days ago, just before Christmas, I was in the car on my way to finish up some shopping.  The car radio was on a station that plays all Christmas music from Thanksgiving to Christmas.  I was struck by the hauntingly beautiful but almost mournful tone in which a female soloist was singing "Ave Maria." 

As I listened to these strains, I rounded a corner onto a street where there is a small private nursing home.  At the curb, an elderly gentleman was getting out of his car...slowly and with obvious discomfort.  He had a newspaper under his arm.  As I drove by, I watched him teeter around the car and head towards the nursing home entrance.

Although that was my last actual glimpse of him, a video clip began to play in my mind, accompanied by the mournfully rendered "Ave Maria."  He slowly ascended the stairs into the building and painfully walked down a corridor.  In my mind, the corridor was much longer than could have been contained in the actual building.  It was dimly lit, and I watched his silhouette become smaller as he got further away.  Then I saw him, the image of loneliness, enter a room.  In the bed was an elderly woman...his wife....who no longer recognized him.  He kissed her brow, and then sat heavily in the chair and opened the newspaper.  He would spend his day there, although his wife wouldn't appreciate it.  He had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

The last sad note of the "Ave" was sung and my private little mental video faded to black.
It has replayed in my mind numerous times since.

The Seven against Thebes by Aeschylus

Eteocles is King of Thebes and son of Oedipus (he of the infamous complex).   A messenger arrives with news that an army prepares to attack Thebes.  Seven of the invaders’ champions have been assigned to storm each of seven gates into the city.  Eteocles must decide which of his mighty men to post at each gate to repel the onslaught.

The chorus in this play is comprised of a group of Theban women whom Eteocles considers to be more or less hysterical.  He chides them for their carrying on, since it may cause others to lose courage.  They, of course, don’t see things that way.  They believe they are offering legitimate prayers to the gods.  Chauvinist that he is, he eventually tells them, “These be men’s matters…your business is submiss silence, and to bide within.”

After some interaction between Eteocles and the chorus, he gets around to deciding which soldier to post at each gate.  He is especially grieved that one of the gates is to be attacked by a man for whom he has great respect.  He bemoans that, “’Tis unhappy chance that couples oft the just with many wicked!”  When he finds that Polyneices will attack the last of the gates, he decides to confront him himself.  The chorus protests that Polyneices and Eteocles are brothers….both sons of Oedipus.  It is not fitting for brothers to be fighting each other to the death.

Eteocles and Polyneices end up killing each other.  Both of their bodies are brought into the city.  As their sisters, Antigone and Ismene, grieve, a herald arrives and announces that the Governors have declared that while Eteocles is to be buried with pomp, Polyneices’ body is to be thrown to the dogs.  Antigone is prepared to defy this order and carries off the body of Polyneices.  Antigone is not into submissive silence. Ismene leaves with the body of Eteocles.  The chorus of women splits, some going with Antigone and others with Ismene. 

In addition to the tension between men and women in the play, a strong current running throughout is that the sins of the fathers are visited on their children.  Many references are made to the wrong-doing of Oedipus, who killed his father and married his mother.  Now the sons of this union are both dead.  “O curse of Oedipus!  O malison dark…unrelenting…damning all his line!”

My husband once told me that as a young man, he avoided some temptations by thinking that he couldn’t bear the idea that wrong-doing on his part might harm his future children.  The world would be a better place if more young men and women gave that notion some consideration.

Immanuel

If I choose a sign for myself,

It will be....

Mundane,

Unimaginative,

Trapped in convention,

Restricted to the possible.

But, God....

If you choose a sign to give me,

It will be....

Unique,

Creative,

Infinitely exciting,

Past the limits of my mind.

Immanuel,

Immanuel,

Born of a virgin,

God with us!

God with me?

God with me!

O come, O come, Immanuel

Faith, Reason, Truth

Faith and Reason are twin lenses through which we can look at the fascinating world in which we live.  They are equally important filters through which we can pour the never ending stream of information which is available to us in a quest to shake out the nuggets which are Truth.

The person of Faith should not ignore Reason.  If one believes in God as Creator, he should recognize that God gave man a mind quite purposely, expecting him to use it.  Not pouring information through the filter of Reason results in a shapeless mass of disjointed emotion, totally impractical for surviving the world.

The person of Reason should not ignore Faith.  Believing in order, logic and science is all well and good, but it has limitations.  Much of what is beautiful and connects with our spirits is not easily explained by Reason alone.  A sunset or a symphony can be explained in scientific terms, but how and why do we appreciate their beauty?  Not pouring information through the filter of Faith results in a rigid structure not suited for real life.

Exercising Faith and Reason together allows a rich and never-ending appreciation for all that swirls around us.  It allows us to grasp what is trustworthy and solid out of chaos and information overload.  It is man’s only shot at finding Truth.

The Persians by Aeschylus

This play is written from the perspective of the Persians, but Aeschylus was, of course Greek.  Since the story that unfolds describes the defeat of the Persians by the Greeks, one might wonder about its objectivity.

However, the basic theme is that of pride.  Xerxes, son of Atossa and Darius (who is deceased and appears in the play as a ghost) is not satisfied to rule Persia.  He wants to expand his boundaries, and so, he attacks Athens.  When word of the slaughter of his army reaches Queen Mother Atossa and the Persian Ministers of State, great sorrow is expressed and the consensus is reached that pride was his downfall.  “…proud thoughts are not for the worm called man.”  When man is guilty of such, he will find God willing to help him along to his demise.  “…when man, shod with haste and girt with pride, beckons his own doom, God is on his side.”

The desire for material possessions is also critiqued.  “Possessions must not be revered save as men use them; yet they that have none, how poor!  To them what luster hath the sun?”  Apparently this is an age-old problem.  Abundance does not buy ones happiness, but poverty is certainly not pleasant either.  The you-can’t-take-it-with-you notion appears as:  “Where dead men lie, wealth nothing profiteth.”

The play ends with Xerxes and the chorus of ministers of state exchanging laments…many, many laments.  I can picture the Greek audience rising to their feet in applause as Xerxes exits inconsolable and in utter defeat.

What was Aeschylus’ objective?  Did he just want to puff up the Greeks regarding their victory?  Or, did he hope that using the Persians as an example would cause the Greeks to examine their own tendency toward pride?

It is always easier to see pride in another than in oneself.  Pride has a way of infiltrating the mind and sneaking up on us.  It muddies up our objectives and priorities.   Thank you Aeschylus for the reminder.

A Season for Reason

Apparently a billboard sponsored by atheists reads, "You know it's a myth...this season, celebrate reason."
Seriously????  This statement is not a logical and well-reasoned argument.  It is an appeal to the emotions. No one wants to be duped into believing a myth.  That would be stupid, and no one wants to look stupid!


One of the things that really makes my blood boil is when atheists imply that their beliefs are a product of logic and intelligence, which is absent in persons of faith.  If they are so logical, why don't they put one of their "well-reasoned" arguments on the billboard?  They have no way to prove that the Christmas story is a myth.  Their promotion is clever, but it doesn't exactly reek of intelligence.


This season, I will celebrate reason.
It is reasonable to believe that intelligence is derived from intelligence.  Man was made in the image of God.
It is reasonable to believe that the orderly universe in which we live was the plan of an intelligent being and not a random accident.
It is reasonable to believe that man is creative, because he is the product of a Creator.
It is reasonable to believe that giving man a choice means that some will choose to do what is wrong.
It is reasonable to believe that a God who is personal and cares about man on a personal level would have a plan to lift man out of the mire he creates for himself.
It is reasonable to believe that the best way to communicate with man would be to become one.
It is reasonable to believe that only a perfect man could die for the misdeeds of another.
It is reasonable to believe that Jesus existed....that He was a real person.  (If he is a myth, he is the most powerful myth in all of human history.)
It is reasonable to believe that the man Jesus, being also God, can bridge the gap between God and man.


I celebrate the birth of God's son....deity temporarily clothed in humanity.
I celebrate His life of good deeds and kindness...an example to follow.
I celebrate His sacrificial death which purchases my redemption.
I celebrate the comfort of a personal relationship....I am His child.
I celebrate the fact that I do not have to segregate my intellect from my beliefs.


I grieve for people who don't recognize that it is NOT their intellect that prevents them from believing.  It is the inability to admit their need and the fear that they might have to change their behavior.


"For unto you is born this day, a Savior."
CELEBRATE!

Living Lyrics

This week I have been attending the ECHO Agricultural Conference, a gathering of people from all over the world who are interested in the development of third world countries through agriculture.  What a fascinating group of about 250 people are assembled from all continents!

Presentations to the entire group have occupied the mornings, while dozens of educational sessions have been offered during the afternoons and evenings.  My background is not in agriculture.  (I am tagging along with my husband who has been making presentations on drip irrigation.)  However, there has been plenty to stimulate my curiosity, from a hands on workshop in use of fruits and vegetables not typical to the American diet, to a presentation on the nutritional benefits of trace elements.

I have greatly enjoyed lectures which focused on big picture concepts.  As Americans our hearts are moved with compassion by a disaster we hear of in another country, and we open our wallets.  Too frequently we do not consider that we may do harm through aid that goes on too long, and that does not morph into development.

The benefit of this conference to me, however, has gone beyond the intellectual.  I have met real people who grapple with real issues, and who are expending their lives in service to others and to God.  While not all attendees share the same commitment to Christ, most do.  The morning devotional time has been very moving.  One morning included a tribute to the man whose vision brought ECHO into being.  Another morning included a tribute to a young woman, who had been an intern at ECHO, and who was killed in northern Afghanistan this past year while serving the people there.

It was humbling to stand in this group and hear them sing these words together:

You are the God of the broken

The friend of the weak

You wash the feet of the weary

Embrace the ones in need

And I want to be like you, Jesus

To have this heart in me

You are the God of the humble

You are the humble King

Oh, kneel me down again

Here at Your feet

Show me how much You love

Humility

Oh spirit be the star

That leads me to

The humble heart of love

I see in You

It is one thing to hear these words sung by a group of Americans who live a comfortable middle class life.  It is quite another to hear the words from the mouths of those who have actually been in difficult circumstances living out the lyrics.

Sunday Morning Adventure

Normally my husband and I attend a different church than his parents do.  However, this morning they wanted to go to our church, because we were having a special missionary speaker.  They know her personally and were anxious to see her.


My husband is out of town on a business trip, so picking them up and transporting them to church was my responsibility.  My father-in-law is 93 and a bit unsteady on his feet.  My mother-in-law is 92 and terribly unsteady, to the point that if she goes outside of the house, it is in a wheelchair.  They should not be trying to live on their own any more, but that is another story.


In any event, I arrived to pick them up in plenty of time, and they were ready.  My mother-in-law was just getting into the wheelchair at the back door, and my father-in-law was "in control" of the situation.  He dislikes situations in which he is not in control.  He had hold of the wheelchair, so I closed and locked the doors.  Meantime, he was pushing my mother-in-law down the ramp.  Hmmm....actually gravity was taking her down the ramp and he was "skating" behind.  It had snowed overnight and the ramp was slick.  I could see him going faster and faster, but couldn't do anything about it.  By the time they reached the flat ground at the bottom, he was literally hanging on for dear life and sliding behind her as if there were runners on his shoes.


We got her settled in the car and while I was buckling her in, he attempted to put the wheelchair in the trunk.  He was unable to do this....should that be a surprise?  Can most 93 year-olds sling a wheelchair in the back of a car?  I finished the job.


Off we went.  I heard some rustling in the back seat.  Usually I pick up my granddaughter, but she was not going this morning.  I said that she wouldn't be coming, but my father-in-law had not heard me, so he was busy trying to make room for her.  There was a brunch after the service this morning, and I had placed a French toast casserole on the back seat.  In the bag with it was a container of raspberry sauce to go on top. He was tipping the bag this way and that trying to make room on the seat for another passenger.  He, of course, had no knowledge as to what was in the bag.  Fortunately, I saw what was happening and caught him before the sauce spilled.


On the way, my mother-in-law commented that we have an awfully long drive to church.  I said that we really didn't find it to be too bad.  The time goes quickly because we listen to Ravi Zacharias on the radio every Sunday morning.  My mother-in-law is both somewhat deaf and easily confused.  
"What," she said, "you mean you've had Ravi Zacharias preach at your little church!"
"No, no....we listen to him on the radio."   
Chuckle, chuckle to myself. (However, I have met Ravi Zacharias, and although he speaks internationally, he is wonderful, humble, man of God, who would gladly speak anywhere God called him to as many or as few as were present.)


When we arrived, I insisted on taking the wheelchair up the ramp.  A friend was out spreading salt on the ramp and called to me that the ramp was glare ice at the top.  I did not want to find out if my father-in-law could skate backwards, so I controlled the situation.


The service and brunch were uneventful.  I know my in-laws couldn't hear much of it, because of the questions they asked the speaker during the brunch.  But, that's OK.  They were happy to be there.


On the way home, my mother-in-law said a disgusted tone, "Humpf!  There were two men sitting at the organ during the service, but I don't think either one of them played it."
Trying to keep a straight face, I explained that they were not sitting at the organ.  The sound system is behind the organ.  One of the men was running the sound system.  The other is his son, who is slow mentally, and sticks tight to his dad during the service.  She should have been able to see the sound system from where she was seated, but apparently couldn't process what she saw.


I helped them in the house and left some food that wasn't eaten at the brunch with them.  Now I am home drinking hot tea.  I have a nasty cold, and everything I said to them this morning had to be repeated about 3 times, until I was finally shouting and straining my already sore throat.  But, I am smiling at the amusing little slice of my life that this morning represents.

The Suppliants by Aeschylus

The next installment in my quest to read “The Great Books” is a group of plays by Aeschylus.  Last night I read “The Suppliant Maidens.”  The forward tells me that this play was written about 490 BC.  Unfortunately, 2500 years later there are places in the world where the difficulty on which the drama hinges is still prevalent.

Daughters of Danaus have fled their home in Egypt in order to avoid being forced to marry men they do not love.  Their father supports them in their refusal and has accompanied them to the land of the Pelasgians.  Poor King Pelasgus is not anxious to get into a battle with the Egyptians.  His attitude is that he did not go looking for this problem and doesn’t want to be forced into protecting these young women.  The maidens, who comprise a chorus for the purposes of the play, plead with him to be the “ally of Justice and not Law.”

King Pelasgus apparently rules by the will of the people, so he must consult them before rendering a decision.  Fortunately for the maidens, the people are on the side of “Justice,” and agree to allow them to live in their city and under their protection.

The Egyptians arrive.  A confrontation ensues.  The Egyptians leave and the maidens enter the safety of the city.

Interestingly, now that they are not in jeopardy, the chorus of maidens breaks into different groups with seemingly dissenting opinions.  One group adamantly speaks against forced marriage.  Another group wonders at the possibility of a dreaded marriage ending up blissfully.  A group points out that God’s will (meaning, in this case, the will of Zeus) will prevail and that his purposes cannot be discerned.

“Can I look into the unfathomable deep?

Due measure when thou prayest thou should’st keep.

Where lies the mark that may not be o’ertrod?

Search not too far the purposes of God.”

The chorus concludes the play with:

“It contents me then, whate’er

The judgment which the Gods approve

If there be embodied there

Justice which my prayers could move.”

So….

Are they hoping for a relationship with God?

Do they believe that God can be moved by our prayers?

What is the balance between acceptance of God’s will and pleading our case before Him?

We are still grappling with these issues.

As a Christian, I believe in the ministry of the Holy Spirit in our lives when we pray.  I believe that He can guide us into praying within the will of God.  The Bible is also clear that He intercedes for us when we are struggling so intensely with an issue that we can’t figure out what to pray.  He interprets the agony of soul for which we cannot find words.  “The mark that may not be o’ertrod” may be unclear to us, but the Holy Spirit knows its exact location.  

I am trusting Him.

The Cardinal Pair

One of the delights we inherited from the prior owners of our home are bird feeders.  Three of them are positioned with a rope and pulley system, such as is more typically used to hang clothes for drying.  One feeder contains mixed seed, one thistle and one sunflower seeds.


Adjacent to the bird feeders is the bird "motel."  A large cedar-type evergreen apparently houses multiple nests.  Birds dart in and out of the protection of its branches with speed and agility.  The occupants of the "motel" include a pair of cardinals.


Mrs. Cardinal is mostly brown, but does have some red which is most apparent when she is flying.  When she comes to the feeder for sunflower seeds, she sits primly and somewhat angled so that she can easily look back towards her home.  Since she and Mr. Cardinal never seem to be at the feeder at the same time, I think she is looking back wondering what he is up to in her absence.  She has no problem sharing the perch in front of the feeder with small birds of other species.  I have never seen her behave as anything other than an lady.


Mr. Cardinal, on the other hand, is both vain and aggressive.  He perches in front of the sunflower seeds looking at himself in the glass on the front of the feeder.  He is beautiful with his red feathers and jaunty topknot...and he knows it.  He refuses to share his space with any of the other birds.  When he isn't admiring himself, he is looking this way and that, ready to peck at any bird who dares to try to eat at his table.


The prior owners of our home relate that the cardinals have an interesting mating ritual in the spring, involving the need for Mr. to crack a seed for Mrs. and present it to her.  We, however, have yet to see them eat at the same time.


In watching the cardinals, I have pondered innate personality traits.  I have even wondered if my family of origin is related to Mr. Cardinal somehow.  I have some male relatives who can't pass a mirror without looking at themselves.  

Thanksgiving 2010

They gathered from coast to coast...literally, a son from California and a daughter from Maine.  Two came by plane, four by train and the rest by car or van.  The one who was supposed to come by bus, decided not to come, but called late in the day.  The two eldest attendees got lost, having only been to our new home once before, and drove all the way back to their home to call and ask for directions.  Most came in by the front door, but the two who are in wheelchairs and their family members came in through the garage on the newly built ramp.  Eighteen of us in all circled the Thanksgiving table this year.  The youngest was three and the oldest was ninety-three.


We snacked on shrimp and raw veggies before the meal.  Then we gathered at the table and held hands while the ninety-three year old said the blessing before we dug into turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes topped with toasted marshmallows, green beans, gelatin salad with lemon and blueberry layers, white and whole wheat home-made rolls, and of course, pies....lemon, pumpkin, pecan, raspberry and apple.  The entire main course was nut and dairy free in deference to the highly allergic person present.  Two of the pies were also safe for him.


The kids played with the toys in the family room and dragged boxes up to the living room too.  The floor was eventually covered with blocks and books and cars and play jewelry.  A great deal of silliness ensued when the bunny slippers of one of the adults became real bunnies for the kids to interact with.  The adults talked. Attempts were made to solve some of the world's problems.  I'm not sure if anyone watched football.  Two of the young adult males kept sneaking away to play a game on the computer.


Eventually those living near-by went home.  The children were put to bed.  Some of the adults stayed up catching up on each others lives.  I sank into bed about 9 o'clock totally exhausted.  My day had begun early, stuffing the turkey, while I watched a glorious red-sky sunrise visible from the kitchen window.  The day ended with my legs throbbing.  I had a hard time getting them comfortable enough to relax and drift into a restorative sleep.  


Thanksgiving 2010 has come and gone.  I am thankful.

A Love Story

I just finished creating a family picture wall.  In the center I placed an 8X10 of my husband and me.  To the right are 5X7s of our four children and further to the right 4X6s of our grandchildren.  To the left are 5X7s of our parents and then, 4X6s of our grandparents.  Although all of the frames are not identical, they all have some gold on them.  I painted directly on the wallpaper with gold paint to connect the frames with branching vines and leaves.  I am very pleased with the result.

Sorting through the pictures in order to find usable ones the correct size was interesting.  I did have to do some scanning and printing out to achieve the uniformity I wanted.  I could not find wedding pictures of all of our grandparents, so, in some cases, I used individual pictures of the couple placed in the same frame.

As I ponder the wedding pictures, I see very different poses and facial expressions.  My son and his wife are in profile, both smiling happily with their noses and foreheads touching.  I have other pictures of them, but I like that one because in the touching of their foreheads, I see the synergy of two brilliant minds. 

In my own wedding picture, my husband has picked me up and stands in a doorway, as though he is carrying me off.  We are both laughing.

My husband’s parents are posed in front of the home that was just built for them.  They are still living in that home together 72 years later.  My own parents stand in front of the fireplace in my grandparents living room with their hands clasped together at their sides.  My mother is beautiful and radiant.  My father stands tall in his military attire, but only the slightest smile plays on his lips.  They were married during World War II while he was home on a 3-day pass.  The uncertainty of the future can be seen in his eyes and brow.

The most fascinating of the pictures for me is the one of my mother’s parents.  I don’t know the date of their wedding, but I suppose it was in the range of 1910 to 1912.  They are seated together on a bench, not really touching, but leaning towards each other.  My grandmother’s dress is white with a high collar, long sleeves, and a cinched in waist.  The bodice appears to have numerous vertical tucks.  Her hat is very elaborate and covered with flowers, but she holds only a tiny sprig of flowers in her graceful hand.  She is a very beautiful, slender woman with delicate features, but she is not smiling.  Grandpa wears a three-piece suit with a tie and has no hint of a smile.  I wonder at the thoughts and emotions they were experiencing that day.  I have no idea if they were “in love” at that point.

My grandmother had an older sister who was married and had a child.  When her sister became very ill and knew she was dying, she begged my grandmother to care for her little son.  Grandma promised that she would.  When the time came, however, Grandma was afraid to move into the home of her brother-in-law to care for the child.  The man had a reputation for being a “womanizer,” and she was fearful that moving into his home would ruin her own reputation.  People did care about such things 100 years ago.  My grandfather married her, so that they could move into the home as a married couple, and she would not have to fear what might be said about her.  Obviously, they must have been friends at that point, but the marriage came about when it did out of compassion and duty.  I wonder as I look at their wedding picture, if that is what I see in their faces.

My grandfather turned out to be a prince.  His care for his wife and the family they eventually had themselves was exceptional.   He died at the age of 65, and Grandma died a year later.  Just prior to her death, she commented that the doctor said she had had a heart attack, but she knew the truth.  Her heart had broken a year earlier when she lost Grandpa.

Whatever I think I see in the wedding picture, somehow turned into a life-long love.  I wish that amazing combination of compassion, commitment, and love could be caught in a bottle and sprinkled on all generations of our family yet to come.

Random Thoughts on The Odyssey

During the odyssey of my life over the past few weeks, I have read The Odyssey.  Although I have found it much more appealing than The Iliad and was genuinely interested in getting Ulysses back home to Penelope, I still managed to put it down long enough to read two other books. 

The Odyssey contains non-stop action, which fortunately does not mean non-stop battle such as is found in The Iliad.  Now, don’t get me wrong, there is still non-stop death and gore.  It is just not all on the battlefield with swords and spears.  No, in The Odyssey, people are eaten alive by Cyclops.

Homer uses some interesting literary devices.  Portions of Ulysses’ story are told in flashbacks.  That is a familiar technique.  What I thought was interesting was that on occasions scattered throughout the book, the story-teller addresses characters in the story.  For example, “Then, Oh, so-and-so, did you reply blah-blah-blah.”  I can’t think of another book I have read that uses this technique. …with the exception of some passages in the Old Testament.   I assume the translator opted for being true to the original.

I guess this is probably a cultural thing, but I can’t imagine allowing those “suitors” to hang around for years.  If I had been Penelope, I would have had none of that nonsense.  I would have taken control of the estate myself.  She had lots of resources.  Surely she could have hired some men to protect her and her possessions.  I guess women in that era just didn’t do such things, and I would not have fit in well during that time frame. (I am actually not clear on what era women like me do fit into.   I not sure it’s even the era in which I’m living.)

The role of the gods in The Odyssey is not quite as offensive as in The Iliad.  In The Iliad the gods are running around creating mayhem and fighting with each other.  In The Odyssey, Minerva is heavily involved in Ulysses’ fate, but at least there is not continuous meddling by the other gods.

Homer does a pretty decent job of not being obnoxiously repetitive, considering that Ulysses must tell his story to a number of people on his journey home.  I discovered that I couldn’t jump over these passages, as Ulysses did not always tell the same story.  He is given to spinning some tall tales for effect.  The repetition I did become weary of was “the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn” appearing.  An occasional “at daybreak” or “when the sun came up” might have been nice for variety.

So much for my random thoughts on The Odyssey. 

The other two books I have read recently are The Confession by John Grisham and My Viet Nam, a self-published book of stories from the Viet Nam War era, written by Charlotte Stemple.  I recommend both.  I do not recommend either The Iliad or The Odyssey for enjoyment in reading.  Both are tedious.   But, if you are looking for an exercise in mental discipline, they are worthy.

The Importance of a Preposition

Prepositions are, for the most part, tiny little words that we hurry over when reading or speaking.  However, they are exceedingly important.  There is a big difference between in and out, up and down, to and from, and over and under.  Am I jumping "off" the boat or crawling "on" the life raft?


A Bible verse I have often heard misquoted and misinterpreted because of the preposition is I Thessalonians 5:18.  Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.


Give thanks in all circumstances NOT for all circumstances!


Several years ago, at a point where I was expressing my great distress over a situation, a well-meaning friend asked if I had thanked God for it yet.  I resisted the temptation to slug him in the nose and ask him if he was thankful for the broken nose.   Life hands each of us some bitter pills and painful blows.  Sometimes, in the long run, we can actually see how these experiences worked for our good.  Other times it is impossible ever in this lifetime to see that the situation had any redeeming value.  Horrible things happen in this world.  We are not expected to thank God "for" these things.


Thanking God "in" difficult situations is not impossible, however.  We can always thank Him for His loving support in the crises of our lives.  We can thank Him for family and friends who stand by us.  We can thank Him for memories of past good times and the hope for such times in the future.  In the midst of agony of soul, we can cry out, "Thank you, that you are there...that you see me....that you care about me....that you will give me the strength to get through this current distress."


Thanksgiving will soon be here.  Most of us in the United Sates will make a show of giving thanks for family, friends, and material blessings.  Then we will stuff ourselves and go off to watch football.  At the same time many around the world will be cold or hunger or in pain or all of these.  Some will thank God from the midst of suffering, not for what He has given, but for who He is.


Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise...the fruit of lips that confess his name.  Hebrews 13:15

Blaming it on my DNA

I don’t know why I do some of the things I do.  Currently I am blaming my behavior on my genetic makeup….specifically, the DNA passed on by my grandfathers.  On one side of the family, my grandfather worked for a furniture company, where he mixed his own stains and finished wooden furniture.  My other grandfather’s name was Baumeister, which is German and comes from Baum meaning tree or wood, and Meister meaning master.  As it happened, his hobby was making wooden toys and doll furniture.  Whether this in any way explains my current bizarre behavior, I don’t know.

The old Victorian home, from which we recently moved, had a marvelous built-in buffet and china cabinet with leaded doors in the dining room.  I, therefore, did not need a free standing china cabinet or hutch.  Our more recently built new home does not have such amenities.  When we purchased the old Victorian, I discovered that there was an old wreck of a bookcase in the carriage house which had been abandoned by some previous occupant.  I always had it in the back of my mind that one day, I might try resurrecting it and put it to use.  I decided that since I needed something in which to put dishes in the new dining room, the time had arrived.  It had only been sitting in the barn 40 years or more.  Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

Months ago, prior to the move, I had my husband pull the bookcase away from the wall where it had been stored with the three large glass doors against the wall to prevent them being  broken.  The piece was quite the worse for the wear.  The finish was lifted up and crusty in spots with dark stains.  Some of the quarter-round which held the glass in place was missing from one of the doors.  The back of the bookcase was broken and warped and really unusable.  Considering embarking on this project was where the insanity began.  Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

First, I removed the backing which was lightweight wood and discarded it.  I took off the doors and set them aside planning to tackle them last.  Each of the three compartments has three removable shelves.  I began with the shelves, because they were flat and easy to work on.  I thought if I wasn’t successful with the shelves, I couldn’t possible think I would be successful with the cabinet.  Over the past months, I stripped and scraped and sanded and started all over again, when I wasn’t happy with the outcome.  Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

I questioned my sanity at several point in this process, but eventually, I had the old varnish removed from both the shelves and cabinet portions.  I decided to use some red oak stain in an attempt to even out the color tones.  I had a handyman cut some pieces of lightweight wood for the back of the cabinet.  I had to stain them twice to get them dark enough to match the rest of the piece.  Finally I coated it with polyurethane. 

By this time, we had already moved and I was anxious to unpack the boxes stacked in the dining room.  So, even though the doors were not finished, we moved the bookcase to the new house.  I washed all of the good dishes and fancy glassware and happily put it on the shelves.  I figured I could do the doors later.

Time has a way of slipping past.  Thanksgiving is approaching.  Many young grandchildren will soon be arriving.  Some of these grandchildren are little girls who love tea parties.  The temptation might be enormous.  I really needed to get the doors on that cabinet.  I have been working on them over the past two weeks.  Yesterday morning I got up intending to hang the doors.  I figured it might take me a couple of hours to clean up the glass, put the hinges back on and get the doors in place. Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

I worked ALL DAY yesterday on this project.  The left door went on fairly well…a bit of a tight fit, but tolerable.  However, the center and right doors were another matter.  They did not want to fit into the opening from which they had come.  Did I somehow mix them up?  NO, they didn’t fit the other way either.  I was putting the screws in the hinge plates back into the same holes.  Shouldn’t that have lined things up correctly?  Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

I finally decided that the only solution was to remove a bit of the bottom on those two doors at the point where they seemed to be binding.  I sanded and sanded.  No luck.  I used a steel rasp. No luck.  I went out and bought a very small plane.  No luck.  I was doing all this with the doors hung, so I was standing on my head and laying on the floor.  I really did not want to take the doors off again, because that required removing the hinge pins, and they are very old.  I had already broken the little knobs off the ends of two of them taking the doors off to begin with.

  I went to bed thinking….Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

I began fresh this morning, but in total exasperation reached the conclusion that I had to remove the doors.  I took them to the basement and used a saw to trim off a bit of the bottom edge.  It was almost enough, so additional planing and sanding eventually allowed me to get the doors closed.  Of course, in the process of all of this, I had done some damage.  With a Q-tip and stain, I touched up a few spots.

Why didn’t I just go out and buy a china cabinet?  I don’t know!

I am blaming it on the genes passed to me by my woodwork loving grandfathers.

I do have to admit, the bookcase looks lovely in my dining room.  I expect I will soon forget the exertion and frustration.  

Thanks, Grandpa and Grandpa.

Veteran's Day Tribute

I was born into the situation, so I grew up giving little thought to the sacrifice that my family made during World War II.  All of the men in the family in my parent’s generation served in the military and were overseas simultaneously.

Uncle Frank, my Mother’s oldest brother (second from right in picture) was shot by a German sniper and came home with a metal plate holding the bone in his upper arm together.  My Mother had awakened in a cold sweat having heard him call her name and say, “I’ve been shot.”  Communications were slow, so it was weeks later when they learned it was true.  When Uncle Frank returned from Europe, he discovered that his wife had been having an affair with her boss.  She took off with their son.

Uncle Chuck , my Mother’s  middle brother, (first on left) spent time in France and was the only one who came home more or less unscathed by the conflict.  After the war, he enlisted in the Air Force and made a career of “flying a desk.”  He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

Uncle Art, my Mother’s youngest brother, (far right) was deployed to Africa and came home with malaria.  He had periodic relapses for years.

Uncle Roy, my Dad’s brother (center) had no physical wounds.  As a conscientious objector, he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific.  He is 90 now and recently admitted to me that he discovered on the ship that he was capable of killing someone.  A patient tried to get out of a tub to attack a nurse.  Uncle Roy pushed his head under the water.  He came up struggling, still intending to harm the nurse.  Uncle Roy pushed him under again.  He said, “About the third time I pushed his head under water, I realized that I could kill him, if I had to do it to protect the nurse.”

My Dad (second from left) spent time in France.  He tripped a landmine, but came away with no injuries other than a ruptured eardrum.  I was born while he was in France.  He told me that the day of my birth was the last day anyone actually shot at him.  We did not meet each other until I was 7 months old.

During the war, my Mother and I lived with her parents.  As each of her brothers returned, they moved in with her parents too.  It took time for men to find civilian jobs and re-establish themselves, so I had the delight of being a little girl in a house full of men who doted on me.  I was spoiled rotten.  My Mother couldn’t wait to get me in a more normal setting. 

Today is Veteran’s Day, and I am thinking of my family and how difficult those years must have been not only for the men in the conflict, but for the family at home.  They “soldiered on” and not only survived, but made a better life for my generation.  I am grateful.

Little Children, Old Men and Psychotics

Long ago I heard that little children, old men and psychotics always tell you the truth about yourself.  I don’t buy the idea that they ALWAYS do, but I certainly have experienced some direct hits from people in these categories.

One of my granddaughters, when she was younger, would always tell me that I had bad breath when I was drinking coffee.  Since she did not do this at other times, I concluded that she disliked the smell of coffee and was not discrete enough to ignore the aroma emanating from my mouth.  She was telling the truth as she saw it….or smelled it.

When I worked as a nurse as a young woman, elderly men patients often told me that I was going to make a good wife for someone.  I hoped they were telling me the truth.  My husband, who is now in his late 60s, seems willing to stick it out with me for a forty-third year, so I guess the predictions were somewhat accurate.

As for psychotics…..early in 1965, I spent some time at Chicago State Hospital for my psychiatric nursing experience.  One day I was walking between buildings on the grounds, having been sent on an errand of some kind.  Several inches of snow lay on the ground, so I had no inclination to take any short cuts through the snow banks.  I planned to reach my destination via the sidewalks and roads which had been cleared.  Uh-oh!  I was headed toward a patient who was approaching me swinging a large stick around his head. 

I immediately thought about a “legend” told in hushed tones soon after our arrival on the state hospital grounds.  I was never able to confirm if it was true.  On one of the units, so it was told, was a woman in a vegetative state who had previously been a nurse at the hospital.  She had flirted with a patient, but then resisted his advances.  He had hit her on the head with a pipe knocking her into oblivion. 

I did not want to become a legend and considered altering my course to avoid the stick-swinging young man.  But, wading through the snow wasn’t an option, and I did not want to show fear.  So, I marched along knowing we would walk right past each other.  I held my breath and thought that at least I wasn’t guilty of flirting.

When we were within about 20 feet of each other, he slung the stick in an arc through the air and onto an adjacent snow-covered lawn.  He then looked me up and down and said, “You’re fat….and cute.”

I smiled in relief and kept walking.  At least he hadn’t hit me with the stick!  And, he had told the truth about my weight.  I was carrying around about 40 extra pounds at that point.

During the next two years, I lost the 40 pounds and met my husband.  I managed to maintain my weight until hit by menopause.  Even that hasn’t caused me to come anywhere near my 1965 weight.  My husband tells me I’m not fat.  Since he is now a little old man, I think he is telling me the truth.  I do not currently know any psychotics from whom I can obtain a second opinion.

Wallpaper Rehash

Back in August and September, I wrote on 4 occasions about the trials and tribulations related to the wallpaper for the kitchen of our new home.  You would think I had said everything there was to say about wallpaper.  Oh, how I wish!


The home we recently vacated is almost emptied out and cleaned up.  The real estate agent plans an Open House for this coming weekend, and I decided that two of the rooms in the house really could use some fresh paint and paper in order for the house to look its best.  I certainly was not going to go through all the hassles of ordering paper as described in the earlier posts, so I went to a different store that has loads of wall-coverings in stock.


Last week I hired someone to strip off old paper.  Then I caulked and spackled and sanded and scrubbed and primed.  I painted the ceilings and woodwork.  This week on Monday, I papered the room that had been my den.  Today I arrived at the house by 9 AM to paper the master bathroom.


When I purchased the paper, the owner of the store told me that it was a really nice paper...it went on the walls easily and was great to work with.  But, I hadn't noticed that it was not prepasted paper.  So this morning when I opened a roll in order to see the directions, I realized I needed paste.  The directions said to ask the wallpaper supplier for the correct paste.  I drove back to the store and asked the clerk.  She gave me the appropriate paste, or so she thought.


The directions said to roll the paste on the wall with a paint roller.  This did not intimidate me, because about 15 years ago, I learned this technique from a professional.  It had worked so well, that I was looking forward to speedy progress.  I got myself all set up and began the task.  Forty-five minutes later, I was putting the first length of paper on the wall for the fourth time.  I just could not get the paper to lay smoothly and stick tightly around the edges.


Although not satisfied, I thought I would see if I did any better on the second piece.  The repeat on the pattern was supposed to be at 27.3 cm.  I could easily identify some small triangles in the pattern that were this distance apart, but I absolutely could not figure out what they were supposed to match on the edge of the next sheet of paper.  I slid the two edges past each other over and over again.  The match just never looked right.


I ripped the first sheet off the wall, stuffed it in a trash bag, picked up the unopened rolls and headed back to the store.  I told the clerk and the manager that this paper was the absolute worst I had ever worked with, and I wanted to return it.  They didn't argue with me, but said I should have put the paste on the paper instead of on the wall.  Of course, the directions very specifically said to put the paste on the wall  AND there was the little matter of matching the pattern.


I picked out a different paper and headed back to the house.  By this time, I had wasted two hours and was beginning to despair of completing the project today.


Joy and delight!  The paper I picked as my second choice was wonderful...as close to infinitely better as anything in this world could be.  It went on the walls smoothly, the pattern was easy to match and it even cut easily and cleanly with the razor blade...no ragged ripping....just nice clean zipping.


The master bathroom is a very spacious room with lots of tricky cutting in, so I didn't finish until well after 5 PM.  I came home exhausted and my back is killing me....I've spent the evening with the heating pad.


I am oh-so-happy, and I am NOT planning to wallpaper again for a very long time....maybe not ever.