Ice Storm Revelation

Competing systems collide,

In rare and mysterious fashion.

A mist or a drizzle deposits,

In layer after layer of glaze.

Not a sudden occurrence,

But building with passing time,

Changing  temperature may reverse

The slow and fearsome process.

The wise seek refuge inside,

They sleep until the sounds begin,

Creaking, groaning, cracking,

Snapping, clattering, crashing.

Morning dawns to an altered world,

Tangled limbs encased, suspended,

Fallen or bent low to the ground,

Creating a crystal palace maze.

For days the cold preserves

The sun illuminated glory

Of a world coated with diamonds

And iridescent jewel paint.

Warming begins the degradation,

With a slow and steady dripping.

Gemstones fall into the snow,

Revealing bare and broken branches.

Some will recover in the spring,

Green sprouts of new life will immerge.

Others, damaged beyond repair,

Will slowly rot away.

The red carpets of the world,

Sparkle with couture and jewels,

Flashes of light reflect from icy glamour.

But time and gravity operate.

And not every tree can bear,

The horrible weight of beauty.

Christmas Accomplished

I feel heartsick and a bit nauseous every time I see a certain ad playing this season.  A beautiful and smartly dressed woman is shown shopping for, wrapping, and giving presents.  The closing line of the ad is “Christmas accomplished.”  I am sickened because it trivializes the true accomplishment of Christmas. 

I am not opposed to gift giving.  I have spent a lot of time over the past few weeks searching for items online and in stores.  I will spend time wrapping the gifts, mailing some to family out of town, and giving others during family occasions over the holidays.  I genuinely enjoy trying to find items that are needed or wanted.  I particularly delight in fulfilling the wishes of grandchildren (one of whom has bubble wrap on her wish list).  But, I am very clear, that is not the purpose of Christmas.  When all the gifts are purchased, wrapped and given, Christmas will NOT be accomplished.

Christmas was God’s accomplishment.  The Creator and Sustainer of the Universe, the One who is infinitely wise, loved us frail and flawed human beings so much, that He was willing to become one of us in order to reconcile us to Himself.  The greatest accomplishment of any human being does not match that.  The sum total of the accomplishments of ALL human beings is nothing in comparison.  This is a mystery beyond the comprehension of the human mind.  “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”  (John 1:14)

The angels understood the significance and filled the skies with joyful singing.  Glory to God in the highest!  The shepherds, although not totally understanding, had enough of an inkling, that they traveled through the darkness to a stable where they knelt in awe.  The Magi traveled a great distance to bring gifts to someone they believed to be a mighty king.  Even Mary couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the event and pondered these things in her heart.

So…T J Maxx…your pretty lady has NOT accomplished Christmas. 

“God so loved the world that he gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16)

God gave the gift we all need.

He accomplished Christmas!

“Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”  (II Corinthians 9:15)

Dressed in Black

 This time of year, it is pitch black at 5 pm when I head home after tutoring.  This evening, I waited for on-coming traffic so that I could make the left turn off the main street and on to a side street that leads to home.  A large truck on the side street was at the stop sign giving me the right-of-way before it made the left turn on to the main street.  As I turned, I caught movement near the back of the truck.  A young woman, dressed entirely in dark clothing, ran out from behind the truck and into my lane.  She was on her cell phone, not thinking about her own safety.  I slammed on the brakes.  Fortunately, although there was a dusting of snow, the street was not slippery, and I stopped in time.

I drove away with my heart in my throat and her image etched in my mind.  A slender young black woman, dark pants, dark jacket, some type of head scarf…a print, but dark in color…cell phone to her ear.  If I had hit her, it would not have been my fault.  She was not in a crosswalk and ran out from behind the truck.  But, if I had hit her, who was at fault would not have influenced the degree of her injury.

How many times in life are there near misses?  Something terrible is only a sliver of time or space away.  I am grateful for the protection of a loving God, who spared her from injury and me from grief.

What Goes Around....

….comes around.

My heart is grieved when I see teenagers and young adults mistreat and disrespect their parents.  I have lived long enough to see what happens in the next generation.

Many years ago my mother talked to me about a family she knew well.  She was saddened to watch A’s mother say and do disrespectful things toward A’s grandmother.  She said that A would treat her mother the same way someday.  A is now an adult, who goes way past what her mother did to her grandmother.  Although her mother is still living, she has no relationship with her, and has declared that as far as she is concerned, she has no mother.

I have seen this in my own family.  The children who lied to me, swore at me, and were generally awful to me as teenagers have had terrible struggles with their own teenagers.  One has asked me more than once, if I wished it on her.  NO!  NO!  No matter how hurt I was, I never once wished that revenge for me would come through my grandchildren.  I never wished it, but with great sadness, I knew it would happen.

I am currently trying to convince someone of this.  She is behaving most cruelly toward her mother.  In a few days, she will be looking lovingly at her own child.  She will convince herself that this sweet little babe will never break her heart.  She cannot see into the future and know that everything she dishes out will fall back into her own lap…probably multiplied.

It is futile for me to hope I am wrong.  It may be better for me to hope, that I don’t live long enough to see it.

Script for a Horror Movie

Amos, as inspired by God, wrote a horror movie script…who knew???  The scenario described reveals a man running away from a lion.  He is catching his breath feeling relieved that he has escaped the lion, when out pops a bear!  Running from the bear, he reaches his home and shuts the door supposing he is at last in a secure place.  He leans against the wall in exhaustion.  Uh-oh!  A snake swings down from the rafters and bites him!

The judgment of the Lord is certain.  It may not come on the time table we expect, but it will come.

Why?  The people described in Amos are religious without sincerity.  They make a show of their rituals, but have no genuine care for the poor and needy.  They may pretend to worship, but give no thought to what is right and just.  They are consumed by pride in themselves and complacency regarding anyone else.  They use every method available to advance their own cause, not caring who is harmed in the process.

Amos watched what went on around him with grief, as do many genuine believers today.  We look around and see many of the same characteristics in our society.   People in our culture seem focused on being entertained and having material possessions.   Except for an occasional spasm of conscience, so little thought is given to the poor and suffering in the world. 

Repentance would be preferable, but, I am afraid that the lion is coming, followed by the bear and the snake.

The Dollhouse

When I was just a little girl...about 65 years ago...my grandfather made me a dollhouse.  It wasn't just any dollhouse, because my grandfather wasn't just any grandfather.  He was an unusually creative man.  It was Grandpa, not Grandma, who decorated for holidays, hand-painted Easter eggs, and according to my mother, made Halloween costumes when she was a child.  How I wish that the Christmas village scene he created for the mantle had been preserved.  I remember standing on tiptoes as a child peering into the house where a tiny man sat reading a newspaper next to a decorated tree and into the church where the racks on the pews held tiny hymn books.  The mailman walked down the street carrying a sack of tiny envelopes.  I have no idea what became of that treasure which pre-dated by many years the commercial Christmas villages available in stores.

My dollhouse, on the other hand, languished in my parents' basement for years...I'm not sure I even knew it was there.  by the time it was moved to my basement, my daughters were pretty well grown, and I knew my son wasn't interested.  Many times, I said that someday I would refurbish the dollhouse.  I am a grandmother, and three granddaughters (ages 9, 8 and 6) will be at my home on Thanksgiving Day this year.  I decided it was now or never, so over the past couple of months, I have spent a huge amount of time renovating the dollhouse.

After the remodeling was complete, and the kit of furniture assembled, I was still searching for items to make it seem like a real home...tiny dishes, pots and pans.  My sister-in-law reminded me that her mother (my mother-in-law) had loved dollhouses and had quite a collection of such items.   She passed away 2 years ago and her stash of dollhouse goodies is still in "the nursery" of the home in which my 96 year old father-in-law now lives alone.  What a treasure trove!  I found a tiny china tea set, a frying pan, tea kettle, some dishes, candlesticks, and a couple pieces of furniture that were the right size.

Today it is completed and set up in my living room awaiting some creative play.  I doubt that it ever occurred to my grandfather that someday, I would restore the dollhouse.  I hope he would be proud of me and pleased that I have added my creativity to his.  I think he would be delighted that his great-great grandchildren will play with his handiwork.  


I adored my Grandfather and working on this project has been an act of love for him and for my grandchildren.

The Hand Unseen

The hand unseen weaves quietly,

The fabric of my life.

Each fiber hand-crafted,

Colored and formed by the Master.

The hand unseen soothes gently,

The turmoil that surrounds.

Touching my fevered brow,

With a cooling holy calm.

The hand unseen pushes firmly,

As I fearfully take a step,

On a path unknown to me,

But plotted out by Him.

The hand unseen works swiftly,

Laying out the next tile,

Of the winding pathway,

His omniscience, my faith combining.

The hand unseen covers securely,

When the winds of life howl,

When the piercing cold or heat,

Threatens my spirit’s survival.

In astonishment I stand before,

In gratitude I bow to,

In relief I lean against,

The loving unseen hand.

Getting By

Today in the grocery store, I felt a twinge of sadness as I passed an elderly couple.  A small stooped over woman pushed the cart.  She was clearly in charge of the shopping expedition.  A thin man with a dazed expression walked along behind her.  She had tied a rope onto the cart, and he was clinging to the rope.  I have often seen a group of preschool children out for a walk hanging on to a rope to keep them together.  I have never seen this used for an elderly person before.

I suspect that she is mentally alert, and he is not.  He probably wanders off, so having him hold the rope is her way of being able to concentrate on her purchases and not lose him.  On the one hand, you have to admire her resourcefulness and independence.  On the other, life must be a struggle for her.  Although frail herself, she is the care-giver.  He is oblivious to her needs and even to his own.

I found myself hoping that they have someone who pays attention to them…checks up on them…someone who would be aware if her physical frailty got to the point of making her unable to compensate for his mental frailty.

I had a great-aunt and uncle who found themselves in similar straits.  He was weak physically but mentally alert.  She was developing increasing dementia, but seemed physically stronger.  They had no children to watch out for them.  Each one confided in my mother that they were hanging on in order to take care of the other.  My mother did not live near them and worried about them.  They died within 24 hours of each other.

I came home and told my husband about the couple in the grocery store.  We laughed picturing ourselves in those roles.  We agreed that if he ran off, I would never be able to catch him, so a rope just might be necessary. 

Something to look forward to…..

Of Nebuchadnezzar and Ozymandias

Every time I read the story of Nebuchadnezzar and his golden image in the book of Daniel, I think of the poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley. And, whenever I see the poem, I think of the story. I wonder if Shelley wrote the poem, because he was aware of the story.

Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be the greatest king. He had some reason for this, because one of the dreams which Daniel had interpreted for him concerned a statue with a head of gold. Daniel had explained that Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom was the head of gold and that the inferior materials in the rest of the statue represented inferior kingdoms. Of course, Daniel had also made it clear that his ability to interpret the dream was a gift from the one true God who was in control of human history. It was only this God who was (and is) worthy of worship.

Nevertheless, Nebuchadnezzar’s opinion of himself was so inflated that he had a ninety foot image of himself made and erected in an open plain. It was not just the head of this image that was gold, but the entire thing. Everyone was to bow down to the image on penalty of death in a furnace. Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be a god worthy of such reverence.

Of course, neither Nebuchadnezzar nor his statue has endured. If his golden image still existed today, it would be a major tourist attraction and an artifact of incalculable value!

Consider Shelley’s poem:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

The megalomaniacs of human history have come and gone. Each, in his time believing himself to be invincible, has succumbed to the same fate as every commoner. It will continue to be so. The names of today’s famous athletes, entertainers, government leaders, business titans and other news makers will someday be unknown.

But…one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess the one who genuinely is invincible and whose value is far above gold. (Philippians 2:10-11)

The Tale of a Tree

Over 25 years ago, my husband returned from running errands on a Saturday morning with a cup of coffee and a “tree” from McDonald’s.  McD’s was giving out the trees with each cup of coffee that day.  The tree was actually a little slip of evergreen about 7 to 8 inches long.  I asked my husband to plant it in view of our dining room window between our house and the neighbor’s house.

When our son was 4 years old, an ice storm weighed down branches and resulted in many broken limbs.  The swing set disappeared under the downed branches of a maple tree.  Our son sat looking out the dining room window at the evergreen which was by now about 4 feet tall.  Observing its heavy laden and drooping branches, he said, “I have to go outside and help that little tree.”  He bundled up and crunched through the snow.  I watched as he gently shook the ice from the branches of the tree, allowing them to spring back into a more normal position.

Seven years later, my mother had a massive stroke.  We cleaned out the dining room and put in a hospital bed.  She lived with us the last 5 months of her life, requiring round the clock care.    I put lights on the tree which was now a good size for a Christmas tree.  I had to use a ladder to put the lights near the top.  I was happy that the tree was there for her to see from her bed.  She died 2 days before Christmas.

In subsequent years, my father lived with us.  I plugged the lights in yearly as the tree grew taller and stretched the lights as far as they would go.  My father barely noticed.  He sat in the room that had once been our dining room with the drapes closed most of the time.  Eventually I had to remove the lights because the tree had grown too much for me to climb that high and the lights were also stretched too far.

The tree is now 30 feet tall, and we no longer live in that house, but when I pass by, I wonder how long it will be before someone with no sense of the tree’s history will decide to cut it down.  It would be no great loss to anyone else.  But, no one can take the memories from me.

Ride of Restoration

I wanted to get out of town today.  I felt burdened with the problems of others and unsure of my role in trying to help.  I would do the “right” thing, if I only knew what that was.  So, I got in the car and headed toward our cottage on Delta Lake.  My excuse was that two families have used the cottage since I was last there.  I wanted to be sure the pillows were stored in the plastic bins, the refrigerator door was left open, no garbage was in the cans for mice to find, and I wanted to leave some D-Con for the mice if they should come looking.

Today has been a beautiful autumn day…clear blue skies and temperature around 70.  My drive took me over the Tug Hill Plateau where a colorful display is beginning.  In some areas, trees are only starting to turn colors.  Most of the tree is still green, and only the edges seem to be “rusting.”  In other areas, there is a riot of color….bright reds, oranges, and yellows with dark evergreens pointing up through the palette.  The unharvested corn stands straight in the fields in hues ranging from green through yellow to brown.

I saw three horse-drawn Amish rigs.  I knew ahead of time that I was coming up on them, because I saw the horses’ calling cards along the road. Smoke from a wood fire curled from the chimney at the Amish schoolhouse.   I also saw a flock of wild turkey, and a skinny looking fox that caused me to brake when he ran across the road in front of me.  Some of the turbines in the wind farm were moving, others were still against the blue sky.  At times I could see the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance beyond the Black River Valley.

Apple and chestnut trees had dropped their fruits, which had rolled onto the shoulder of the road decorating it with red and green balls.  Next to the shoulder were wild flowers in yellows, purples and white.  Most of the yellow was allergy-inducing ragweed, which isn’t all that attractive close up, but from a distance the color is lovely in contrast to the purple.

I used to spend such travel time singing non-stop, but since I can now barely croak, I did some whisper-singing. 

I cast all my cares upon you.

I lay all of my burdens down at your feet.

And anytime I don’t know what to do.

I will cast all my cares upon you.

And I discussed my concerns with God.  I thanked him for the beauty of the world He created.  I asked Him how soon will He return and “make the crooked straight and the rough places plain.”  I wondered, “If I were to die today, what would happen to the people who think I should solve their problems?”  Then I thought that the corollary to that is “If I don’t die today, what am I to do?”

I am back home, and I don’t have any specific answers….just an assurance that God is in control, and He knows the next step on my path.

Can Google Solve Death?

The cover of the September 30, 2013 Time magazine poses this startling question.

For years we have heard that the two things in life of which we can be certain are death and taxes.  I do not know whether the prime movers at Google actually believe they can “solve death” or if this is just Time magazine exercising hyperbole.  I suspect it is the later.  Extending the life span, if it can be done so that some quality of life is maintained, is a worthy goal, but we all know that in this world parts wear out whether they make up mechanical devices or biochemical ones.  Nothing will last forever….not even Google.  ( I would refer you to the poem Ozymandias by Shelley.)

No one has figured out how to reverse the Second Law of Thermodynamics, so things do tend toward randomness and disorder.  Before that law and its corollaries were stated by man, the Bible quoted Jesus Christ saying, “Do not store up for your selves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy…”    (Matthew 6:19) This deterioration was not God’s intent when he created a perfect world.    It was after sin entered that the ground was cursed and painful toil was necessary because of entropy. (Genesis 3).  It was at that time that God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil.  He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.”  Death became a certainty.

Here is the good news!  Google does not need to solve death…that has already been done.  “For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.” (I Corinthians 15:22) The sacrificial death of Christ on the cross frees us from the law of sin and death.  By faith, we believe that although death will destroy our physical bodies, our spirits will live on in the presence of God.

So, if Google wants to spend their resources trying to find a way to increase my life span, that’s OK with me.  But, I’ll be happy if they succeed with the car that drives itself, so that I can still get around once I am too frail, blind and deaf to drive safely on my own.

Given their enormous stockpile of cash, I certainly think it would be a better idea for them to work on that other “certainty”…taxes.  I think the odds are better of solving that problem.

To Build a Fire

Last weekend, I went to New Hampshire to watch my husband and eleven other men over the age of 50 compete in the Reach the Beach Relay.  The race is run in 36 legs over 200 miles, beginning at Cannon Mountain and ending on the coast at Hampton Beach State Park.  Along the way, the course runs in or near other state parks,  one of them being White Lake State Park.

Each year, one of the other wives and I set up a campsite at White Lake State Park.  We put up a tent for the guys to rest in and cook a hot meal.  For several years, we cooked on a Coleman stove, but they really don’t throw out a huge amount of heat, and when you are cooking for 12 hungry men, it takes forever to heat up that quantity of food.  So, the last few years I have been cooking over an open fire.  We have always started a fire anyway for the guys to warm themselves.  One never knows what the weather will be like, and some years it has been cold enough to see our breath.

This year the problem wasn’t cold…it was rain…lots of rain.  When we arrived at the campgrounds on Friday afternoon, it was pouring.  I mean it was coming down in torrents.  The campsite was awash.  In spite of a gravel base, there were puddles, the picnic table was extremely wet, and a dry spot had to somehow be created.  We began by putting up the canopy part of a screen house over the picnic table so that we could dry off that area and have a place to work.  Marsha and I were both wearing raincoats and hats, but by the time the canopy was up, we were both soaked.

Marsha continued with the preparations at the picnic table, while I tried to make the fire.  The fire circle, although on gravel, had some puddles in it.  The matches, even though they had not been out in the rain, were soggy from the humidity.  When I purchased the wood at the registration building, the nice park ranger had throw in a fire starter block which seemed to be compressed sawdust.  This too was damp with humidity.  I knew every match I lit was going to be quickly snuffed by the downpour.  Fortunately, I had tossed a very large umbrella in the car.  I put this over the fire circle and crouched underneath it assuming the fire would not flare up so quickly that the umbrella caught on fire.

I started with a base of crumbled newspaper which rapidly became damp from the puddles and the humid air.  We had brought a few pieces of scrap wood along.  We used to bring all our own wood, including small twigs for kindling, but it is against the law to carry logs/parts of tree branches across state lines anymore.  The woods were too wet to be a source of kindling.  I pulled some small wood fragments from the logs I had purchase and broke the fire starter block into pieces.  About 20 matches later, I was beginning to feel desperate.  I began to recollect a short story, To Build a Fire, by Jack London, which I read way back in high school.  A man traveling in the bitter cold of the Yukon realizes that he either has to start a fire or die.  He ends up dying.  I wasn’t facing death….just 12 hungry men who were expecting HOT goulash.

Thoughts of the Jack London story gave way to the Bible story about Elijah and the prophets of Baal.  Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal to put a sacrifice on an altar, but not to light the fire.  Instead, they would each pray to their god, and the god who sent fire down on the altar, would be acknowledged as the true God.  The prophets of Baal didn’t have any luck with their god.  Elijah even dumped barrel after barrel of water on his altar, but when he called on God, there was a bolt of fire from the heavens and the sacrifice burned and all the water was licked up by the flames.  I needed a bolt of fire! 

I just kept praying and lighting more matches.  Finally, a piece of the paper caught fire, it spread to the sawdust fragments, and then to the small pieces of wood, and finally to the soft wood I had purchased.  After that was well established, I placed some of the purchased hardwood.  I picked up the umbrella and stood holding it over the fire until I was sure it wouldn’t immediately go out.  Then I quickly lowered the grate and placed the pot of goulash sauce over the flames.  The macaroni would be added later, so that it didn’t turn to mush.  Once the pot was in place, rain was not hitting the fire directly under the pot, so that portion of the fire could be preserved.

Dinner was about 30 minutes later than I had planned for the first van which arrived, but the guys ate their first course of salad and Italian bread, and then headed for the bath house to shower while the goulash finished heating.  After dinner they huddled under the canopy, which we had extended by attaching a tarp between the canopy frame and some nearby trees.  They said this looked like a still. 

Later when the second van-load of guys arrived, we were able to serve dinner promptly.  The fire was roaring and the rain had slowed down.  The second van of men rested for a couple of hours…some in the tent and some in the van…before driving to catch up with the relay and run their legs.  All that was left for Marsha and me was to clean up the mess and fight off the raccoons which apparently like the aroma of the goulash.

It wasn’t on my “bucket list,” but I can now say I have started a fire in a puddle under an umbrella.

Remind Me Why I Fell in Love...

I’m not sure what brought it to mind this morning but I was thinking about an event from 47 years ago.  I met my husband in the summer of 1966, and I think this incident happened that first summer.

I don’t remember if we had been out on a date or if he had just come over to visit me at my parents’ home, but before he left, we were standing in the kitchen talking.  He remembered he had something in the car which he wanted to show to me.

To picture this you need to know that my parents’ back door had a combination storm/screen on it.  The door did not have a round handle, but a horizontal hook-like bar about 3 inches long which you pushed to open the door.

Bill said, “Oh, there is something in the car I want to show you.”  He spun around, opened the door, took one step out, and then leaped off the small porch instead of going down the 2 or 3 steps.  As he became air-borne, his sport coat, which was unbuttoned, flew open.  I can’t imagine what the odds of this might be, but the door handle hooked into one of the buttonholes.  He had enough forward momentum that this did not even slow him down.  As he flew off the porch, the handle ripped through the buttonhole and tore the front of the jacket in both directions creating a long dangling flap of fabric.  When he returned to the house, he had stuffed the remnant of the suit coat front into the pocket creating a ridiculous wad.  He wore a sheepish, but ever-so-charming, grin on his face.  I was initially horrified over the jacket damaged way beyond repair, but once I realized that he wasn’t upset, I convulsed in laughter.

I did not consciously think, at the time, about what this incident said about his temperament and character, but I do know people who would have allowed such an incident to make them angry and ruin the evening.  Instead, it was both a humorous digression from and an important part of the serious business of getting acquainted…and falling in love.  I smile whenever the picture comes to my mind.

Beach Bodies...NOT!

While visiting my daughter in Florida last week, we went to the beach.  I sat there next to the sand castle watching my granddaughters play gleefully.  I also watched the people strolling by.

I read someplace that once a woman is 40 she shouldn’t worry about how she looks in a swimming suit, because the only people looking at her are other women over 40 who are making comparisons.  Personally, I was pondering how I compared to other women over 60 and decided that those of us who even dare to wear a bathing suit, all look alike.

First of all, we have no buttocks.  The fat deposits that once gave us nice little round tushies have either been overcome by gravity and slumped into our upper legs or have run around to the front and deposited in our tummies.  A little round tummy isn’t nearly as attractive as a little round tushy, but that is what we now have.

The next characteristic is somewhat dependent on size to begin with, but everyone’s boobs sag.  No amount of underwire or wide straps prevents the downward pull.  The bigger they are to start with, the lower they hang.  Attempting to overcome this by tightening the straps, results in major creases in the shoulders.

If either osteoporosis or poor posture has caused some back curvature, the boobs and belly meld into a shapeless mass on the front of the body.  There is probably still a waist under there someplace, but it has disappeared inside the amorphous frontal lump.

Meanwhile those sweet young things, who are still in their prime, strut their stuff oblivious to what awaits them. 

I noticed several people watching me with amused expressions.  Where they laughing at my beach body, or had they never seen an old lady make a sand castle before?

Music in Her Soul

When we arrived at the San Francisco airport two days ago, the rental car area was a madhouse.  All of the lines were very long, and family members waiting for those in line filled up the remaining space.  People and luggage were everywhere.

While Bill went through the line, I stood against the wall near the pay phones with the luggage, which seemed like a good idea since pay phones are rarely used anymore.  Right in front of me stood a mother with a little girl about 5 or 6 years old.  She was guarding the cart loaded with suitcases, while her husband and older daughter proceeded slowly through the rental car line.

After I had been there only a couple of minutes, I realized that the little girl was singing.  I couldn’t catch many of the words, but she had a lovely voice for a little one.  As she sang, she swayed with the music and waved her arms in the air with her fingers vibrating to the rhythm of her song.  This continued non-stop for the entire time she waited….close to an hour.  She sang quietly in the very noisy room.  She was not trying to attract attention.  She clearly couldn’t help herself.  Singing came for her as naturally as breathing.

I recognized what she was feeling, because I have felt this myself.  I grew up loving music and not being able to prevent myself from singing.  I sang when I rode in the car, when I was outdoors playing, or when I was lying on my bed thinking.  As I grew up, I sang when I was doing housework, driving the car, or painting a room.  For those of us who know this feeling, music allows our very souls to find expression.  Everything we are and feel finds a pathway out through our voices.

My voice is now shaky and unreliable, but I so enjoyed watching the little girl and being reminded of the pure joy of being able to express oneself in song.

Andromache by Euripides

Andromache was the wife of Hector, but when Troy fell to the Spartans following Hector’s death, she was taken as a slave and mistress to Hector’s murderer, Neoptolemus.  She bore a child, Molossus to him.  Neoptolemus also took a legitimate wife, Hermione, who is the daughter of Menalaus and Helen.  Hermione is childless and blames Andromache for causing this by some strange powers.  Andromache is innocent of this charge and is in great misery as the mistress of her beloved Hector’s killer.

While Neoptolemus is away, Hermione and Menalaus conspire to kill both Andromache and her son.  Andromache hides Molossus at a friend’s house and takes refuge herself in a temple believing she will be safe there.  Hermione comes to the temple and there is quite an argument.  Later Menalaus comes and tricks Andromache into leaving.  He has found her son, but he says he will spare him, if she agrees to be killed herself.  His actual plan is to kill both of them.

Before Menalaus can carry out his intentions, Peleus, who is father of Achilles and grandfather of Neoptolemus arrives on the scene.  He believes in Andromache’s innocence and demands that Menalaus release her.  They argue.  Menalaus insults Peleus saying he is old and feeble and couldn’t possibly stand up to him in battle.  Peleus insults Menalaus, implying that he thinks of himself highly because he was a general in the Trojan War, but it was really his men who did all the work.  Menalaus finally retreats.

Hermione is now distraught.  She feels abandoned by Menalaus, and is fearful that when Neoptolemus returns he will kill her because of her plot against Andromache and Molossus, for although Molossus is a bastard, he is still Neoptolemus’ son.  She wants to kill herself and is prevented from doing so by her nurse.  About this time, Orestes arrives on the scene.  Hermione was once betrothed to him, and he still wants her.  Besides, he knows that Neoptolemus is dead.  He arranged for this by spreading false rumors about Neoptolemus while he was at a temple offering sacrifices.  Hermione runs off with Orestes.

Messengers arrive and tell Peleus that Neoptolemus, his grandson is dead.  Since his only son Achilles is also dead, he is distraught.  He says that he now has no offspring and no reason for living.  His wife Thetis, who is a goddess, appears.  She reminds him that Molossus is his offspring and promises that a line of kings will come from him.  She further promises that after he buries Neoptolemus, she will arrange for Peleus to become a god, and they will be together forever.

Euripides ideas on women permeate this work.  Some make me angry:

*’tis woman’s way to delight in present misfortunes even to keeping them always on her tongue and lips.

*though some god hath devised cures for mortals against the venom of reptiles, no man ever yet hath discovered aught to cure a woman’s venom, which is far worse than viper’s sting…

*never, never….should men of sense, who have wives, allow women-folk to visit them in their homes, for they teach them mischief…

But, some of Euripides' thoughts on male-female relationships  are wise:

*’tis not beauty, but virtuous acts that win our husband’s hearts.

*I would have a husband content with one wife whose rights he shareth with no other.

*…every prudent man will seek to marry a wife of noble stock and give his daughter to a husband good and true, never setting his heart on a worthless woman, not even though she bring a sumptuous dowry to his house.

Other interesting quotes:

*We ought not on trifling grounds to promote serious mischief.

*…wilt thou slay me, passing by the cause and hurrying to the inevitable result?

*Thinkest thou God’s hand is shortened and that thou wilt not be punished?

*One word upon your lips, another in your heart, this is what men always find with you.

*The race of old men practices no restraint; and their testiness makes it hard to check them.

(I guess old men have always been grumpy.)

*Better is it not to win a discreditable victory, than to make justice miscarry by an invidious exercise of power.

*Women ought to smooth over their sisters’ weaknesses.

Teenage Rebellion Averted

Today at the grocery store, I noticed a young couple with two adorable little girls.  The younger, who was being carried by her dad, gave me a very sweet smile every time I passed them.  The older girl was full of energy and running around her parents while they shopped.  They ended up in the check-out line right ahead of me.  I, therefore, overheard conversation between the older girl (who was probably about 4) and the check-out clerk as to who was going to drink the beer that was being purchased.

This brought to mind my 3 or 4 year old self sitting on my Dad's lap while he drank beer with his friends at our kitchen table.  I asked if I could have a taste and was given an emphatic "No!"  I suspect that I was an abnormal child, and that most kids wouldn't react this way, but I remember being furious and indignant.  I thought, "Huh...he sits here and drinks more than one bottle, and he won't even give me a taste.  That is UNFAIR!  If it's not good for me, how can it be good for him?" 

It is probably a very good thing that my Dad gave up drinking alcoholic beverages when I was 7 years old.  I can only imagine how my attitude would have escalated into open defiance, if this "injustice" had continued.  Also, I would have eventually figured out that there was a correlation between the alcohol consumption on Friday night and the entire Saturday being wasted sleeping on the couch.  This lack of ambition when there were things to be done distressed my Mother.  Sooner or later, it would have distressed me too.

I did not understand the significance at the time, but when my Father decided to quit drinking, a celebration of sorts occurred, and my brother and I were allowed to pour the remainder of his stash down the toilet.  I have a distinct memory of this and the foam in the toilet bowl.

I have wondered many times as an adult what kind of problems I would have had and would have created for my parents as a teenager, if my Dad hadn't made some major changes in his life.

So today, I am thinking about those two sweet little girls and wishing the best for them and their parents.

What is Wrong with This Picture?

Yesterday with my husband at the wheel, we rounded a corner and came upon three boys on skateboards in the middle of the street.  They were smack dab in the center of our lane, but they were focused on the on-coming car in the other lane.  My husband had to brake and had to use the horn before they even realized we had come up behind them.

A few blocks later as we approached an intersection, I commented that there were more kids in the street ahead of us…but….when we got closer, we realized they weren’t kids.  A couple, who appeared to be in their 50s or 60s, was crossing the street.  Actually it was hard to tell their ages.  The man walked erectly and seemed sturdy, but the woman was unsteady and her back was bent both forwards and sideways.  With great effort, she was pushing a shopping cart which had one wheel wobbling around at an awkward angle.  In the cart were two 24 can cartons of beer.

“Oh,” I sighed, taking in the wobbly cart, the abundance of booze, the frail woman doing the heavy work as the man sauntered along, “What is wrong with this picture?”

“Everything,” my husband sadly replied.

I Want to Die on a Windy Day

I want to die on a windy day,

So as my spirit slips away,

And leaves my flesh behind to stay,

I can fly upon the wind.

As color fades to pale cast,

And I leave grief behind at last,

I’m breaking free and moving fast,

Soaring upon the wind.

Time for me will be no more.

I’ll slip through the eternal door,

Free to float and dip and soar,

And dance upon the wind.

Now I live at sluggish pace,

My movements are not filled with grace,

But my spirit then will leap and race,

At light speed on the wind.

When it’s time, don’t be surprised,

If as I sigh and close my eyes,

Mighty gusts from breezes rise.

I’m somersaulting in the wind.

Last Man Standing

We just returned from the National Senior Games in Cleveland.  My husband participated in the 5K and 10K runs and came home with one ribbon and one medal for his age group.  My husband has been a runner since junior high, but not so with all of the participants.  One of the fascinating things about the Senior Games is that some of these people were not athletes in their youth and have come late (very late) to the notion of physical exercise being beneficial and rewarding.

The day before the 5K, which was held at the Cleveland Zoo, we were walking the race route to get a feel for the course and fell into conversation with another couple who were doing the same thing.  The wife of the participant told me that her husband had had two heart attacks, and that his whole family was overweight.  He had taken up running after the second heart attack and had lost 80 pounds during the past year.  He was now more or less obsessed with exercise and diet to the point that she had gone off to their second home in Florida to get a break from it.  She commented that she no longer enjoyed eating since he had put himself, and her, on a restrictive diet.  She, by the way, did not need to lose weight.

The dear lady couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the strange world that runners retreat into prior to a race.  There is no other topic worthy of conversation.  Everything revolves around and is focused on “the race.”  As the wife of a long-time runner, I assured her that this was “normal,” and that a week later she should expect the whole race to be relived.  He will be making remarks like…”A week ago right now I was_______.”  He may be wearing his medal under his shirt and pulling it out to be admired by anyone who mentions “the race.”

The first eight runners in each age group were recognized.  Places 8 through 4 received ribbons, while 3, 2 and 1 got bronze, silver and gold medals.  At the awards ceremony, it was interesting that as the older age group results were read, sometimes there were not as many as 8 participants to be recognized.  In fact, in the 10 K, age 85-89, there was only one male participant, who automatically received the gold. 

After about age 85, the participants, both male and female find it difficult to step up and down from the podium.  They may be able to run/walk a 5 or 10 K, but the little step up to the podium becomes a barrier, and they need to steady themselves by holding on to someone to make that step up.

As each age group is called forward, one can’t help but notice the increasing frailty, fewer participants and slower recovery time.  As hard as we try to take good care of our bodies, eventually they deteriorate.  Something breaks or wears out.  We may be able to put off the inevitable for a time, but no one lives forever.  There were no participants 95 or over.

But…if you live long enough and can still show up and put one foot ahead of the other, you might just win the gold!

The Dangling Muffler Escapade

Just before lunch today, I heard a terrible racket coming down the street.  The noise stopped in our driveway causing me to dash to the window.  My husband had pulled into the drive with the muffler dragging below his car.  The racket was the muffler scraping the pavement all the way up the street.  He hurried in, grabbed the keys to my car and hurried out so as not to miss his noon Rotary meeting.

For some inexplicable reason, as I pondered the vehicle in the driveway, I saw it as an irresistible challenge.  I have no idea what makes me do things like this, especially since my husband didn’t expect me to take care of it.  But, I crouched down next to the car and tried to pull the muffler off…no luck.  I then decided that perhaps I could wire it up off the pavement, so that the only noise on the way to the muffler shop would be the unmuffled engine noise.  I figured at least the rattle and scrape sound could be eliminated.  A coat hanger, bungee cord and 30 minutes later, I had the muffler ever so slightly above the ground.  

I went in the house, washed off the dirt acquired from my under-the-car activity, made myself a PBJ sandwich, and headed for the muffler shop.  There was a bit of metal-on-the-pavement sound along with the rumble of free exhaust, but not nearly as loud as earlier.  I thought my solution had worked, until I hit a bump.  A thud and a look in the rear view mirror revealed the muffler was now detached and in the middle of the street behind me. The bungee cord and coat hanger were still hooked to the under-carriage of the car.   I pulled over and used a blanket from the car to protect my hands while picking up the now hot muffler.

The rest of the trip to the garage was uneventful, except for strange looks from other motorists and pedestrians.  The manager at the muffler shop said I shouldn’t have bothered to pick up the muffler.  He said that people troll the city picking up scrap metal, and it would have probably been picked up before I even got to the shop.  I told him that I was just trying to tidy up after myself.

I sat in the waiting area, ate my PBJ and looked at old magazines.   When my husband got home, he called my cell phone wondering where his car was.

The muffler is now fixed…it was actually under a life-time warranty.  Of course, the labor, the bracket and the pipes on either side of the muffler weren’t on warranty.  Funny how that works.  A life-time guarantee plus $200 will get your muffler fixed.

I’m still trying to figure out why I saw that dangling muffler as a challenge.  If I could answer that question, it might explain some other curious things about my life too.

Waiting for Life...Waiting for Death

It is a sad thing to watch a young person “waiting for life” to happen to her.  I have seen this phenomenon more than once.   A young person sits on the sofa in front of the television, mindlessly and indiscriminately watching whatever comes on, because she can’t think of anything better to do.  She wanders around the house, or pokes around in the refrigerator, or stares into space, or checks email or snail-mail repeatedly, as though something significant surely must drop in front of her any minute.

At the other end of the continuum is the elderly person whose strength, sight, hearing or mental acuity have failed him.  He sits in his favorite chair staring blankly, nodding off now and then, sighing, and occasionally shifting position ever so slightly.  Perhaps, someone will visit him, and he will rouse from his lethargy for conversation.  Life is passing him by and he is “waiting for death.”  The elderly person may or may not be able to change his circumstance.

The young person is the sadder of the two, because she can change her circumstance and chooses instead to wallow in a bog of mental and physical inactivity.

For goodness sake, get out and DO SOMETHING!!!!

Go for a walk, read a book, start a craft project, clean something, volunteer somewhere….maybe at a nursing home or senior residence that has elderly people “waiting for death.”  There is just no excuse for “waiting for life!”

Inescapable

“Can anyone hide in secret places so that I cannot see him?” declares the Lord.  “Do not I fill heaven and earth?”  Jeremiah 23:24

What a different world we would live in, if all men understood and believed this.  Our deeds are not covered by darkness or hidden by closed doors.  There is no way to whisper quietly enough that our words are not heard….in fact, our thoughts are heard.  No mountain is high enough, no water is deep enough, no tunnel penetrates far enough, and no desert is remote enough to escape the all-seeing eye and all-hearing ear.

Because…

God Himself fills heaven and earth.

For the one who loves God and desires to do His bidding, this is a blessed comfort.  For the one who ignores God and has no desire to be directed by Him, it ought to produce terror.  The only reason it doesn’t is that men can convince themselves that He does not exist or is powerless.  But, just because men can delude themselves, does not change truth.  If God exists, He does so whether or not men believe in Him.

The person who does not know or love God sees evidence of His presence every day, but does not recognize it.  The person who loves God sees Him and the work of His hands everywhere and gives thanks.

Father's Day Reflections

My Dad and I got off to a shaky start in more than one way.  I was born in 1945 when he was still in France.  World War II ended in time for him to come home for Thanksgiving when I was 7 months old.  This delay in bonding wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that there was a second and larger problem.  My Dad had no idea how he negatively impacted my concept of myself as I began to develop.

Dad did not know Jesus as his personal Savior until I was 7 years old.  Even after he made a commitment to follow Christ and gave up some of his unsavory habits, he did not understand the hurtfulness of things he said to me.  Although there was a level on which I was sure he loved me, I was wounded by frequent comments that I was fat or stupid or a “sukie.”  That was his word for someone who lacked courage.

Right up through my teenage years, I could not reconcile my excellent grades and the admiration of my intelligence by some family members with my Dad’s comments that I was stupid.  I was always surprised with the high scores I received on standardized tests.  How could I be stupid and score in the top 1 or 2 percent?  I know it sounds ridiculous, but one tends to believe what a parent says.  I remember hearing Dad say that there was no point in educating women.  I knew I wanted an education and had no idea how this would happen.

Having him call me “fatty” was part of what made me feel awkward and uncomfortable about my body.  There was a time in my childhood when illness caused me to become too thin and other times when I was too heavy.  I always felt uncomfortable in my skin.

Dad was very proud of my singing voice.  He would tell me that I sang like a bird.  But, he caused me to be terrified the very first time I sang a solo.  I was only about 8 years old.  The title of the song was “I’ll be a Sun Beam.”  He teased me unmercifully that I was going to get up and sing, “I’ll be a bum seam.”  He thought this was funny.

It was a wonder I learned to drive.  He had no patience and was given to yelling even when I was behind the wheel.  I remember one occasion when we were in city traffic, and he got so nasty, that right out in the driving lane, I put the car into “park,” got out and moved to the back seat.  The only reason I persevered in getting my license was that my mother had never learned to drive, and I refused to be as dependent as she was.

I have no idea how I had the courage to attend a college out-of-state and hundreds of miles from home, but it was a God-inspired decision.  I learned that I could not be timid, that a certain amount of self-confidence was right and good and necessary for survival.  It was not sinful to figure out what gifts God had given me and to determine to use them with His help and for His glory.  I lost weight, got contact lenses, figured out how to wear make-up, became a nurse, put myself through college AND forgave my father, and all of this was by the grace of God.

After my Mother’s death, Dad lived with us for about 8 years.  We did not always get along or see eye to eye, but we did live together in peace the vast majority of the time.  I tried once during those years to talk to him about the hurt…to get it out in the open.  I thought I would start by telling him that it was hurtful to me that he had helped my brothers with their college education.  He had helped me with nursing school, the entirety of which was equivalent to about one semester of college, and after that I was on my own.  I had to work hard to pay for my college expenses, and I had not been able to participate in extra activities on campus.  His only comment was, “Well, you didn’t come out with any debt, did you?”  Actually I had come out with some debt, although minor.  But, his rather defiant tone and facial expression made it clear that he was not able to understand.  I gave up on trying to express my feelings.  I just forgave him again.

I loved my Dad.

I am not perfect either….some of his rough edges may even live on in me.

One of the things we must do as Christians is to lovingly forgive each other for being frail and imperfect. 

God, our heavenly Father, does.