Of Childhood Treasures

On Monday I attended a little brunch get-together with some ladies, in order to visit with a friend who was in town. She lives in NYC and comes up to the North Country once a year. We enjoyed great food in a lovely setting with lively conversation.

One of the ladies who still has young children was detailing her plans to take her daughter to NYC to visit the American Girl Doll Shop. Apparently a day long visit costs $230, but you get part of the money back to spend at the shop. The doll visits a "spa" at the shop and has her hair done, etc. The visit includes a "photo shoot" with girl and doll resulting in a magazine cover style photo.

One of the other ladies of my vintage and I got talking about our childhood dolls. We both had baby dolls, with cloth bodies and hard plastic limbs. They had a small hole in the mouth where a bottle could be inserted, but of course, there was nothing in the bottle. If you were lucky you might have a doll whose eyes open and shut.

As a preschooler, my favorite doll was of that type. I named her Becky, and I loved her dearly. I actually acquired her by theft. A neighbor who was a grandmother had toys for her grandchildren when they visited. Among them was a beat up old doll that for reasons no one else understood, I fell in love with. I didn't think I was stealing her, because I left my beautiful new doll in her place. My mother, however, viewed it as a crime. She tried to make me take her back with an apology and retrieve my nice new doll. The neighbor said that if I loved the doll so much, I should be able to keep her. Becky was my favorite, but being second-hand when I acquired her, she eventually became dirty and her insides began to fall out. My mother deemed her a health hazard and threw her away. The story goes that I dug her out of the trash 3 times, and my parents finally dismembered her and threw her away in pieces.

One of the ladies at the brunch who knew my mother in later years could not believe my sweet dear mother would have dismembered and discarded my doll. But, it was my mother herself who told me the story. I don't remember it, or the tears I expect I must have shed.

I do remember that I had a stuffed Scotty dog, who slept with me every night into my teen years. He had a little plaid tam on his head and a music box in his stomach. When the metal edge of the box started wearing through the fabric and his stuffing began falling out, I decided to take action. Perhaps, I subconsciously remembered my Becky being thrown out when she got excessively shabby. I carefully slit the hole big enough to slide the music box out, stuffed the hole with cotton and sewed him up.

Scotty and I are now over 60. I don't sleep with him anymore and haven't in a very long time. His hat is long gone, but he sits in my bedroom and still has both of his red button eyes.

Safe Passage

Eleven years ago right now, I was in the throes of one of the more difficult periods of my life.

Starting at the very beginning of 1998, my mother had a series of health problems, including a heart attack in June and a stroke in the first week of July. The stroke left her paralyzed on her right side, unable to do anything for herself, and unable to speak coherently. She lost her ability to do a sequence of activities, so she could not even feed herself. She could say phrases that one might say on auto-pilot....such as, "Hi, how are you?" ....but not carry on anything resembling a conversation.

When it came time for her to leave the hospital, we had a very difficult decision to make. The idea of sending her to a nursing home was truly repugnant. My Mother placed tremendous value on family life. I couldn't imagine relegating her to an institution. On the other hand, being a nurse, I knew exactly what I was in for if I took her home. It wasn't just the unending work of taking care of her 24/7 that was overwhelming. It was also the fact that my father would be hovering around, and my Dad was NOT an easy person to get along with. I knew there would be times of conflict with him.

But, I decided to live one day at a time...just looking for strength for that day, and leaving the big picture to God.

We cleaned out the dining room, brought in a hospital bed for Mom and a twin bed for Dad, and embarked on a journey without knowing how long it would be. We arranged for caregivers to come in daily to bathe her, change the bed and irrigate the catheter....not because I couldn't do it, but because it was something that someone else could do, relieving me for a couple of hours.

At first, Dad insisted he would be the "night nurse," but this wore him down. He became really irritable, and obviously needed to sleep at night. I could not be up every night, and I finally had to sit him down and insist that we hire someone at night.

At this point in my life, I had 3 grown daughters, 2 of whom were in bad marriages, although at the time, I only knew that one of them was. I already had 3 grandchildren. When September came, I resumed home-schooling our 11 year old son, and I was trying to keep up with responsibilities at church. In other words, I was exhausted and stressed. I had no time for a life of my own. I remember one day feeding Mom her lunch. I was carefully spooning in one teaspoon of tomato soup at a time and watching her slowly swallow. I was thinking, "My life is disappearing one teaspoonful of tomato soup at a time." I wasn't really feeling sorry for myself. It just seemed to be a way to visualize a truth I had to accept.

By the grace of God, this nightmare only lasted 5 months. By the time the end came, I actually wanted my Mother to die. I knew she was suffering, in spite of pain medication. I was doing everything I could to make her comfortable, but I couldn't take the agony away. During the last few days, her leg became gangrenous. First there was a black spot on her toe, then the entire toe became a ghastly blue-gray. Every time I turned her, the discoloration had crept further up the leg. When she died it was nearly to her knee. It was two days before Christmas and snowing.

I hated the thought of the funeral director packing her in a black body bag and taking her out in the cold. Such a trivial thing perhaps, but I was so comforted that the body bag was blue corduroy. Blue was her favorite color.

Many months passed before my thoughts of my Mother were of happier times. At first, I could only think of her pain and frustration, and how little I could do to alleviate it. I knew she never wanted to be dependent. I was relieved that she had gone to a place free of suffering. Eventually I began to remember all the years of fun and loving interactions....all the things about her that I appreciated. I had not been able to prevent her having to walk through that dark valley of pain, but I had not surrendered her to someone else. I had walked up to the gate of death with her, holding her hand until God grasped it. I still have moments when tears come to my eyes, and I think of those last months of her life. Then I say to myself, "Safe passage...it's OK...you gave her safe passage."

Ready to Fold

I got thinking today about an incident that happened several years ago, that some of my readers might find amusing.

I completed a major grocery shopping and the clerk said, "That comes to ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents."

As I began to write out the check, I heard a masculine voice behind me say loudly, "Ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"

A quick sideways glance revealed an obviously intoxicated shopper in line behind me. I didn't want to become engaged in conversation, so I ignored him.

He, however, was not to be ignored. He said, even more loudly, "Ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"

I turned slightly, not making direct eye contact and trying to concentrate on writing the check, and said, "I'm getting ready for company."

"Ha! I don't care if the Queen of England was coming for dinner. I wouldn't pay ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"

Hoping to put a damper on the discussion, I said quietly, "Well, I have a son with severe food allergies, so I buy some products that are sort of expensive."

Still loudly, but with a tone of understanding, he replied, "Now I know what you mean! I have allergies myself."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I can't eat a bit of food without some of this." He patted the case of 24 cans of beer which was on the conveyor belt.

By this time customers in adjacent lanes in each direction were watching with amusement.

"Hmmm....I'm not a very good person to talk to about that," I said. "I'm a total abstainer."

With utter consternation, he responded, "Total abstainer? Total abstainer?"

Obviously such a possibility had never occurred to him.

"Yup...I don't drink at all...not ever."

"Oh, lady, don't you know how good it is for your cholesterol? My doctor says that I have the lowest cholesterol in the county!"

"Really....what does your doctor say about your liver?"

"Ready to fold...."

I think everyone in earshot was laughing at this point.

Thankfully my check was written, and I escaped. I have no idea what he had to say after I left, but sometimes even going to the grocery store is an adventure.

Observations on bugs

I spent the day painting at the cottage. Most of the time, I worked on the back and sides, while my husband painted the front. He had a number of conversations during the day with other cottagers who walked by and commented on our project. I, on the other hand, mostly communed with the bugs.
The cottage is in a wooded area, so there are lots of 6-legged and 8-legged creatures about. If 24 hours elapse between coats of paint, it is necessary to wipe the area clean of spider webs before applying the next coat.
The morning began with a pesky mosquito repeatedly going for my jugular....and I mean that literally. The cottage is cream with dark green trim. Since I had dark green on my brush, and most of the paint in the area was cream, there was no possibility of swatting the annoying insect with the paint brush. He made several attempts at venipuncture, before I managed to annihilate him without splattering the dark green on the cream.
Ants seem to be clueless when it comes to paint. They walk right into the wet stuff or explore the can itself which is a dead end for them.
Daddy long-legs are, however, quite amazing. They travel up the wall extending one leg gingerly ahead of the others. The very first time an appendage touches an area that is still wet, they stop and change directions. If they run into paint in the new direction, they stop and redirect again.
I encountered one spider who saw the brush coming and ducked into a crack behind a window frame. He peeked out, but the brush was still swishing near his den, so he retreated.
By the end of the day, the mosquitos no longer bothered me. However, apparently I had "ripened" as the day progressed...it was a scorcher and I was pretty much drenched in perspiration...so I ended the day bothered by flies.
Thank goodness, we put a hot water heater and shower in this year!

A Tale of Two Homeless Men

About six weeks ago, I just happened to step out on my front porch as a man was passing by. When he spied me, he approached the house and asked if we had any work he could do. He said that he was homeless and needed to earn $20 each day in order to stay where he was currently staying. He was sharing a room with a friend and splitting the cost. He said that he would do anything inside or out to earn $20.

We had already started the mowing that day, but I figured he could finish the job and do the neighbor's yard also. I was not about to tell him that the neighbors were out of town, but the yards are adjacent, and we did at one time actually own that property too, so I didn't feel the need to explain anything to him.

My husband spent a bit of time talking with him and thought perhaps he could work some for my father-in-law (the 92 year-old mentioned in a prior entry). So before the man left, my husband arranged to put him in contact with his father.

Early the next week...I think it was the first day that he worked for my father-in-law...I read in the paper that someone by the same name and of the approximate age, had been arrested for stealing from his own mother. Oh, crumb. You think you are doing something to help out someone who is in need, and now you find yourself worrying whether this is a safe person to have around.

Well, that week he worked for my father-in-law two days, although he had promised to work four days. During that time he begged for money for medication for his daughter. My father-in-law wouldn't give him the extra money but did meet him at the drugstore and pay for the medication. Before the week was out, my father-in-law's digital camera and an old laptop had disappeared. The guy also tried to convince my father-in-law that he had actually worked the four days promised and only been paid for two.

So today when I saw another person begging for work, I had second thoughts.

I was out doing some shopping for grandkids. At the entrance road into the Walmart, a man was standing on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign. It read, "Will work for food."

When I left the parking lot, he was still standing there. I pulled over to the curb and told him that I didn't have any work, but asked him if there was some place he stayed to which I could deliver some groceries.

"No, I am homeless. I live out of my car."

"Have you had breakfast today?"

"Yes."

"OK, I'm going to go buy you some lunch. I'll be back."

"Oh, that would be really nice."

I went into a nearby grocery store with a deli. I picked up a large sandwich, a bag of small pre-cleaned carrots, a large package of trail mix and a bottled water.

I wondered if he would still be there....he was.

When I handed him the bag, I asked if he knew about The Workplace which helps people find jobs. He didn't, so I told him where it was located.

He seemed appreciative.

After running to a couple more stores (one of which had a "Now Hiring" sign), I passed the spot where he had been standing again. He was gone. Did he go to The Workplace, or had I given him enough food to get through the day, so he could forget about working and hope for someone to come along with food again tomorrow?

Who knows?

20% atheist, 80% agnostic, 100% sad

Recently I read in an internet article that Brad Pitt gave an interview in which he was asked if he believed in God. He stated that he did not, and that he is “20% atheist, 80% agnostic.” This strikes me as 100% sad.

Now I recognize that he is probably NOT sad. He has it all….good looks, fame, wealth, talent, and a highly desirable partner. He has used his position and some of his resources for philanthropic purposes, so he also has reason to view himself as a “good” person.

But, sadness is still what I felt on reading his comment.

I am sad for him personally. Everyone has a god, whether he recognizes it or not. We all have something that fills the core of our being and gives meaning to our life. Since I believe that the only god which adequately fills this role is the one true God who is Creator and Sustainer, I believe that all other “gods” are inadequate and will eventually betray us.

I am sad for his children. Most people I have encountered who are a mix of atheist and agnostic will say that it is fine with them if their children make their own choice about what to believe. The problem is that there is no attempt to expose their children to the point of view that there just might be a God. The children are programmed from the outset to discount the notion of his existence.

I am sad for all those who view him as a role model. He, who “has it all,” is openly stating he doesn’t believe in God, and he hasn’t been struck down by a bolt from heaven. So…maybe it’s a safe position. Of course, the Bible clearly indicates that those who don’t believe in God may appear to prosper in this life. The wheat and chaff grow together until the harvest. The sun shines and the rain falls on both the just and the unjust. As an agnostic/atheist, he probably believes the Bible is just another ancient book of myths. I would challenge anyone with this belief to read it, in its entirety. Not just read someone else’s thoughts on it, but actually read it. It is the only intellectually honest thing to do.

So, I do feel sorry for Brad Pitt. I wouldn’t for a minute wish anything bad to come his way, but difficulties do come to most human beings. If and when life begins to crumble for him, I pray that he will look to God rather than within himself. The human spirit is powerful, but not omnipotent. In the end, we are not “saved” either in this world or the next by our personal attributes, what we possess, or the good we have done.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith…and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God…not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9

Seamless Transition

Recently I was pondering the 23rd Psalm, and in particular, the phrase "the valley of the shadow of death." Experiencing that valley is something we can all expect.

As a nurse and family member, I have seen death. Usually there is a period of diminished consciousness, awareness, ability to interact with ones surroundings. I picture that withdrawal from this world as a descent into the valley.

As one who believes in eternal life, I picture coming out of that valley on the other side into another life more joyful and fulfilling than we can imagine while trapped in this present life.

But, at least two men in the Bible apparently did not descend into that valley. We are told that Enoch never actually died, but was taken by God. Elijah never actually died either. A chariot descended from the sky and picked him up.

Ah...seamless transition.

No life-death-life situation for them, but rather life unending.

The criterion for experiencing this seems to be that they had learned in this life how to walk with God so intimately, that they simply continued that walk straight into eternity. What would that be like? It is so different from what nearly all of us have or will experience that it is mind-blowing. Could one actually live with heart and mind that attuned to God?

I fully expect to have to go through the valley someday, but it certainly is challenging to think that one could walk in such close fellowship with God, that there would be no reason to detour through the valley.