Tonight for supper we had breaded pork chops, baked red potatoes and yellow beans. I thought that the mixed berry applesauce I happened to have on hand would complement this nicely.
My husband looked at it and said, "Is this applesauce?"
Then before I had a chance to respond, he tasted it and said, "Oooo...that's good."
About 5 weeks ago, I also served this type of applesauce. On that occasion, my husband said, "Is this applesauce? Oooo...that's good."
He has no recollection of this prior and identical conversation. When I attempted to remind him, he responded, "Well, there's an advantage of being forgetful! You can be pleasantly surprised twice."
So perhaps I have discovered a test for early dementia. I will wait five weeks, serve mixed berry applesauce again, and if we have this conversation a third time, I will be genuinely worried. In the meantime, I will enjoy the fact that his taste buds were delighted with a "new" flavor twice.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Between a Hard Place and the Rock
A Hard Place...
...rends my heart
...fills my mind
...crushes my spirit.
So, I...
...run to the refuge of
...flee to the shadow of
...crawl to the shelter of
The Rock.
...rends my heart
...fills my mind
...crushes my spirit.
So, I...
...run to the refuge of
...flee to the shadow of
...crawl to the shelter of
The Rock.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Lessons from the Antique Trunk
I don't even know where it came from. I think it somehow wandered over to our basement from my parents' basement. Probably it belonged to some grandparent or great-aunt, but I don't know who. Today I had my husband haul a truly dirty old trunk out of our basement into the sunlight of the backyard. The layer of dust and dirt was such that until a first washing, I wasn't even sure what it was made of.
So, now I know. It is wooden, covered in canvas. The canvas is actually in excellent condition. It is all in tact and in place, except for a little bit that is on the fold over to the inside of the trunk. The wooden strips on the outside look like a little sanding and refinishing will make them good as new. But, the leather straps are either missing or in a state of total disintegration. The metal fittings are rusted and corroded and in need of serious work.
A search on the internet yielded the suggestion that the inside would be covered in paper, and that this could be replaced with wallpaper. I thought that since I had no intention of storing anything in it, I would skip any interior work. After all, I am only planning to use it as an end table or possibly a TV stand. Then I looked inside. Oh, yuk. I'm not sure what was growing in there, but it was gross.
After the external cursory cleaning, I decided to tackle the inside. I dampened the paper and began scraping. Two hours later, I was totally exhausted. The day is warm. Working inside a trunk requires some bodily contortions, and I began to wonder just how long it is safe for a 65 year old to stand on her head. I tipped the trunk on its end so that I could sit down to work. I sat in a puddle created by the earlier washing. Now, in addition to being soaked with perspiration, I felt like I had wet my pants. When that cramp in my hip started, I knew it was time to quit.
Here's where one of the personality quirks I sometimes dislike about myself kicks in. When I start a project, I am pretty much obsessed. I push things through to completion sometimes, when it is really quite unreasonable to do so. I have hung the last strip of wallpaper in a room at a point where I was shaking so with exhaustion, that I was worried about falling off the ladder. Not smart. In any event, I ignored the leg cramp. A cold can of Dr. Pepper rejuvenated me enough to adjust my position and push on. The thing is, that I wanted to get enough of the paper off, so that I could let the inside dry out. Then, the next time I work on it, I won't have to dampen it again, I can just use sandpaper.
So, by the time, I was satisfied, I was shaking and more or less staggered into the house. Now I have showered and sit in my nice cool living room with a cold drink.
What have I learned?
That removing exterior dirt gives one some perspective.
But, that things may be worse on the inside than they appear on the outside.
That I can still exert considerable effort in a ridiculous position without having a stroke.
That I really do like Dr. Pepper.
That I will probably go to my grave without learning to pace myself.
So, now I know. It is wooden, covered in canvas. The canvas is actually in excellent condition. It is all in tact and in place, except for a little bit that is on the fold over to the inside of the trunk. The wooden strips on the outside look like a little sanding and refinishing will make them good as new. But, the leather straps are either missing or in a state of total disintegration. The metal fittings are rusted and corroded and in need of serious work.
A search on the internet yielded the suggestion that the inside would be covered in paper, and that this could be replaced with wallpaper. I thought that since I had no intention of storing anything in it, I would skip any interior work. After all, I am only planning to use it as an end table or possibly a TV stand. Then I looked inside. Oh, yuk. I'm not sure what was growing in there, but it was gross.
After the external cursory cleaning, I decided to tackle the inside. I dampened the paper and began scraping. Two hours later, I was totally exhausted. The day is warm. Working inside a trunk requires some bodily contortions, and I began to wonder just how long it is safe for a 65 year old to stand on her head. I tipped the trunk on its end so that I could sit down to work. I sat in a puddle created by the earlier washing. Now, in addition to being soaked with perspiration, I felt like I had wet my pants. When that cramp in my hip started, I knew it was time to quit.
Here's where one of the personality quirks I sometimes dislike about myself kicks in. When I start a project, I am pretty much obsessed. I push things through to completion sometimes, when it is really quite unreasonable to do so. I have hung the last strip of wallpaper in a room at a point where I was shaking so with exhaustion, that I was worried about falling off the ladder. Not smart. In any event, I ignored the leg cramp. A cold can of Dr. Pepper rejuvenated me enough to adjust my position and push on. The thing is, that I wanted to get enough of the paper off, so that I could let the inside dry out. Then, the next time I work on it, I won't have to dampen it again, I can just use sandpaper.
So, by the time, I was satisfied, I was shaking and more or less staggered into the house. Now I have showered and sit in my nice cool living room with a cold drink.
What have I learned?
That removing exterior dirt gives one some perspective.
But, that things may be worse on the inside than they appear on the outside.
That I can still exert considerable effort in a ridiculous position without having a stroke.
That I really do like Dr. Pepper.
That I will probably go to my grave without learning to pace myself.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
If Mel Gibson was smart....
A long time ago, I knew a couple who experienced a terrible personal tragedy. The wife was a positive person with faith that carried her through. The husband, however, plunged off the edge of reason into an abyss of despair, alcohol and gambling. He was a brilliant man, a lawyer in a DA's office in a major metropolitan area, but he was not brilliant at cards when he was also drunk. So, on top of the tragedy was a mountain of debt. He tried to make up for the debt with some illegal actions and ended up being disbarred.
Most wives would have bailed out. I am not privy to exactly what went on between them that kept them together. But, as an outside observer, it was clear that a deal had been struck in which she called all the shots and controlled all the money. The rest of his life, he received an allowance. On one occasion when plans were being made, he said to me with a shrug, "I do what I am told."
Eventually, he became a much respected college professor, but she continued to determine the course of their lives. At one point, it was clear that she even told him what to wear. If he ever argued with her about anything, it wasn't obvious.
Mel Gibson needs to beg his wife to take him back. He needs to become completely accountable to her. He clearly cannot run his own life. He needs someone to be his "keeper." He may have sufficient money to hire someone for this role, but that would not be effective. He could fire the person anytime he chose to do so. Besides, he would be vulnerable to anyone unscrupulous. In fact, he probably has already been vulnerable to someone unscrupulous.
I have no idea what he and his wife are really like. But, if there is any chance that she still loves him, or could still call forth loving actions toward him, he needs her. He may be so far off the path into the deep woods, that he won't be able to find his way back on his own.
If Mel Gibson is smart, and can stay sober long enough to use reason, he will reconcile with his wife and allow her to become his "keeper." He will consult her on all financial decisions and agree that she has veto over anything and everything in his life.
Most wives would have bailed out. I am not privy to exactly what went on between them that kept them together. But, as an outside observer, it was clear that a deal had been struck in which she called all the shots and controlled all the money. The rest of his life, he received an allowance. On one occasion when plans were being made, he said to me with a shrug, "I do what I am told."
Eventually, he became a much respected college professor, but she continued to determine the course of their lives. At one point, it was clear that she even told him what to wear. If he ever argued with her about anything, it wasn't obvious.
Mel Gibson needs to beg his wife to take him back. He needs to become completely accountable to her. He clearly cannot run his own life. He needs someone to be his "keeper." He may have sufficient money to hire someone for this role, but that would not be effective. He could fire the person anytime he chose to do so. Besides, he would be vulnerable to anyone unscrupulous. In fact, he probably has already been vulnerable to someone unscrupulous.
I have no idea what he and his wife are really like. But, if there is any chance that she still loves him, or could still call forth loving actions toward him, he needs her. He may be so far off the path into the deep woods, that he won't be able to find his way back on his own.
If Mel Gibson is smart, and can stay sober long enough to use reason, he will reconcile with his wife and allow her to become his "keeper." He will consult her on all financial decisions and agree that she has veto over anything and everything in his life.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Avoiding the mire, as I retire.
I retired on July first, but it didn't really seem much different for the first 10 days. I had immediately left for our church's family camp, which is an annual event. It felt like every other recent year until I got home from camp, dug myself out from under the massive pile of laundry, restocked the house with groceries, and then realized I could sleep in instead of rolling out early and heading for work! Ahhhhhhh.....
Today was spent at our new house beginning to get it ready to move into. I worked in the finished walkout basement washing walls and doing a general cleaning. A handyman I hired was upstairs stripping wallpaper and getting ready for the paint and paper job throughout the main floor.
Before I jumped into the project this morning, I had a momentary panic that I wasn't going to be able to keep my mind busy today. If I can't focus on something productive, I slide into chewing my cud on depressing issues: a granddaughter who is, as some would say, climbing fool's hill; a daughter who has a strident and abrasive attitude about an issue on which we disagree; another daughter who has made so many bad decisions that she is buried under a mound of consequences much larger than the afore mentioned pile of laundry; a granddaughter who is so grossly overweight that I am terrified for her physical health; a grandson who I am afraid is stealing; in-laws who are in their 90s and trying to manage in their own home with widely varying degrees of success from day to day. It is far too easy to fill my mind with the possibilities that might ensue from these situations. I mull over what my role should be. Are there actions I should take? It requires conscious effort not to be driven mad by an abundance of negative scenarios.
Even praying about these issues sometimes increases my anxiety. I don't know how to pray. Attempting to pray specifically leads me right back into examining the myriad of possible outcomes. I have only two solutions.....first, I thank God that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us interpreting the agonizing and jumbled thoughts into coherent and meaningful prayer. Second, I keep my mind busy, so that it doesn't wallow in the mire of fretting..
Today was spent at our new house beginning to get it ready to move into. I worked in the finished walkout basement washing walls and doing a general cleaning. A handyman I hired was upstairs stripping wallpaper and getting ready for the paint and paper job throughout the main floor.
Before I jumped into the project this morning, I had a momentary panic that I wasn't going to be able to keep my mind busy today. If I can't focus on something productive, I slide into chewing my cud on depressing issues: a granddaughter who is, as some would say, climbing fool's hill; a daughter who has a strident and abrasive attitude about an issue on which we disagree; another daughter who has made so many bad decisions that she is buried under a mound of consequences much larger than the afore mentioned pile of laundry; a granddaughter who is so grossly overweight that I am terrified for her physical health; a grandson who I am afraid is stealing; in-laws who are in their 90s and trying to manage in their own home with widely varying degrees of success from day to day. It is far too easy to fill my mind with the possibilities that might ensue from these situations. I mull over what my role should be. Are there actions I should take? It requires conscious effort not to be driven mad by an abundance of negative scenarios.
Even praying about these issues sometimes increases my anxiety. I don't know how to pray. Attempting to pray specifically leads me right back into examining the myriad of possible outcomes. I have only two solutions.....first, I thank God that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us interpreting the agonizing and jumbled thoughts into coherent and meaningful prayer. Second, I keep my mind busy, so that it doesn't wallow in the mire of fretting..
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Prayer in the Schools
Almighty God, we acknowledge our dependence upon thee, and we beg thy blessings upon us, our parents, our teachers, and our country.
My parents moved to a rural community outside of Buffalo, NY, when I was in second grade. The move occurred over Christmas vacation, so in January of 1952, I began attending a very small grade school. Grades 1-3 met in one room and grades 4-6 in another. Kindergarten was in a classroom all its own. It was in this setting that I first encountered the prayer.
Every morning we stood to say the Pledge of Allegiance, and then recited the prayer together. As I became more theologically aware, I realized the very generic nature of the prayer. No specific God is invoked. No controversial doctrine is advocated....only a request for blessing from someone believed to be capable of giving it. The prayer would work for Jew or Christian. Of course, it would work for Muslims too, but in the 1950s I was totally unaware of that religious category.
Sadly, this brief daily ritual, this tiny slice of civility, has been lost. It has not just been abandoned. It has been banned. How unfortunate, that students no longer begin the day with a few seconds of reflection.
Almighty God....There is a person and a purpose beyond myself. Someone to whom I am responsible. Someone powerful is watching my behaviors today. He will know how I treat others and whether my actions are honorable.
We acknowledge our dependence upon thee....I am not invincible. I cannot meet all my own needs.
We beg thy blessings upon us...It is a good God who makes daily provision for me.
Our parents...Parents are God's gift to us. They are not our jailers put in place to make our lives miserable. They are His gift for guidance.
Our teachers...God has placed them in authority over us for our good. We are supposed to actually try to learn from them.
Our country...Who can measure the advantage of growing up in the United States of America? We have "rights" which are really privileges unknown in so many places in this world. Freedoms worthy of cherishing are ours.
Someone please try to explain to me what is wrong with this prayer? Oh, yes, I know it is offensive to the atheist. Let him plug his ears or come up with an alternative that causes children to begin the day recognizing truths about their existence and putting the day's interactions in a context of respect.
Of course, many....perhaps most...mumbled their way through the prayer not thinking in depth about the meaning. But, when one recites something day after day, whether or not ones mind is actively engaged, the concepts begin seeping into the cracks and crevices of the mind.
We have lost much, and we are reaping the consequences in disrespect for parents, teachers and our country.
My parents moved to a rural community outside of Buffalo, NY, when I was in second grade. The move occurred over Christmas vacation, so in January of 1952, I began attending a very small grade school. Grades 1-3 met in one room and grades 4-6 in another. Kindergarten was in a classroom all its own. It was in this setting that I first encountered the prayer.
Every morning we stood to say the Pledge of Allegiance, and then recited the prayer together. As I became more theologically aware, I realized the very generic nature of the prayer. No specific God is invoked. No controversial doctrine is advocated....only a request for blessing from someone believed to be capable of giving it. The prayer would work for Jew or Christian. Of course, it would work for Muslims too, but in the 1950s I was totally unaware of that religious category.
Sadly, this brief daily ritual, this tiny slice of civility, has been lost. It has not just been abandoned. It has been banned. How unfortunate, that students no longer begin the day with a few seconds of reflection.
Almighty God....There is a person and a purpose beyond myself. Someone to whom I am responsible. Someone powerful is watching my behaviors today. He will know how I treat others and whether my actions are honorable.
We acknowledge our dependence upon thee....I am not invincible. I cannot meet all my own needs.
We beg thy blessings upon us...It is a good God who makes daily provision for me.
Our parents...Parents are God's gift to us. They are not our jailers put in place to make our lives miserable. They are His gift for guidance.
Our teachers...God has placed them in authority over us for our good. We are supposed to actually try to learn from them.
Our country...Who can measure the advantage of growing up in the United States of America? We have "rights" which are really privileges unknown in so many places in this world. Freedoms worthy of cherishing are ours.
Someone please try to explain to me what is wrong with this prayer? Oh, yes, I know it is offensive to the atheist. Let him plug his ears or come up with an alternative that causes children to begin the day recognizing truths about their existence and putting the day's interactions in a context of respect.
Of course, many....perhaps most...mumbled their way through the prayer not thinking in depth about the meaning. But, when one recites something day after day, whether or not ones mind is actively engaged, the concepts begin seeping into the cracks and crevices of the mind.
We have lost much, and we are reaping the consequences in disrespect for parents, teachers and our country.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
What makes a marriage last?
Recently one of my readers asked me to write about the Al and Tipper Gore split. How does it happen that a supposedly successful marriage comes unglued after 40 years? Well, the answer apparently is "pretty easily." I have been stunned by some long term marriages among friends that have dissolved after decades.
It happens when a couple drifts apart and no longer have anything in common. One or the other stops learning new things and has nothing to bring to the relationship. Or perhaps, their interests become very different, and they stop caring about the interests of the other.
It happens when one member of the couple decides that someone other than their spouse is a little more appealing. Sharing concerns with that person and being met with compassion turns to a bit of flirting, which turns to increasing intimacy, which turns to a broken marriage. At what point was the line crossed...the flashing warning light ignored?
Today I celebrate 42 years of marriage. But those 42 years are made up of 42 times 365 days. Not counting extra days for leap years, that is 15,330 days! 15,330 times, although not always consciously, I have decided that I love my husband, and that he is worth the commitment. Thousands of times, I have chosen not to share a problem or a joy with someone other than my husband. I am not saying that I have not had friends of opposite gender with whom I have joked around and shared things. But, I have never risked an inappropriate level of intimacy that might put that person ahead of my husband as my primary source of emotional, social, spiritual and sexual interaction.
A lasting marriage is made up of daily choices and hard work. It means never thinking you are safe from temptation or "that could never happen to me!" It means that both members of the partnership are making these daily choices and guarding the relationship.
Given all of the temptations and variables, a lasting marriage is also a gift of God's grace. It is a miracle, and I do mean miracle, that any marriage lasts for decades, given the fact that two imperfect people are responsible for daily choices.
I accepted Christ as my personal Savior when I was 7 years old. Shortly after this, it occurred to me that if I were to ever marry, somewhere in the world was a little boy who faced all the challenges of growing up that I was facing. Since he would one day be the most important person in the world to me, I started to pray for him. I prayed that God would keep him safe and help him to grow into the person God had planned for him to be. I prayed that we would meet in God's time and way.
During high school, nursing school and my first year of college, I was not only boy-friendless, but also, for the most part, dateless. I had many discussions with God about this, and finally decided that if there was no such little boy for whom I had prayed, I would be OK. I determined that I would be the happiest single there had ever been. Within a few months of that decision, I met Bill. Two years later, June 22, 1968, I made a lifetime commitment to him, and day after day with God's help, I keep remaking that commitment.
It happens when a couple drifts apart and no longer have anything in common. One or the other stops learning new things and has nothing to bring to the relationship. Or perhaps, their interests become very different, and they stop caring about the interests of the other.
It happens when one member of the couple decides that someone other than their spouse is a little more appealing. Sharing concerns with that person and being met with compassion turns to a bit of flirting, which turns to increasing intimacy, which turns to a broken marriage. At what point was the line crossed...the flashing warning light ignored?
Today I celebrate 42 years of marriage. But those 42 years are made up of 42 times 365 days. Not counting extra days for leap years, that is 15,330 days! 15,330 times, although not always consciously, I have decided that I love my husband, and that he is worth the commitment. Thousands of times, I have chosen not to share a problem or a joy with someone other than my husband. I am not saying that I have not had friends of opposite gender with whom I have joked around and shared things. But, I have never risked an inappropriate level of intimacy that might put that person ahead of my husband as my primary source of emotional, social, spiritual and sexual interaction.
A lasting marriage is made up of daily choices and hard work. It means never thinking you are safe from temptation or "that could never happen to me!" It means that both members of the partnership are making these daily choices and guarding the relationship.
Given all of the temptations and variables, a lasting marriage is also a gift of God's grace. It is a miracle, and I do mean miracle, that any marriage lasts for decades, given the fact that two imperfect people are responsible for daily choices.
I accepted Christ as my personal Savior when I was 7 years old. Shortly after this, it occurred to me that if I were to ever marry, somewhere in the world was a little boy who faced all the challenges of growing up that I was facing. Since he would one day be the most important person in the world to me, I started to pray for him. I prayed that God would keep him safe and help him to grow into the person God had planned for him to be. I prayed that we would meet in God's time and way.
During high school, nursing school and my first year of college, I was not only boy-friendless, but also, for the most part, dateless. I had many discussions with God about this, and finally decided that if there was no such little boy for whom I had prayed, I would be OK. I determined that I would be the happiest single there had ever been. Within a few months of that decision, I met Bill. Two years later, June 22, 1968, I made a lifetime commitment to him, and day after day with God's help, I keep remaking that commitment.
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