Of Dead Mice and Flawed Men

Decades ago, I was playing a game with a group of people, and I drew a card that instructed me to share something I feared.  I honestly couldn't think of anything I feared at the time, but I have been reminded many times since of my phobia.  I have a horrible fear of dead mice....not live ones....dead ones.  I can hold a pet mouse.  I can watch one run around outside...or even inside after the initial scream from being startled.  But, I totally freak out over dead mice.

Today, Bill and I were at our cottage cleaning up for the season.  I always put out D-Con in the fall.  As I cleaned the cottage today, I discovered every single D-Con package was empty.  I began to wonder where the mice had gone to die.  I wasn't noticing an odor anywhere....although they don't usually rot with the D-Con.  They just sort of shrivel up and don't smell.

Eventually, I came to the time that I was ready to mop, and I needed to change the sponge on the mop.  I was having trouble getting it off, so I opened the drawer with the tools.  Ugh!  It smelled like mousy-pee and there was an obvious nest with the back end and tail of a dead mouse sticking out of it.  I ran for my husband.

What, you may wonder, is the reason for this totally irrational aversion to dead mice?  

When I was a child, we lived in a house in the middle of an open field.  It wasn't unusual for a field mouse to find its way inside.  My Dad would set a trap and catch the mouse.  THEN...he would take the dead mouse by the tail and chase me around the house with it.  I have no idea why he thought this was funny.  He didn't seem to realize he was completely terrorizing me.  On one occasion he came up behind me, pulled open the back of the neck of my shirt and pretended he was going to drop the mouse into it.  I developed the habit of locking myself in the bathroom when he was about to empty the trap.  Once he even came to the bathroom door and said, "Honey, I got rid of it," but when I opened the door he was swinging it by the tail right at my face.  From then on, I would not unlock the bathroom door until my Mother came to the door and told me he had disposed of it.

My Dad was basically a nice man.  He was a Christian, and he didn't believe in lying.  How he could have excluded this game of his from his normal standard of conduct, I do NOT know.  He had some other "games" I found unpleasant which he seemed to believe were funny.  He also had some "pet names" for me that were ego-bruising.  I suppose this behavior had something to do with his own father's conduct.

The  point is, even though this has had a lasting effect that I can't seem to get over, I do have to forgive him for it.  He was flawed, but then, so am I.  Every one of us lacks insight in some area of our life.  There are, for each of us, some areas in which our perception just doesn't match that of the rest of the world, or perhaps, that of one person who is harmed by our actions.

As Christians, we are recipients of the grace of God in our lives.  He forgives our sins...and that includes the personality quirks that we spend a life-time struggling against.  We have an obligation to forgive others...even before they ask for our forgiveness...even if they never ask for our forgiveness,   We have an obligation to extend grace to other flawed men and women.

The Cyclops by Euripides

Silenus, a great lover of wine and servant of the god of wine (Bromius or Bacchus) has been captured by the Cyclops, along with a group of satyrs, which he refers to as his children.  The one-eyed, man-eating monster holds them in slavery to tend his flocks.  Cyclops drinks only milk, and eats cheese and goat flesh, when human flesh is not available.

 Odysseus and his crew are misfortunate, and while returning from the battle in Ilium, they are driven by the wind and up on the shore near the cave of the Cyclops.  Silenus agrees to sell them food and drink in exchange for the flask of wine which Odysseus is carrying.  He goes into great raptures over the aroma and taste, and is willing to risk the displeasure of the Cyclops for the wine.  However, when the Cyclops returns, he tries to pretend that Odysseus has beaten him and is stealing the provisions.

Cyclops is delighted to see Odysseus and his crew, because he hasn’t had human meat in some time and is looking forward to gorging himself on it.  After he has killed, cooked and eaten two of Odysseus’ crew members, Odysseus convinces him to taste the wine.  He manages to get the Cyclops thoroughly drunk, and when he falls asleep, Odysseus burns out his single eye with a brand from the fire.  The satyrs are supposed to help with this, but they are cowardly and come up with ridiculous excuses for not being helpful.

Odysseus and his crew escape while Cyclops blindly stumbles around looking for “Noman,” which is what Odysseus has given as his name.  The satyrs are happy to go off with Odysseus, hoping to be reunited with the god of wine.

This was probably an amusing play to watch being performed.  I’m not sure why people stumbling around in drunkenness is amusing, but it is not an uncommon gag in plays and movies.  The glories of wine are extolled throughout the play.  Silenus says it is a “joyless land” where there is no wine, and that wine brings the “oblivion of woe.”

Silenus is also a great one for changing loyalties.  At one point, he tries to convince Cyclops that if he eats Odysseus….including, his tongue…he will become “a monstrous clever talker.”

Cyclops, for his part, recognizes no god as an authority over him, declaring that his belly is “the greatest of deities.”

This is the last play by Euripides in the series I am reading, and I am glad to bid him adieu.  He simply cannot resist nasty comments about women.  In The Cyclops, he states, “Would there had never been a race of women born into the world at all, unless it were for me alone!”

The Best of Worship

I guess I am old.  I have a great deal of difficulty identifying with and enjoying present day music…not just the secular type, but also the worship music currently utilized in most churches. 

First of all, it is terribly repetitive.  Sometimes phrases are repeated dozens of times, verses are repeated over and over, and many of the songs have similar lyrics. There is certainly a place for repetition, but when I compare modern worship choruses with the rich doctrinal statements in many of the old hymns, the difference is notable.  An understanding of the deeper concepts of our Christian faith was often derived from phrases in hymns.  Many old hymns are mini-sermons.

Secondly, many of the modern songs aren’t very “sing-able.”  The audience/congregation struggles to sing along.  They can’t find the melody line, much less be able to figure out a way to sing harmony.  The ability to fully participate is lost for those of us who “read music,” when all we have is the words and no access to the notes.  The beauty of music is obscured without a clear melody and harmony.

Thirdly, it is tempting to wonder if true heartfelt worship is being replaced by the lifting of hands and other physical motions.  If these are sincere, that’s great…but what is happening inside the heart is more important.  I feel that lifting my heart and voice is more important than lifting my hands.

Every time I see familiar hymn lyrics on the projection screen, I am tempted to get excited thinking we are about to sing an old hymn.  Then I discover the lyrics are being sung with a different tune which has no interesting melody to reinforce the meaning, and something else mundane has been stuck in between the verses.

Sigh….

In my entire life, the most intense worship I have felt in singing took place in the 1960s while I was a student at Wheaton College.  I don’t remember who was in charge of chapel that day, but we were told that we would be singing the hymn “Holy, Holy, Holy.”  It is true that this hymn was very familiar to me.  I had probably sung is a hundred times before.  It does also utilize repetition, although the repetitive portions are interspersed with statements about the nature of God Himself.  What made this experience unique was that we were instructed to sing a cappella, and the first verse was to be sung only by the sopranos.  The altos were to join in on the second verse, the tenors on the third and the basses on the fourth and final verse.  There were about 2000 young adults present.

The sopranos only on the first verse created a light and ethereal sound.

Holy, holy, holy!  Lord God Almighty.

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and Mighty

God in three persons, blessed trinity.

The altos joining on the second produced a sweet harmony. 

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee.

Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea.

Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee

Which wert and art and evermore shall be.

When the tenors joined, the harmony was richer.

Holy, holy, holy!  Though the darkness hide Thee.

Tho’ the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see.

Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee,

Perfect in pow’r, in love, in purity.

But, when the basses boomed in on the final verse, creating the full four-part harmony, I felt as though a jolt of electricity passed down my spinal column.  My spirit soared upward with my voice.

Holy, holy, holy!  Lord God Almighty.

All Thy works shall praise Thy name in earth and sky and sea.

Holy, holy, holy!  Merciful and mighty.

God in three persons, blessed trinity.

I suppose I will have to wait until heaven to experience this again. 

As one ages, there seem to be increasing reasons to look forward to going there.

In the Rose Garden

In the rose garden,

Her pudgy baby hand,

Reaches for the blossom.

I hold her carefully,

Away from the thorns.

The blossom is delicate,

The fragrance intoxicating,

I want her to know them,

But I keep her,

Away from the thorns.

As long as I can,

I will shield and protect,

But someday my back will be turned,

Or she will walk away,

And reach for the thorns.

Know this, my precious child,

Prayers from my soul

Waft upward daily

As does the fragrance of the rose

Beyond the thorns.

I will try to pass to you,

The protecting shield

Use it yourself and pass it on

To tender hands and hearts

That may one day reach for thorns.

As I watch you grow and bloom,

I will fade like the rose petals,

But here is my wish for you…

May your future always hold,

More blossoms than thorns.

Old Men and I

When I took my car to the garage for an oil change and state inspection, I settled myself at a table in the lounge area and pulled out some embroidery to work on.  I had only been there a few minutes when an older gentleman came in to get his car washed.  He wandered my way and looked at me a bit hesitantly.  I smiled.  He acted like he was going to sit at the adjacent table, but then inquired whether I would mind if he sat with me.  I assured him it was fine.

Over the next 30-40 minutes, we had a pleasant chat about a wide range of subjects.  He is a widower and is obviously lonely.  He asked questions about my embroidery and informed me that he himself crochets.  It gives him something to do in the evenings when he is by himself, and there is nothing on television he wants to watch.  He lost his wife of 59 years about a year ago.  We talked about grandkids, carpentry, refinishing furniture, canoes, sewing, learning to cook, and a number of other topics.

Since he was only there to get his car washed, his vehicle was ready before mine.   One of the carwash techs came in, got him, and escorted him to his car.  A few minutes later, the carwash tech returned to the lounge laughing and came over to where I was seated.

“I almost gave you away,” he said.

I had no idea what he meant.

He continued, “I just asked that guy if he wanted me to come in here and get his wife, and he told me, ‘That’s not my wife!  She’s taken!’”

He was nearly doubled over in laughter.

I said, “Well, he was obviously lonely, and I didn’t mind talking to him, but when I get into a situation like that I find a way to drop the fact that I am married into the conversation.”

“Well,” he said, “He got the picture.”

The young carwash tech apparently found it highly amusing that a man in the vicinity of 80 years old would make an effort to get acquainted with a woman about 70 and would take note of her availability status.

I actually enjoyed spending some time with the old guy and didn’t feel as though I was being “hit on.”  I have had some experiences in which I clearly was being pursued by older men. Those situations came about because of my job.  In two such incident, I was being asked for a dinner date.  One guy took ‘no’ for an answer when he found out I was married, but the other didn’t.  He kept coming back to the booth I was manning, and when I told him I was married, he said, “Sometimes thing change.”  I couldn’t wait to get out of there, especially since he hung around and watched me pack up my car.

When I was young, I dated very little and didn’t think that men my age found me attractive.  But, old men sometimes told me what a wonderful wife I was going to make for someone.  Things changed a bit after I hit 21.  My husband did have some competition. 

I find it amusing though, when men my age are obviously wondering if I am available.  This is not something I expected to encounter as a “senior.”  My husband tells me that when he was a young man, he never expected he would someday be attracted to “an old broad.”  However, I figured the odds were in my favor on that score, as I watched him as a young man charm older ladies with his sly smile and twinkly blue eyes.

And…

It turns out that now that I am age appropriate, I like old men….especially the one with those twinkly blue eyes.

Unlikely Trio

We had nothing in common but our ages, and the fact that circumstances put us in the same place at the same time.

I was a student nurse at a hospital in the Chicago area. I was about 19 at the time.  I was an excellent student, smart and serious about my studies.  I had many friends, some of whom were male, but no boyfriends.  I may have had one date in my life at that point.  That would have been with the guy with whom I remained good friends, but who had declared that I was too much for him to handle.  I had a very quick mind and an assertive personality, although I was lacking in self-confidence in some areas. I was a bit overweight and did not consider myself attractive.

One of my patients that morning was extremely attractive.  He was a year or two younger than me with a well-muscled physique.  His facial features were chiseled and nicely symmetric.  Blond hair and blue eyes completed the picture.  But, his lovely athletic body had betrayed him.  A brain tumor caused him to be immobile.  He did not speak.  His beautiful blue eyes were not vacant.  He was still in there, but there was an expression in his eyes of confusion, fear and anxiety, as though he wanted to cry out, “Help me!  Please help me.”  But, he remained mute.

The third member of the party was an orderly.  I needed his help to hold the patient on his side so that I could wash and rub his back and change the sheets.  The orderly was also about my age….maybe a year or two older.  He had dark hair, nondescript features, some flaws in his complexion, and he was a bit pudgy.  I was fairly certain that he did not have a lively mind.

We were in the corner of a ward with multiple patients, which was at the intersection of the two hallways on the unit.  The nurses’ station was right at that intersection, so it was a hub of activity.  If the patient had been on his left side, with the door open and curtain pulled back, he would have seen people going by constantly.  Since we were giving care, the curtain around his bed was pulled shut, and the three of us were in this small private space.

And there in that private space with the intimacy of both the orderly’s hands and my hands on the young man’s helpless body, the orderly asked me for a date…..right over the patient…as though he was an object and had no feelings.

Doing so was way beyond unprofessional.  I wanted to scream at him that he was an insensitive jerk.  How dare he?!  Between us was a young man who would never again ask a girl for a date.  He would never kiss a girl or hold someone he loved in his arms.  He was dying.  I did not tell the orderly he was an insensitive jerk.  I quietly told him ‘no.’

Later I wondered if he was actually evil.  Did he purposely want to taunt a young man with whom he could not compare?  If the patient had been healthy, and the two of them had stood side by side, there is no way any female would have chosen the orderly over the patient.  Was he trying to rub in the fact that he was on his feet and able to ask for a date?  Or, was he just an idiot?  In any event, I was not desperate enough for a date to consider going out with someone who cared so little for the feelings of another.

So what was the outcome of the intersection of our three lives?  I’m certain the patient must have died within weeks.  The orderly probably didn’t learn a single thing and would have repeated his awful performance given the chance.  I have remembered that painful moment with sadness for over 50 years.

Bad Combinations

Procrastination and a bad memory

Facebook and a person who needs constant validation

Orange juice after mint toothpaste

Friendship and the inability to keep a secret

A sleepless night and a long “to do” list

Super glue and a hand tremor