I Drive A Geo. You?

It's been kind of quiet around here. I'm still suffering with my back spasms and the medicine that I'm on makes me feel kind of foggy. I am physically present, but mentally I'm not very motivated. Makes writing kind of tough.

The last three and a half weeks have me thinking seriously about my personal situation and the state of medicine in general. Health care talk is everywhere. It frustrates me to listen to most of it. What angers me the most are people with the Mercedes-Benz of insurance policies making decisions for the rest of us who have something along the lines of a Geo Metro. I get particularly annoyed when I hear people bashing countries like Canada who have universal healthcare. They go on and on about Socialism and long lines to see the doctor and it really gets on my nerves after awhile.

I'm well into my third week of being sick. I work for an employer who offers no sick leave. Three weeks ago I woke up with a fever and a cough. I had to go to work. The fever lasted a couple of days and the cough got out of hand. The cough gave me back spasms which eventually sent me to the local urgent care center.

That was two weeks ago.

My back is still bad. I ran out of muscle relaxants and tried to just push through and hope it got better on its own. It didn't.

Going to the urgent care center costs twice as much as going to a regular doctor's office. But if I go to a regular doctor's office I have to take time off work – without pay. That makes it a no-brainer. So, on Sunday I went back to urgent care and sat for three hours in a waiting room full of people wearing masks because they have the flu.

Don't tell me the healthcare system in the United States isn't a mess. My scenario isn't all that earth shattering. I just have a bad back that will eventually get better. There are millions of people who have to play the same kinds of games but their stakes are so much higher. . .cancer, liver disease, heart failure. Even bad backs that won't get better.

What bothers me most about my whole scenario is that I think it probably could have been avoided.

145 countries mandate sick leave. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I could have stayed home for a day or two when I first got a cough this whole thing could have been avoided.

I'm now more than three weeks in. . .with two visits to urgent care and five prescriptions to my name.

Please don't talk to me about long healthcare lines in Canada.

Birthday Exchange

After cleaning the warehouse every day I stop on my way out of the facility to clean the guard shack. The guard during the week is a really nice young guy. He's friendly, funny and easy to talk with. He's a college student and tells me about his classes, his friends and some of the things he struggles with.

Yesterday was his birthday and it led to this exchange:

Me: Happy Birthday! How old are you now? 22?

Josh: Yep! Thanks!

Me: I don't think I would want to go back to 22. 32? Maybe! But 22 was too hard.

Josh: You can't be much older than 32! How old are you?

Me: Umm. . . I'm 44.

Josh: No way! I would have never guessed anything even close to that! You don't look 44!

Me: (laughing) Thanks!

I was feeling pretty good until I ducked into the bathroom to grab a broom and heard him say, "Wow! 44. You're even older than my mom!"

Sticking my head out of the bathroom door I glared at him.

Josh: Shit! I'm sorry! I just ruined that compliment didn't I?

Yeah. . .you did, you little brat!

Language That Is Lacking

As much as I love words – reading them, searching for the perfect one to convey an image or feeling, arranging them into poems and sentences, I often find language constricting. Sometimes I just can't find the right words to express exactly what I want to say. And nowhere do I find a lack of meaningful language more than when I'm trying to write or speak about religion.

Maybe it's that the language that does exist about our relationship with God has been hijacked.

I don't think I'm alone here.

My oldest friend (no, she's not old. . .she's just the friend I've known longest and best!) has been attending church in Colorado. She used to come to church with me back when we were in high school and my dad was a pastor of a local Southern Baptist church. Church was fraught with obstacles then. Hell-fire and brimstone were front and center. I only went because I didn't have a choice and she only went to spend time with me.

Fast-forward about 27 years. . . because God is patient! My friend moved to Colorado, found a church and met people who helped her answer questions about the possibilities of being a follower of Jesus. She listened. Asked questions. Prayed. Waited.

I wonder if even those Sundays filled with angst in the Baptist church prepared her to encounter God in a different, more healthy way now.

So, last Sunday evening my phone rang and it was my friend. She said, "Guess what I did today?" I had no idea and said so. She was persistent. "Come on! What day of the week is it? What did I do today?"

"You went to church?"

"Yes! But what did I do??"

And this is where language let me down. My mind raced. How do you ask it?? If you use the conventional, religious phraseology it leads you to a place you don't really want to go! If I had said, "You got saved?" I would dare to say that I'm not the only person in the world who immediately envisions a smarmy television evangelist and all that stereotype entails.

Fumbling for words I said, "Oh! You joined the church!"

There was kind of a long pause as she was beginning to struggle with the same language barrier that I was. "Nooooo. . .not exactly. . ."

This was going nowhere fast.

I struggled with other options. You came to know the Lord? Too heavy handed and and pious. You accepted Jesus in your heart? That one makes my skin crawl. I was sinking quickly.

She interrupted the uncomfortable silence I was creating with my lack of language and said, "When they asked at the end of the service if God had been working in people's lives, I raised my hand."

And there it was. As simple as that. We struggle. God soothes. We say yes, please. And then later, thank you.

Turns out that all the words you might need are ones you learned from your cradle. Yes. Please. Thank you. And that, maybe more importantly, when it comes to talking to God no words are really necessary anyway.

But good luck telling your friends about it.

Oops!

There's a saying that goes something like – "If you're going to make a mistake, do it with confidence."

Last week Oliver and I saw these signs on our walk.

Gotta give 'em credit. They screwed up with confidence! There were eight on of these signs on the lawn of a very prominent church on South Main Street.

Wonder who's in charge of spelling and grammar there?

The Joys of Getting Old

You know you're getting old when you go to the doctor with what you think is a little cold with a side order of low back pain and leave the office with three prescriptions and a doctor's excuse for two days off work.

On Sunday I had a little sore throat. On Monday it morphed into a cough. Tuesday added some back pain. By Thursday I couldn't walk so I thought it might be prudent to go see a professional.

Seems I've coughed myself into the bliss of back spasms.

viral bronchitis - check

Tessalon - 200mg for cough - check

Tramadol - 50 mg for back pain - check

Flexeril - 10 mg as a muscle relaxant - check

two days off work - hold up one second on this one - employer doesn't pay for sick days. . .

Guess the best I can hope for is that a combination of Tramadol and Flexeril will ensure that I don't care that I'm at work while I sit here and try to stay awake. Now I just have to wonder how I'm going to drive myself home.

I just love getting old.

Saying Goodbye

I have a friend who has been through a very tough year. His mother and step-father died within days of each other. Less than a month later his house burned and was a total loss. He works crazy bad hours - 6 pm to 6 am with three days on and two days off, seven days a week.

Yet, in the midst of all this badness, he has never lost his gentle spirit.

We were "talking" last night by text while he was a work. He's the executor of his mom's will and everything is finally being finished. His grandfather built the house his mom lived in. It's the house he grew up in and it's for sale. There is an estate sale there this weekend and he's been working hard at getting everything ready.

His first text asked me if I could come up and help with the sale this weekend. I said yes, and then I asked if it was a relief that things were finally being wrapped up.

"In a big way. You know, it's hard to sell all this stuff that was my family's. I want to keep it because it belonged to them. But it needs to be gotten rid of. Does that make any sense?"

Absolutely. It's kind of bittersweet.

"Bittersweet is a good word. S (his partner) and I got in kind of an argument the other night so I went over to Mom's to do some work and fell asleep in the bed I slept in as a kid. It was the last time I will ever sleep at Mom's house. Funny, huh?"

It was a gift. You got to say goodbye to your family all alone and in your own way. I'm glad for that for you.

"Me too, though I didn't realize it at the time. It's like home there - all so familiar. Like my family was still there, just downstairs. I could almost feel their presence in the house. It was strange, but good. Peaceful for all who had gone on to be with God. Silly, huh?"

Not silly at all. That was a gift from God for you. Never forget what that felt like.

***********************************

Maybe it's that I've been sick. Or maybe it's that I miss seeing and actually talking to my friend rather than just texting all the time. Or perhaps it's that as I get older I understand the value of the small gifts that life hands out if we're paying attention. Whatever it was, that little electronic conversation made me a bit weepy.

It also made me very thankful that at least he got the opportunity to say goodbye.

Ordinariness

I pull into the driveway as dusk is falling. The flowers in the gardens that we worked so hard in all summer are beginning to fade. There are brown leaves covering the small patch of grass that has finally turned green thanks to the fall rains. The windows of our house are aglow and as I sit I can see A in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on our dinner.

I pause. Watching. Listening.

There are so many days that pass without recognition. Just ordinary days that don't stand out in any important way. But, with good fortune, these ordinary days are stuff that lives are made from. There will be days filled with crisis. Days filled with anguish, anger and confusion. But, with luck, most days will be like today.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

Heaven on a Spoon

There are a oodles of foods that are bring back strong memories of my childhood. Until I was in high school I'm quite sure that I had never eaten a biscuit that was born out of a can, a pie crust that had ever encountered a freezer, a cake that had been conjured from a cardboard box or an entree that didn't have some kind of fresh, frozen or canned vegetables that hailed from our garden.

I never knew that there was such a thing as a white egg that came from a chicken's behind. All of ours laid brown, speckled eggs that we gathered while they were still warm and washed very carefully in the sink before hiding them away in the 'fridge for breakfast the next morning. (Except for that one time Dad put the fresh eggs in his coat pocket, forgot they were there and went into town for breakfast. He went to pay his bill, reached for his wallet and you can guess the rest of that story.)

My mother was one of the best cooks I knew. She got me in the kitchen when I was still so small I had to stand on a chair. I loved it then. And I still can't get enough of making magic with food for people I love.

There was only one thing that I remember that my mother cooked that I thought other people did better. And not just a little bit better either.

In my yet to be developed gastronomical opinion, my mother made second-rate chili. It was bland. And it had spaghetti in it. And those two things made it beyond redemption.

For the most part I was a very compliant kid. I happily did what I was told without much complaining. But when it came to my mother's chili I just couldn't hold myself back.

I know it hurt her feelings but I compared it mercilessly to the best chili I had ever eaten – the weekly offering at my elementary school. Those 1970's cafeteria ladies knew how to rock the chili soup! And, it was always served with a peanut butter sandwich. And oyster crackers. In my nine year old, not so humble (or quiet) opinion that was the best food combination. Ever.

At home, as soon as I knew that the pot simmering on the stove was chili I started in on how much better the chili at school was. How it didn't have spaghetti in it and how it tasted like heaven on a spoon. My mother started out ignoring me but nine year olds don't have a lot of common sense.

No. You may not have a peanut butter sandwich with it.

Yes. I'm going to put spaghetti in it.

No. We don't have any oyster crackers. Saltines will have to suffice.

No. It's not any spicier than the last time I made it.

No. I will not call Great Crossing Elementary School and ask for the cafeteria ladies recipe.

Yes. You have to eat it.

Eventually my father would enter into the conversation and I knew not to mess too much with him. I ate my mother's chili. But it didn't stop me from trying to plot a way to spend a morning in that cafeteria with those ladies – watching and learning. And creating heaven on a spoon for myself.

I made a pot of chili earlier this week. I like it more than my mom's but nothing comes close to how I remember that steaming bowl of chili tasted in the old cafeteria in the basement of my elementary school. Most of the time the cafeteria smelled like a cross between an old mop and sour milk, but once a week, to me, it smelled like heaven.

Wordless Wednesday

Abundance

In the last two days we have picked up more than 80 gallons of rotten, stinky, mushy walnuts from our backyard. This is the one month of the year that I begin to despise that tree and its abundance. Its abundance of walnuts attracts an abundance of squirrels who fall victim to an abundance of violence - Oliver has gotten three in the last two weeks. It's getting tiresome. Where I used to panic at the thought of picking up the lifeless squirrel body and Ali used to cry and feel sad, we now matter-of-factly look to see if he's eaten the head, shovel the headless body into a bag and put it in a dumpster somewhere.

The tree's saving grace is that, for the last two weeks, there were so many walnuts in the backyard that the dogs looked like they were attempting to run on a green field full of ball bearings. Kind of comical in it's own way. . .but apparently it didn't slow Oliver down quite enough.

He just learned to adapt. And, apparently the squirrels didn't.

As my dad always said when my sister and I cried watching Wild Kingdom as the lion ate the gazelle, "Girls, you will just have to learn that nature isn't always cute and cuddly."

Can I get an amen on that one?

Izzy vs. Zen

Zen: noun

1. A state of focus that fully incorporates both body and mind.

2. Zen involves the dropping of illusion and seeing things without the distortion created by ones own thoughts.

I've been making time for mediation the last few mornings. The peace bench has come back out and into my little corner of the office by the window facing the garden. I start each practice by lighting a candle and placing it in the window sill and beginning the session with breath prayer. I close my eyes and let my hands rest on my legs with the palms facing up - ready to receive peace.

It takes a bit for me to be able to calm my mind. I mentally try to allow my thoughts to be like debris floating down a river. I acknowledge my thoughts and let them go. I try to focus on my breath and empty myself, attempting to be fully in the present.

After a few minutes I was beginning to lose myself in this peaceful meditation and I began to feel very Zen-ey. It was working and I felt whole and at peace. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a horrible clawing sensation all over my chest and a shrill howling sensation in my head. My eyes flew open to find that Izzy had taken a flying leap from an unknown location and was velcro-ed by her claws to my chest and neck. She was screaming like she was dying and suddenly I felt very, very un-Zenlike.

So un-Zenlike, as a matter of fact that I contemplated actually giving her something to caterwaul about. . .

I disengaged her claws from my skin, dabbed hydrogen peroxide on my flesh wounds and knew that my morning mediation was definitely over. It would be ten kinds of wrong to try to breathe peace when you're planning murder. And then I remembered this quote from Marcus Aurelius –

The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. The second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are.

Izzy, my dear, you are a Zen killer. But I shall let you live yet one more day.

Another Letter from Sammy

dere human peeple in side this kompuuter box thingy,

hi!

this is Sammy hear tallking to you. agin. my mom said i kuld tell you all about our big walk yesterday. it was realy, realy, realy fun! first of all theer realy was a lot of doggs! i never seen so many doggs in one plase! hear are just a little few of them.

some of them was real nice but some of them barked at me. a lot. i didnt like that so very much. but i was a brave boy and i tried to make sum nu freends. heres one of my nu pals.

i cant remememeber his name but he was even more skared than me. i liked him.

we walked a realy long ways. some of it was threw the woods and some of it was in the open sky plases. we kind of staayed in a long line. that was fun. kind of like a big game of follo the leeder.

after the hole long walk was over we sat down in the gras becuz theer were prises to be given away. my mom sayed it was a raffle. my brother oly got in some truble while we was siting there. he got all ugly and snarley and had to go sit in the kar. but not me i was a good boy. i just sitted there while they was calling out all them numbers. mom was kind of getting upset bcuz she wasnt winnning anithing.

i got real exsited when they were kalling out numbers to win lees chiken. i realy like chiken. mom sayed thats probably what she wood win and she didnt seem to like that to much. i wanted it tho.

we didnt win the chiken. or the dog bool. or the tenis balls. or the money for the beer bar. mom leened over and sayed in my ear that mabe we shud just go home but i told her too wate just a little more. (i was hoping for another chiken ticket!) we got to the very last one and all of the sudden my mom yelled out "thats me!!" and she stuud up and almost ran to the man with the microfone! i thot it was chiken but my mom was to exited for it to be just old chiken.

look what my mom wonned!

its a real pretty bracelet that the man sayed was worth $200! its called pandora and you add beeds and charms. theer is already a dog and a cat on theer. mom just has to add another dogg to make our family komplete!

the best part of the hole day kame after that bcuz my mom was so happy about winning that thing. do you rememember how i sayed that i was kind of madd bcuz the shirts was for the humen peeple and not the dogg peeple? my mom reely does love me. see how much she loooves me?

it was the best day evver!!

love to you and lots of bigg wet kisses,

yur freend furever, (get it?? fur-ever???? hahahahahahaha!)

samson rockefeller weising-pike

I Got Nothin'

What is there to say about this Halloween yard decoration I spotted in Findlay yesterday. . .

. . .other than wonder if Samson was somehow involved.

Painfully unbelievable isn't it?

A Letter from Sammy

dere human peeple in side this kompuuter box thingy,

hi!

this is Sammy hear tallking to you. my mom sayed it wood be ok for me too rite to you and tell you what we are going too doo tommarow. we are going four a WALK! and, guess what. its not just any old walk we are going on. no no no. it is a vary spashial kind of walk. its not all those same places that we allways go around the same streets and the same hauses where those same dogs allways bark and bark and bark and bark at me. this walk is at a PARK and it is too myles long and it is with aalot of other doggs who i really, really hope dont bark and bark and bark and bark at me. wait. my mom wants to tell you sumthing and she saays for me to move because a hyperlink needs thumbs. i dont get it butt im moving. but ill bee baaaaaaack. do you get it?? ill be baaaaaaack like that scary man saays! but im not scaary. im nice.

This is what he wants you to know about - The Hancock County Humane Society Dog Walk. And be patient please. He's slow but he's sweet!

im baaaaaaaaaack!! hahahaha! are you laffing too bekaus i sure am! that humane plase is where me and oly came from befour we came heer. they were real, real nice to us. they keeped us safe and warm and they gived us food and watter and toys to play with and they even taked me home to make sure i was okey-dokey after i finally got away from that bad bad bad place that didnt take care of me.

o wate. mom sayed fore me too move again.

Where Sammy Came From

im baaaaaaaaaaaack again! anyhoo. this super excitting walk is a good thing for the humane plase and for all the doggies who are still theer. i feel real good that i caan help out them other doggies. but i hope they don't bark and bark and bark and bark at me.

i dont think you have to be a dog or you dont have to aktuly have a super terific dog like me or like oly to walk at the park tomarow. you just have to have some money and not vary much of that. mom said that you also get a free te shirt but im kindof madd about that bekaus the shirt is for human peeple and not dog peeple. but i guess its okay and i stil want too go.

i hope too see you tomarow at the park!

i love you and want to give you kesses!! ttfn. (that means ta ta for now! oly taut me that. he's fancier than me but i love him anyways!)

yure freend,

samson rockefeller weising-pike

ps. you kan rite me back hear and my mom sayed she wood make sure and reed it too me!

First Frost

The end of the growing season. The beginning of the resting time.

Click to make the images bigger. They are much prettier when you can see the little crystals of ice hanging there in the morning sun.