Sludge

Here are some pictures taken today of a foot iozonation treatment – an alternative method of drawing impurities out of the body.  After 53 minutes the clear tap water had turned to swamp-water-sludge!

I also had another Rife treatment after a round of re-testing.  Much improvement has been made and many undesirables are gone (the story is too long to tell here), but a few remain – which means I’ll continue with treatments a while longer.  Also, I’ve been advised to hit the maple syrup and soda protocol hard, which I will do 3 times a day throughout the month of August.

If you’re tempted to think I’m weird, that’s okay.  But just look at these pictures – you can’t deny the evidence that some pretty yucky stuff can be flushed out non-invasively. 

Picnic Table

Last night we initiated the newest addition to our lake furnishings, a Nathan-hand-crafted picnic table, with a meal of grilled Italian sausages and venison burgers, salad, and Katie's awesome enchilada dip and chips.  Note the octagonal configuration that will seat 8 with room to spare, and perhaps in a literal pinch, up to a dozen.

Combustion

Embers

Wind

Sparks

Ignition

Flames

Thoughts

Inspiration

Words

Composition

Communication

The quenchers: water, fear.

Purple Ham; Leopard-Spotted Shank (Part VI)

Deep in the Michigan jungle lives a creature with an alien-looking purple leg that keeps growing new splotchy spots almost by the hour.  She’s a bit snarly around the edges today, perhaps because the leg stings with hot prickles and its muscles are confused by involuntary twitches - little “pings” or spasms of protest.

Not only is the purple ham changing, but also the leopard-spotted shank below the knee is dabbled with artistic blobs as if some Michalengelo-type lost in creative rapture either could or would not control his brush.  “Magnifico!” 

Magnificent?  I don’t think so.  Maybe gross or ugly or berry-stained.   But definitely not magnificent.  Feel free to come up with your own descriptive word.  I’ll be waiting.

A Poem: George Gray by Edgar Lee Masters

I have studied many times

The marble which was chiseled for me—

A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination

But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;

Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;

Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.

Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail

And catch the winds of destiny

Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,

But life without meaning is the torture

Of restlessness and vague desire—

It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

Edgar Lee Masters

Compassion

This morning we were talking with Mr. B, a handsome and imposing-looking businessman and spiritual giant who exudes an aura of manly strength.  In regard to his own upcoming surgery tomorrow, he said, “You know…I’ve heard of women who mourn when they have hysterectomies…and now I get it.  I’m facing this (male-related) surgery and there’s no one to weep with me.” 

We talked more about the Good Samaritan.  Mr. B reminded us, “He left his side of the road, came over to meet the needy man RIGHT WHERE HE WAS, and knelt down eye-to-eye.  Then he actually lifted and carried him.” 

Collectively we all thought of Romans 12:15: “Rejoice with them that rejoive; weep with them that weep.” This is what unity looks like.  This is compassion. 

I told Mr. B I would pray for someone to “weep with him” (i.e. “be there for him”) tomorrow.  But the discussion impacted me in far deeper ways.  This was the first time I’d EVER heard such a clear expression of honest need, and not from a whiney perspective.  To hear if from such a highly respected manly-man was beyond inspiring.

Purple-Halo Purple Ham (Part V)

This post is dedicated to my friend and loyal blog-reader, Megan, who has been eagerly waiting for the GREEN STAGE of the Purple Ham.  Hmmmmm. Does this yellowish patch in the center of the purple halo/frame qualify, or is the flesh-tone too close to normal?

To ease the minds of any who might think I’ve been making light of the injury, that’s not been the case.  This torn hamstring has provided a real challenge, and posting here periodically has been therapeutic (i.e. I’m not alone).  Thanks for humoring/tolerating me.

And Megan, I’ve consulted several times with a “professional” so am not being irresponsible or negligent.  In fact, I’m heading to the tub right now for an Epsom salt soak…..and a massage (to work out potential blood clots – ow).

Unbaked Crackers and Raw Spinach Pie

Dr. Tammy Born (of Born Clinic in Grand Rapids) prescribed an elimination diet for me a month ago based on blood work exposing sensitivities and/or allergies to certain foods.  Let me just say that it’s been HARD (next to impossible?) to follow when I’m preparing meals for other people all the time – people who eat the exact opposite of MY GOALS. 

Like tomorrow, for instance.  The requested menu is fried lake fish, French fries, and cole slaw.  As the head chef du jour I can prepare these things, no big deal, and it will be fun to have the kids (actually 6 adults plus one toddler) here for a locally-caught-lake-fish fish-fry.  It’s just that I get to handle, smell, serve and clean up after a meal that I shouldn’t eat.  Or else I can choose to blow it ONE MORE TIME.  Blah.

At the same time I’m supposed to be following the elimination diet, I also want to get back onto a more-raw diet.  Just because I feel better when I eat that way.  (Living enzymes are a good thing.) That’s hard as well when everyone else is eating COOKED “SAD” (Standard American Diet) fare.

However, yesterday I made a couple of batches of dehydrated crackers (gluten-free, which fits with the elimination diet, goody goody for me).  One variety was a seasoned 100% flax seed cracker, and the other onion-sunflower seed cracker.  Not bad, as long as you think this-is-not-a-cracker-in-the-true-sense-but-its-own-unique-thing.  I also made a raw spinach pie that was, well, decent.  Not fabulous, but okay when you’re HUNGRY.

Allow me to briefly describe this pie.  It’s a main dish sort of thing. Pecans, flaxseed, honey, and coconut oil comprise the no-bake crust.  The filling?  Wilted (salted and squeezed) spinach, cucumbers, red sweet peppers, garlic, nutmeg, lemon juice, macademia nuts, and Bragg’s aminos.  A few sliced baby Bellas sprinkled on top work as a garnish.

Want to try a slice?  Of course not.  YOU want tomorrow’s grease bomb meal: F-R-I-E-D fish and French fries.  Admit it!  Well then, show up tomorrow at 6:00 if you want.  There’ll be plenty.

I’ll be eating spinach pie.  Maybe.

A Cancer Success Story

Yesterday during an appointment with my wellness practitioner, I struck up a conversation with a cancer patient – a woman probably in her late 50’s.  Not long ago a malignant tumor was identified in her liver, and surgery was scheduled.  In the meantime, she aggressively pursued two non-invasive treatments with the wellness practitioner: the Rife machine (to kill off cancer cells and the Bx virus) and a protocol of ingesting soda in a medium of maple syrup as recommended by Italian oncologist, Dr. Tullio Simoncini (you can Google this guy if you’re interested in learning about his discovery).

When the surgeon opened her up to remove her tumor, he found the expected mass, but it was no longer alive.  The supposed cancer was made up of now-dead cells! 

As a secondary issue, testing had also identified two cancerous spots on her lung.  After the liver surgery, which was obviously deemed the most urgent, those spots became the next focus, and more evaluations were scheduled to decide what to do.  NOTHING SHOWED UP in the testing.  The doctor looked at her and said, “I know those spots are in there, we’re just not finding them.” She knew something different.  They were GONE!

I LOVE STORIES LIKE THIS.

Day is DONE

It’s after 10:00, finally – 10:15 to be exact. Today has had a fair share of (for lack of better words) CHALLENGE and ADVENTURE. 

First…

When lowering the ski boat into the water, there was a loud SNAP as the bottom end of the lift crashed, leaving the boat at a weird angle with its nose up in the air! This seemed a little traumatic, although thankfully no one was hurt and the boat was okay.  After investigating, we learned two rods along the sides broke.  Unfortunately this model of old steel lift is obsolete, so replacement parts might be hard to find – although there is a marina not too far away that might have a couple of old junkers with parts that could be salvaged.  That will remain for tomorrow.  Otherwise, a new lift (aluminum, not steel) costs at least $5,000.  No small thing.

Then…

While attempting to comfort baby Ellie when she was crying, I went out into our storage area (a place where no one would be bothered by a screaming infant) to find – lo and behold – water pooling in front of the upright freezer.  The freezer door had been left ajar for a good day and a half, and much of what was inside had thawed.  (We figured the duration of the thaw by recounting the last time the freezer had presumably been opened.)  The thawed food included fruits, veggies, and a fair share of meat – gulp – and the motor had been running that whole time, so the freezer walls were hot to the touch.  We turned off the unit, took everything out, dried out the very wet packages of food that would otherwise freeze together in big clumps, wiped down the meat-juicy-drippy inside of the freezer, and crammed salvaged goods temporarily into coolers and/or the two refrigerator freezers.  Eventually we plugged the freezer back in, and returned some of the items (the rest will be put back in tomorrow).  It seemed, again, a little traumatic.

Otherwise…

Emily’s cell phone decided to crash today.  It just unpredictably quit on her, cold turkey, for no particular reason, which isn’t the end of the world but is a little unsettling since she would like to have a cell phone in case of emergency while driving back to Indy tomorrow.

In sharp contrast…

We had some good times!  We 1.) toured Miracle Camp, and a small flame of interest was lit in Caleb to be a camper there next summer, 2.) visited the site of John’s new house and saw “the hole” where the basement foundation will soon be poured, 3.) had a fun family-swim-time at the pier including solo freestyle swims by Jordan, 4.) made homemade vanilla ice cream with Emily’s raw (yum yum) cream.  Also, Caleb and Grampa played golf and had THE BEST BURGERS EVER at the clubhouse afterwards for lunch.

AND - ta ta TA! - the Purple Ham is starting to turn yellow in the center, which is a good sign. 

My No Have Pants

The following is a clip from a conversation today at lunch on the deck as 2-year-old Josie wiggles in her chair, distracted by just about everything other than eating:

Grampa:  “Josie, do you have ants in your pants?”

Josie: (hiking up her cotton knit sundress and peering with questioning eyes at her diaper) “My no have pants on now.”  (looking up at Grampa with her head cocked and a let’s-set-this-guy-straight look) “MY wear PRETTY DRETH!”

Later, after dinner, Josie is enjoying a drippy homemade popsicle.  I step out on the deck with my camera in hand.

Gramma:  (chuckling at the mess) “Josie – you have drips everywhere!  Look at your face, and your hands, and your pretty dress…”

Josie: (considering this a moment of glory before the camera lens) “Cheeeeeeese!”

Purple Ham (Part IV)

Back by popular request – yet another picture of The Purple Ham!  I thought maybe I should quit (out of courtesy to my readership), but at least ONE person is following the inevitable progression, waiting eagerly to watch the Purple turn to Green.  So ready or not, the updates will keep coming for a while longer.  

Note the Purple is moving primarily UP my leg?  Instead of DOWN?  Strange.  When Fritz tore his hamstring, his injury was higher on his thigh, and eventually his entire leg was purple, right down to his ankle!

Pastor Mike Brown

“It’s true Jesus loves us just as we are, but He loves us too much to leave us there.”

 -Pastor Mike Brown, executive director Kalamazoo Gospel Mission

Mike’s message was focused on Romans 6: 1-12; committing to being “in Christ;” surrendering the kingdom of our lives to Him; being an example of what Christ can do in me as we yield/submit to Him (“walk what you know”).  He stressed each of us has been assigned by Christ to be here on earth AT THIS PARTICULAR TIME.

There it is again: TIME.   KAIROS.

I’m reminded of the story of Queen Esther: “For such a time as this.”  She was the right person at the right place and time to achieve God’s purpose.  What if she had run from His opportunity?  What if I do?  

“There’s an identity crisis among Christians.  What are we willing to give Him?”

 -Pastor Mike

Purple-er Ham (Part III)

I realize it must be tedious for any regular readers out there (ahem…ARE you out there, regular readers?) to return every day for 4 consecutive days and find Purple Ham reports.  However, having come this far the reporter in me can’t resist further coverage as the spot on my leg gets bigger and bigger, puffier and puffier, and, most notably, purple-er and purple-er.  After all, this is the one-and-only time in my life I expect to experience a torn hamstring, so it might as well get repetitive front page space.  Yes.  One.  And ONLY. Time.

When will it reach it purple-iest, I wonder?  It’s already at the purple-plum stage, so it seems midnight black could be just around the corner. Only time will tell.  In the meantime, here’s a picture of today’s ham.

Purple Ham (Part II)

Her leg, HER LEG! It’s ham is dyed!

With purple paint from the inside!

The spot is TAKING OVER ALL!

And all because she took that fall!

Today it’s tempting to complain -

BRIGHT PURPLE-HURT; a painful stain.

It looks like some blob-glob tattoo

Of spilled purp-purple, inky goo!

But patience now, no need to fret.

That ham’s not healed as of quite yet.

Purple Ham

Here it is, folks, a gross-me-out picture of my infamous purple ham (torn hamstring) guaranteed to send your viewing disgust-o-meter off the chart.  Note the lovely shade of pinkish purple-ness on this second day after the injury, not unlike, I’m sure, the cured slab of ham in Green Eggs and Ham.  Not that that has anything at all to do with my leg.  Just an observation.

Be Old

Yesterday I tore my hamstring.  Yeah, you guessed it, while SKIING.  On my old 1964 Joe Cash slalom, antique-flat-wood-dinosaur-of-a-board.  “You should learn old people can’t do SOME things,” our 82-year-old neighbor called over as I sat on the pier in agony, clutching ice to the underside of my thigh. 

Thanks.  That helped a lot.  Don’t be stupid.  Be old.

Some hours later, kids and grandkids showed up, a couple of batches, plus some other visitors.  The babies smiled and cooed, the toddlers grinned, and the 6-year-old sidled up to knowingly recount his own horrific stories of various encounters with pain: joint dislocation, nerve damage, and stitches. 

The forecast for the rest of today looks pretty tame.  I get to sit around.  And sit around some more.  You know, Be Old.

Dr. Seuss-ology

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." --Dr.Suess*

We’re back in host-mode (a fact of life that comes with living full-time at a lake house) as our daughter’s Austin friends share a few days water-log-(glogged)-ness in the tubes behind the boat.  What a great bunch….real-deal Sneeches hanging out on the beaches.

*(profundity at its best)

Relational Reunion(s)

During Saturday’s family reunion at Lake Maxinkuckee, I was temporarily grafted back to my original “lakie” roots: expansive, beckoning water; familiar shorelines; belonging/security/hope that grounded me for the first 21 years of my life and continued until I turned 50.

At the reunion, the generational smorgasbord of ages spread out from infants and little kids through those in their 20’s and 30’s, and finally to us in our 50’s and 60’s.  Somehow we seniors, who not so long ago were sunning in bikinis and/or showing off manly muscles, had become The Grizzly Old Folks. 

Part of me wanted to swim with the younger set and three golden retrievers happily immersed in water play, but another part resisted.  It didn’t seem quite the right time to literally reinsert myself; to be temporarily re-baptized into the old heart-to-heart relationship with the lake of my youth.  I opted to maintain a little reserve, to hang back and hold the babies and watch the others at play.  After all, this was only a day-visit.  I’d have to leave come nightfall, and I’d already learned how hard good-byes with Maxinkuckee could be.

It was good to reconnect with people sharing long-standing commitments in the place where courtship-leading-to-marriage began, something special since Saturday happened to be our 39^th anniversary!  I listened to a wide scope of chit-chat spanning small talk to major life changes and everything in-between.  Ahhhhhhh…..verification that life is a mysterious, adventurous, and sometimes unpredictable journey.  The differences in individual stories were vast, and yet also curiously similar.  Everyone was going somewhere, either by direct route or, more likely, by seeming zig-zag detours.  The difference?  Some seemed to know their final destination, while others didn’t.

Conversation is always challenging for me in situations like this because of my tinnitus-related hearing loss.  “Mwuf blaw hundeldem…..ruplah blamp.”  At times I gleaned only a vague understanding while relying on intonation (you can tell a lot by delivery upswings and downswings, and accompanying body language), and ended up faking my way with smiles and superlatives.  “OH!  Wow, that’s really cool!” Listening is exhausting business for me, and when I strain for hours at a time it leads to a sort of numb, muffled-brain effect. 

Yesterday I was back home recovering, if indeed I can call the Michigan house-by-a-different-lake HOME - something that will take a little practice now that it is my ONLY home.  And this morning I’m up early, staring at the quiet stillness of “our” lake, still feeling momentarily compressed, as if Wall-E, the animated robotic compactor, decided to stuff my tired brain into a smaller cubicle. 

But I also know where my hope lies. What encourages me most is that in this present pensive moment I recognize a thread of ongoing past/present/future relationship with people and places, and a stronger thread with the God who made them and placed me “just so” in their midst.

Writer's Blocks - Part II

I just walked into the bedroom and thought, “Hey, I have 3 extra blocks (16 in the whole set) – I wonder if I can spell H-I-S?  The chances seemed slim that those letters would be left, but voila, there they were!  Now my “writer’s blocks” can spell “His unfailing love.”  How cool.

Writer's Blocks

A friend gave me a set of “writer’s blocks” (get it?) for my birthday.  Here they are, set up to spell a couple of words from the psalm that grabbed me last night: UNFAILING LOVE.

Grammar-Girl

The grammar-girl part of me (note that is NOT glamour-girl) ended up diagramming a psalm tonight.  I know, I know, not everyone turns reading into an English assignment. But IF anyone cares to hear my summary/application/paraphrase after giving each and every word a chance in the spotlight, here it is.

I remain properly focused when I hope in the Lord rather than programs, ideas, or my own frail wisdom and accept circumstances with an attitude of expectancy.  I expect His ultimate love to rest on me; I expect to be blanketed by the encompassing shroud of His compassion and mercy in every situation, good/bad/easy/hard.  That’s a big deal; a very big deal.

“May your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord, even as we put our hope in you.”  Ps. 33:22

Parched

Such a pretty baby…a tiny, fragile, delicate little thing.  At 12 weeks of age she developed a newly insistent, urgent cry that was misunderstood until all-at-once it became obvious she was failing.  Opaque skin stretching across her toothpick-neck became pinched and drawn.  Her dull eyes sunk inward.  Salmon-colored spots appeared on her diaper, and then she went an entire day without needing a diaper change at all.

When the pieces of the previously unrecognized puzzle finally came together, we realized stress and busyness had affected mama’s milk supply.  Baby was dehydrated.  It was a time of grave concern when several professionals were consulted.

It seems interesting that before, during, and after this moment of crisis I saw some shadow of myself reflected in baby Ellie’s huge blue eyes.  Like Ellie, sometimes I thrive, fattened by abundant provisions.  Sometimes I don’t; I fall prey to loss and fear, hoping to merely survive.  Sometimes I’m in a state of rescue, becoming someone I could never become except for the time of pain.

Baby Ellie’s thrashing wails have been replaced by shy, demure blinks, smiles, and coos.  She is frail, but recovering.  The moral?  As clueless sheep under the care of the Good Shepherd, our parched desert experiences don’t last forever, nor are they without purpose.

Here's the Gang!

Here we are in our annual 4th of July pose on the deck at Fish Lake!

Family Togetherness (and a Vagrant)

Fourth of July AT THE LAKE is a Muehlhausen holiday that rivals Christmas when it comes to commitment.  If at all possible, you just don’t miss it.

Seventeen of us Mulies are sharing sunshine on the water this weekend.  The little boys (ages 6-9) have already discovered newfound boldness in the tubes behind the boat, and the little girls (2 years old) have practiced adventuring down the slide into the shallows from the pier. Yesterday’s dinner featured traditional grilled chicken (as per my Dad’s recipe), and early this morning a new smoker fired up to cook a brisket ALL DAY for the evening meal.  Today will also bring face painting, water balloons, dirt cake (with gummy worms crawling out of chocolate frosting dusted with Oreo crumbs) and fireworks.  It is a time for us to celebrate family relationships in the context of long-lived summer traditions.

Last night we had a vagrant visitor, however.  A leech from the lake evidently made his way into the house on SOMEONE, and detached in the bathtub.  When discovered, he was crawling around in there, looking for a new host (yeeeeech!).  Grampa valiantly swished him down the drain, but he crawled back up.  The procedure was repeated with lots of hot water.  Still, he made it back to the mouth of the drain.  A few swirls with a serious Grampa-finger and some more water, and he was finally gone for good. 

We like visitors….there’s a canoe with neighbors parked at the pier right now and a couple of other neighbors stopped to chat at the smoker for a while….but can do without slimy black ones that suck your blood (creep me out)!

The Nose Knows

There’s nothing quite like the smell of water. 

Not the odor of tampered-with city tap water (adulterated by softening and the addition of chlorine and fluoride), but the take-me-home-to-the-womb scent sweeping windborne over a fresh-water lake.   It’s coming through the window right now, and takes no effort to breathe it in and make it part of myself.