I Wait

 My computer screen has been an alarmist all day.  It has insisted on flashing warning boxes, some with flat-out statements of techno-malfunctions (techno-ouchies are serious, they say), others with stern warnings that I'd better be calling the urgent care techno-doctor right away to take care of them (in other words, expect things to get worse, and by the way, they won't get better).  These boxes tell me I don't have enough room; I've used up all my space.  I may have lost recent downloads.  I'm unable to save anything.  My email doesn't work.

For now, this blog window is the only place I can DO anything!  AH...a small crack-of-an-opening. A place to air my word processing addictions. Whew.  I was getting a little claustrophobic, there.

So FINALLY I concede.  It's time to call that techno-doctor.  Lucky me that we have one in the family!  But...crud...he's unavailable for comment!  AWOL.  Wouldn't you know? And so, I WAIT.

Cold Lazer

I am currently experimenting with cold lazer therapy (also called low level lazer therapy) as a treatment for tinnitus, although it has many applications.  It is a relatively new technology featuring healing light that can be used to target acupuncture points and/or deep tissue (bones, muscles, organs, nerves, etc.).  Cold lazers have been used more extensively as a healing modality for animals, but are proving to be successful beyond veterinary practice.  So far the FDA has sanctioned the use of cold lazers for osteoarthritis of the hands, but various doctors and practitioners are already using them to treat other things as well.

Cold lazer therapy is non-invasive and has been successful in treating many issues including, but not limited to, acute and chronic pain, ligament sprains, muscle strains, soft tissue injuries, tendonitis, arthritis, tennis elbow, back pain, bursitis, carpal tunnel, and fibromyalgia.

How does it work? The cold lazer delivers certain light energies (photons) to damaged cells.  Photons absorbed by the cells stimulate mitochondria to accelerate production of ATP.  This biochemical increase in cell energy is used to transform cells from a state of illness to a stable, healthy state. 

The application of the cold lazer is easy.  It is extremely safe, non-toxic, and non-invasive. There are no side effects and no pain.  It is highly effective (some studies say more than 90% efficacy).  It is a superior alternative to medications with side effects, and invasive surgeries, and works synergistically with other modalities like chiropractic, acupuncture, and physical therapy.

Still, my personal verdict is out.  After 10 sessions with a practitioner, I rented a unit (for a week, possibly two) to use at home more frequently.  If nothing else, this is another stone to turn in my search for help with tinnitus - another hopeful avenue I must pursue.  In the meantime, we’re also treating other family members for other things: shoulder pain, back pain, varicose veins, prostate infection, heart failure.  It’s one-treatment-for-all-issues because it works at the cellular level to assist the body’s natural healing.  I like that!

        

Excess vs. Blessing

In ancient Israel, a father’s verbal blessing was valued in ways that have mostly vanished from our expectation and experience.  And yet even today in the absence of such blessing we end up obsessing over replacements for it: stuff that can deny us true life. (I Timothy 6:19)          

I’ve been loaned a book authored by Jen Hatmaker: “Seven – An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess.”  According to the synopsis on the back cover, the author invited her family and friends to identify “seven areas of excess" and make "seven simple choices to fight back against the modern-day diseases of greed, materialism, and overindulgence” for seven months.  The resulting lifestyle was “deeply reduced” and yet meant “the discovery of a greatly increased God – a call toward Christ-like simplicity and generosity….a radically better existence.”  Jen suggests we shun excess and zero-in on God’s soul-satisfying blessings bestowed on - guess who? - those He trusts to share them.

This Memorial Day weekend I considered how our grandkids are growing up in a world that is becoming more and more complicated.  How will their eyes be opened to the blessings of God in the face of distortion and distraction?  What is my role in blessing them with His mercy, grace, and compassion?

Never a Dull Moment

So. We’re out on the lake at sunset, put-putzing around in the new (used) pontoon boat named Penelope.  The grandkids are taking turns driving.  The sky is rosy, the wind refreshing, the slushy watery sounds consoling.  Reeeeelax.  

At one point we stop to put the engine in reverse and throw accumulated weeds off the prop.  That’s it!  The end.  Engine failure.  Or something. We’re stuck, but drifting.  Stranded!

The mechanic-skipper (our younger son) hangs upside-down over the back railing to take a look at the ancient engine. Alas, THE PROPELLER FELL OFF when we went into reverse!  Fortunately he has a cell phone and calls neighbors who are still out in their boat and willing to tow us in.

Yup.  Another day at the lake.  Never a dull moment. 

Historic Rocks

I’ve mentioned in past blogs that our older son is building a new house on 40 acres of wild-and-wooly country acreage, but I don’t think I’ve talked about the old (condemned) farmhouse on the property that had to be torn down.  Hometown folks would term the old house’s foundation a “Michigan basement” built with local field stones.  Many of the older homes in this area have similar stone foundations. 

After the demolition of the old house, the stones became available, and for Mother’s Day our younger son pledged an indefinite supply for landscaping purposes here at OUR house – delivered and hand placed! 

Today the first batch arrived in his truck, and we assembled two lakeside planters.  I am thrilled!  I assumed this kind of improvement might never happen, or if it did, it would be too expensive and at the bottom of the priority list.

The next step?  Dirt!  And then plants!  And then….more planters, dirt, plants!  We also may circle the two big oaks on the road side of the house with rocks.  We learned today that you can kill an oak by piling up dirt around the existing base of the tree, so if the tree-encircling does indeed happen, we’ll be filling in with mulch.

 

Larry

I pulled my car into the one-stall parking lot of a small family-owned plant nursery and flower shop. Would I find begonias among the meager selection of flowers on a single outdoor table under a temporary roof?  I did.  There were 12 tiny plastic sleeves of 4 each, and I bought 7 of them. 

At one point the owner approached me.  “Hi, I’m Larry.”  He extended his hand in greeting.  His deep brown eyes spoke volumes: I live on a shoestring and am grateful to be independently employed even though I’m not highly educated.  I love and respect people, and am committed to serving you. He could have been Barney Fife’s cousin – slender with bulging eyes and an I-care-about-you, sheepish grin.  Or maybe Larry the Cucumber on Veggie Tales.

After selecting the begonias, I decided to bring up another plant-related matter and pulled samples of spotted dead leaves from our rhododendrons from my purse. I asked him if he knew what was causing the blight.  “I don’t know, but I DO know someone who does!  Let me give her a call – she owns a big nursery.”  In a few minutes he cheerily reported that our plants were dealing with a fungus infestation, and to treat them with an anti-fungal specific to rhododendrons.  He seemed genuinely delighted to have been a part of the problem-solving.

I couldn’t help but compare this experience with yesterday’s encounter with Pink Lady at the mammoth super-store.  Although we Americans often navigate public places (large or small) with invisible blinders and impersonal attitudes in place - our self-protective devices - it’s encouraging to bump into complete strangers who take time to intersect.

Pink Lady

I was searching for Ziploc bags - the 2 ½ gallon size - when I ran into Pink Lady.

“I bought these flat-bottomed quart-sized bags by mistake one time, but then found out how much I liked them,” she rattled with the pro-active language of a hungry car salesman.  I smiled and acknowledged her comment in a pleasant but ho-hum sort of way.  Still, I was intrigued.  She was short, pudgy, and about my age with dyed blonde hair that puffed like a dandelion blossom.  She wore white slacks and a pink flowered top that looked like it had been hiding in a closet since the 60’s.

“I don’t have pink eye,” she went on, quickly shifting topical gears, “so it must be allergies.”  She took off her sunglasses to show me her eyes and batted her eyelids like a would-be movie star, but I noticed nothing unusual. “Dr. So-and-so is the best.  If you ever need help, you should go there,” she insisted.

Free medical advice right here on aisle 9!  The doctor referral seemed an appropriate closing comment, so I thought the conversation was over.  Now why was I here, exactly?  Oh yeah, Ziploc bags.  I diverted my attention back to shopping and responded with my own closure: “Really?  It’s wonderful you found good help for your eyes.”

But that wasn’t enough.  She kept talking.  “Have you ever been to Dr. So-and-so?”

For a few seconds the shelves of Ziplocs took a back seat while I looked at this woman – really studied her.  Small pink flowers dotted her shirt with its square neckline and 2” thick, bright pink border.  Her equally rosy cheeks sparkled with perspiration. She seemed with-it and genuinely eager to offer helpful advice. “No,” I replied, “But I’ll remember your recommendation.  Thanks!”

“Last year I had poison ivy.  It went from here to there on my arms.  But I went to Dr. So-and-so and it got better right away.  He’s the best.”

She was wearing pink clogs.  Very bright, flamingo pink clogs.  I stared at them, partially because I didn’t know what else to do.  She’d put her sunglasses back on, and I always find it hard to talk to shrouded eyes.

Just then her husband, a jaunty fellow and focused shopper, returned from another aisle holding several cans of soup.  Pink Lady’s conversation shifted to him as he deposited the items in her cart and they sauntered down the aisle.

Meanwhile, I was left standing in front of the Ziploc bags.  I eventually found the size I wanted and was reviewing my shopping list as I also progressed down the aisle.  I was surprised when Pink Lady addressed me again.

“Thanks for the conversation!” she yodeled over her shoulder with a quick smile in my direction as she turned from aisle 9 into the store’s main thoroughfare.

Tonight I keep thinking about Pink Lady and wonder what prompted her to talk to me.  Maybe she was lonely, or just felt talkative. Or maybe she sensed I was feeling just a little bit pressed, weary, and without, and would appreciate the unsolicited conversation.  Maybe both.

Waiting for the Spark

I’ve started five different blogs today, all of which defaulted in quicksand and dead ends.  Bottomless pits.  Black holes.

However, rambling nonsense (even deleted nonsense) is, in fact, supposed to be purposeful. Writing something is better than writing nothing.  The writing gurus in-the-know say that somewhere in the midst of the scribbles and false starts, the nonsense and gibberish, a spark plug WILL EVENTUALLY jump – a small spark of genius worthy of igniting a compositional fire.  Then when all the dead stuff falls away, this gem stands alone, ready and able to support a more intensive writing effort.

So that’s what’s been happening today.  Practice-writing.  Dead stuff falling off.  Waiting for the spark.

Meanwhile, the inner Critic (wicked queen) jabs my shoulder with a sharp fingernail and hisses doubts in my ear. What’s your problem? Five tries?  All duds? What a loser. She is the Queen of Writer’s Block, the one who zaps inspiration with her sizzling Doubter’s Wand before it is even hatched.

I refuse to hear her, however, and choose to carry on.  Which is why I’m still here.  Writing. Waiting for the Spark.

Working My Buns Off

Confession: I’ve not really been working my buns off.  Just making gluten-free buns.  Hamburger buns, that is. 

The above beauties required strange ingredients and baking methodology, and yet turned out well.  I was initially skeptical since other gluten-free buns I’ve made tasted like recycled cardboard shoeboxes: counterfeit bread. But this gluten-free recipe actually deserved its 5-star rating, at least when producing something to mimic white hamburger buns from the store. 

Personally, I think we would do well to ditch hamburger buns altogether, regular OR gluten-free.  Period.  Be done with the starchy brutes.  And yet, the protestors would insist that a summer picnic outside on the deck would be shamefully lacking without them.   Someone (the MEN?) would clamor for the layers of lettuce, onion, tomato, and mayo stacked on a grilled burger and held together with BREAD. 

So I concede.  Buns are here to stay.

Anyway, to get to the point, tonight we cloaked our modest burgers in these gluten-free, working-my-buns-off buns that sort of meet at least some of our current dietary goals (that’s too long of a story to get into here).  Here are a couple of pictures.   Mmmmmmmmm!

Beyond....

Wilted rose petals

Like new baby skin

Soft

Fragrant

Transcendent

Mulie's Marina

Here she is – an adopted 21-year-old pontoon boat that came home to live with us this afternoon.  Something in me applauded as she approached our pier for the first time, docked to relatively new u-shaped pier sections built last summer (which evidently saw her coming?), and joined the other aging population of watercraft under our ownership. 

There was a time when we, as a family, scoffed at people who owned fleets of personal watercraft plus high-performance ski boats and other miscellaneous expensive water toys.  Gee whiz, those people have their own marina, we’d say.  Crazy people. 

Well, we’re eating our words now.  I’m sitting here at the dining table with the lake and pier before me, and it’s starting to look like a marina down there.  Only with well-used, old geezer-boats.  “Mulie’s Marina.”  Yep.  Nice.  Sort of has a ring to it.  

Mouthy Hammock

“Hey, look!  The hammock has mouths!  And they get little, and then big!  Like it’s talking!” The spaces between the twisted ropes shrunk and grew with each push.

“What do you think it’s saying?” I asked.

“Wah-WAH, wah-WAAAAH, WAH-WAAAAH!” she answered.  “Or maybe it’s singing a song, like ‘I am a hammock, oh how I love to be a hammock, and I love to swing, swing, swing…'”

“That’s a very sweet song,” I replied.  “Do you think those mouths can eat something?”

She thought a minute.  “Yes.  They do.”

“What?”

“Well, they eat whatever their mommy tells them, like two bites of chicken and all of their broccoli and carrots and dip, and then before bed they get to have a special treat.”

“Like what?”  I asked, shrugging.

“Like…like…”

The hammock continued to yawn and relax, yawn and relax, as the many mouths went from closed to wide open, from tight-lipped to gaping.

“Like, you know, maybe dates or yogurt or peanut butter balls or whatever they want.  Maybe…ice cream?”

“Should we try to feed it?”

“Nooooo, not really.  Silly Nana.”

It was nap time, and the hammock-mouths began to whisper the real song of the hammock – a lullabye – until it slowed and finally stopped.   Crick-crick.  Crick-crick.  Crick-crick.  Crick.  Crick.  Criiiick.

"Outstretched Wing"

My friend Jean Watson is a committed mother of four, a delightful and encouraging companion, and also a gifted violinist, vocalist, and motivational speaker.  Jean has gained popularity in other parts of the country as well as our local area, and England and Ireland as well.  She travels extensively, sharing messages of hope with her audiences wherever she goes.

She also tapes a talk show that is broadcast on UCB Ireland, Ireland’s one-and-only Christian radio station.  Recently she aired a three-part series on “Resting in the Lord.”  The second session featured a song, “Outstretched Wing,” from one of her CD’s produced in Nashville – a song I helped create.

Here’s a link to that show.  Toward the end she mentions our late-night email exchange when “Outstretched Wing” was born:

www.mixcloud.com/UCBIreland/jean-watson-resting-in-the-lord-part-2/

Those who are interested might enjoy listening to Jean’s entire 3-part series, available at the UCB web site under podcasts:

http://www.mixcloud.com/UCBIreland/

Mysterious Black Stuff

A couple of days ago, Chip-the-Munk (a feisty chipmunk) zipped into the house when the door was left ajar.  After an hour of hiding in relative safety of the laundry room, Chip scampered out to face my husband, challenging him face-to-face.  It was a stand-off.  Then he darted, and my hubby darted, and he darted the other way, and they both zig-zagged toward the open sliding door (can you just picture this??) where  Chip obliged by whizzing outside, lickety-split.

Today while cleaning under a plant stand in an obscure corner behind the piano, I notice several tablespoons of black pellet-like blobs in a pile.  What ARE those things?  Are they bugs?  Worms?  Will they move? Do we have an infestation in the house?!  I dare to touch one; it is hard as a rock.  Then I bend down closer.  AH!  Sunflower seeds?!  HOW did sunflower seeds end up HERE?

But then I remember Chip!  Evidently he ran into the house with a mouthful of seeds (gathered from underneath our outside birdfeeder), and in the frenzied panic of the moment, and/or to unload baggage and enhance his mobility, he dumped his load of mysterious black stuff right there in the dark corner. 

I’m sure he’ll not be back for it.

Prices per Gallon

We’re all quick to complain about the price of gas, but if you thought gas prices were high….

Diet Snapple - 16 oz. for $1.29 = $10.32 per gallon

Lipton Iced Tea – 16 oz. for $1.19 = $9.52 per gallon

Gatorade – 20 oz. for $1.59 = $10.17 per gallon

Ocean Spray – 16 oz. for $1.25 = $10.00 per gallon

Pint of milk – 16 oz. for $1.59 = $6.32 per gallon

Evian (water) – 9 oz. for $1.49 = $21.19 per gallon

STP Brake Fluid – 12 oz. for $3.15 = $33.60 per gallon

Vick’s Nyquil – 6 oz. for $8.35 = $178.13 per gallon

Pepto Bismol – 4 oz. for $3.85 = $123.20 per gallon

Whiteout – 7 oz. for $1.39 = $254.17 per gallon

Scope – 1.5 oz. for $.99 - $84.84 per gallon

When I read this list, I wanted to add something else - sun tea made from bulk spearmint leaves - but was not sure how to calculate the cost per ounce.  It’s definitely the bargain-of-the-day-per-gallon!!! One bag of dry leaves weighing 0.37 lb. cost me $2.50, and it will make….just guessing….about 10 gallons of sun tea!  Wow, $0.25 a gallon!!  THAT is impressive.  And it is soooo refreshing and tasty, especially with a dash of stevia. 

Helicopter

Its ribs branch

Like albino spider veins

To form gossamer lace

That crawls

Over the pregnant bulge.

Tiny hands cradle the seed,

Then toss it high

To spin and fly.

“Look, Nana!  Helicopter!”

Sleeping Beauty

Our two-year-old granddaughter fell asleep yesterday in the church nursery – upside-down in an exersaucer!  The nursery attendant took a quick picture to document the feat, but didn’t leave her in this awkward position for more than a couple of minutes.  Who knows what circulation might do (or not do) when a little body is positioned like this!

Looking for a Word

Tonight I’m digging around in all those linguistic nooks and crannies in my mind, but can’t seem to find a word to describe my reaction to this year’s Mother’s Day.  The day started off like any other typical Sunday in May, but developed into a spontaneous family-pile-in-at-the-lake day with some distinctly unique features, and left me….um, well….that’s the word I’m looking for.

Events included a last-minute lunch buffet after church (fortunately I had quite a few leftovers in my frig), afternoon grandkid play in the lake and sandbox and everywhere else, and an exotic celebratory evening meal on the deck planned and orchestrated by our son-in-law (with some help from voluntary side-kicks, but NOT me) including grilled romaine lettuce topped with strips of grilled steak, gorgonzola cheese, julienne celery, cherry tomato wedges, croutons, and balsamic vinaigrette dressing, PLUS roasted asparagus and grilled French bread smeared with roasted garlic, PLUS homemade chocolate crepes filled with homemade chocolate mousse and topped with sliced strawberries and a special sauce.  Whew!  I also received a thoughtful phone call, several cards (a meaningful one with a promise to do yard work, a sweet card from the grandkids, and an inspiring one from my hubby), a very pretty potted plant, AND 30 minutes of luxurious, dreamy head massage while the kiddos napped.

I guess that’s quite a few words, and yet they only provide factual information and don’t really capture my response to the day.  So I’ll try again.  The special dinner?  Beyond yumtastic!  The company? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!  ME? Surprised, honored, overwhelmed, grateful, and wow-ed…swamped and engulfed by honor, respect, love, and blessing.

Big Things

There’s a myth floating around among younger folks that time slows down with old age - that languishing on the porch swing watching the hours creep by somehow makes the days longer.    

I’m here today to refute this as untrue.  But then I’m not hanging out on the porch swing yet, either.  Nor do I envision a swing showing up (tangibly or metaphorically) in the near future.

In fact, in my experience time only continues to speed up, flying like a marathon sprinter that refuses rest stops.  Time just keeps on going, energizer-bunny style, until it runs out – which, we know, will eventually happen.  After all, time was created to measure the happenings in our created world, and we realize that eternity looms on either side of time’s beginning and end.

In my little corner of the world where time is racing (the minutes feel like grains of sand streaming through an hourglass), it seems there’s always more to do than there is time to do it.  Which is why I’m thinking for the ga-zillionth time (more intensely as personal time races through the senior era) about what matters and what doesn’t – specifically, what matters more than laundry and dirty dishes and the myriad of things that clamor for attention like so many wheels squeaking the loudest, crying for grease. 

There are categories for these things that matter, some of them more sophisticated than others.  But today I’m focused on things like Play Dough.  Puzzles.  My Little Ponies.  Follow the leader. Balloons. Classical Baby online.  Goldenbooks. Mac ‘n cheese.  Dancing to 60’s oldies. Backrubs. Discoveries. Adventures. Hugs. Small things that matter to small people, and thus become the biggest of all things that matter the most.

TV Influence

Yesterday, after finding a certain product to be unavailable at the drug store (Walgreen’s), I looked for it in the personal product area of a Meijer store.  I ended up talking with a conversational pharmacist who put a different spin on my search.

He: (A trim gentleman probably in his late 30’s comes out from the pharmacy to the aisle to help me after my quick description through the window.) What is the name of the product again?

Me: NewGel+E.  It is an anti-scarring silicone product for people who form keloid or hypertrophic scars.  It was highly recommended by a physician who deals with this kind of thing. (I casually sling around the buzz words as if of course I talk medical jargon every day, feeling competent to engage in further conversation with this professional man in his crisp, clinical white coat.)

He: Ummmmmm, let’s see.  Over here.  We have this brand that retards scarring, and that brand, but nothing with silicone.  (I can tell he WANTS to find my product, but knows it is doubtful.  He rubs his chin between his thumb and forefinger and hums in a low voice as if to suddenly charm NewGel+E onto his shelf, right there in that spot between this brand and that.) Now this brand, it is the most popular – and that brand, it would work just as well but costs a little more.  But I’ve never heard of NewGel+E. (He looks at me apologetically, and yet I sense from his body language that the conversation isn’t over yet.)

Me:  That’s fine – thanks for your help!  I think I’ll keep looking.  I know I can order it online, but was trying to avoid paying the postage.

He: The internet will probably be your best bet. (He maintains his stance and points with one finger.) OR, I can tell you how to get that product in here!

Me:  HOW?

He: (He seems genuinely delighted that I’m willing to hear him out, and plants his feet wide apart as if physically positioning for an oration.) Have it promoted on Dr. Oz or Oprah. We always have a flood of demands for any health item that makes it onto those shows.  See this?  (He points to a jar of some sort of skincare product.)  We didn’t carry this item, but then had so many requests in a single day after it showed on Oprah that we decided we had to!  So just air your product on those TV studios and I promise we’ll have it here the same week.  No matter what it is.  Or what it does. Or doesn’t do.  (He chuckles with just a hint of cynicism and rocks his feet back and forth from heel to toe.)

Me: REALLY??  (I pause briefly before launching my response.) That’s such a commentary on our culture - high visibility promotion with celebrities is more important than quality!! (I shake my head, as if of course I already knew this.)  The produce lady told me about ordering exotic food in response to the Food Network shows, but in the health area it's hard to know public demand based on a TV show determines availability!

He: (He turns to go but keeps talking over one shoulder.) All I can say is this.  Your product could be the best one available, but the general consumer will never know, nor will those in his/her local pharmacy, until the celebrity media says so.  So good luck!  Maybe someday I’ll have it for you …. if Oprah or Dr. Oz give me the green light! (He winks, with a thumbs-up, and disappears behind the pharmacy door.)

Today I’m placing my order online.  Paying postage.  Wondering what it takes to appear on Oprah or Dr. Oz, and whose purse starts it all and ends up raking in the profits.